Baela VI
The Iron throne loomed above the assembly like a great beast, its blackened blades drinking in the firelight. With the true onset of winter, the Red Keep was never allowed to go without lit braziers, for fear that the creeping chill would worm its way through the masonry and grip its entirety in frozen lethargy. It was amidst these great blazing sources of heat that the realm's nobility had gathered to petition the Crown, with concerns ranging from trivial to existential.
Baela observed the proceedings with a muted interest, watching her Grandfather's dictats more out of a sense of duty than curiosity. Her lack of enthusiasm did not necessarily stem from a lack of passion for rulership- her grandmother had always fostered her aspirations to lead- but instead her increasing concern for her Grandfather's style of control. As Hand, Lord Corlys Velaryon endeavored to accomplish two primary goals: the mending of the realm and the advancement of his house. While many Lords scoffed at such emboldened grasping at power, her Grandfather viewed it with the same enthusiasm that he had once harbored for commerce. Simply put, Grandfather is not like other lords. To him, martial pursuits and hereditary fascinations are simply not as relevant as amassing wealth and power. Baela frowned, reassessing her judgment. That was incorrect, all lords covet wealth and power. The difference between them and Corlys Velaryon is that he is not adverse to seeking it in ways that others frown upon. While Lords from Barrowton to Oldtown painstakingly managed their harvests and herds, Corlys Velaryon built and sent forth ships to trade with all four corners of the world. While other Lords lobbied their feudal overlords for favors in the form of land or gifts, Corlys Velaryon begged the Crown to lower import duties and devised ways of cutting out middle-men. Grandfather makes his wealth in ways that many would view as the methods of the lowborn.
Her grandfather's increasing wealth had made him equally popular and unpopular throughout his life. While House Velaryon had traditionally been relied upon by the Targaryens to manage trade between Essos and the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, they had historically never conducted business far beyond Braavos, Pentos or Tyrosh. Corlys Velaryon had broken with tradition at an early age, sailing to Qarth and beyond in order to reach the sources of silk and spice that had enticed empires since time immemorial. The profits he had made from one voyage were so stupendous that he had gone on several more, taking more ships each time. His wealth had grown legendary, and the vaults beneath High Tide were rumored to go far deeper than most imagined. He had profited enough that he had won the hand of a Targaryen Princess. It was not just the ancient bonds of kinship that compelled the Prince Aemon and his wife to agree to marry their only daughter to Corlys Velaryon. My great grandfather knew that his son in law possessed the wealth of Kings… wealth enough to ensure the succession of his beloved daughter to the Iron Throne, despite the protestations of his brother's sons. Such things had been unspoken truths within Driftmark for years, and only the marriages of Laena and Laenor had served to settle the old enmities. Baela and her sister were born under the auspices of an olive branch.
Once, it had been difficult for Baela to imagine that her grandmother and father had nearly come to blows. The thought of Meleys and Caraxes tearing one another apart was abhorrent to me. The Dance had put such disbelief to rest. Scanning the room, Baela frowned as she considered the past and future. House Targaryen now numbers five members. We have nearly destroyed ourselves and our dragons. And after the rivers of blood had finally ceased flowing, a hatchling had been placed atop the charnel pits. Her half-brother was a somber boy, studious and committed to learning the necessities of rulership. He is determined to avoid the disasters of his predecessors. But until Aegon came of age, the realm had been entrusted to a Regency, and the Regency was widely considered to be firmly directed by her Grandfather. Which brings me to my reservations, Baela mused. Grandmother encouraged me to rule, but she had learned at the side of her own father. Prince Aemon had stressed that one of the most important facets of rulership was to lead by example. Baela frowned. He died for his sentiments, but to this day he remains loved and mourned. One would be hard pressed to find a member of the nobility, Green or Black, that would not sing the praises of the long dead Prince. Not so with Grandfather, she thought worriedly.
