Dance of the Dragonborn

by SlumberingVoid

Lady Eurwen is an Altmer who serves the Seven Kingdoms as Royal Battlemage and Mistress of the Arcane, maintaining strict neutrality and remaining above politics. Yet as she navigates the uneasy waters that form in the run-up to the Dance of Dragons, said neutrality becomes that much harder to maintain... Intended as a fix-it/crossover fic of The House of the Dragon.

112 AC, RED KEEP, KING'S LANDING

The Small Council was in session, discussing affairs of the realm as always. A stone table dominated the open, airy room, decorated with white basins that held an ornate coloured marble sphere, the symbol of office for each person seated at the table. At the head of the table sat King Viserys, an affable, cheery and warm-natured man, who was joking with his councillors as though seated at a dinner table rather than one for important matters of state. One man, however, was not in a joking mood; Lord Corlys Velaryon, Master of Ships and head of his illustrious and very wealthy house, sat with a grim expression, his silvery-white dreadlocks framing his powerful face.

"My lords," he said, breaking through the merriment. "I must draw attention to a matter I deem most urgent, concerning the alliance between the Free Cities of Essos."

He rose to his feet before any of them could reply, pulled out a map and unrolled it across the table.

"They have called themselves the Triarchy, and right now their forces have massed on Bloodstone and are currently ridding the Stepstones of its pirate infestation." he continued.

"Hm, fewer pirates plaguing our shores and trade routes." King Viserys replied. "This sounds like suspiciously good news, Lord Corlys."

"I wish it were so, your Grace, but I fear otherwise." said Lord Corlys.

"In what way, Lord Corlys?"

This inquiry came from the sole woman in the room, one of only two people seated on the side of the table that was to the king's right. Tall and willowy with golden skin, pointed ears and yellow eyes, Lady Eurwen was a powerful sorceress born to a people known as the Altmer in a faraway land and served the Small Council in the capacity of Royal Battlemage and Mistress of the Arcane, titles that she had held since the founding of the Seven Kingdoms.

"I know that the extermination of pirates is likely to sound good, but my concern is for what the Triarchy truly intend for that region." Lord Corlys went on. "The Stepstones are a major route on southern seaborne trade for the Seven Kingdoms and if they are to fall into the hands of the Triarchy, our ports will be beggared."

A concerned sniff rose from Lord Lyman Beesbury, the Master of Coin, but the others at the table did not react.

"Is there proof of this supposed ulterior plan?" asked Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King. "The Crown cannot respond to every potential shadowy plot, as you know."

"No, but my concerns are centred around a man named Cragas Drahar, the self-styled Prince-Admiral of this Triarchy." Lord Corlys continued. "He is a ruthless and cruel seafarer whose men call him The Crabfeeder due to his…..innovative way of punishing his enemies."

"How so?" asked Lady Eurwen.

Most men would have avoided the answer for fear of "offending her delicate, female sensibilities" but Lord Corlys was not most men.

"Those who do not perish in the battle, he nails to driftwood stakes and leaves to either drown with the tides or be eaten alive by crabs." he stated bluntly.

Lord Beesbury put a hand to his mouth whilst Grand Maester Mellos and Lord Lyonel Strong, the Master of Laws, adopted grim expressions.

"If he is merely inflicting this fate on pirates, let it be considered the gods' justice against those scum." said Otto Hightower dismissively.

"I agree, but what will happen once he runs out of pirates to stake?" Lord Corlys pointed out. "And even if he does little more than demand a toll from each Westerosi ship, it still would be foolish to allow the Triarchy to gain a strong foothold so close to our shores."

At that moment, the door of the chambers opened and Princess Rhaenyra, the king's only child, entered the room. King Viserys' face lit up at the approach of his beloved daughter, The Realm's Delight, as she was known.

"Ah, Rhaenyra! You are late." he admonished. "The King's cupbearer must always be punctual."

"Apologies, I was visiting Mother and lost track of time," replied the princess, pecking her father on the cheek.

"On dragonback?" inquired the king with a pointed sniff.

Rhaenyra made her way over to a nearby table set with pitchers of wine, picked one up and began to fill each councilmember's glass.

"What would you advise in response to this incursion in the Stepstones, Lord Corlys?" asked Lady Eurwen.

"A firm gesture of defiance." Lord Corlys replied. "Or an expedition to seize those islands and the shipping lanes before the Triarchy can gain a stronger foothold."

"You mean go to war with them?" asked King Viserys.

"I'm not sure that would be possible at this time," interjected Lord Beesbury. "A full-scale war with three of the Free Cities would not be inconsequential in cost."

"The Realm has been at peace for decades, Lord Corlys," said Otto Hightower. "Going to war over a few slain pirates to gain further glory for your house is not a prudent course for the Crown to follow."

The Master of Ships bristled at this assault upon his pride.

"This is not about a personal crusade, my Lord Hand, but an advocation for swift action that would benefit the Realm as a whole." he said. "How prosperous, wealthy and peaceful shall it remain once the Triarchy begins to target merchant shipping?"

"No more than it will if we go to war as you suggest, Lord Corlys." replied Otto Hightower.

Lord Corlys moved to interject but Lady Eurwen spoke first.

"Lord Corlys raises some pertinent points but for now, direct intervention in the Stepstones appears unnecessary." she said, addressing the famed Sea Snake directly. "Keep an eye on the situation developing there, Lord Corlys, and if it escalates to concerning levels, bring it before me and I will mark it a priority for the next council meeting if it convinces me."

From the tension in Lord Corlys' jaw this clearly did not satisfy him entirely, but it was enough for now to know that at least one other member of the Small Council was willing to hear him out so he resumed his seat.

"Also speaking of costs, your Grace, I wish to raise another matter concerning Prince Daemon." interjected Lord Beesbury. "At his urging, the Crown has invested significant capital in the retraining and re-equipping of his City Watch yet there has been no report from him regarding this. I was hoping you would urge your brother to fill his seat on the council and provide such a report."

"I am in agreement with Lord Beesbury," Lady Eurwen seconded. "Apart from the funding provided by the Master of Coin, Prince Daemon also insisted that I provide him with a handbook of spells for his men to learn and use in their duties, which I did against my better judgement. A report on how successfully this has been implemented within the Watch would go a long way to assuaging my doubts."

The King glanced pointedly at the empty chair that was supposed to be occupied by his brother, Prince Daemon, or The Rogue Prince as he was more often referred to.

"Do you both feel that my brother is distracted from his current tasks? And that his thoughts and energies are otherwise occupied?"

"Well, one would hope so, considering the associated costs." Lord Beesbury replied.

"And the inherent dangers of magic." Lady Eurwen agreed. "The spells I provided from each school, whilst basic, are not ones to be meddled with lightly and I would hope he drilled this into his men rather than just provide them with potent magic and let them run loose. A single rogue mage is dangerous enough, but a full garrison of them? I shudder at the thought and a report would go a long way to allaying my fears and doubts."

"I appreciate your concerns, both of you, and I shall endeavour to speak to my brother soon to get you your desired reports." King Viserys replied. "Rest assured that your gold and tomes went well-invested."

Neither Lord Beesbury nor Lady Eurwen were convinced, at least not without a full accounting in exhaustive detail before them, but it was clear that this matter was to be shelved for now.

"Shall we discuss the Heir's Tournament, your Grace?" asked Otto Hightower, actually smiling for once.

"I would be delighted!" King Viserys beamed. "Will the maesters' name-day predictions hold, Mellos?"

Grand Maester Mellos, an old and wizened yet very wise man, shifted a bit in his seat.

"Such things are difficult to predict in exacting detail, my King, but we have all been poring over the moon charts and feel that our prediction is as accurate as it can be." he replied evenly.

"Which brings me to another concern, my liege." interjected Lord Beesbury. "The tournament's cost is not negligible, so might it not be more prudent to delay it until the child is actually in hand?"

A weary sigh emanated from the final council member, Master of Laws Lord Lyonel Strong.

"I understand your reservations on this, Lord Beesbury, but most of the lords and knights feted for the lists are no doubt on their way to King's Landing already," he said. "To turn them away now after such a long journey would serve only to cost us face and by the time they returned to their holdfasts, the heir will already have been born. We may as well proceed as we are."

"Precisely. Thank you, Lyonel." replied King Viserys, tipping a nod of thanks to the Lord of Harrenhal. "The tourney will take the better part of a week, by which time my son will be born and we will have but more reason to celebrate."

"Forgive me, your Grace, but there is no way for us to predict the sex of the child before it is born into the world." Grand Maester Mellos pointed out.

"Of course, of course." King Viserys replied, waving a hand dismissively. "No maester can render such a firm verdict beforehand, but make no mistake. There's a boy in the Queen's belly, of this I am certain. And once he is born, my heir will put an end once and for all to this hand-wringing and ninnyhammering."

"As you say, your Grace." replied Grand Maester Mellos.

"Indeed. Now, if that is all, I think we can adjourn council for the day."

There was a grinding of chairs as each person rose, retrieved their marble of office and left the room. Lady Eurwen was not surprised to find Lord Corlys following her and slowed her pace so they could walk as equals.

"Lord Corlys, I know what you are going to say and I'm certain you know the answer as well." she said before he could even open his mouth. "The situation in the Stepstones is a potential concern, yes, but our king's attention is presently focused on one thing and to try and change his mind would be like trying to move the Wall."

Lord Corlys actually laughed.

"I must be losing my touch if I can be so transparent." he said. "But at least I've got you convinced."

"Don't get ahead of yourself, old friend." Lady Eurwen warned him with a wry grin. "You have me intrigued, not convinced. But as I said, keep an eye on the situation and keep me appraised and, if I feel that it warrants closer attention, I'll support you in the council."

Lord Corlys parted ways with her after a short further exchange of words and she continued on to her chambers, which were located atop one of the taller towers and contained all manner of arcane lore, tools and elements. She had thought about redecorating, since it had remained pretty much the same over the past century that she'd inhabited it for, but being the most senior official in the Realm apart from the Hand of the King meant she'd had little time to give the matter any serious thought. A small pile of raven scrolls sat in her in-tray and she immediately turned her attention to them.

As the Royal Battlemage and Mistress of the Arcane, Lady Eurwen's role in court was a combination of bodyguard, healer and administrator. She oversaw training of prospective mages, handled correspondence from respective mage guild halls and training facilities in all kingdoms, approved magical education curriculums and devised contingencies for the realm's magical defences. It had been slow-going work at first, given the explicit hostility magic users faced from followers of the Seven, but after a century of work she had successfully implemented a strong magical foundation via the celebrated Order of Healers, which trained exclusively in the art of Restoration; not even the most pious and anti-magical fanatics could successfully argue against mages who could heal wounds and illnesses that would otherwise guarantee death or being permanently crippled. There were those who resented a woman having such a high position, especially a foreign, unmarried one, but she ignored them, having encountered similar prejudices from her time on the Elder Council and also because her position was permanent and irrevocable by one of the first laws ever written, as long as she remained a strictly neutral actor. And she did; she took no sides in court, did not deign to play the so-called great game nor did she have any interest in politics, instead strictly following through on her role as a neutral administrator.

She had just finished with the final raven scroll when there was a knock on the door and in strode Otto Hightower.

"Lord Hand." she said simply by way of greeting.

The Hand of the King was the only position in the realm equal to hers in status, intended to act in concert, but she and Ser Otto rarely saw eye to eye, though their relationship was generally not hostile; they got along far better than with Daemon Targaryen, whom Otto despised (and whom the feeling was mutual for Daemon) and Eurwen disdained.

"Lady Eurwen," he said, giving a short bow. "Forgive my intrusion but there is a matter regarding His Grace that requires your attention, by personal request."

"What matter?" Eurwen asked, sealing the scroll bearing her reply and placing it in her out-tray.

"One that cannot wait and which I cannot speak of here." was the guarded reply.

Eurwen rolled her eyes; she did so despise all this double-talk and hemming and hawing at times. It made her heart ache for the North, where she could have an honest (if crude) conversation. Nevertheless, she got to her feet and indicated for the Hand to lead on to the king's chambers, where they found the king himself with Grand Maester Mellos and a young maester fresh from the Citadel, who were examining a small wound on his back.

"Is it healing?" the King asked, wincing as the young maester poked at the festering wound.

"It seems to have grown slightly in size, Your Grace." replied the Grand Maester.

The young maester scraped a small amount of pus off the surface of the wound, making the king wince again, then held out the implement for Lady Eurwen to take and examine.

"Can you say yet what it is?" asked King Viserys.

"Enquiries have already been sent to the Citadel, to check the texts there for any similar cases." replied the young maester. "What say you, Lady Eurwen?"

King Viserys jumped a little, having been unaware of her arrival, whilst the lady in question examined the pus sample before bending down to get a closer look at the wound.

"You brought Lady Eurwen?" exclaimed King Viserys. "Hardly necessary to disturb her for a small cut from sitting the throne."

"Yet small cuts can fell giants if not properly seen to, Your Grace." Eurwen replied. "Hrm. It does not seem too serious, but one cannot be too careful. I shall prepare a potion for you to take that should cause some improvement."

