Firstly, I wanted to wish you all a very Merry Christmas/Holiday period depending on your beliefs! I'm very much looking forward to the time off as life has been hectic for the past few months, though with how busy I've been I'm not sure on the pace of further updates, but we'll see.

I also wanted to mention the teaser trailer for season 2 of House of the Dragon… I've mentioned before I love the Dance and I'm super excited to delve into the actual fighting. Rhaenyra is gaining more to do as well judging by the shot of her in Shipbreakers Bay which I'm really looking forward to.

As always, I own nothing of any source material, that all belongs to George R R Martin and/or HBO.

In the days that had followed the argument between the King and Lady Jocelyn, Luke had spent the vast majority of his time in the War Council room planning. The table and map was nowhere near as helpful as the Painted Table was back on Dragonstone at planning campaigns, but there were still dozens of markers portraying troop and ship movements that had been studied carefully. The sound of swords clashing could be heard from inside the room as Ser Humfrey Hightower, Luke's Master at Arms, was putting more and more people through their paces and it was threatening to distract Luke from the words that his nephew was saying.

"…make landfall here, so we need to ensure that the Rainwood is under our control." Jon Stark was saying. "Once we have gathered at Storm's End we should march and ensure control of Amberly, before then moving on to Mistwood and Rain House."

"I will need to make a stop at Griffin's Roost." Luke interrupted quickly. "House Connington helped win me the throne, I would pay my respects to Ser Raymund's tomb, as well as Jon's memorial."

The Stark bowed his head. "You have your dragon." But then he paused. "So long as you don't go rogue, Your Grace, and try and assault Estermont alone."

Luke's lips threatened a smirk. "I have been grilled enough about that, Jon. You need not worry."

"With your temper, I will always worry." Jon simply raised an eyebrow as the kin chuckled together.

"A flying visit as we pass, that is all." Luke insisted. "I would not delay too much; I want these traitors dealt with."

Jon nodded. "And they shall be."

The door opened, and Ser Taron poked his head through the door. "The Lord Hand, Grand Maester and Lord Maar here to see you, Your Grace."

Luke gestured for the Kingsguard knight to let them enter. "Ned, Lysono, Theobald. What can I do for you?"

It was the Grand Maester that answered. "We think we have found him, Your Grace. The Knight of Shells."

Luke's blood went cold as his face contorted in fury. "Tell me all."

A heavy book was thrown on the table, one that Luke recognised as the ever growing The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, a book that Luke had instructed the Maesters almost two decades earlier to keep growing with every new birth and death. "Archmaester Perestan has replied to my request and suggested I investigate this book. Your command came before the Estermont Rebellion Your Grace, and so they are included in the writings."

"I had been reading the book myself, refreshing my memory on the rebel houses." Ned Dayne explained. "And though it didn't occur to me at the time, the Grand Maester made a realisation…"

The chained man was rifling through the pages until he found the one he was looking for. "Here." He stated, pointing at the drawn sigil of a turtle. "House Estermont."

"They all died." Luke stated, confused. "We killed them all."

It was Lysono Maar who shook his head and spoke the dreaded words. "Not all of them."

Luke turned to the Essosi. "They all died." He repeated.

"Every Estermont that was on the island that day died." Ned countered. "Ser Robert died in the Rainwood weeks before. But there was one that was not on the island."

Luke began to growl. "Who?"

The Grand Maester pointed to part of a page. "Lord Aemon died in the Great War fighting at your side. His son, Lord Alyn, had two sons, Robert and Alaric, who all died in the rebellion. But Lord Aemon also had a brother, Lomas, who died at the Trident."

"Go on." Jon Stark said.

"Lomas Estermont had a daughter who died during the Siege of Storm's End, and a son, Andrew." Theobald continued.

That name rang a bell for Luke, having heard it long ago before he had returned to the mainland of Westeros. "Andrew Estermont died in Dragonstone Bay, fighting for Stannis Baratheon." He explained.

"He did." Ned nodded. "And he had four children. Ormund, Alynne and Theo died when we destroyed Greenstone, but the eldest, Patrek…"

"He was in Essos." Lysono continued the story. "Fighting with the Second Sons when his kin rebelled against you."

Luke felt his brow furrow in anger. "So this… Patrek Estermont… he is the Stormlander that is plotting with Myr and Tyrosh?"

"I will need time to confirm it, but it seems that way." Maar nodded.

"He would be 26 years old, so a fit for the Mystery Knight too." Ned Dayne explained.