When Baela had gone to fight in the West, she had been shocked to see how quickly knights from all of the realms had banded together to defeat a common enemy. Westermen and Northmen had marched side by side, commanded by a knight of House Hightower, whilst supported by Rhaenyra's own dragonriders. It was inspiring. The beauty of it had helped to keep Baela's own misgivings about war at bay. In the Isles, we knew we were fighting for justice and righteousness. To free the people of the West from Dalton Greyjoy's chains was undoubtedly the noblest thing Baela had ever done, even if her dreams still smelt of burning hair and sounded of screaming men. Ser Maegor had warned her that it would be so, and she had resolved to carry those burdens with the gravity that befit her as a Targaryen. When the final Ironborn houses had bent the knee, Baela had returned to King's Landing in hopes that she could return with the sentiments that had binded the wounds of the Dance in the West.
The Gods, however, had other plans. Baela returned to a city on edge, divided into armed camps that all proclaimed that they could solve the realm's woes and insisted their rivals were the least competent men they'd ever had the misfortune to encounter. Her Grandfather ruled from the Red Keep with an iron fist, and Velaryon men-at-arms and mercenaries stalked the streets of the capital, maintaining an uneasy peace with the assistance of Lord Tarth's Gold Cloaks. Many of the city's taverns and winesinks had become the armed camps of Lord Baratheon's Stormlanders, who were said to murmur at the unjust treatment of their liege in their cups. Atop Visenya's Hill, Reachmen gathered 'round the Three Castle Banners of Lord Peake, who loudly proclaimed the ills of Velaryon leadership to any that would listen. Baela wasn't certain that there was any perfect solution to the capital's political division, but she suspected that her Grandfather's policies were in need of amending in some way. He still refuses to interfere in the Daughter's War, despite their depredations, and his recent changes to port tolls have been far from popular. Wealth can buy friends, but even House Velaryon cannot buy the loyalty of the entire realm. Grandfather needs to loosen his stranglehold on the Crown before it slips through his fingers.
Baela was of two minds on the matter. She loved her Grandfather dearly, and his loyalty to the former Queen was impeccable. But she feared that his approach to governance was too akin to that of a Guildmaster. He seeks to establish a monopoly, and is alienating potential allies. At first, the steadfast support of House Tully and House Arryn had ensured that he could disregard the other regions, or at least count on their internal turmoil to silence them. Everything had changed, however, with Lady Jeyne Arryn's death. Whilst Ser Corwyn Corbray had quickly been raised to her seat on the Regency, his ability to command the subservience of the Vale paled in comparison to his predecessor, and recent news had rendered the Vale's value as a steadfast ally even more precarious. Baela eyed Ser Corwyn as he sat amongst the other regents before the Iron Throne. He looks very tired. The whole Regency seems rather exhausted.
Above them all, seated atop the Iron Throne itself, was her Grandfather. His suntanned and weathered skin had faded along with the Summer Sun's rays, but he remained regal nonetheless. He wore no crown, but he carried himself with the easy authority of the powerful. In the King's absence, he sat the Iron Throne in his stead, issuing decrees and judgements with the confidence of a man who had long prepared for such a moment. And prepared he has, for four decades, or maybe longer. The Lord of the Tides was currently hearing the petitions of two knights, one wearing the colors of Stokeworth, and the other those of Rosby. While she had admittedly allowed her mind to wander, Baela believed that the disagreement was regarding grazing rights in several fields that were claimed by each family. Each had documents to prove their claims, and Baela noted with some humor that the oldest document was an aged recreation of an even more ancient Durrandon writ. Eventually, her Grandfather pronounced judgment, awarding the lands to House Rosby. A royal transcriber provided the knight with a document bearing the Hand's seal, and he left looking most pleased. The Stokeworth knight withdrew into the throng, looking decidedly less happy. Baela frowned as she watched him stop to speak quietly with a Graceford knight, each of them casting their eyes about conspiratorially. Another one made partial to Lord Unwin's… perspectives.
An announcer slammed their staff upon the stone floors. The doors of the great hall were dragged open, revealing a procession of Septons and Septas, all dressed in the Faith's finery, escorted by Velaryon knights. At the head of the procession strode Septon Eustace, who bore a golden staff affixed with a great crystal. Stopping before the seated regents, he bowed low before turning his gaze to the Hand.
"My Lord Hand, we servants of the Faith have come to beseech you in the name of the Seven Who Are One. We are certain that you are aware of Ser Hobert Hightower's recent request, that the Crown revoke Lord Goren's boon, that our Faith might once more be allowed to shine its light upon the Iron Isles."