"You mean to subject me once more to your frightful tonics?" joked the King.

"Those frightful tonics spared you from dying a slow death from chills when you were but a lad, Your Grace." Eurwen replied with a chuckle. "Even kings need to take their medicine from time to time."

Whilst this was happening, Ser Otto was having a quiet conversation with Grand Maester Mellos.

"The King has been greatly stressed by both the upcoming tournament and the Queen's pregnancy, my lord. Sometimes, adverse humours of the mind can affect the body." the Grand Maester explained.

"Whatever it is, Grand Maester, has to be kept quiet." replied the Lord Hand. "There can be no hint of rumours that the King's health is anything but good."

"Then might I recommend that you allow Lady Eurwen to use her knowledge of healing magic and potions?" Mellos suggested. "I acknowledge that you have distaste for relying on magicks, but even the Citadel has agreed that they are most efficacious-"

"Yes, yes, whatever is required as long as it is kept secret as to why." Ser Otto said, sounding oddly strained for a moment.

The old man nodded before walking back over to where the King was still being examined.

"How long would this potion take to make, Lady Eurwen?" the King was asking.

"I can have it ready by tomorrow, Your Grace." Eurwen replied.

"In the meantime, perhaps a palliative measure may bring His Grace some relief." suggested Grand Maester Mellos. "A leeching, maybe?"

"Cauterisation may be more effective." said the younger maester, whose presence Eurwen only just realised.

"Ah, Orwyle!" she exclaimed happily. "It's good to see you."

The young man seemed very surprised to be recognised.

"Y-You as well, Lady Eurwen." he stammered. "Apologies, but I didn't think you'd remember me."

"How could I forget one of the most promising young students in alchemy?" replied Lady Eurwen. "I presume you continued with your studies in that regard?"

"Yes, my lady." replied Orwyle. "Spells were not my strong suit but potions were how I earned my first main link."

"Congratulations, maester. Now, you were saying something about cauterisation?" interrupted King Viserys, though he sounded more amused than cross at being forgotten for a friendly chat.

"Oh! Yes, sorry, Your Grace! Um, I believe that cauterisation may be more effective at healing the exterior wound, enough for Lady Eurwen's potion to help from the inside." the young Orwyle stammered.

"Cauterisation would be a prudent choice, Your Grace." Grand Maester Mellos agreed. "Though, it will be painful-"

"Do it." King Viserys interrupted him. "If it will work, just do it."

"As you wish, Your Grace." replied Grand Maester Mellos. "Orwyle, go and fetch the necessary implements."

Eurwen left the room then and headed to the Queen's apartments, deciding to check on her pregnancy whilst she was up and about. She found Queen Aemma reclining on a chaise-longue before the open doors of her balcony, hoping for a rare breeze to be tempted to enter the room. The Queen turned her head at the sound of the door opening and smiled on seeing who it was.

"Ah, Lady Eurwen. Forgive me for not rising, but my condition makes it difficult." she said, nodding meaningfully at the huge swell of her pregnant belly.

"You are the queen, my lady, you do not have to rise for anyone." Eurwen replied. "How are you feeling?"

Queen Aemma groaned.

"Please don't ask me that, otherwise I'll have to ask you to throw yourself out that window as I promised would happen to the next person to ask me how I was feeling." she joked.

"Even if that person was Rhaenyra?" was the pointed enquiry.

"Even then, though only because I trust in that infernal yellow beast to catch her before she hits the ground." Queen Aemma replied.

Normally such familiarity with royalty would be a severe breach of protocol, but Eurwen had literally been around as long as the throne itself and had been part of each prince, princess, king and queen's lives almost from birth, becoming a trusted friend and confidant to each one. She may not have the blood of the dragon, but she was practically family nonetheless.

"Your husband is very excited for this little one's upcoming birth and tournament." Eurwen continued, stroking the Queen's belly. "In fact, I'm not sure which one he's looking forward to more."

"Ha-ha! Well, I know which one I'm looking forward to." the Queen replied. "When I no longer have this baby in my belly."

"Not long to go, then." Eurwen reassured her.

The Queen smiled at her before the smile faded, replaced with a faraway look of mingled longing and grief.

"This is to be the last one." she said softly, almost to herself. "The last pregnancy. I can't…I can't take any more."

"Understandable. There is only so much a woman's body can take." Eurwen replied.

"Not just my body, Eurwen. My heart and soul as well." Queen Aemma said. "I've had so many pregnancies since Rhaenyra, none of which have borne fruit. All stillborn or not even born at all. So many children lost, I can't bear to keep going after this one."

"And you won't have to." Eurwen assured her, patting the back of her hand.

Queen Aemma smiled sadly.

"I wish that were so." she said. "But I fear otherwise. The Realm will desire an heir, a male heir, one who is not Daemon. And if there is not one, they will clamour until one is made."

"It will not come to that, my dear." said Eurwen. "Another Great Council can be called, if need be."

"With what candidates?" asked Queen Aemma. "The only options are either female or of such distant relation they can barely be called Targaryens."

"There is always a solution." Eurwen insisted firmly. "Never think that there is no hope. And do not burden yourself and your health with such thoughts. No matter what the birth results in, you will always have support."

This seemed to break Queen Aemma out of her malaise, but even the light conversation had tired her so Eurwen simply adjusted the Queen's pillows and pulled a light sheet over her before departing, her mind heavy with her own burdens. Queen Aemma was right, she thought. Without a clear male heir to the throne, one who was not the depraved and violent creature of whim that was Daemon, there would be significant unrest within the Seven Kingdoms, unrest that could not be afforded. Honestly, these archaic succession protocols really did irritate her sometimes. In her homeland of Summerset Isle, gender did not dictate who inherited and some of the greatest rulers of the Altmer had been queens. There were also human examples to draw upon in Empresses Alessia, who had founded the first of the Empires that came to rule, Kintyra I, who presided over a time of great peace and prosperity, and Katariah, who basically held the Third Empire together when her husband went mad and repaired many provincial grievances that left the Empire more unified than it had been in decades, if not centuries. Women could rule just as ably as men, it was an incontrovertible truth, if only they were granted the chance. But there was no time for such dark thoughts; for now, there was work to be done.

Eurwen was not exactly a morning person but knew that she would not have been woken early if it weren't for a very good reason, so the page-boy who roused her was spared her wrath. She was still less than pleased to hear why she had been woken up to attend an emergency Small Council meeting; apparently the Rogue Prince had indeed returned to King's Landing, had been in King's Landing for a full day without anyone apparently being any the wiser and inaugurated his return by leading his newly renamed "gold cloaks'' of the City Watch in a mass purge of the city's purported criminal population that also doubled as a practice run of the spells they'd learned. Thieves had lost hands, rapers had been gelded (the offending parts removed with bound swords and axes and the resulting wounds cauterised via fire spells) and murderers and cutthroats summarily beheaded on the spot personally by Daemon, armed with the Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister.

"An unprecedented roundup of criminals of every ilk, Your Grace." Otto Hightower said as they approached the council chambers. "Your brother apparently made a public spectacle of it, meting out the summary judgements himself. By the end of it, a two-horse cart was required to haul away the resulting dismemberments."

"Gods be good." the King sighed as two Kingsguard opened the doors for them to enter.

"I've said it before, Your Grace, that the prince cannot be allowed to operate with this kind of unchecked impunity." continued Ser Otto, only to trail off as he caught sight of who was sitting in the usually empty chair that was closest to the king's left.

Prince Daemon Targaryen, the king's younger brother and commander of the newly overhauled City Watch, sat slouched in the chair with an abominable lack of decorum, silver-white hair untidily strewn about his face and both streaked with soot and dried blood, still clad in his armour with a shiny gold cloak draped over his right shoulder.

"Brother." he said flippantly to the King before flicking his gaze to Eurwen and Otto. "Eurwen. Hand."

The King merely sighed in mild irritation whilst Eurwen pursed her lips and Otto half-growled in mingled anger and disgust before all three took their seats, placed their marbles of office (shiny gold for the king, minty green for Otto and deep blue with a silver inset like an eye for Eurwen) into their respective basins and settled in for business.

"So, what was this about my unchecked impunity?" Daemon asked with characteristic impertinence.

"You are to explain your doings with the City Watch." Ser Otto replied bluntly, eyes narrowed with disdain.

"Indeed, I am hoping to hear that last night's massacre had a point to it other than a bit of macabre theatre." Eurwen seconded.

"I was simply enforcing the Crown's laws, dear councillors." replied Prince Daemon. "Would you not agree, Lord Strong?"

The Master of Laws started slightly at being addressed out of the blue and did not reply immediately; some might take this to be a sign of slow-wittedness, but it was known to all around the table that the seemingly simple Lord of Harrenhal was actually very sharp-minded and rarely spoke unless it was after much thought rather than due to deficiencies in his cognitive function.

"My prince, I don't think that-" he began to say.

"Making a public spectacle of wanton brutality is hardly in line with our laws." Ser Otto cut across suddenly.

"Thank you for your opinion, Hand, but I believe I was asking Lord Strong, who is the Master of Laws and thus a bit more qualified than you to comment." Prince Daemon replied acidly. "Continue, Lord Strong, before you were so rudely interrupted."

"My prince, whilst the punishments were in line with the crimes I fear you may have gone slightly overboard in their deployment." Lord Lyonel continued. "You did at least make certain that the accused actually were guilty of the crimes they were punished for beforehand, I trust?"

"Of course." Prince Daemon beamed. "Each and every one of them was guilty and punished as the law decreed. Thieves are shortened a hand, rapers are bereft of their cocks and murderers deprived of their heads, by mine own hand as are the ancient ways of the First Men."

"As you say, my prince." Lord Lyonel replied stoically.

"The City Watch is not a sword to be wielded at your whim." Ser Otto pressed on. "You were installed as commander to make something useful out of both the Watch and yourself, not gallivant through Flea Bottom slicing bits off everyone in your way."

"It was not a gallivant, Hand, but rather a targeted operation with mind to the future of the city's security and the Crown's reputation." Prince Daemon replied, now looking quite irritated.

Aware of the intense hatred between the two men, Eurwen decided now was the best time to intercede.

"How so, Prince Daemon?" she asked.

"Nobles from every corner of the realm are right now descending upon King's Landing for my brother's tourney." Prince Daemon elaborated. "Many of them replete with fat coin purses and expensive jewels as they jockey for royal attention and instead make themselves appear as juicy pheasants to starving foxes. If any were to arrive here and wind up mugged, raped or murdered, it would cost the Crown hugely in terms of gold and goodwill. How are we to engender good relations with House Such-and-Such if Lord So-and-So gets knifed the minute he steps through the gates or Lady Something-or-Other gets raped five times before she even gets to the Red Keep?"

"And your mass mutilations are meant to prevent this?" Eurwen pointedly asked, though she could admit that he had a point.

"It might shock you to hear this but to many of the smallfolk who don't have the luxury of hiding behind red stone walls, King's Landing is seen as lawless and terrifying." Prince Daemon replied. "The capital city should be safe for all its people, resident or visitor, noble or knave."

"I agree." King Viserys piped up before fixing his brother with a severe look. "I just pray that you don't have to maim half of the capital city to achieve this lofty goal."

"Mmm, time will tell, dear brother." was the flippant reply. "By the way, Lady Eurwen, the spells you provided have been a great boon to the Watch and excruciatingly detailed reports on their implementation and the spending of Lord Beesbury's gold will be delivered to you and his offices within the week."

Eurwen jerked slightly in surprise and exchanged a glance with the equally baffled Master of Coin; how in blazes had the Rogue Prince known about that before either of them could bring it up? Nevertheless, it was what both of them desired and he seemed sincere in his promise so they both nodded wordlessly in thanks.

"I would applaud such devotion if only you showed it in every facet of your responsibilities." Ser Otto remarked, clearly not done with trying to get one over on Daemon. "Specifically, your marriage."

"What of it?" Prince Daemon asked.

"You have not been seen at Runestone or even in the Vale itself for quite some time." Ser Otto noted pointedly.

"Ha! I should think my Bronze Bitch is happier for my absence than my presence." Prince Daemon replied.

Eurwen grunted in annoyance, and not just at the lack of courtesy. Lady Rhea Royce, whilst not her closest of friends or even acquaintances, was nevertheless a woman of strength, conviction, dignity and honour who did not deserve to be spoken of with such disrespect.

"Lady Rhea is your wife," Ser Otto stressed. "And a good and honourable lady of the Vale."

"In the Vale, men are said to fuck sheep instead of women. I can assure you, the sheep are prettier."

"Dear me!" Lord Beesbury exclaimed, turning his head to the side in utter disgust.

The other councillors reacted similarly, Lord Strong closing his eyes with a pained expression, Lord Corlys and Grand Maester Mellos pursing their lips in distaste and Eurwen giving the Rogue Prince a glare that had once made Balerion the Black Dread recoil in fear when it was used on him.

"You took a vow before the Seven to honour your wife in marriage-!" Ser Otto began, voice rising in genuine anger.

"I would gladly give Lady Rhea to you, Lord Hightower, if you're in want of a woman to warm your bed." Prince Daemon sneered venomously. "Your own lady wife passed recently, did she not?"