Luke scowled as he stared down at the map, specifically at the small island off the coast of Cape Wrath. "He will burn." The king growled. "For Aegon, he will burn."

"Have the banners called immediately." Ned Dayne told the Grand Maester. "We need not wait any longer, we must march on the Rainwood quickly."

"And have Monford blockade the Narrow Sea here." Jon Stark pointed to the area between Rainhouse and Bloodstone. "That way we cut off both Myr and Tyrosh without overextending ourselves too greatly."

"Tyrosh will view it as a provocation." Ned countered.

Luke was not having that however. "Tyrosh plotted to kill my son!" He roared angrily, slamming his fist on the table and sending some of the pieces flying. "If they view it as a provocation, I will happily meet them myself and explain clearly how I deal with those that attack me and my own. They will know once again the meaning of our house words."

"See it done, Grand Maester." Jon said towards the man, taking a calmer approach. "Call the banners of the Crownlands and the Stormlands, the orders to Lord Monford, and ask Lord Redwyne to bring his ships around too and cut off the southern Stepstones, we will squeeze Estermont in."

The Grand Maester looked towards Luke, who simply nodded his agreement. "As you will, My Lord, Your Grace." He bowed before the pair of dragon riders before quickly walking out of the room. Lysono Maar quickly followed citing letters that needed writing, and quickly it was just the three in the room.

Luke dropped into a chair as he ran his hand through his hair. "I remember the name Patrek Estermont." He said softly. "Barely, but a memory all the same. He was one of the few we debated marrying Shireen Baratheon to after Jon's death."

"He could only have been a boy." Ned surmised. "And a good job too, if that had been chosen as a match then the resentment in Storm's End would be dangerous. As it is, Lady Baratheon will be on our side of the conflict."

"Begrudgingly." Luke scoffed.

"But still on our side." Jon reasoned. "Her husband died in the first war; she would not reward that by lending them the might of Storm's End."

He had a point, Luke knew. "Thank you, both." He said honestly. "For being rational."

Jon grinned. "Somebody has to be."

"Our job is to advise you, Luke." Ned added. "And to ground you in times like these. We are hurting too, I would like nothing more than to run Dawn through this Knight of Shells myself, but we need to be strategic and smart about it, or else we could face bigger problems further down the line. If you are killed…"

"Then a succession crisis begins." Luke sighed.

"I do not wish to push you." Ned began. "But there are a lot of whispers. Jocelyn is drumming up support for Alyssa."

"She's even asked how my Brandon is." Jon told them both. "She knows her history too, citing the Pact of Ice and Fire."

"That was fulfilled with your birth." Luke countered sharply, before sighing. "Though she may likely hope you do not see it that way."

Jon nodded. "Aye, that is it."

Luke once again ran his hands through his hair. "Then proclaim an heir I must, to stop this madness in its tracks."

The evening Kingsguard shift had been given to Daeron, and so as the candlelight flickered around the hallway outside of the King's chambers the young Targaryen bastard was left to reflect on the goings on within the castle. He had been out in the training yard when the rookery had exploded with life as dozens of ravens flew away from the Red Keep, inevitably signalling the banners being called. Daeron had been with young Jaehaerys at the time, and the young man had doubled his efforts upon seeing the bird's fly.

The last time the King had marched to war Daeron had been young, just 13 years of age and a squire to Ser Jorah Mormont. He had seen fighting in the Rainwood and had been scared shitless, but the experience had reinforced his mind on who he wanted to be as an adult. Now 20 years of age and the wielder of Dark Sister, he had a lot to be thankful for.

His mind wandered to Saella however, as it usually did on his nights of guarding the doors of his Father. Ever since they were children they had felt something different towards one another, and though his feelings for her still burned hotter than any dragon fire despite the years spent apart, the lie that lingered between them always hurt. He remembered the conversation with the King like it was yesterday, when the Targaryen patriarch explained in terrible detail the circumstances of his birth, the skirmish that followed, and the heartbreak of the Great War to the King. The words rang in his head as he thought back on that conversation. 'Nobody can know the truth, not even your kin.'

Of course, he had told Aegon straight away, but for some reason he could never bring himself to tell Saella even as their friendship bloomed into more. Stolen kisses and even some mild exploration. That all stopped when Ser Rolly had found them locked in an embrace and Daeron had been put on a ship to Dragonstone that night, only to be met weeks later by the King on his dragon who explained coldly that Saella was now married and that he was to take up the White Cloak, with Dark Sister as both a consolation and a permanent reminder, but despite that the sight of her long, straight hair falling down her back and her glorious burgundy eyes as she told him she loved him had been seared into his brain. It had taken all of his willpower to barely say a word to her during the funeral, and the sad look on her face whenever he passed her had haunted him.