Corlys Verlaryon listened to their request stoically, not allowing his features to betray his thoughts on the matter. After a moment, he spoke. "I have given this matter some thought, Septon. The Lord Regent of the Isles' proposal is certainly somewhat… unorthodox, but there are clear merits. The fact of the matter, however, is that the Crown does not have the gold to spare to fund such a request. For an endeavor such as this to be successful, many hundreds of the faithful would need passage to the Isles, and many Septs and other compounds would need to be constructed in order to carry out the mission properly. According to most sources, Lord Goren was most thorough in eradicating the Faith's presence from the Isles during the latter days of Aenys' reign, and such acts only intensified under the depredations of King Maegor, whose opinion on the Faith is well-known."
As her grandfather spoke, Baela nodded along. Rhaena had informed her that the Crown could barely afford to pay the interest on its debts, even after their grandfather had declared a moratorium on the debts owed to House Velaryon.
Septon Eustace nodded sagely before replying. "My Lord Hand, we of the Faith know well the Crown's burdens, and are most pleased to offer our own aid in the matter. As we speak, many of the Faith's most passionate servants are flocking to Oldtown, eager to embark on its greatest mission since its departure from Andalos. The High Septon himself has been so inspired by the prospect that he has supposedly risen from his own sickbed to preach to the throngs, calling them to service. He and the Most Devout have agreed that the Faith itself must open its vaults in order to make the required monies available. We ask only that the Crown grant us its approval, that we might set forth at once."
Corlys Velaryon ran his hand across his beard, flattening it against his jaw. Finally, he spoke. "In light of this offer, the Crown can do naught but accept the Faith's generosity. Prithee, go and inform the High Septon at once. We need not waste time in supporting Ser Hobert's divinely-inspired dream."
Upon hearing his words, there were shouts of praise in the hall. Baela smiled. At last, something all can agree upon. The Ironborn have proven very helpful in that regard. Seeing her expression, her sister raised an eyebrow.
"I knew you to be a girl of myriad interests, sister, but I never imagined you to be a zealot."
Baela made a show of lowering her face like a penitent. "In my travels, the Faith was a balm like none other. Aged Septons have a surprising amount of insight into the plights of young female dragonriders."
For a moment, her sister eyed her expressionlessly, before finally breaking out into a peal of laughter. "The Isles must've been even more trying than I imagined."
Baela smiled, but her sister's words struck truer than Rhaena likely realized. Dismissing the thought from her mind, she replied: "I am practicing my responses for the Regency, when they inevitably decide to question me once more regarding the war in the West."
Her sister nodded, feigning a look of deep pondering. "If you were able to reduce the amount of biting sarcasm that drips from every word, you might be able to convince them of your newfound piety."
Rhaena took her arm, and they strode closer to the base of the Iron Throne. Across the hall, they saw the Baratheon sisters whispering amongst themselves. Baela nodded in their direction. "I was surprised they were allowed back within the Red Keep. Aegon has made his opinions on their father quite clear."
Rhaena nodded. "At times, political expediency must outweigh sentiment. Grandfather requested that I open talks with them, in hopes of driving a wedge between the Usurper's former dogs. It is too soon to say, but I remain hopeful that it will be successful. The last thing the Crown needs is a united front of opposition."
Baela cast her eyes about, watching for any potential listeners. "The pride of the Stag and the Lord of the Marches would seem to preclude any such possibility."
Rhaena shrugged slightly. "Rage can soothe such sentiments, if allowed to fester for too long. For now, neither is willing to allow the other to lead. But even our friend from Starpike realizes that six thousand Stormlander swords cannot be ignored forever. The question is whether he is willing to accept a role as a minor player in the schemes of another, particularly one so bull-headed and politically tactless."
Their stroll brought them to the edge of a brazier, its heat rolling over them in waves. Each of the sisters regarded the fire for a moment, allowing silence to resume. Before they could resume their conversation, the great doors of the chamber opened once more, and to much fanfare. Baela stood on her toes in order to see through the throng, and spotted the two men she'd been anticipating the entire day. Draped in the blue-green of the sea and the silver of the moon. Sers Addam and Malentine Velaryon. The majority of the hall cheered the dragonriders as they made their way to kneel before the throne, some louder than others.