That did it for the Hand of the King, who shot to his feet so fast that his chair shot backwards a couple of inches and actually seemed poised to jump over the table to strike Daemon, who simply smirked in satisfaction at successfully getting a rise out of his hated rival. And as much as Eurwen was disgusted by the Rogue Prince's conduct, she wasn't about to let blows be exchanged in the Small Council chambers.

"Enough, both of you!" she snapped. "Your behaviour is more befitting of children I need to take by the ear than statesmen of the Realm!"

Neither man's hatred seemed stoked but her comment did seem to jolt some action into the king.

"As entertaining as that image would be, I would prefer to settle things peacefully," he said. "Otto, you know well how much my brother loves to bait you. Must you rise to him so easily?"

The Hand of the King seemed to remember himself and sank back into his chair with notable aplomb.

"Apologies, Your Grace. I forgot myself." he said.

"It happens, my friend." King Viserys replied. "And you, Daemon, are out of order. Lady Rhea is a fine woman, as was the late Lady Eleanor, and should not be spoken of in such a manner."

"As you say, Your Grace." Prince Daemon replied without much conviction.

With peace restored for the moment, Eurwen mused on some things she'd heard and suddenly a plan of inspiration struck her.

"Speaking of the Vale, it brings to my mind some concerning whispers I've heard." she said.

"Like what, Lady Eurwen?" the King asked politely.

"The Lady Rhea Royce may not be popular with our Rogue Prince, but among the lords, ladies and smallfolk of the Vale it is a different story." Eurwen said. "As a result, the blatant disrespect shown to her by Prince Daemon has caused no small amount of resentment and offence."

"And I am supposed to care about this, why?" asked the Rogue Prince, causing Eurwen to fix him with her steeliest look.

"Because even if you heavily dislike it, the Vale is one of the kingdoms ruled over by your brother and for a member of the royal family to treat a popular member of one of its most highly regarded noble houses in such a fashion harms the Crown's image in the eyes of the Vale."

The Rogue Prince scoffed loudly.

"The bleating of sheep is of no concern to a dragon." he remarked dismissively.

"Yet if a thousand sheep bleat all at once, they can drown out even a dragon's roar." countered Lady Eurwen. "Marriages are supposed to engender peace and heirs, but if neither are likely to be forthcoming in yours to Lady Rhea-"

"The Wall will open to admit wildings before my Bronze Bitch's legs open to admit me." Prince Daemon said.

"-then perhaps an annulment is best pressed for." Lady Eurwen finished, managing not to grimace at the crudeness of that statement.

This resulted in something that Eurwen had never thought possible; the Rogue Prince at a complete loss for words along with both the King and his Hand looking like they'd been struck in the face by a catapult-launched boulder.

"A-An annulment?" stammered King Viserys, recovering first. "Is that not a bit extreme in response to a few discontented murmurs?"

"Actually, I would deem it the most prudent course of action, Your Grace." Lady Eurwen replied smoothly. "The marriage is not consummated nor, per the prince's rather tasteless remark, likely to be any time soon; an annulment would leave both spouses free and up for remarrying and restore some face with the Crown in the Vale."

Prince Daemon was still seemingly incapable of speech but his expression as he looked at Lady Eurwen was akin to a man dying of thirst in the desert who'd just seen an oasis materialise from the heat haze in front of him or a pious man of the Seven seeing the Mother herself descend from the heavens to bless him.

"Of course, we would have to secure support for the annulment from the Crown, the High Septon, the Eyrie and Lady Rhea herself and the prince would also have to make a formal apology for his treatment of the lady during said marriage," Lady Eurwen continued, causing Daemon to scowl. "But with the previous statement in mind, it seems the most prudent and rewarding course of action."

"I disagree, Lady Eurwen." said the Hand of the King, finding his tongue at last. "Marriage contracts are holy, considered binding by the Seven who are the dominant power in the Realm. I appreciate that given your foreign origins and lack of reverence for the Seven makes you blind to this, but it should not be ignored."

Lady Eurwen did not hide her offence at this, drawing herself up in her seat and glaring at the Hightower official with considerable anger. Whilst not a particularly reverent woman in general, she always made sure to be respectful of others' religions (even ones whose more devout members still called her a witch and thought she should be burned at the stake) and felt that asking for the same respect was hardly a tall order.

"I would thank you, Lord Hand, to leave my origins and religious persuasion out of this." she said in a voice as cold as the Wall. "I may not worship your Seven but that does not make me ignorant of them, and annulments may be pursued for an unconsummated marriage if the proper consent is secured, unless I am mistaken."

She wasn't, and all the men in the room knew it, but the Hand of the King was not a man who relented easily.

"Nevertheless, it could offend any number of houses and families in the Realm to break a royal marriage that was blessed in the light of the Seven." he persisted. "Possibly even the Great Houses and that would be disastrous."

"Two of the Great Houses of the Realm do not even worship the Seven in the first place," Lady Eurwen countered.

"That part is true," said Lord Strong, much to Eurwen's surprise. "The Greyjoys hold to the Drowned God and House Stark stays true to the Old Gods, as do most of their bannermen and even a small number of houses south of the Neck or who worship both, such as my own house. Some of the more pious may take offence, yes, but by and large I think most would not cause a stir and annulments are legal if consented to by the proper authorities."

"Aye, that is true, Your Grace." Lord Beesbury seconded. "There may have to be negotiations as to the return of the dowry, but apart from that I see no obstacles."

"And freeing up the prince to remarry could doubly secure the succession if this new marriage bears fruit." pointed out Lord Corlys, who had a gleam in his eye that Eurwen didn't entirely like.

"I'm all for anything that frees me from my Bronze Bitch." Prince Daemon helpfully supplied.

Ser Otto did not look happy to be outnumbered on this matter. Grand Maester Mellos seemed to have no opinion, instead gazing off into space as though deep in thought, but even alone he could still win if he persuaded the king, as it was the king's consent that mattered above all.

"Your Grace, the late Queen Alysanne, Seven rest her soul, laboured long and hard to secure this marriage between the prince and Lady Rhea." he said, making sure to stress certain words in a certain manner. "To undo one of her final acts may be seen as an insult to her memory, which even the famously cold Starks still respect."

King Viserys snapped his head around to glare at his Hand.

"My grandmother did labour to secure that match, yes," he said coolly. "But she was also a pragmatic woman who understood that sometimes even our hardest labours do not pay off and sometimes, it is better to start afresh rather than continue tending a barren plot. She even admitted that she and my grandfather made mistakes and didn't get everything right, so it was up to the new generation to put it right. And that is what I intend to do."

He turned to Daemon.

"If I give my consent to this annulment," he said. "I expect to see something come of it from you. I will free you of this match if you desire it so badly, but should I see fit to betroth you again then I want your oath that you will honour your commitment to it, even if I see fit to betroth you to a salt-wife or a hill tribeswoman or even a she-giant from Beyond The Wall! Do I make myself clear?"

He pointed a finger sternly at his brother, so close to his face that the Rogue Prince had to go cross-eyed to keep it in view.

"Inescapably clear." he said with an impertinent smirk.

"Very well, then." Viserys said with finality. "I hereby grant my approval to annul the marriage between my brother, Prince Daemon Targaryen, and the Lady Rhea of House Royce, as long as the Lady Rhea herself consents to it and there is no objection from House Arryn or the High Septon."

"Thank you, brother. I could kiss you." Prince Daemon said.

"If you try, I will have my Kingsguard kill you." was the trite reply.

"Then perhaps Lady Eurwen will consent to a kiss instead."

Eurwen gave him another deadly glare.

"If you try it, I will kill you." she said seriously.

Having actually seen Eurwen kill a man before (very painfully), Prince Daemon backed down.

"I will use my crystal ball to contact the Eyrie and speak with Lady Jeyne Arryn regarding the annulment." Eurwen continued. "Old Gods willing, I should have an answer before sundown."

"Very well." King Viserys replied, then turned to the Grand Maester. "Mellos, dispatch ravens at once to the Starry Sept and Runestone."

"My swiftest, Your Grace." replied the Grand Maester, nodding in affirmation.

Prince Daemon was practically bouncing in his chair, beaming like a child on his nameday. Eurwen rolled her eyes at this display, which allowed her to notice Otto Hightower's expression suddenly change from sour to devious.

"If this annulment is to go ahead, who is the prince likely to marry?" he asked pointedly.

Daemon's mirth and merriment froze and withered, replaced instead by a glare so fierce that Eurwen actually expected Otto Hightower's head to burst into flames and turn him into a human mimicry of the beacon atop his family's castle.

"Really, Otto, is there any need to discuss this before the ravens have even been sent?" asked the King in exasperation.

"Apologies, Your Grace, but I deem it a pertinent issue." replied the Hand of the King. "If for no other reason that we can perhaps find out why Daemon's marriage to Lady Rhea was such a disaster and endeavour to avoid that with the second one."

King Viserys made as though to reprimand him, then suddenly looked thoughtful.

"Hrm. I suppose you have a point there," he admitted. "I will not be giving my blessing for a second annulment regardless of circumstance, so perhaps it would be fruitful to get a definitive answer from my brother regarding what type of wife he's likely to do something with other than snipe and snarl."

He turned to Daemon with a meaningful expression on saying this, clearly expecting an answer.

"What exactly was it about Lady Rhea that made her such an unattractive partner for you?" asked Lady Eurwen.

"She was not of the blood of Valyria." Daemon replied after a long moment of silence.

"Is that all?" asked Lady Eurwen, genuinely baffled.

"I am the blood of Old Valyria, among the last of it." Daemon replied with venom and bitterness. "Why should I sully its heavenly purity with that half-breed Andal-First Man bitch?"

This caused a considerable stir in the room as aside from Daemon, Viserys, Corlys and Eurwen, each of the individuals within the room were either largely Andal, First Man or a mixture of both and both the King and Lord Corlys looked offended as well, since their wives were of mixed parentage as well (Queen Aemma had been born an Arryn whilst Princess Rhaenys had the blood of the mighty Durrandon line coursing through her thanks to her Baratheon relatives) and the insult covered their children too, by proxy.

"Prince Daemon," Lady Eurwen began, struggling to keep her temper under control, "Westeros was the land of the First Men long before Andals set foot here and then the domain of both for several millennia before Valyrians first came. To deny a marriage based on that is, to put it bluntly, utter foolishness."

There were sounds of agreement from all the others at this claim.

"More to the point, Valyrian brides are a bit of a rare commodity thanks to the calamitous Doom that wiped that land off the map." Eurwen continued. "Practically speaking, your options are limited."

She spoke the truth. The number of houses in Westeros with Valyrian ancestry could be counted on one hand and two of them were represented in this room alone, Targaryen and Velaryon. Of the remainder, House Celtigar had the proper bloodline yet was possessed of only sons and House Dayne claimed they weren't actually Valyrian at all in spite of looking it, had existed in Westeros since before Valyria was even inhabited and, finally, were Dornish to boot so any chance of a marriage with them was about as likely as House Blackwood and House Bracken meeting under the same roof without coming to blows. If none of those suited the only alternative would be Essos, where there were many of Valyrian descent thanks to the Freehold's massive expansion and conquests of the continent, but a foreign bride wouldn't endear herself to the famously xenophobic Westerosi. Gods, but she did so despise politics at times!

"I am aware of that." Prince Daemon replied. "So aren't you lucky that I already have one in mind."

It didn't take a genius to work out what he meant and King Viserys went almost purple in the face.

"Rhaenyra is not an option!" he vehemently declared.

"She is the blood of Old Valyria, brother. And it would hardly be the first marriage of its kind in our family." replied the Rogue Prince.

"Rhaenyra is fourteen!" King Viserys exclaimed. "A maid only recently flowered!"

"I'm patient. I can wait."

Eurwen decided to interject before the king throttled his impertinent brother.

"The hand of the princess is not up for discussion for anyone at this present time," she said in a tone that brokered no argument. "That being said, however…Lord Corlys, you have a daughter who is of a similar age to Princess Rhaenyra, correct?"

The Master of Ships jumped a little at being addressed so directly out of the blue but drew himself up in his chair proudly.

"I do," he confirmed. "My daughter, Laena, is only two years older at six-and-ten but she and the princess have gotten on quite well in the few times they've met."

Lady Eurwen remembered the Lady Laena herself from two years past; in spite of her young age and the seahorse sigil upon her dress, the young Velaryon had had an unmistakable fire of the dragon within her and spoken fondly of dashing princes and her determination to tame and ride Vhagar, the last of the Conqueror's dragons that still lived and which by last estimation was only slightly smaller than Balerion was when he died. Loathe as she was to inflict any lady with the Rogue Prince, particularly another who probably wouldn't let his fire eclipse her own, Eurwen thought it the best possible match given the circumstances.

"I'm glad to hear that." she said. "Now, and this is purely hypothetically speaking, should the annulment of Prince Daemon and Lady Rhea's marriage be successfully passed, a betrothal between the prince and the Lady Laena of House Velaryon is perhaps something to be considered."