"Daeron." The King called, breaking the knight away from his memories. He opened the door and stepped inside. "I want your thoughts on something."

"Anything, Your Grace." Daeron responded, knowing that any resentment had long been washed away. Lucerys treat him like a son, which given the secrecy around their relationship Daeron knew he did not need to do.

He walked over to the King's desk and saw the plans that had been crudely drawn out. "Look at these, tell me what you think."

The pincer at sea was a good move that Daeron knew would be hard for the enemy to overcome, and the land movements made sense as they were similar to the last time. "We may need to stagger the land attacks in case they are remembered." Daeron stated. "But in a war of attrition, we will win easily."

"Cut off their trade routes and we will starve them into submission." Lucerys nodded.

"What of Essos?" Daeron asked.

Lucerys frowned. "What of it?"

Daeron gestured for the quill and Lucerys nodded his assent, leaning back as Daeron drew the coast of Essos as well as Lys. "If we cut off Tyrosh and Myr, they will focus their forces on the Disputed Lands and Lys. We should prepare for that."

Lucerys grinned. "And how would we do that?"

The answer seemed obvious to the Kingsguard knight. "The Golden Company. Bring them in on Lys' side."

Lucerys nodded. "Very good." And Daeron realised it was a test. "You will be a commander this time around, not a squire. With myself up in the skies you will be the Targaryen that people look to, my voice on the ground along with Lord Dayne. I need to know that your lessons have paid off, that you can see weaknesses and counter them."

"I am no Targaryen." Daeron said quickly, and the look on Lucerys' face made him feel 8 again.

"You are in blood." The King said firmly. "Now, how would you get a message to the Company?"

Daeron thought aloud. "A ship would take too long, you must either go from Dorne and south of the Stepstones risking ship warfare…"

"Remember who you are." Lucerys nudged.

A smirk appeared on Daeron's face. "The Dragons. We send Visenya."

Lucerys nodded. "Excellent, those were my thoughts too." The King explained, before writing something down on a separate piece of parchment.

"Will that be all, Your Grace?" Daeron asked.

Luke paused for a moment. "You are close to Jocelyn, are you not?"

Wondering where this was leading, Daeron nodded slowly. "Not in that way though…"

"No, I wasn't inferring…" Luke started. "I just mean, you speak with her openly, you are friends."

Daeron nodded. "We are, yes. I am close with her daughters and was close with Aegon. That has led me to be an internal confidant, if you will."

"I presume she is angry with me." Luke shrugged, taking a sip of Arbor Gold.

Daeron nodded. "Openly and honestly, and if I may speak freely…"

"Always, in these walls." Luke agreed.

"I feel she has a right to be angry." Daeron admitted. "Her daughter was Aegon's heir after all."

"But not mine." Luke stated, before standing up and moving over to the balcony, where dusk was settling and the candles and torches illuminated King's Landing. "The lines of succession are muddied when an heir dies and leaves children. The last time, it led to war. King Jaehaerys' heir died and he left only a daughter. She was passed over, but the resentment bred into King Viserys' time in which another daughter was passed over, only this time, she fought and thousands died for it." He sighed. "If I allow Alyssa as my heir, those that oppose me will follow Jaehaerys. Dorne will follow Jaehaerys in hatred of the Stormlands and House Velaryon will in order to push Laena as Queen. Even if he does not wish for it, as a trueborn son to myself his claim will always matter."

"And yet, if you pass over Jaehaerys then the Stormlands will be aggrieved." Daeron countered. "You fear Jocelyn will cause problems for you."

"The Stormlands have been aggrieved ever since I returned to Westeros." Luke shrugged again. "That does not bother me, what bothers me is that now I fear war will follow no matter what."

Daeron pondered for a moment. "And breaking the Velaryon betrothal is out of the question?"

Luke nodded. "House Velaryon have risen from the ashes and rebuilt their empire. They bring in more coin to Westeros than any other House, they have rebuilt their fleet, have excellent ties to Braavos… it was my generosity that raised them back to this level, but as a result now we need them on our side."