At their entrance, Corlys Velaryon sat higher in his seat atop Aegon's throne. Years seemed to disappear as he regarded their approach with excitement. As they knelt before the assembled regents, he rose and cried: "Hail, the returning heroes! The realm thanks you for your brave service!"
When Baela had returned, she had been puzzled by Ser Addam and Malentine's absence. She had not assumed that her grandfather would allow them to stray far from his oversight within the capital. Rhaena had informed her that soon after her departure, each had been sent on relatively short diplomatic missions to Braavos and Pentos, ostensibly to discuss the ongoing conflict raging between the former Three Daughters. The Magisters continue to cry for Westerosi intervention, specifically atop dragonback.
The Lord of the Tides spoke once more when the applause had died down. "Ser Malentine, the Prince of Pentos has informed me of his gratitude to you, and has praised your attentive escorting of his diplomats across the Narrow Sea." He then turned to Ser Addam, eyes full of approval. "Ser Addam, my grandson. The Sealord has been nothing but complimentary of your conduct within his city. He was most grateful for your protection of his diplomats, whilst they crossed to our great city. He was most aggrieved, however, that you did not accept his daughter's hand in marriage."
Chuckles sounded throughout the hall. Baela frowned. Shocking.
Corlys continued. "Each of you has accomplished all that I asked of you, and more. I will ensure that your service is honored most handsomely." Descending the warped swords that served as the Iron Throne's steps, he accepted a rolled document from an attendant waiting at the base. At first, he clasped his grandson in a firm embrace, after beckoning for him to rise. Afterwards, he turned to Ser Malentine, who remained kneeling, his eyes fixed upon the floor. When he spoke, he did so with a surprising warmth. "Rise, my nephew."
As Ser Malentine rose, he met his uncle's eyes. For a moment, there was silence between them. Finally, the Seasnake began.
"I realize now, standing before you, that you have suffered great injustices during your life, Ser. War has sundered our House, and we have been enemies when we ought to have been kin to one another. While I know that no gift nor flowery speech will ever unmake those wounds, I do wish, as your kin and uncle, to ensure that you know you are dear to me, Malentine. With the war at an end, I hope that this gesture I make proves my good intentions."
As Corlys Velaryon spoke, Ser Malentine eyed him with a ferocious intensity, his eyes swimming with tears barely held at bay. When his uncle offered him the sealed scroll, he reached to take it, clutching it with the hesitance that a circus performer might grab a snake. Breaking the seal, he unrolled it, before gasping in a gurgling voice. Tears began to flow downwards, and the Seasnake was quick to embrace his nephew, before turning him so that they could both face the crowd.
Corlys Velaryon smiled grandly, his arm around his nephew. "Since the departure of Rhaenyra's great host, the ruins of Harrenhal have sat untended, a home for naught but ghosts and bandits. Lord Larys Strong, the last of his line, has been determined to have forfeited his rights to his family's seat, as he has been presumed to have departed with a bastard pretender. This Regency has found Ser Malentine Velaryon's actions meritorious enough that he has been granted the castle of Harrenhal, along with the lands that remain to it. Henceforth, he shall be a Ser no longer, but a Lord of Westeros! Let us honor him!"
At first, the applause was hesitant, but an inspired few convinced those in attendance to increase their enthusiasm. As the cheering grew, a smile broke upon Ser Malentine's face, growing until he practically beamed with joy, or something similar enough so as to make no matter. Unbidden, a shiver ran down Baela's spine. Despite appearances, something about Malentine Velaryon did not seem… quite right. Looking into his eyes is akin to gazing at shattered glass. As her grandfather beamed, Baela felt cold.