Her golden eyes roved down the table, closely scrutinising each man's expression. Lords Strong and Beesbury, as well as the Grand Maester, seemed to be ambivalent and the King himself looked oddly thoughtful, but it was the Hand of the King and the Master of Ships whose reactions she was particularly interested in; Lord Corlys' eyes gleamed with desire and ambition whilst Ser Otto looked sour.

"A new betrothal so soon after an annulment?" he asked pointedly. "That would raise many eyebrows about impropriety."

"No more than the usual twittering every time a new heir or bastard gets birthed." remarked Lord Strong. "It would go a long way towards stabilisation. Heal the bitter divides between the Great Council factions that persist even today."

"I am more concerned for the reputation of Lady Laena." Ser Otto said. "If she is entered into a betrothal with Prince Daemon, it may lead some to believe that the lady's virtue was sullied beforehand-"

There was a loud screech of wood on stone as Lord Corlys shot up out of his chair.

"Are you accusing my daughter of being prone to infidelity and looseness?" he seethed, breathing like an enraged aurochs. "How dare you?! I have had sailors' tongues cut out for less!"

"Peace, Lord Corlys, please," said King Viserys. "I am certain Otto meant nothing of the sort."

"Of course not, Your Grace, I am simply voicing potential speculations that could arise." replied Ser Otto. "The Rogue Prince's reputation for flouting rules and sensibilities-"

"For the record, despite my reputation for partaking of women I have in fact avoided breaking one of your ridiculous sensibilities and never fathered any bastards." Prince Daemon interjected, glowering across the table at Ser Otto. "I also have never been anywhere near Driftmark, where I assume the lady in question currently lives, for the past ten years. For me to have sullied her without ever being near her would be quite the accomplishment."

"A betrothal does not necessarily mean a marriage." Eurwen pointed out. "At least not immediately. A formal introduction followed by a courtship, then a betrothal and formal marriage once Lady Laena is of an age where a child could be birthed without too much risk to her health. You know how much I have warned against pregnancies before the bride turns twenty due to said risks."

"Are we not getting ahead of ourselves here?" Ser Otto interjected. "I'm seeing a lot of planning going into what was supposed to be a hypothetical scenario."

"Best to solidify all details beforehand, even if the plan never comes to fruition." Eurwen replied. "But you are right in wrapping it up; Prince Daemon, would you be amenable towards a long-term courtship, betrothal and eventual marriage to Laena Velaryon?"

Prince Daemon tilted his chair back and laid his feet upon the council table.

"I would not be averse to it." he said.

"And you, Lord Corlys, would you feel the same way?" Eurwen asked, turning to the man in question.

The Master of Ships couldn't quite disguise his pleasure at this turn of events; even if it did not directly place his blood on the Iron Throne, House Velaryon would still be possessed of a much surer and closer link to it and any children born of the union would be royalty.

"I would, but I would first need to discuss it with my lady wife," he said. "Rhaenys may love me even in my decrepit old age, but if I were to betroth our daughter without her consent or even knowledge…..well, I should hope she kills me before feeding me to Meleys."

"I am certain she wouldn't kill you, Lord Corlys." Eurwen replied with a smile. "Perhaps maim you a bit, but not kill."

"And what of you, brother?" Prince Daemon asked, turning to the king. "Will you consent to this match?"

King Viserys responded by pushing Daemon's feet off the table, almost causing him to overbalance and topple over backwards in the process.

"If it will finally get you to settle down and do something productive with your time, then I will consent to this match," he said. "But I want it understood by all of you that nothing will be acted upon until we've heard back from the Eyrie, Runestone and the Starry Sept. Understood?"

"Yes, Your Grace." they all answered in unison.

"Very well, then. I think we can adjourn."

They all rose to their feet apart from Prince Daemon, who remained lounging in his chair whilst staring very intently at Eurwen.

"What?" she asked him bluntly.

"You free me from being shackled to my Bronze Bitch then advocate for a marriage to someone I may actually like whilst making Otto Hightower look like he's trying to shit out a melon in less time than it takes me to get him like that." the Rogue Prince replied. "Careful, Lady Eurwen, or I might actually start to like you."

"Don't flatter yourself, Prince Daemon." Eurwen replied. "I'm not doing this to curry favour with you, I'm doing it because it could heal several rifts in the Realm, finally get you to start acting responsibly and because, to put it bluntly, I consider Lady Rhea Royce a friend who deserves far better than you."

His smug smirk flickered slightly and his eyes blazed with that internal fire for a moment, then he chuckled and fixed her with an oddly intent look.

"Such fire in you," he said. "You could almost be a dragon yourself."

Eurwen simply sniffed loudly and stalked out of the room, hiding a secret smirk from Daemon as she walked away.

"Oh, you have no idea." she said quietly under her breath.

Even if she hadn't ended up in the North on first coming to Westeros (if she ever got back to Tamriel and that dratted Moth Priest still lived, she'd have him dangled from the top of White-Gold Tower by the waistband of his smallclothes), Eurwen still would have shared their disdain of tourneys. Tamriel was hardly short of lavish spectacles (jubilees, festivals, magical phenomena, Daedric rituals and so forth) but they all tended to serve practical purposes. Tourneys, on the other hand, were just a waste; waste of time, waste of money, waste of lives and horses and strength. And as Lord Beesbury and Queen Aemma had both pointed out, it was to celebrate the birth of the heir they did not currently have and, considering the track record of royal pregnancies, might not get.

That said, it was a respite from her constant workload and an opportunity to speak personally with numerous noble houses that had decided to attend. The matter involving Prince Daemon and his annulment had borne fruit; both Lady Jeyne Arryn and Lady Rhea Royce had given their consent almost immediately, the latter's reply containing more than a few choice words that had almost made poor Lord Beesbury faint when Daemon insisted on reading them aloud. Oldtown had taken longer to reply and even though the High Septon had given his consent, there were rumours that certain members of the Most Devout (who possessed close ties to the Hightowers) had leaned heavily on him to refuse. There were times when the lines between politics and religion became so blurred that they might as well not exist at all.

The stands at the tourney field were already filling fit to burst with nobles, dressed to the nines in the finest silks and satins and proudly bearing their house colours. Eurwen herself sat in the royal box, befitting her status as a Small Council member, and in the row where the king himself would sit, a status reserved for only four others; Ser Otto, as Hand of the King, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, the king's cousin and one-time rival claimant to the Iron Throne, and her husband, Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Master of Ships. At this moment, all of them but the king himself was present and so the attendees in the box could mill around and chat with each other. Lady Eurwen took the opportunity to steal across to the other side of the box and speak to Princess Rhaenys, a former student of hers and a formidable battlemage.

"Princess Rhaenys, how does the day greet you?" she asked, bowing to the Velaryon matriarch.

"Well enough, Lady Eurwen." Princess Rhaenys replied, smiling warmly at her former teacher. "My husband informs me that you are to blame for my daughter now being tied to the infamous Rogue Prince."

Eurwen suspected that one of the reasons why House Stark had supported Princess Rhaenys at the Great Council was because of her very blunt and direct way of speaking, likely inherited from her Durrandon ancestry.

"I freely admit it, Princess," she said. "Though seeing as Lord Corlys retains all four limbs, you cannot have objected too strongly."

The Sea Snake chuckled and Princess Rhaenys' frosty expression thawed into a smile.

"Indeed not." she admitted. "Daemon is a distasteful man but he will at least not stifle Laena's inborn fire, nor discourage her from her single-minded pursuit."

"She still seeks to find and tame Vhagar, then?" Eurwen asked.

"She is a Velaryon, she will always seek the greatest prize." replied Princess Rhaenys with a fond smile at her husband, who returned it.

"And a Targaryen, my love. Why should she be content with scraps when she can have a queen?" he said, kissing his wife's hand.

Laena herself was called over from her seat in the row just below theirs, accompanied by her younger brother Laenor. At three-and-ten, only a year younger than Princess Rhaenyra, he was possessed of both youthful handsomeness and awkwardness, cocoa-brown skin complemented perfectly by his white-blond hair and deep blue tunic. He bowed a little awkwardly but was otherwise the perfect little gentleman. His sister Laena, on the other hand, had grown from the demure little girl of twelve whom Eurwen had last seen into quite the young beauty, her hair styled into silvery ringlets and wearing a dress in a magnificent shade of aqua.

"Lovely to see you again, Laena, and a pleasure to meet little Laenor for the first time." Eurwen said, smiling at each child.

"A pleasure indeed, Lady Eurwen." replied Lady Laena, sinking into a perfect curtsey. "I am told it is you who brokered my betrothal with Prince Daemon, for which I thank you."

"I merely suggested it, young one," Eurwen said humbly. "The actual brokering was left up to others. I am relieved to hear that you are pleased with it, however. And I also hear that you still endeavour to claim Vhagar."

The young lady's entire demeanour lit up at the mention of the great she-dragon; yes, fiery indeed.

"Yes! In fact, Prince Daemon has offered to fly me on the back of Caraxes that I might find her more easily." she said eagerly. "Old and huge though she may be, she is faster than even my father's swiftest fishermen and vessels."

"Which you were taking without permission to search for the largest dragon." remarked Lord Corlys with a fond smile at his daughter. "I swear, you vex me so that I fear my hair will fall out before it's time."

"I am your daughter, Father. Vexing powerful men is part of my nature." was the glib reply.

This set off everyone in laughter, following which Eurwen engaged Laenor in a conversation about his own dragon, a pale silver-grey beast he had named Seasmoke. Said conversation was interrupted by the arrival of King Viserys, prompting everyone to head to their seats. The crowd erupted in cheers at the sight of the king, who smiled and raised his arms, basking in their applause and adulation, before motioning for silence.

"Thank you, you! And a hale and hearty welcome!" he called out. "I know many of you have travelled many long leagues to be here for this tournament, so I won't bore you with a speech as long as the Kingsroad!"

There was a polite outbreak of laughter at this.

"When I look at all the fine knights gathered here, I see a group without equal in our histories." the king continued. "And this great day is made only more auspicious by the news that I gladly share: Queen Aemma has begun her labours! May the luck of the Seven shine down upon all combatants!"

Applause and cheers almost drowned out the final sentence, which made Eurwen shift nervously in her seat. Given the importance of this birth and how the previous ones had gone, she would have preferred to be in the birthing room with the queen so as to render aid as quickly as possible but the king had assured her that Grand Maester Mellos and his chosen team of maesters and midwives (all trained in Restoration, naturally) would be more than sufficient and that he wanted the rest of the council in attendance at the tourney so as to promote the image of a united rulership. So she buried her discomfort far beneath and settled into her chair to watch the proceedings.

Knights rode against each other time and time again, lances and shields shattering into splinters on impact. Eurwen found it terribly boring, focusing instead on the colours and blazons worn by each knight; Lefford, Lannister, Caron, Tully, Tarly, Frey, Corbray, Redfort, Manderly, quite the diverse bunch. Her interest was only truly piqued by a knight whose shield bore a blazon she didn't know (nine black pebbles on a field of red) and who wore cheap, cobbled-together armour that had obviously seen battle. Whoever he was, he proved himself an able rider as his lance struck a Tarly knight so hard the men flew right out of his saddle and landed several feet away from where his horse had been. The mystery knight brought his horse in front of the royal box and bowed; Eurwen noticed Princess Rhaenyra, seated in the very front row with her companion Lady Alicent Hightower, lean forward to inspect the knight with clear interest.

"A mystery knight?" she heard the princess ask aloud.

"No, He's a Cole, from the Stormlands." replied Lady Alicent. "They're quite new, only two generations old."

"Ah, that would explain why I've never heard of them." Princess Rhaenyra said.

The next contender approached the royal box, clad in steel armour that had been artistically blackened and offset with a yellow shield that bore a black crowned stag; Lord Boremund Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands and a fierce, belligerent warrior even in his older years.

"Princess Rhaenys Targaryen!" he called out in his booming voice. "I would humbly ask for the favour of The Queen Who Never Was!"

Eurwen winced as she glanced down the row at the lady in question, who did not seem to mind the use of the nickname that she'd been bestowed with in the wake of her failed claim for the throne at the Great Council. Lord Corlys, on the other hand, scowled as his wife took up a wreath of blue flowers and walked over to the railing to where Lord Baratheon was holding up his lance.

"Good fortune to you, cousin." Princess Rhaenys said as she placed the wreath on his lance.

"I would gladly take it if I thought I needed it." was the glib reply.

As Princess Rhaenys returned to her seat, Eurwen heard Ser Otto lean over and speak discreetly to King Viserys.

"You could have Baratheon's tongue out for that, you know." said the Hand of the King.

"Bah! Tongues will not change the succession." replied King Viserys with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Let them wag."

Eurwen turned her attention back to the joust, keeping an ear open but catching nothing more than Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Alicent swapping court gossip. Lord Baratheon kicked his horse into motion but it was the Cole knight who took the victory, his lance strike smashing against Boremund's shield and launching the Lord of Storm's End right back in his saddle to topple out of it and hit the ground hard, where he lay groaning and gasping for breath. Impressive, Eurwen thought as Princess Rhaenyra called over her sworn sword, Ser Harrold Westerling.