Daeron sighed, feeling caught between two places. "I can only give my advice, and I know how you feel on Jocelyn's family, Your Grace. I can only suggest including her. Aegon loved her enough to cause a war and always put Jocelyn first in everything he did. Her daughters are his daughters, black of hair but fire in their blood, the fire of Valyria. Welcome them in and garner a relationship with their mother, and then perhaps all of your fears can be avoided." He knew that Lucerys was grimacing at the idea, but hopefully his words would sink in. "Unless there is anything else, Your Grace, I should return…"

"I look at the girls and I see Rhaenys." Lucerys admitted, something which truly surprised the white knight. "I see Elia, I see my nephew Aegon… all three butchered because of the rebellion that put Robert Baratheon on the throne. I look at them and I am thrown right back into that boat with Jon Connington smuggling me into Essos."

"That was 40 years ago." Daeron said gently. "The girls… Lady Jocelyn… it was long before any of them."

"Resentment breeds, son." Lucerys chuckled darkly. "Something I'm sure you feel."

It was as close as they had gotten to speaking about Daeron's origins since the night everything was explained to him. "I feel no resentment to you, Your Grace." Daeron admitted.

"Then you are a far better man than I." Lucerys sighed.

"Because of Aegon's influence." Daeron explained. "He helped me through all that. He was the one that calmed me down, that defended me against whispers, that listened to me..." He stopped for a moment, wondering if he should risk pushing further. "He was the best person I knew, and he shared his life with Lady Jocelyn, falling in love with her. Perhaps that is something to think on, Your Grace."

Lucerys nodded. "Perhaps it is. Thank you, Daeron. You have been most illuminating."

The Kingsguard knight bowed formally before turning and marching out of the room, shutting the door carefully behind him before regaining his pose. He knew he had given the King a lot to think on, but Daeron himself also had his mind spinning quickly as he thought back on the King's early life and the trauma he must have suffered, that he never managed to shake.

With the promise of war, the training yard had become less of a safe haven for Prince Jaehaerys, and instead he had taken to the Dragonpit for his training sessions. His Kingsguard protector Ser Petyr Waxley was putting the young prince through his paces, with the 13-year-old determined to get it right. All of his parries were perfect as the white cloak bombarded him with blows from the blunted tourney sword, with one of them just wide enough for Jaehaerys to put all of his strength into shoving it to one side before quickly bringing his sword across to Petyr's neck, hovering slightly away from it.

"Dead." The Prince grinned.

Ser Petyr nodded, stepping back and dropping his own arm. "Very good, My Prince. Your patience paid off." The pair moved over towards the side of the large chamber where their water pouches sat along with cloths to wipe the sweat away. "Now all you need is consistency and a level of anticipation. I am but one opponent who you will never need to fight in a true battle, the reason we change your tutors regularly is for you to get used to different styles and to adapt to us all."

"Ser Rolly is more aggressive." Jaehaerys began. "Whereas Ser Lucas is more defensive and wishes his opponent to attack first." The grin on his bodyguard's face showed Jae that he was correct. "And you like to toy with your opponent."

Ser Petyr shrugged. "There is no fun in a quick bout."

"But a greater chance of survival, Ser." A feminine voice echoed through the chamber from the doorway, and both male heads turned at the sound. Jaehaerys smiled as he saw his eldest sister strutting through the building. "As you are instructing my brother on how not to die, perhaps you could leave that lesson until he is older."

"Of course, Princess." Ser Petyr bowed his head towards the eldest child of the King. "My job is to train the Prince to protect himself, the enjoyment of the fight can come at a later date."

Jae snorted in amusement, but that only caused Visenya to turn to him sharply. "This isn't a laughing matter, Jaehaerys." She said firmly. "We are at war again and Daeron was your age when he marched into battle the last time the Stormlands rebelled."

"I'm as good as Daeron was then." Jae scowled. "Aren't I, Ser Petyr?"

The White Cloak didn't betray his feelings. "I was not here then My Prince, I cannot say."

"Jaehaerys is incorrect." Visenya stated bluntly, causing Jae to scowl once again. "Daeron was far better, though slighter in build. And his birth made him expendable in the eyes of many."

Jaehaerys knew that she didn't mean her eyes, but the words still stung. "So I am to simply sit here waiting for everybody to return?"

"Yes." Visenya told him. "Your Mother will need you close, and Father will need you here as a reminder to Jocelyn…" She sighed. "I should not speak of this. I must go."

"Where are you going?" Jaehaerys asked.