Baela ran her hands along Moondancer's scaled and serpentine neck, taking comfort in the heat that radiated from within the dragon. Taking a fresh fish from a bucket she'd requested from the Dragonkeepers, she tossed it before the beast, watching as the dragon let loose a short jet of flame before consuming it with a snap of her jaws. She chuckled, the sudden noise drawing the dragon's attention, its dark eyes watching her with interest. After a brief standoff, she relented, tossing another haddock, watching as it was consumed. Moondancer had traditionally fed upon sheep and pigs within Dragonstone, as the Targaryens had been loath to allow their dragons to supp upon a fisherman's fare. All that had changed in the march West. Baela had observed how Ser Maegor's Grey Ghost voraciously consumed fish, and Moondancer evidently had as well. Her younger dragon had taken to following the Grey Ghost during its early morning hunting flights, watching how it used its talons to pluck the largest fish available from beneath the water's surface, cooking them instantly in a blaze of heat before consuming them. Her mount had evidently proven most impressionable, as she had learned quickly, copying the Grey Ghost's techniques and developing quite a taste for fish of her own. To its credit, the extremely solitary dragon seemed to accept her Moondancer's presence with as much grace as it could muster, only warning her off with small blasts of flame when she attempted the draconic version of play.
Ser Maegor had watched these proceedings with amusement. Baela smiled as she recalled his words. "Despite my friendship with Gaemon, our mounts steadfastly refuse to extend a hand or 'talon' to one another in friendship. Too many decades of territorial disputes upon the Dragonmont, I presume." Baela had laughed. Maegor had smiled as he said: "It is heartening to see the old recluse accept another. I had begun to give up hope that he could ever truly adapt to his new surroundings. Perhaps there is a chance for him, after all."
The gate of Moondancer's enclosure creaked open behind her. Baela opened her mouth to request to be left alone, but did not. The servants do not deserve my temper. She had taken to the Dragonpit more often since her return, enjoying its solitude. Few ventured within its vast halls, and with the war leaving its primary occupants riderless, fewer still had reason to visit. Tyraxes, Shrykos, and Dreamfyre all lack their masters, and at this rate it seems the Queen Jaehaera will never even visit her Morghul, let alone ride her. With the absence of the Grey Ghost and the Cannibal, only Moondancer, Seasmoke, and Silverwing could regularly expect visits from their riders.
Moondancer let out a low hiss, and Baela turned, surprised that one of the servants would approach so close. Her visitor was no pitkeeper, however. Ser Addam Velaryon stood at a cautious three arm lengths away, regarding her overly protective dragon with amusement. Baela laid her hand upon the pale green snout of her mount, calming it.
She offered her visitor a friendly smile, despite her anxiety regarding the purpose of his visit. After a moment, she spoke: "Ser Addam, to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"
Addam smiled, but it was a sad smile. "You are kind, but you've never been very good at hiding your feelings, Baela. I fear I already know the answer to the question I've come to ask you."
Baela cocked her head to the side, letting her smile fade. "I suppose I've not been very good at pretending, Addam."
Addam nodded. "I've loved you, you know. I've loved you from afar since I arrived that day on Dragonstone atop Seasmoke. I would have never said a word, had Prince Jaecaerys not fallen in battle."
Baela pursed her lips. "I know, Addam. You are a good man, and undeserving of my treatment. I have treated you unfairly. But the truth is, my feelings on the matter have never been clear. I wonder, sometimes, if I would have found happiness with Jace. I just… feel so young, so trapped. I do not know if I wish to marry, even to one as kind and understanding as yourself."
Addam pondered her words. "When I argued that you be allowed to fly to the Isles, I had harbored the vain hope that you might feel indebted to me… that you might realize I cared deeply enough for you that I would never seek to bind you in the chains that so many face after their vows."
Baela's smile returned, faintly. "Addam, you were never the reason for my caution. I knew from the beginning you were different. But there are chains that cannot be avoided. The moment you place my grandfather's cloak about my shoulders, my life changes. I become a lady, a mother, first, and a dragonrider and warrior second. You will require an heir of your body, and I must provide at least one. My life will change, forever, whilst yours will change only slightly." She frowned. "My mother died giving birth to a brother for Rhaena and I, as you know. She died attempting to fly Vhagar one final time. If we were to marry, there is a real danger I would die in the birthing bed. The thought that my entire life could be cut short so quickly terrifies me."
Addam nodded. "None of those fears are unwarranted, Baela. And I have little I can say that would dismiss them. The best maesters are no guarantee."
Baela sighed. "I have been given one of the greatest gifts a woman could ask for in this world. A dragon sets me apart, frees me in ways that other women could only dream of. I loathe the thought of abandoning such a gift at so young."