"What do you know of this Ser Criston Cole, Ser Harrold?" she asked.

"I'm told that Ser Criston is the common-born son of Lord Dondarrion's steward, Princess, but nothing apart from that and the fact that that makes both of the Baratheon lads he's unhorsed now."

"Defeating both his current and future Lord Paramount on the tourney field, eh? Hm, someone to keep an eye on, perhaps." idly mused the princess.

Eurwen agreed, eyeing the knight in question with interest as he pulled up his visor, revealing a young handsome face with features that were unmistakably Dornish. Likely born from a union between a Dornishwoman and his Marcher father, Eurwen surmised; that and his common birth would make him quite at risk from the wrong kind of people for this performance in the lists.

The field was cleared for the next round; a dozen knights all rode onto the field and formed a line as the Master of Revels strode out onto the field, resplendent in reversed Targaryen colours of black on red. He held out his arms, basking in the crowd's adulation, then turned to the royal box and began to proclaim loudly.

"Next, Prince Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the City, will choose his first opponent!"

The Rogue Prince himself rode onto the field atop a coal-black stallion, as unruly a beast as he was, and rode slowly up and down the line of knights, scrutinising each one. He passed over Tully, Lannister, Mallister, Darklyn, Corbray, Manderly, Tyrell, Cole, Lefford, Bolton and finally halted before a knight who wore a helmet with a tower-shaped crest and a green tabard bearing a tower with a blazing beacon at its summit. Eurwen couldn't help but press a hand against her forehead as the prince lowered his lance to point at this knight, who nodded his helmeted head in acceptance.

"For his first challenge, Prince Daemon chooses…..Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King!" proclaimed the Master of Revels.

"Oh, gods. This can't end well." Eurwen heard Lord Corlys groan from his place at the end of the row.

Lady Alicent had gone pale and stone-faced as she watched her eldest brother be selected by the prince who loathed their entire house and their father in particular.

"Five gold dragons on Daemon." Eurwen heard Lord Beesbury whisper behind her.

Eurwen turned in her seat to look in surprise at the Master of Coin, who was normally a very frugal man in all matters of money and also happened to be betting against his liege lord's family. The Lord of Honeyholt met her eye and glanced nervously at Otto Hightower's back, but Eurwen simply smiled and put a finger to her lips before turning back to the field. Prince Daemon had ridden his horse up to the railing and held up his lance.

"Lady Laena, my beautiful betrothed, it is said that Houses Hightower and Velaryon are equal in some aspects." he said. "Kindly grant me your favour so that I may prove them wrong."

Ser Otto inhaled with a sharp hiss as Lady Laena rose gracefully to her feet, slid a wreath of wrapped seaweed and pink thrift flowers onto Daemon's lance and then, perhaps as an afterthought, daringly kissed the tip of the lance for good measure. A few scandalised gasps arose from the crowd but Prince Daemon's smirk only grew wider and he tipped his betrothed a wink before heading to the other end of the field.

"Goodness me, how unseemly!" a noblewoman further down remarked. "And here I thought she had such good breeding."

"What do you expect? She is willful as her mother, the Velaryons never know to put women in their place." agreed a nobleman who was probably her husband.

Eurwen wondered how both of them could be so foolish as to forget that said Velaryons were in earshot and it was with great amusement that she watched them go pale as little Laenor Velaryon shot up out of his seat, the seahorse sigil proudly emblazoned on his tunic pocket, and brandished his fists at the nobleman.

"How dare you! That is my sister and my mother, a princess of the blood, whom you insult!" he proclaimed angrily. "Apologise at once, ser, or I shall seek redress!"

The nobleman looked very taken-aback and offended at being threatened by a mere slip of a boy, but Lord Corlys cleared his throat with a loud rumble to remind the man that he and his formidable, dragon-riding wife were sitting right behind him and the nobleman promptly apologised. Laenor resumed his seat with an angry expression, which melted somewhat when his sister patted him on the arm in thanks.

"How gallant of young Laenor to spring to his family's defence." remarked King Viserys. "You must be very proud, Lord Corlys."

"Eternally, Your Grace." Lord Corlys replied.

The two combatants had taken up positions at opposite ends of the field and now kicked their horses into action. Lances collided against shields and exploded into splinters but whilst Ser Gwayne remained upright in his saddle, Prince Daemon was very nearly thrown from his and only barely regained his balance. Eurwen glanced at Otto and saw him grinning smugly at his son's near-victory over his hated rival…..which vanished as Daemon regained his seat, snatched a new lance from a squire and used this one to send Ser Gwayne flying from his saddle via a brutal impact with the lance to his chestplate. Ser Gwayne hit the ground hard and did not move, his tabard torn and the metal chestplate beneath it caved in, whilst in the stands Lady Alicent and Ser Otto were both on their feet, the former staring at her brother's prone form and the latter glaring viciously at the victorious Daemon, who was prancing his horse back and forth with his broken lance held high in triumph. Healers ran to the side of Ser Gwayne and began to administer aid, hands glowing with soft golden light that was a signature of Restoration spells. When the Hightower knight moved slightly and groaned, an audible sigh of relief emanated from the Hand of the King.

"Thank the gods for your healers, Lady Eurwen." King Viserys remarked. "Perhaps we might finally have a tourney where nobody dies, or at least isn't maimed for life."

"Here's hoping, Your Grace." Eurwen replied.

"And perhaps this will finally make Ser Otto see the virtues extolled of your Restoration magics." remarked Princess Rhaenys.

Eurwen didn't reply to that but knew what the princess was referring to; Lady Eleanor Hightower, Ser Otto's late wife, had been denied access to healers on her husband's orders because he disliked magic and felt that she should pull through it on her own, for the Seven would give her the strength to survive an illness without the aid of heathen magics, a belief shared by many of the older pious Seven worshippers. When the poor woman had died of her illness it had been a sad occasion, but much whispering had been made of how the Hand of the King had refused his wife treatment that would probably have saved her. Eurwen privately agreed with them, for Lady Eleanor's malady had been easily curable by either a spell or potion, but for the sake of basic decency and their working relationship she had not spoken a word in that regard. But she wasn't a fool; Ser Otto had been wounded in every way, his pride and religion reduced and her own position and reputation been shown in a better light without intending it. That was not something he would forget any time soon, even if their interactions had been polite and businesslike up to now.

The next list, a Darklyn man-at-arms against an Estermont knight, saw the tourney's first blood drawn. The knight, furious at being unhorsed by the lesser man, dragged him off his horse and began pummeling him with his helmet, eventually hacking the man's skull in with a hatchet. This was shortly followed by a Corbray being beaten to death with his own shield, the Bolton's head obliterated with a mace and the Lannister fatally concussed against the railing.

"And the day grows ugly," Eurwen heard Princess Rhaenys remark from her seat.

"Is this truly appropriate for celebrating the arrival of our future king? With wanton violence?" Lord Corlys said.

"Are you surprised, Corlys?" his wife asked, casually examining her fingernails. "There hasn't been a war since Maegor's end and that was some seventy years ago. These knights are all as green as summer grass who know nothing of real war, yet they're sent here with fists full of steel and balls full of seed and we expect them to act with honour and grace. It's a marvel that war didn't break out at first blood."

Eurwen watched with distaste as the small massacre ended, a dead Mallister dragged off the field leaving a trail of blood whilst one of the poor pages finally lost his lunch off to the side. Gods, what a pointless waste. Her attention was then caught by a maester, an older one with a white beard, who looked very pensive as he approached the Hand of the King and whispered in his ear. Ser Otto's expression turned grave and he nodded to the maester, who then turned to her.

"What has happened?" she demanded.

His answer had her shooting up out of her seat and moving as quickly as she could out of the royal box before he was even done speaking. Her horse, a beautiful snow-white mare from Highgarden, was already saddled and waiting for her and she hauled herself up into the saddle just as King Viserys came hurrying out of the arena and piled into a carriage. Eurwen barely even paused to arrange her robes before kicking the horse into gear and the white mare at once took off like a bolt from a scorpion. People shrieked and jumped aside as she rode hard through the streets, cursing herself all the while for not firmly putting her foot down and insisting that she be present at the birth from the start. She rode into the Red Keep's courtyard like a clattering wind, threw the reins to the first stableboy who approached and jumped down from the horse without even waiting for the block to dismount. Another maester stood waiting and she descended upon him like a wrathful harpy.

"Queen Aemma, where is she?!" she demanded of him without preamble.

"In her chambers, my lady-"

She didn't allow him to finish but instead pushed past him and ran into the keep, one fist gripping the skirts of her gold-trimmed blue robes and pulling them up so that she could run without risk of tripping over them. Up a staircase and down a corridor, down another staircase and along two more corridors (curse Maegor to Sithis for building this castle to be so complicated!) until finally she heard the queen's voice screaming in pain, made a beeline for the room and fair exploded over the threshold.

Within the room was a scene of panic; Queen Aemma laid upon the bed, clad only in a white shift and screaming her lungs out as several midwives tried in vain to soothe her whilst maesters hovered around like dragonflies. Grand Maester Mellos saw her and came striding over.

"What is wrong?" she demanded.

"A breech birth, my lady." Mellos replied. "We have attempted to turn the babe but each time the queen is beset with agony and we stop for fear of causing her damage."

Ice clawed its way up Eurwen's spine; breech births, where the baby was poised to come out feet first instead of head first, were incredibly risky to the health of both mother and child.

"Why was I not summoned instantly?" she demanded.

The old fool began to stammer something but she waved him aside, instead striding over to the bed (shooing aside the midwives) and taking the queen's hand.

"It's all right, my queen. I'm here." she said soothingly.

"E-Eurwen…..thank the gods….." the queen whimpered. "Please, please help me."

"I will." Eurwen promised her. "They need to turn the babe to get it out-"

"NO! No! No, please…hurts…hurts too much….."

"I know it does, but I'll make sure it doesn't hurt." Eurwen told her. "I promise."

She took the queen's hand in both of hers and called upon her magic, every ounce of knowledge and mastery she possessed over the most difficult art. Soft golden light began to shine from her hands, washing over Queen Aemma's body; her screams and moans of agony began to trail off, the pain vanishing as the Restoration magic soothed her sore body.

"Aemma!"

King Viserys had arrived, looking frantic. At the sight of his wife in obvious pain, he started forwards but was held back by the attendants.

"Stay back, Your Grace!" Eurwen snapped, not sparing him any more consideration than necessary as all her focus was needed. "Mellos, begin turning the babe! Now!"

The king looked ready to fight his way past them all but reluctantly conceded and allowed them to do their work; Queen Aemma only let out a slight moan of discomfort as they carefully did their work, turning the child within so as to safely deliver it.

"That's done it!" Mellos exclaimed after carefully feeling the lower half of Aemma's belly. "The head is ready!"

King Viserys had reached the end of his restraint and practically shoved Mellos aside to hurry to the queen's other side.

"Aemma. Aemma, I'm here." he said.

"Viserys…" she whispered, feebly moving her head in the direction of his voice. "Viserys…"

"I'm here, Aemma. It's going to be all right." he said, taking her hand in his and pressing a kiss to it. "The babe has been turned. You just need to push."

"No…please, I don't want to." Aemma piteously pleaded. "Please, don't make me…"

"You must, my love." Viserys implored her. "There's no other choice."

Eurwen paused in her application of healing magic and lowered her head towards Queen Aemma's.

"I will keep the pain from hurting you." she promised. "But you must push, Aemma."

Aemma had been in failed labour for almost three hours now, she was exhausted and weak and in pain and it took nearly all the strength she had to nod her head. She took a deep breath, relaxed her muscles and then pushed. A wave of agony washed over her just ahead of the soothing healing magic and she screamed.

"I can see the head, Your Graces!" Mellos exclaimed. "It is coming, keep pushing!"

"Focus on me, Aemma." Viserys said. "One…two…..three…..PUSH!"

With Eurwen and Viserys providing encouragement, Aemma found the strength to push. Once, twice, thrice more and then…. the room was filled with the wailing and squalling of an infant.

"What news, Mellos?" Eurwen asked, not glancing away from Aemma.

Mellos cut the umbilical cord, then wrapped the child up in a clean cloth hastily provided by the senior midwife.

"Congratulations, Your Graces." he said. "A boy, as you predicted."

Viserys looked up at the wrapped babe held securely in the Grand Maester's arms, face alight with joy which he then turned upon Aemma.

"A boy. As I promised, Aemma." he half-whispered. "You did it, my love."

Queen Aemma was thoroughly exhausted by her labours, but managed to raise her head high enough to get a glimpse of her newborn son and a smile spread across her face.

"A son…." she said. "My….my boy…..Baelon….."

"Baelon, my love. After my father." Viserys said, eyes shining.

Eurwen was smiling too, happy for the royal couple….until Queen Aemma slumped backwards in the bed and her breathing became erratic.

"Aemma? Aemma! Aemma, what's happening?" King Viserys demanded, joy fleeing in fear for his wife.

Eurwen was already frantically administering to the queen, trying to find out what was wrong.

"Her heart is weakening." she said, listening closely and hearing the organ's beating grow slower and slower. "Healers, with me! We must try and restore it to normal rhythm, quickly!"