Visenya moved closer to him. Despite his young age he was already half a foot taller than his sister. "To Volon Therys." She said quietly. "This war will not be like the last. Tyrosh and Myr threaten my mother's family because I forever link them to the Iron Throne. They will need reinforcements."

"And the Golden Company can provide them." Jaehaerys nodded. "When will you be back?"

Visenya sighed. "From there I fly to Lys to explain the plans to my uncle. After that? I will be with your future family."

The Velaryon's. Jaehaerys had spent less time with Laena than he knew he should have since Aegon's death, citing his grief as the reason he would be poor company. "I heard a whisper from Criston Celtigar that Jocelyn is trying to break that betrothal." He stated quietly.

Visenya scoffed. "Criston Celtigar is a gossip, and less half the man that his namesake is." It was always strange hearing Visenya talk about her former betrothed Ser Cristian in such a positive light, but Jaehaerys had stopped asking questions about his sister's intimate life years earlier. "Jocelyn is angry because the rules on succession have been clear for centuries and when they have been ignored, war follows."

"Is that why you never stay for long?" Jaehaerys asked, realising instantly he sounded more like a child pining at being abandoned.

Visenya's features softened as she leant up to stroke Jae's cheek. "My age and my mother." She explained. "While I could never be contained in the Red Keep sewing and singing and longed for my own path, it was better for Aegon that I was out of sight, as it will be better for you too." She turned towards the steps down to the dragon caverns. "I need to go, Jae, but I promise I'll be back as quick as I can." She stood on her toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You be mindful of your lessons and listen to your mother!"

Groaning, Jaehaerys watched as his sister almost ran towards the steps down where Bloodwing was housed, and he sat back down leaning against the wall as the information settled in his brain. "Do you think Jocelyn will fight?" He asked his protector.

"I know not of what the Princess will do, My Prince." Petyr explained. "All I know is that I have been tasked with keeping you alive and teaching you to protect yourself. Whatever comes of the succession is your father's decision, all I can do is obey it." The White cloak held out a hand for Jaehaerys to grab, hoisting him back up to his feet. "And his current command is to train you, so get ready to go again."

Solemnly readying himself, Jaehaerys flicked his wrist around and swinging his sword before getting into his stance. War was coming one way or another he knew, and he would be ready and willing to fight.

The decision on King Lucerys' heir had been made once the areas surrounding the Red Keep had been overtaking by army encampments. The banners of all of the Crownlander houses could be seen flapping in the breeze from the King's balcony, and the sight of them all hardened his heart completely, knowing that once more he would be flying to war.

The decision had not been received kindly from Jocelyn, who had been increasingly brazen in her words when speaking to potential allies. Thankfully for the King the novelty of a 7-year-old girl being named heir was not catching with many of the Lords, but the Baratheon was becoming a problem once more, one that Luke knew he couldn't get rid of without risking an unseen stoking of rebellion, and also without seeming cruel.

Sighing, he allowed his squire, Alan Tarly, to finish with the final touches of his clothing, with the King adorning a fine and expensive black tunic and trousers that were detailed with golden vines snaking away from the central Targaryen sigil on his chest. "Arms up, Your Grace." The squire stated, and Luke did as instructed as his sword belt was wrapped around his waist, the familiar weight of both Blackfyre and Aegon the Conqueror's dagger being of great comfort to the King. "We are almost done, Your Grace, time for your cloak." Luke briefly lowered himself so that the grandson of Lord Randyll could wrap his velvet, golden cloak over his shoulders before clasping the black gold chain across his chest. "And your Crown."

"I can do that, Alan." Luke said kindly to the squire. "Go, get yourself ready."

Alan Tarly bowed his head before running off as Luke slowly walked over to the dressing table where the famous Valyrian Steel and Ruby crown of his ancestors sat. He ran his fingers over it gently before picking it up and placing it atop his head, ensuring that the largest of the ruby's was in the centre of his forehead. After one final look at himself in the mirror, Luke swirled away and walked briskly to the door, quickly flanked by Ser Rolly and Ser Jorah as the trio made their way down from his chambers to the Throne Room.

He was the last in as was to be expected, and as the doors opened the herald began to announce him, with Luke not waiting and instead walking down the golden carpet that led to his Throne. "All hail His Grace King Lucerys of House Targaryen. First of His Name. King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdom's and Protector of the Realm!"