Addam frowned. "Were our places reversed, I would feel no different. Before Seasmoke, I was doomed to live and die fighting for every groat. Dragons carry us to heights unseen even without leaving the earth." He paused, his face growing grimmer. "You realize, of course, that grandfather will tolerate no further resistance on this matter. Even if I have been convinced, he still intends to bring you before the Regency in order to compel you into marriage. He has made it most clear that he wishes to see our lines joined, in order to secure House Velaryon for another generation. He intends for you and I to be an even more perfect union than his with the Princess Rhaenys."
Baela nodded, straightening her posture. "Grandfather is a determined man. And I can objectively understand his reasoning behind our match. Only two heartbeats separate me from the Iron Throne. Our children would potentially be heirs to far more than Driftmark. And they very likely would be able to master dragons. A match between us makes sense." She clenched her fists. "But I have only just begun to live. I will not be made to bend to his whims, even if he is my grandfather. He forgets himself. I am a Lady of the Blood, not some fool girl he can dispose of with the wave of his hand. The Iron Throne is the ultimate authority with regards to my marriage, not House Velaryon."
Addam smiled as he watched her speak. "That fire of yours is why I fell for you, you know. There are so few like you, Baela. I hope you know well that while I will respect your wishes regarding marriage, I will be unlikely to ever abandon my desires for your hand."
Baela grinned. "Who knew Seahorses could be so stubborn?" She kissed him upon the cheek. "Thank you, Addam. You are a better man than most."
The heir to Driftmark chuckled. "Forgive me, my lady, but sometimes it is burdensome being so… understanding. Sometimes it just feels like I am setting myself up for a kick in the stones." Straightening his posture, he offered her his hand. "What say you? Shall we confront the Regency together?"
Baela took his hand, and together they made their way out of the Dragonpit.
When the Iron Throne loomed before her, Baela felt decidedly less confident. Addam took her hand and gave it a squeeze, before gesturing for her to approach those assembled. To her surprise, Ser Corwyn was kneeling before those assembled, his seat temporarily unoccupied. Ser Torrhen Manderly was speaking, and his voice gradually registered with her senses.
"... let your voyage be a safe one, Ser. The Regency bids you good fortune in your efforts to resolve the troubles in your homeland. The others and I are confident that you go with Lady Jeyne's blessing, from the Seven Heavens above."
Ser Corwyn rose, meeting Rhaena where she stood to the side. She whispered something indiscernible, concern in her eyes. Planting a chaste kiss upon her hands, the Corbray knight left the hall with haste.
As Baela stood before the assembled Regency, her curiosity could no longer be contained. "Do Ser Corbray and my sister not have a wedding to plan? What could possibly draw him away from the capital?"
Ser Elmo Tully answered, his face grim. "With Lady Jeyne's death, her nephew Eldric Arryn has emerged from hiding. Ravens have been pouring in from seats across the Vale of Arryn begging for the Crown's assistance. It appears Ser Eldric has risen with intent of pressing for recognition of his father Arnold's rights to the Paramountcy in opposition to Joffrey Arryn, Jeyne's chosen heir."
Baela was stunned. "Breaking the King's Peace is a serious offense! Who would support his bid?"
Ser Tyland Lannister spoke, his voice a whisper behind his veil. "Jeyne Arryn was not without enemies… and Eldric's mother was a Royce of Runestone. Lord Royce has already called his banners in support of Arnold Arryn's claims, and the Knight of Ninestars was quick to follow suit. Other houses have proven conspicuously silent when called upon to declare their loyalties."
Lord Thaddeus Rowan nodded. "We have had to delay Ser Corbray's impending nuptials in order to dispatch him to restore peace to the Vale."
Baela was confused. "Gaemon Waters was already dispatched to the Vale. Could he not be called upon to do so, in his capacity as a Constable of the Realm?"
Lord Manfryd Mooton cleared his throat. "Ser Gaemon has not been seen since his departure from Wickenden. Ser Alan Waxley claims that he departed for the Mountains of the Moon two weeks ago, and has not been seen since. In his absence we have been forced to rely upon others."
Baela glanced at Addam, who appeared as surprised as she felt. She was about to inquire further when the Hand of the King finally spoke.