The healers immediately moved to comply, placing their hands upon the queen's body and calling upon their own spells. Just as she felt Aemma's heart begin to beat more normally, Eurwen's attention was caught by a gurgling choking sound from the bundle held in the Grand Maester's arms.

"What is happening now?" King Viserys demanded.

"The babe is choking, Your Grace. A weakness of the lungs, I fear." replied the Grand Maester. "I have seen it before, he must be administered at once."

"Lady Eurwen-?" the king began to say.

"I am presently occupied, Your Grace." Eurwen snapped in reply.

"But the babe-"

"Your wife's heart is still too weak!" she cut across him. "I am keeping it going whilst the other healers attempt to strengthen it; if I cease now, she may not make it."

King Viserys was caught in an agonised realisation; his wife and son were both at risk of dying and the one person who could help could not save them both.

"Mellos?" he asked tremulously.

"Lady Eurwen speaks true, Your Grace." the old man replied. "I fear you must choose, now; your wife or your son."

Viserys turned his head from one to the other; his beloved wife, whom he had faced all life's challenges with and who he could not imagine being without, or his precious son and heir whom he had laboured long and hard to bring into the world. Finally, awfully, agonisingly, he came to a decision.

"Eurwen….see to Baelon, please." he said, voice trembling on the last word.

"Your Grace? Are you certain?" she asked, stressing the last word.

"I am." Viserys replied, sounding as though each word was a dagger to the heart. "See to him, please."

With great reluctance, Eurwen nodded and withdrew her hands from Queen Aemma's, trying and failing to ignore how the woman's heartbeat instantly weakened on doing so even as the healers immediately doubled their efforts. Eurwen held out her hands for the babe and the instant he was in her arms, golden light flared. She sensed the problem almost instantly; the child's lungs were indeed weak, too weak to leave strengthening and recovery to chance. She called upon all her reserves of magicka, willing herself to keep breathing life and strength into the little body she held in her arms even as she distinctly felt the life begin to leave the woman on the bed.

The revelry, merriment and excitement of the Heir's Tournament seemed much further off than only the day before, Eurwen thought to herself as she stood assembled on a gusty bluff half a league from the city with the rest of the Small Council and royal court, all eyes fixed on the funeral pyre before them. The body of Queen Aemma had been laid upon it, wearing her favourite gown and wrapped in a cloak bearing the combined sigils of her birth and marriage houses, Arryn and Targaryen. She looked peaceful, serene, almost as though she were merely napping and would awake at any moment. But Eurwen could not prevent a stab of grief, pain and guilt as her eyes fell on the little wrapped bundle clutched in the queen's lifeless hands.

The bitterest irony, truly, which bit and tore and clawed at her like salt in open wounds. Little Baelon, in spite of her best efforts, had lived only a few hours longer than his mother that day. He had been watched, of course, even with initial signs that his health had improved, but to no avail. His lungs had weakened again, the deterioration too swift for anyone's aid to make a difference and he had breathed his last shortly before the sun had set. His mother sacrificed so that he might live, only for fate to be so cruel as to snatch him away before he was even a day old. She glanced at King Viserys, who seemed to be holding himself up by force of will alone, grief etched into and pouring out of him. Off to the side stood Princess Rhaenyra, shaking with grief; Eurwen would not meet her eye, for how could she approach the princess after having failed to save either her mother or her newborn brother? Prince Daemon walked up behind his niece, so close that they were almost touching, and whispered something in her ear.

"They're all waiting for you." she could just make out.

A short conversation between the two in High Valyrian followed, which seemed to grant the princess some measure of strength. She strode forwards and looked up at where her dragon Syrax, a large beast with yellow scales and a vaguely horse-like head, perched awaiting her command to ignite the pyre. House Targaryen's funeral customs dictated that the dead be cremated, usually by the fire of their own dragon but Queen Aemma had not been a dragonrider and her husband's mount, the great and mighty Balerion the Black Dread, had long since perished so it fell to her daughter to give the command. So young, Eurwen reflected, to perform such a duty.

"D….Dracarys!" the princess called out after stammering only once.

Syrax regarded her mistress with unmistakable empathy, sensing her grief and distress and yet also her resolve, before clambering down the hill towards the pyre. Her jaws opened and a gout of flame burst forth, engulfing the pyre and the two bodies that lay upon it.

The bells of the Grand Sept were still tolling their mournful tune long after the sun had gone down and the Small Council had assembled for a late meeting. King Viserys entered and slumped in his seat as though all the life had been drained from him; gone was the vibrant, jovial king who had sat there only a week past, replaced instead with one whose entire world had just been lost.

"Where's Rhaenyra?" he asked suddenly, realising his daughter's absence as Lord Corlys poured the wine in her stead.

"Your Grace, this is the last thing any of us wish to discuss at this dark hour but I consider the matter urgent." said Otto Hightower.

"What matter?" the king asked.

"The matter of your succession, Your Grace."

Eurwen glanced sharply at the Hand of the King, as did Lord Beesbury.

"You want to bring this up now?!" the Lord of Honeyholt said incredulously. "The ashes have barely cooled, man! By the gods, have some respect!"

Eurwen agreed but did not trust herself to speak up right now.

"It's all right, Lord Beesbury, I could do with the distraction." the king said. "What of my succession?"

"These recent tragedies have left you without an obvious heir, Your Grace." Ser Otto continued.

"Incorrect, my Lord Hand." interjected Lord Corlys, disapproval in his tone. "The king has an heir."

"Despite how difficult this time is, I feel it important that the succession be in place for the stability of the realm."

Eurwen was now glaring openly at her fellow administrator; was he really trying this now, using the king's grief to push his own agenda against Prince Daemon? Judging by the identical glares on the faces of Lord Strong, Lord Beesbury and Lord Corlys, she wasn't alone in this indignant realisation.

"The succession is already set, my Lord Hand, by precedent and by law," said Lord Strong. "What else needs to be discussed?"

"Shall I say his name and be done with it?" asked Lord Corlys, taking his seat. "Daemon Targaryen."

"If Daemon were to remain the uncontested heir, it could destabilise the realm," said Grand Maester Mellos.

"The realm? Or this council?" asked Lord Corlys.

"No one can say for sure what Daemon would be like as king, but no one can doubt his ambition." Ser Otto continued. "Look at what he did with the gold cloaks, for example. The City Watch is fiercely loyal to him, an army two thousand strong-"

"An army that was given to him by your recommendation, Lord Hand." Eurwen snapped, finally unleashing her tongue. "Do you forget that it was you who suggested putting him in command of the City Watch?"

"I hardly think the king wishes to hear from the woman who failed to save both his wife and his heir in the same day, Lady Eurwen." Ser Otto practically sneered at her.

"Mind your tongue, Otto." the king warned him with ice in his voice. "Lady Eurwen tried her best. And I find myself in agreement with her regarding Daemon and the City Watch. I named him Master of Laws, but you said he was a bloody-fisted tyrant. I then named him Master of Coin, briefly replacing Lord Beesbury, and then you were forever whispering in my ear that he was a spendthrift who would beggar the realm within a year! Putting him in his current position was your solution!"

Ser Otto grimaced as his gambit began to turn against him.

"A half-measure, Your Grace." he said. "The truth is, Daemon should be far away from this court."

"Far away? Daemon is my brother, my blood and one of the few family members I have left!" the king replied. "He will have his place at court."

"Let him keep it for now, Your Grace, but if the gods should visit some other tragedy upon you either by design or accident then-"

"Design?" remarked the king, cutting the Grand Maester off. "What are you saying, Grand Maester? That my brother would murder me, take my crown, seize the throne? Are you saying that?!"

The Grand Maester did not reply.

"Please! Daemon has ambition, yes, but not for the throne." the king continued. "He lacks the patience for it."

"The gods have yet to make a man who lacks the patience for absolute power, Your Grace." said Otto Hightower.

"Speaking from experience, are you?" Eurwen asked with a pointed glare which the Hand of the King returned, whilst Mellos sensed this as an opportune time to resume making his point.

"Under such circumstances, it would not be an aberration for the King to name a successor," he said.

"True, Grand Maester, but the question is who else would have a claim?" countered Lord Strong.

Eurwen glanced at Lord Corlys, anticipating him to remind everyone for the thousandth time that his wife had possessed such a claim before it was rejected, but the answer was not one that she expected at all from its source.

"The king's firstborn child." said Otto Hightower.

The room seemed to go as silent as the grave as everyone gawked at the Hand of the King, even Eurwen being rendered utterly speechless.

"Rhaenyra? A girl?" asked Lord Strong, the first to recover. "No Queen has ever sat the Iron Throne."

"That is only by tradition and precedent, Lord Strong, not by law." Grand Maester Mellos pointed out. "A female heir, whilst not traditional, is not illegal."

"Legalities aside, perhaps we should not break 100 years of order and stability that this council claims a desire to protect by naming a girl heir." Lord Strong replied, unmoved. "The whole reason for the Great Council was to prevent such an instability yet you wish to dig up that barrel of worms."

"What other option is there, Lord Strong?" said Ser Otto. "Daemon would be a second Maegor, or worse! He is impulsive and violent, he possesses no head for ruling and he flouts or breaks laws and traditions at every turn! It is the duty of this council to protect the King and the realm from him! I am sorry to say this, Your Grace, but I speak only the truth and I know others here agree."

King Viserys scoffed loudly.

"Really? It is well-known that you dislike my brother intensely, Otto. How much of this vitriol is genuine counsel and how much of it is simple hatred?" he asked scathingly. "I will not be made to choose between my brother and my daughter!"

"You wouldn't have to, Your Grace." said Lord Corlys who had been unusually silent up to now. "There are others who would have a claim."

Lord Strong let out a scathing laugh.

"Such as your wife, Lord Corlys? The Queen-Who-Never-Was?" he remarked. "You already possess a claim thanks to your daughter's betrothal to Prince Daemon and now you seek to push your wife's on top of that? Why not just cast off the cloak from your ambition and put yourself forward?"

"I am simply pointing out that Rhaenys was the only child of Jaehaerys' eldest son and thus the strongest claimant." Lord Corlys retorted.

"Just moments ago, you announced your support for Daemon!" Ser Otto pointed out.

"If we cannot agree on an heir, then how can we expect to-"

"MY WIFE AND SON ARE DEAD!"

The bellow from the King silenced everyone. Viserys sat in his chair positively brimming with anger, emotion roiling off him in waves as his patience wore thin, before shoving himself violently to his feet.

"I will not sit here and suffer crows that come to feast upon their corpses!" he declared vehemently.

And with that he stormed out, leaving them all in silence.

"Well, I hope you're all happy with yourselves." sniffed Lord Beesbury, who alone had remained silent during the entire exchange.

And he stood up, retrieved his ledger and marble totem and left. Otto Hightower leaned back in his chair with a sigh.

"Ser Otto," Eurwen said, breaking the uncomfortable silence, "you should know that I share many of your concerns regarding Prince Daemon."

"I'm glad to hear that, Lady Eurwen." Ser Otto replied.

"But I also want you to know that if you ever again dare try and undermine me by dripping poison into the king's ear about my magic, I will show you the many myriad ways in which the school of Destruction can be used to maim a man beyond recovery." she said in a voice of iron. "Am I understood?"

She didn't wait for an answer and left the room before she could hear little more than indignant spluttering from Mellos. Honestly, the nerve of the man to imply that the King would wish rid of her or blame her for her failure without saying as much. If the King desired that, he would make a public proclamation of it and she would accept it; what she would not accept was an underhanded, darkling scheme to turn the King's grief into anger to then be turned into blame upon herself so as to undermine her. She served the realm as a whole, not politics or ambitions, and any who had tried to surmount her as an obstacle (in Tamriel or Westeros) had learned why that was a bad idea.

In her anger she did not realise that she had taken a wrong turn on the way to the Battlemage's Quarters until she finally saw a statue that was definitely not on the way to it. Cursing herself, she turned on her heel to walk back the other way when she realised where she was and a thought occurred. Heading in that direction, she found a member of the Kingsguard standing outside the door who nodded at her approach, the light of the torches glinting off his silvered armour and snowy-white cloak; Ser Harrold Westerling, Princess Rhaenyra's sworn sword and a veteran member of the Kingsguard.

"Good evening, Ser Harrold." she greeted him. "Is the Princess Rhaenyra inside?"

"I hope so, my lady, or else I'm being very bad at my job." he replied with a dry chuckle.

"May I see her?" Eurwen asked.

He looked uncertain at first but finally deigned to knock on the door.

"What is it?" called Princess Rhaenyra's voice through the door.

"Ser Harrold, Princess, with Lady Eurwen." Ser Harrold called back. "She wishes to see you, shall I let her in?"

"Very well, let her in." they heard after a long silence.

Ser Harrold pulled the door open and Eurwen entered the almost pitch-dark room, in such a state because nearly all the candles had burnt out. Casting a quick Night-Eye spell on herself, Eurwen was just able to make out the figure of Princess Rhaenyra lying on her bed, still dressed in her mourning clothes from the funeral.