As he walked down the room he noticed that the room was full to the brim with nobles from the Crownlands and bordering areas of the Reach, Riverlands and Stormlands. Lords, Ladies and their heirs all bowing towards him as he passed them. Up in the gallery he noticed his wife stood beside her Tyrell niece and nephews, while also up there stood Jocelyn Baratheon and his granddaughters. Happy enough that she would bare witness, Luke then focused his vision on the Iron Throne itself, only giving a glance of support to his son Jaehaerys, who was stood in the front row beside Lord Dayne, and Luke was pleased to see a golden cloak on his son's back.

Rising the seven steps that separated the Iron Throne from the main floor, Luke took his time in turning around and staring out at the gathering before he gently lowered himself into the Seat of Kings and waited just a moment more as the room fell into silence.

"This was meant to be a year of celebration." He began. "Twenty-five years ago, together with some of those I see gathered here today, and in others their close ancestors, we overthrew the stain of bastardy that threatened our lands. Instead, it has been a year of mourning. Prince Aegon was a beloved and noble man that every one of us would have been proud to see rule as King, but instead he was taken from us in cowardly circumstances. As a result, we march once more on to war on the morrow, and it is left to me to ensure that a once, smooth succession after my own death would remain as such." He took another pause to look down at Jaehaerys, who he now noticed had a purple dragon broach that had once belonged to Aegon nestled just beneath his shoulder. "As such, it is my wish to announce publicly and formally that Prince Jaehaerys of House Targaryen shall henceforth be titled the Prince of Dragonstone, and Crown Prince of the Iron Throne."

Jaehaerys, with a nudge from Ned, moved centrally so that he was close to the steps and knelt before the King. "I, Jaehaerys, Prince of Dragonstone, pledge my loyalty in sight of the Seven to His Grace King Lucerys as liege man of life and limb." The young Prince recited firmly.

Lucerys could not have been prouder of his son, smiling down as he said. "Rise, Prince Jaehaerys." The boy did as commanded. "Now I call upon the Lords and Ladies of my realm to pledge their own vow of fealty towards the Prince of Dragonstone, and trust that despite the adversity thrown at us, the Realm will remain as strong and united as it has always been under my reign."

Ned Dayne was first, followed by the Lords of the Small Council before it opened up further to the other Lords and Ladies within the Hall starting with Loras Tyrell. Luke sat there silently as the procession went on, taking a note of each and every person that spoke their words towards the 13-year-old. It took a while, but once the oaths had been sworn by the ruling nobles Luke looked up towards the gallery where Margaery was on her way down with Lyonel Tyrell and little Alyssa on either side. Firstly, Lyonel Tyrell knelt before Jaehaerys, pledging his own oaths as the heir to the Reach, and then Alyssa followed suit, repeating the words.

It was a masterful, unexpected plan on Margaery's part, and as his wife swore her own vow to her son, Luke looked up at the gallery and noticed a distinct absence of black hair. Happy that the matter was now settled with dozens of witnesses, the King's mind could now be solely focused on the battles to come, and he swore that he would meet those battles with the might of Valaxes.

So there we go… the identity of the Knight of Shells. Patrek Estermont was mentioned in the original story… Chapter 66 to be precise. Only a brief mention but one I needed to include when I was setting up this story's plot. My thoughts around a uniting villain here were always that I wanted them to be somewhat separated from the original story but for it all to make sense. The story goes that after Visenya abandoned her wedding to Ser Cristian Celtigar and they gained a Small Council position and a royally approved wedding, so when House Estermont were scorned because of Jocelyn eloping with Aegon they came with requests for compensation too, though they weren't backed by Shireen Baratheon and were outright refused. When it was clear that Alyssa was born only 6 or 7 months after the wedding, they rebelled. Patrek was the only living Estermont to not be in Westeros and involved in the war so he survived over in Essos fighting as a Sellsword, gaining allies over there.

The Daeron scene was originally from Luke's POV but I thought that being able to delve more into his feelings on Saella and his own circumstances were more gripping. He's a really interesting character given everything.

Something else that interests me is the succession issue. I guess its borrowed in ways from the Dance but there are key differences and I'm more interested in delving into the resentment and anger side of it. Enough people will think it spiteful of Luke despite the historical precedents after all…

I hope you all enjoyed the chapter anyway! Let me know what you thought.

Next Time: The fighting begins, and Jaehaerys grows frustrated at his role in the war.

Reviews:

Hail King Cerion: The Mystery Knight has certainly thrown a cat among the pigeons so to speak…

C.E.W: Jocelyn will not give birth within the story but it's certainly a thought for the future if I ever want to return to this world… the Stormlanders will have learned from their first attempt, yes.