"Granddaughter, while I am pleased to see you taking an interest in the affairs of the realm, I fear there is another matter of import to be placed before the Regency. As second in line to the throne, the Crown feels that it would be prudent to arrange a suitable marriage for you, that you might be able to do your part to secure the succession. Ser Addam Velaryon has recently begged this Regency's approval to seek your hand, and we would like to obtain your consent, that the match might go forward."
Baela watched the faces of the Regency as her grandfather spoke. Interestingly, none had adopted particularly enthusiastic expressions. Could it be that Corlys Velaryon's own allies grow weary of his bids for control? First the favorable import tolls, then naming his granddaughter's betrothed to the Regency, then Harrenhal for Ser Malentine… She glanced at Addam, who nodded encouragingly. Thank you, Addam.
"I have decided, after giving the matter much thought, that I will not grant my consent for this match."
For a moment, the only noise that could be heard throughout the Great Hall was the sound of flames licking at their fuel within the braziers. Baela raised her gaze to meet her grandfather's, and watched as a deep scowl contorted his face. Grand Maester Orwyle coughed, drawing her attention, and she would've bet a golden dragon that he raised a kerchief to obscure a smile.
After a few moments of silence, Lord Corlys Velaryon spoke. "Granddaughter… it pains me, but I must insist that the marriage be proceeded with, regardless of your consent." His hands clenched into fists atop the blades they rested upon. "I… this Regency has been more than understanding of your concerns, and at this time we are no longer willing to risk the succession any further. You are of age, and there are few matches more suitable. Duty must now come before childish whim."
Baela frowned, and opened her mouth to speak, but lost her opportunity as Lord Manfryd Mooton spoke first.
"Lord Corlys, this Regency has operated under the impression that Lady Baela had already granted her consent." Turning to her, he gazed upon her closely. "As ward of the Crown and sister to the King, her thoughts on the matter must be accounted for."
Ser Torrhen Manderly spoke next. "House Velaryon already enjoys close ties to the throne, my Lord. Sers Addam and Alyn possess the blood of Princess Rhaenys in their veins. Need we grant another royal match so soon? Perhaps the Lady Baela's hand could be offered to another house whose favor ought to be curried."
Corlys Velaryon rose. "We need not curry favor, my Lords! My granddaughter's dragon is a dangerous thing to be offered to most families."
Baela raised an eyebrow. Dangerous, or valuable? She watched the faces of the Regency with satisfaction, noting as they processed her grandfather's words. They are now seeing the opportunity before them. Why grant House Velaryon another boon when their own family could benefit under the right circumstances?
For a moment, the men before her sat in silence, weighing their potential responses. Finally, after some time, Ser Tyland Lannister spoke.
"I think this Regency has had quite enough of your ambitions, Lord Corlys. The Lady before us is a ward of the Crown, granddaughter or not. I, for one, do not endorse this match. The Lady Baela's husband must be determined after a consensus has been reached, not by unilateral declaration."
Grand Maester Orwyle spoke up next. "In the absence of a King's dictat, the Lady Baela is historically in her rights to refuse the match."
Lord Manfryd Mooton spoke next, saying: "All of those in favor of setting the matter aside for further discussion, please say aye."
A chorus of 'ayes' responded. Corlys Velaryon was livid, but alone. At that moment, Baela pitied her grandfather. You are moving too quickly. She loved him, but misliked his blinding ambitions. Better that they be checked here, and not in a more devastating manner. She moved to speak, but thought better of it. She bowed before the members of the Regency, taking their silence as leave to depart. As she made to leave the hall, the voice of her Grandfather rang out:
"Granddaughter, there have been several sightings of war galleys to the south and east of Dragonstone. It may be best if you were to supervise the defense of the island in person. This council lacks the resources to dispatch any other."
Internally, Baela winced at the bitterness in his tone. Turning, she bowed once more. "As you will it, Grandfather."
As she departed, she mourned at how ancient he had looked. For the first time in Baela's life, she was struck at how age had seemed to finally overtake her grandsire. Passing Addam, he nodded, smiling slightly at her. A few moments later, the doors of the Great Hall slammed closed behind her, sounding eerily like those of a tomb.