"Lady Eurwen. What brings you here?" she asked.

"I was passing by and thought I might look in on you," Eurwen replied as she went around lighting fresh candles. "I know it's probably a stupid question, but how are you feeling, Princess?"

Rhaenyra just gave her a withering look in response.

"Stupid question, indeed." Eurwen remarked before walking over and sitting down on the bed. "I also thought that I should perhaps apologise for not coming to see you sooner."

"It's fine." Princess Rhaenyra replied dismissively. "Why didn't you, though?"

"I was worried that you wouldn't want to see me." Eurwen replied. "And that you might also blame me."

"Blame you for what?" the princess asked.

"For not being able to save your mother or your brother."

Princess Rhaenyra sat up, her silvery hair all messy and askew from lying down for so long.

"Why would I blame you?" she asked. "It wasn't your fault, I know you would have tried your best."

Eurwen was rather surprised and taken-aback by the maturity of the girl's response; grown men had raged and stormed at her and her fellow healers when their best efforts proved for naught, yet this girl barely into her true teens did not blame her in the slightest.

"It gladdens me to hear that, Princess." she said. "Some about the court have already been making waspish remarks about me and my apparent weak powers and I feared you would share those beliefs, hence why I stayed away until now."

"Then those people are stupid." Rhaenyra stated bluntly. "I remember the first thing you said about Restoration; it's about repairing damage, not performing miracles. My mother, my brother…..the damage was beyond repair."

"I fear so, Princess." Eurwen said. "Your brother had a weakness of the lungs that could not be fixed, for it was there at birth, and your mother…."

She trailed off, not wanting to cause the girl more pain by describing how her beloved mother ended up departing this mortal plane, but was surprised when Princess Rhaenyra sat up and faced her with hard eyes.

"How did my mother die?" she demanded. "No one will tell me, other than to say that she passed. I am your princess and I command you: how did my mother die?"

She spoke not like a princess, but as a queen and Eurwen felt her spine stiffen in response as it always did when she faced a ruler who commanded her.

"In truth, exhaustion." she said. "Your mother was a brave and strong woman, Princess, but there is only so much the body can take and I fear…I fear this pregnancy just wore her out. The stress was too much and her heart gave out."

Rhaenyra's eyes remained hard even as they sparkled with fresh tears and the girl turned herself away so as to not be seen crying.

"Exhaustion." she said with a watery giggle. "Her body gave out because she birthed a babe one time too many and it became too much. Royal womb, indeed."

"I'm sorry, Princess?" Eurwen asked, not understanding.

"Sorry, my lady. A week prior, I spoke with my mother after a ride on Syrax and she told me that ladies in our position, royal wombs, serve the realm by birthing children to continue the legacy. My father's legacy, the heir he was so obsessed with getting that it cost my mother's life from trying to have all those children and then, in a show of twisted irony, the babe didn't even live out the day. Is that to be my fate? To be married off and churn out heirs until my body breaks?"

Eurwen reached out and placed a hand comfortingly on the princess' shoulder.

"My dear, I will not lie and claim that that is not in your future." she said. "Society as it exists tends to value women only by the bearing of children, a task as bloody and dangerous as any battle a man might fight in. But it is not your sole purpose, no matter what society says. There will come a time when you must wed and when you must bear heirs, but not for some time."

"Not for any time." Rhaenyra replied. "I will not be wed, never! I will not die like my mother, screaming and bleeding and crying to bring a child into this world as my own life fades! I will not!"

She pushed up off the bed and began pacing back and forth, watched by a wary Eurwen.

"Then what is your plan?" she asked.

"I'll run away." Rhaenyra replied. "I'll fly away on Syrax, never to return. I'll fly on dragonback, all over the world, see the wonders and eat only cake! I'll be free!"

"Will you, though?" Eurwen asked pointedly.

"Of course I will be." Rhaenyra scoffed in reply. "No functions, no balls, no weddings and meetings and dreary lessons to attend. No chains except those that bind me to Syrax's saddle."

"And what of your father?" Eurwen continued. "What of Alicent? What of them? Will you leave them, abandon them, the people who love you? Will you leave them wondering and worrying of what had become of you?"

"They'll….They'll get over it." Rhaenyra replied without much conviction.

"No, my dear, they won't." Eurwen told her bluntly. "Alicent is possessed of few friends who see beyond her status to the person that she is and your father has lost the love of his life; to lose you as well, I fear, would kill them both."

Rhaenyra bit her lip and looked away.

"Princess, I understand your fear." Eurwen continued. "Childbirth is risky, uncomfortable, terrifying and distressing. Even with the advances I have brought with me in terms of spells and potions, it still remains dangerous."

"If this is meant to convince me, you're not doing a very good job of it." Rhaenyra noted.

"I'm getting there," Eurwen said. "Pregnancy also, as galling as it is to admit, is the only way a woman of your station can truly wield power. This land possesses many great qualities but unfortunately, good treatment of women is not one of them. Many men see a woman's only value as a producer of heirs, and even then only male ones; your mother is far from the first to perish trying to produce a male heir and I doubt she will be the last."

"You possess power, Lady Eurwen." Rhaenyra pointed out. "And last I checked, yours didn't derive from pregnancy."

"No, but I am a special case." Eurwen replied. "I derive power from the same level as a man but don't think that means I am beloved, respected or accepted by all; a century I have served in my capacity, doing as good a job as I can, yet still I am tolerated at best by a majority and even then, that majority would gladly see me cast down. Even your ancestor Aegon the Conqueror, though he possessed two sister-wives, regarded me with dismissal until I put fear in him. The case that I am trying to make, princess, is that this is a land that does not grant women the same power as men; what power we do gain, we must take using every advantage we possess. Pregnancy is one of the few ways in which to do so, and it is a tool you may eventually have to wield."

Princess Rhaenyra sat in silent contemplation for a very long time, long enough that the new candles had started to burn low enough to think about replacing before she spoke.

"You have given me much to think on, Lady Eurwen." she said eventually.

"That was my hope, princess." Eurwen replied. "Ultimately I cannot stop you from running off on your dragon to live your life as you see fit, much as I would like to, but I hope that my words give you some understanding of how things are. And, perhaps, how they could be in the future."

She stood up and left the room, heading to her quarters to get some well-earned rest and hoping that the next day would be uneventful. She was wrong.

"Before we begin, Your Grace, I have a report which I feel compelled to share." Otto Hightower said as soon as they had all taken their seats for the morning council session. "Last night, Prince Daemon bought out one of the pleasure houses on the Street of Silk to entertain officers of the City Watch and other companions. During what can only be described as a night of revelry and celebration, Daemon toasted Prince Baelon. He stated that the gods give and the gods take away, that the king and council had long rued his position and then proclaimed Baelon…..The Heir for a Day."

Princess Rhaenyra, who had been about to pour a glass of wine for Lord Beesbury, jerked on hearing this and only barely managed to keep the entire jug from spilling all over the Master of Coin. Eurwen glanced at Hightower out of the corner of her eye and saw, just for a second, a flash of satisfaction at having garnered this reaction before it was replaced with appropriate anger, but spared it no further thought as her own anger over the prince's irreverent remark demanded attention.

"You are certain of this, Otto?" the King asked.

"I corroborated this report with three separate witnesses, Your Grace, all of whom have sworn oaths that what they heard was truthful and whose word I trust." replied the Hand of the King.

There was a loud shattering of glass that made them all jump; in his mounting rage, Viserys had squeezed his wine-glass so hard that it shattered, sending wine and shards of glass flying everywhere.

"Ser Ryam," he snapped suddenly, making the man in question snap to attention. "Where is my brother?"

"He left the city shortly after first light with a contingent of gold cloaks, bound for a training exercise in the Kingswood, Your Grace." replied the Lord Commander.

"Get him back here," said the King, seething with rage. "Now!"

The remainder of the meeting passed in a blur and Eurwen paid it little mind until several hours later, when a page appeared in her quarters to tell her that the king requested her presence in the throne room, specifying that she was to arm herself before doing so. It was with no small amount of dread that Eurwen complied, arming herself with a dagger and the enchanted Staff of the Battlemage that she had been given when she became the Imperial Battlemage of the Elder Council before heading to the throne room. There, she found the king sitting on the Iron Throne with four of the Kingsguard arrayed in front of it and one hand clutching the hilt of Blackfyre, the ancestral Valyrian steel sword of Aegon the Conqueror that was held out before him, point-down.

"You summoned me, Your Grace?" she said after bowing before him.

"Yes, Lady Eurwen." the king replied, voice heavy. "Your presence may be required as….insurance."

She opened her mouth to ask him what he meant but he held up a hand to stop her before she could speak, then gestured for her to stand to his left. The knot of dread and anxiety tightened as she obliged not a second too soon, for the doors opened and in strode Prince Daemon in full Targaryen regalia and bearing Dark Sister, the Valyrian steel blade once wielded by Aegon's sister-wife Visenya, on his hip.

"You cut the image of the Conqueror, brother." he said, waving a hand towards Viserys and the throne. "Even if it's only with one lady warrior by your side."

Eurwen did not rise to his challenge, meeting his flippant grin with stone-faced coldness.

"Did you say it?" the king demanded in a low voice.

"Say what?" Daemon asked.

"You will address me as Your Grace, or else I will have my Kingsguard cut out your tongue." King Viserys practically growled. "The Heir for a Day…did you say it?"

Daemon seemed taken-aback by the question and did not answer immediately, hovering awkwardly on the spot as he seemed to struggle with what to say.

"We must all mourn in our own way, Your Grace." he finally said.

The rage and grief that poured out of the king was almost palpable, his fingers going white at the knuckles where they clenched Blackfyre's hilt in a death-grip.

"My family has just been destroyed," he choked out, "yet instead of being by my side or Rhaenyra's…..YOU CHOSE TO CELEBRATE YOUR OWN RISE! CAVORTING AND LAUGHING WITH YOUR WHORES AND YOUR LICKSPITTLES!"

The high vaulted ceiling and towering pillars of the room caused this to echo throughout it, causing one of the Kingsguard to jump and even making Eurwen start in surprise, having never heard the jovial and easygoing king ever raise his voice in such a manner.

"You have no allies at court but me!" he went on, shaking with anger. "I have only ever defended you, and yet everything I've given you has been thrown back in my face!"

"You've only ever tried to send me away," Daemon retorted. "To the Vale, to the City Watch, anywhere but by your side. Ten years have you been king and yet not once have you asked me to be your Hand!"

"And why would I do that?" King Viserys asked.

"Because I'm your brother," Daemon replied simply. "And the blood of the dragon runs thick."

"Then why, brother, do you cut me so deeply?" demanded the king in a heartbroken voice.

Daemon folded his arms in front of him.

"I've only ever spoken the truth. I see Otto Hightower for what he is." he said.

"What? An unwavering and loyal Hand?" said the King.

"A cunt!" was the blunt reply. "A second son who doesn't stand to inherit anything that he doesn't seize for himself. It was he who made sure this reached your ears, isn't it? Can't you see what he's trying to do?"

As disgusted and angry as she was with Daemon, Eurwen privately agreed with him on this matter. Whatever his intentions had been in revealing Daemon's disrespectful toast, Otto Hightower was a man who had ambition in spades and despised Daemon with all his might; seeing him disgraced and demeaned would be something the Lord Hand would be all too happy to make real.

"Otto Hightower is a more honourable man than you could ever be." the King replied.

"He doesn't protect you, brother. But I would." said Daemon.

"From what?" the King asked.

"Yourself."

The single word brought Viserys to a sharp halt.

"You're weak, Viserys." Daemon continued. "And Otto Hightower and all his leech friends know it; they prey upon you for their own ends, seeking your power for themselves."

Viserys absorbed this in silence before leaning back in his seat, fixing Daemon with a hard look.

"I have decided to name a new heir." he said.

Eurwen turned her head sharply in his direction, not having been informed of this, whilst Daemon looked as though he had just been struck in the face with a hammer.

"I'm your heir." he said.

"Not anymore," Viserys replied in a voice like iron. "And you are no longer welcome in my court or this city, until I decide otherwise. Starting from now you are banished from King's Landing, where to I care not but I want you gone from my sight."

Daemon, still flabbergasted, took a single half-step towards the throne. Instantly the Kingsguard, who had remained silent and still sentinels this whole time, moved in unison to block his path with swords half-drawn from their scabbards; Eurwen was only a second behind them, raising her staff and pointing it at Daemon as she and the Kingsguard all stared him down with stony faces, fully prepared to strike him down if he moved so much as another inch towards the king. Five seconds of shivering silence followed, the tension unbearable, before Daemon took a step back.

"Your Grace." he said in a flat, emotionless tone.

And he turned and left the room; the King slumped back in his seat and brought a hand up to his forehead, only to flinch in pain as one of the still sharp blades that made up his chair sliced through the flesh of his little finger like paper.

"Let me see that, Your Grace." Eurwen said, holstering the staff on her back now that there was no imminent threat.

"Tis just a cut." the King muttered, waving it off.

"Remember my philosophy on cuts." she told him before firmly taking his wounded hand in hers and healing the wound. "That was a brave thing you did, though perhaps not a wise one."

"I suppose we shall soon see," Viserys said. "In any case, it is high time that both Daemon and I face facts; he is not fit to sit the throne or be my heir, and no longer can he be permitted to be so cavalier with everything. Perhaps some time in exile will teach him that."

"Perhaps," Eurwen replied, though she rather doubted it. "But that leads me to the other matter; who will be your heir if not Daemon?"

Viserys did not reply, motioning her to stand aside so he could descend from the throne. Once he had done so, he whispered something to Ser Ryam before motioning for Eurwen to follow him. She did so, questions burning to be asked but knowing that the king would not respond unless he desired to; more questions were only raised when she realised where he was leading her, but still she remained silent and allowed him to lead her down into the bowels of the Red Keep until they came to a secret antechamber with a domed ceiling, lit only by a few torches and dozens of candles which burned beneath the central attraction of the room, a slab of stone on which reposed a gargantuan dragon skull. Easily the size of a carriage, the skull's black bones caused it to almost dissolve into the surrounding shadows, the flickering light of candles placed beneath and within it to grant a phantom image of the powerful, dreaded flames it had once been capable of producing when it was a living breathing creature. The skull's empty eye sockets were easily as big as a man's head, the teeth in its grinning maw the size of longswords and the horns that sprouted from the top of the skull like the spikes of a crown as long as a lance. Balerion the Black Dread, the legendary mount of Aegon the Conqueror and easily the largest and most powerful dragon in memory. A mighty creature when he'd been alive, Eurwen reflected; indeed, on first seeing him she had almost had an apoplexy thinking that Alduin had somehow returned again. Even now, it still gave her the shivers just to look at it.

Viserys stared up at the skull, a mournful expression on his face; Balerion had been his mount, but only for less than a year before the mammoth beast had reached the end of his natural lifespan and passed quietly in his sleep. Even though he had been a far cry from his glory days, unable to even fly around the city without becoming tired and sluggish, Balerion had been loved by his last rider. No doubt that pain had returned tenfold today, with the loss of Aemma and Baelon. She stood and watched in silence as the king tended the shrine, lighting fresh candles and sweeping some dust off the snout, turning at the sound of footsteps. To her great surprise, Ser Ryam entered with Princess Rhaenyra in tow, the latter clad in a black gown and looking very confused.

"Leave us, Ser Ryam." the king said after acknowledging their arrival.

"Father? What is it?" asked Rhaenyra as soon as the old knight had departed.

Viserys did not immediately reply, staring up at the skull as though pondering all the mysteries of the world.

"Balerion was the last living creature to have seen Old Valyria before the Doom," he said finally. "Its greatness and its flaws, manifold as they were. When you look at the dragons, Rhaenyra, what do you see?"

The girl stared at her father as though he had just asked her to build another Wall from scratch.

"What? You haven't spoken a word to me since Mother's funeral and now you ask me-" she began.

"Answer me, Rhaenyra." Viserys said, sounding uncharacteristically serious. "It's important. Tell me, what do you see?"

Rhaenyra stared at her father in confusion, but nevertheless obeyed. She stared at the massive skull, thinking hard.

"I suppose I see us." she said eventually.

"Tell me." said her father.

"Well, everyone says that Targaryens are closer to gods than to men," Rhaenyra elaborated. "But they only say that because of our dragons. If Aegon hadn't had them when he landed in Westeros and demanded all the kings submit to him, they would have laughed and destroyed him rather than the other way around. Without them, we're just like everyone else."

Viserys seemed to approve of her words.

"You're right," he said. "And the idea that we control the dragons….is an illusion. We can bond with them, ride them, teach them to obey commands but we do not control them. They are creatures of magic and fire, they burn with their own wills and desires and instincts. They're a power that men should never have trifled with, a power that brought Valyria its doom. Your uncle would call this blasphemy, but it's true. Aegon passed this warning down because he very nearly learned it the hard way."

The king's eyes flickered over to Eurwen, who shifted slightly on the spot; she hadn't expected Aegon to warn his descendants of what happened all those years ago, but she was glad to find out now that he had.

"If we do not mind our histories, the same fate will befall us." Viserys continued. "All Targaryens must understand this in order to be King…..or Queen."

Rhaenyra turned her head sharply to stare at her father in shock whilst Eurwen started so much that she nearly lost her balance. What?

"I am so sorry, Rhaenyra." said Viserys. "I have wasted all these years hoping for a son, pushing your mother to beget one until it killed her and only now do I realise, with her no longer here to stand beside me, the true extent of my folly. You are the very best of your mother and I believe, as she would, that you could be a great ruling Queen."

Eurwen's mouth had fallen open in shock as she realised where this was going.

"But Daemon is your heir, Father." Rhaenyra feebly protested.

"Daemon was not made to wear the crown," Viserys replied, "but I believe that you were."

"But, Father, no Queen has ever sat the Iron Throne." Rhaenyra continued to protest. "The Great Council could have chosen one with Princess Rhaenys, but they refused and chose you."

"Aye, and that was a folly." Viserys replied, holding up a hand as his daughter made to argue. "I am far from a great king, Rhaenyra. I never had ambition for the crown nor did I feel I would be good at wearing it; Rhaenys would have been a hundred of what I am currently, I admit that without shame and was certain that they would choose her over me. But King I am, and I must make the best of it."

"And you must understand that this is no trivial gesture, Rhaenyra. I am not naming you heir simply to spite Daemon for his remarks, I am naming you because our family has a duty and an obligation laid down by Aegon, a duty that Daemon would scorn but which I know you can uphold."

Again the King glanced at Eurwen before he resumed speaking.

"The histories of House Targaryen speak of how Aegon looked across the Blackwater from Dragonstone and saw a rich land ripe for the capture, a land where we could start anew and show the world that the blood of Old Valyria still lived and had strength. But it was not ambition alone that drove Aegon to conquest. It was a dream. And just as Daenys the Dreamer foresaw the end of Valyria, so too did Aegon foresee the end of the world of men."

"A dream?" Rhaenyra asked incredulously. "You're saying that our ancestors conquered this land and made it theirs because they dreamed of the end of the world?"

"He speaks the truth, Princess." Eurwen said, finally finding her voice. "I was there when Aegon came to conquer the North, by the side of King Torrhen Stark. Aegon was set on taking the North and the North set on refusing him, until I….had words with Aegon that, as it turned out, was part of his dream; a woman from another world of magic and might, who would speak thunder that could bring even dragons to their knees and who would prove an ally for the coming times. The North knelt only because of this and I agreed to put myself above politics and serve the new realm as a whole, to teach it the ways of magic so that it would be as prepared as possible when the time came."

"Aye," agreed King Viserys. "Aegon warned of his dream, that it would begin with a terrible winter gusting out of the distant North, from the lands beyond the wall. Within these cold winds rode absolute darkness, a darkness that would destroy the world of the living. And for any chance to be stood of surviving this Great Winter, all of Westeros must stand united and a Targaryen must be seated upon the Iron Throne. A King or Queen strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark. This is a secret that has been passed from king to heir since Aegon's time, and now you must promise to carry it. Promise me this, Rhaenyra. Please."

Rhaenyra just stood there, dumbly regarding her father in silence.

"I…I don't…." she began. "I can't…how can this be possible? It sounds ludicrous!"

"I once felt the same way as you do, Princess." Eurwen said, now striding forwards. "Fate and destiny and prophecy derived from dreams, it sounds like nonsense. But I have been the subject of prophecy before, a prophecy that warned of the end of my world, and in a world of magic it is not something to discount out of hand."

Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed in suspicion, then suddenly widened in realisation.

"Wait a minute, did you know about this?" she demanded. "Did you know my father planned to name me heir? Or was this something you put him up to?"

"No." Eurwen replied instantly, though not entirely surprised by the princess arriving at this conclusion. "I only knew of your father's plan to name a new heir when he banished your uncle, and even then I did not know it was you he intended to name as his new heir until he just told you. I swear upon my honour, I had nothing to do with this."

Rhaenyra didn't seem like she believed her, but Viserys now resumed speaking.

"Lady Eurwen speaks the truth, Rhaenyra." he said. "She did not put me up to this nor has anyone else. I name you heir solely because I feel that you will be a worthy successor to me, but you must promise that you will keep this secret, Aegon's dream of A Song of Ice and Fire, and pass it down to your own heirs when the time is right, for this is imperative above all else. Promise me, Rhaenyra. Promise me."

Rhaenyra simply stood there, overcome with emotion, uncertain of who to turn to, struggling to comprehend how much her life and worldview had just changed even more than it already had. Finally, she came to a decision and held her head high.

"I promise, Father." she said with a voice of unyielding iron.

"Swear to me, Rhaenyra," Viserys almost begged. "Swear it upon your mother's name and the blood of your ancestors."

Rhaenyra jumped a little, caught off-guard by her father's intensity, but a second later she was kneeling before him, her eyes shining in the light of the candles.

"I, Rhaenyra Targaryen, do hereby swear in the name of my mother, Aemma Arryn, and upon the blood of all my ancestors to uphold, guard, protect and pass on this secret, the Song of Ice and Fire." she said.

And in that scant few seconds, where the girl knelt before her father and swore a promise that she did not fully understand, Eurwen saw not a princess; rather, she saw a Queen.

The investiture of Princess Rhaenyra as the new heir to the Iron Throne was an event that was almost entirely without precedent; only the Great Council fourteen years past could possibly compare, a gathering of royalty and nobility to decide and affirm something that would shape the future of the realm for generations to come. Ravens and envoys were sent out to all the Great Houses and their vassals, commanding them to come to King's Landing and swear obeisance before King Viserys and his named heir in a grand ceremony that was to take place only once all the requisite lords had arrived. Even the famously truculent and distant House Martell of Sunspear, who were only nominally a vassal of the Iron Throne, agreed to send an envoy and moreover applauded King Viserys and the realm for finally beginning to move past their frigid, sterile and ultimately self-defeating views on inheritance (their own words, it should be noted). Many, of course, were less than happy with the announcement; a woman cannot inherit before a man, they grumbled. A queen could not rule in her own right, they muttered. But it was the king's decree, and they dared not disobey.

Lady Eurwen found herself the target of many renewed whispers and glares from the court, placing the blame for this new change squarely upon her shoulders. She herself was a woman, a foreign one at that, who enjoyed a far greater scope of power than any other woman and even many men in the Seven Kingdoms and whose position at court was all but unassailable by decree of the Conqueror himself, so naturally people drew lines between the two situations that did not actually exist in order to justify their discontent. For her part, she ignored it; politics were not something she involved herself in if she could help it and if any of them sought to remove her, legally or by force, she would remind them of why that was a bad idea. When the delegation from the North arrived, she was there to personally welcome and greet them.

"Lady Eurwen. Why haven't you aged and I have?" was the first word out of Lord Rickon Stark's mouth on seeing her.

"I have aged, my lord. Just not as badly." she replied.

Honestly, she did miss the more blunt and brutally honest methods of the Northmen at times. When they had problems or issues, they spoke of them upfront instead of waxing lyrical and taking five minutes to get to the point of a conversation. They were still a bit irritated at having lost their independence to Aegon, but it wasn't too steep a price to pay in exchange for keeping the way of life they'd fought off six thousand years of Andal invasions to keep.

On the day of the investiture, once all the lords had arrived at King's Landing, they assembled in the throne room where King Viserys sat upon the Iron Throne in full Targaryen regalia, Blackfyre once again clutched in his hand. When the doors opened and Princess Rhaenyra entered, a gasp rose as one at the sight of her; clad in a gold dress with a black, floor-length cloak embroidered heavily with gold and gems, on her head a matching cowl and around her neck a heavy gold chain bearing the insignias of all the Great Houses. She strode down the aisle with her head held high, showing no fear or weakness, and stood before the throne. Then came the oaths; first, the Small Council members stepped forward one by one. Otto Hightower was first, naturally as the Hand of the King.

"I, Otto Hightower, Hand of the King, promise to be faithful to King Viserys and his named heir, the Princess Rhaenyra. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this, by the Old Gods and the New."

Lords Beesbury, Strong and Corlys went next, each of them solemnly swearing the same oath, then it was her turn. She went down on one knee, looked up at the young princess and spoke the words.

"I, Lady Eurwen, Royal Battlemage and Mistress of the Arcane, promise to be faithful to King Viserys and his named heir, the Princess Rhaenyra. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I swear this, by the Old Gods and the New."

After her came the heads of the Great Houses and then the vassals; many of them could barely hide their disdain as they spoke the words and swore fealty to a woman, but swear fealty they did. Finally once the last lord had spoken his oath, Princess Rhaenyra turned and faced the throne as King Viserys rose to his feet.

"I, Viserys Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, do hereby name Rhaenyra Targaryen Princess of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne."

All in the room bowed their heads in unison as the newly anointed heir turned to face them once more. Eurwen looked straight ahead with her head held high and her back straight, but she caught the princess' eye for a second (just a second) and flashed her a supportive smile even as she felt a sudden chill run down her spine. The threads of fate had been woven and the future had been changed, for better or for worse.

Which one? Only time would tell…