Disclaimer: I do not own House of the Dragon.
A Point for the Princess
"Talking"
"Thinking"
Rhaenyra
She was bored.
Bored of this months-long search for a husband, and finding nothing. It was a fool's trip her father had sent her on. Even now, in Storm's End, she had to suffer through another parade of men, all bragging about their wealth and lands, hoping that she would choose them.
And now, she was watching a boy, a Blackwood by his colors, younger than her, trying to do the same thing. He couldn't even speak his turn without fidgeting and stumbling through his words. The only bright spot was the Bracken boy making japes. That last one certainly made her laugh.
But she was also done with the boy. "Let us have the next," she told Lord Baratheon. "So we may go to supper."
The boy flinched at the dismissal and turned around. "Craven," the Bracken boy jeered, earning a few chuckles from the audience.
The Blackwood boy whipped around, his hand going for his sword, only for a hand to stop his arm. "Easy does it, laddie," said the next suitor in a confident voice. "There's no need for steel."
Rhaenyra watched this suitor. He was different from the rest. He was only older than her by a few years. His hair, tied back in a high tail, was blonde enough that it could be considered white and his eyes had a purplish gleam to them. Just by that, she knew he was of Valryian blood. But she didn't know him. Was he from Essos? He sounded Westerosi, with a trace of a Northern tone. And there were his clothes. They were a fine cut but quite basic, without a hint of design or jewelry. Although, she had never seen blue leggings before.
The new suitor strode over to the Bracken boy with an easy smile. "My lord, I wonder if you could answer a question for me?" The Bracken boy scoffed but waved him on. "Your horse out in the stables, it's the one with the tan coat and white mane, yes?" The boy nodded. "Oh, good. Tell me, is it a mare or a stallion?"
"A mare. Why?"
He shrugged. "I wanted to be sure who was doing the fucking."
No one said a word. They were all too busy staring at the new suitor with shocked eyes. Lord Baratheon came to his feet but the Bracken boy responded quicker. "How dare you?" he shouted, his face red.
The new suitor didn't care about his anger. Rhaenyra found it interesting. "Why else would you feel like taunting a boy, my lord?" he asked the Bracken boy. "Especially after you were rejected by the princess? Are you so used to women rejecting you that you have to find solace somewhere else?" He glanced down and smirked. "Or are you compensating for something?" His little finger rose up and wiggled suggestively.
Rhaenyra laughed. It was funny. And the Blackwood boy smiled too. A few of the court twittered, trying to share the humor. The Bracken boy stepped forward with an enraged roar, pulling his dagger free.
That was as far as he got. The new suitor grabbed his wrist and twisted, turning his roar into a yelp while the dagger fell out of his hand. Then he slammed his knee into the Bracken boy's chest, hard. The boy fell to the ground without a gasp to his voice, while his arm was still being held by the new suitor.
"Now that we've established where you stand in life, my lord, stay there until we're done. Good boy." The new suitor got back to his feet and looked over at the Blackwood boy. "Laddie, if he tries to get back up, kick him in the head." He turned away, only to stop and look back. "The back of his head," he amended.
Now Rhaenyra was interested. This suitor seemed different from the rest. Once he approached the throne, she paid attention. "What is your name, ser?"
"You can call me Duncan. Now, before this goes any further…" With a shrug, he shed the black doublet, letting it fall to the ground.
Then his hands went to the hem of his tunic and the ladies in the audience gasp. "What are you doing, boy?" Lord Boremund demanded.
"The princess is shopping for a husband. She might as well see the goods." With that he pulled the tunic off in one clean move, letting it dangle by his fingertips.
Rhaenyra had no objection to his actions, especially after he spread his arms wide and did a slow turn. Her eyes tracked his muscles, his flat stomach, and his strong arms. When he stopped moving, he looked right at her, unconcerned about how he was half-naked. It was bold. She liked it.
But she wouldn't be swayed by a good body and a pretty face. She was a princess. "Well, ser. Make your little speech," she told him, wanting to get on with it. "Tell me of your lands, your lineage, your prowess." Both Lord Boremund and Ser Criston gave her a look but she didn't care.
"I don't have lands, your Grace," Duncan answered. "But thank you for thinking I have a lineage. My parents did love me but never felt the need to grind the family history against my mind."
Mutters began to float amongst the court. Even the Blackwood boy looked at his savior with surprise. Rhaenyra quickly swallowed her surprise and look at her suitor with a regal look. "If you have no lineage or lands, then why are you here?"
"Heard you were in the area and figured you could use something different to liven the process up." He smirked and it did something to her knees. "How am I doing so far?"
This man was different from the rest. He didn't coat his words in flowery language but he wasn't dull. He spoke as if he was highborn but from his own confession, he was one of the smallfolk. He must've been bold or foolish to think he could just come in and ask for her hand.
And yet…
Yet, she liked he had done so far. He looked her in the eye, spoke directly, and all but dared her to respond. She even liked the way his accent changed the words. Lord Baratheon started to speak but she stopped him with a wave. "If you have no lands or lineage, why should I look at you, ser?" she asked Duncan.
"You weren't looking at those before," he retorted. "I've watched you, Princess. Each time a suitor started talking about who he was, where he came from, or what he ruled, you were tuning them out." His use of words was odd but he didn't stop. "Once you knew what they wanted from you, you didn't care. I don't have what they have."
"And what can you offer me?" There was definitely a challenging edge to her question. She wanted him to answer, see what he would do.
Her would-be suitor considered her for a moment, then he started forward. Everyone in the audience gasped at his boldness as he walked up to the throne. Ser Criston stepped forward when he reached the step, hand on sword. Duncan stopped there but kept his eyes on the princess. "What I offer is this: I have no ties binding me to other families. What you will get is me. I would have your back and your confidence. If you need someone to look for help and advice, I will be there with whatever wisdom I can offer. If you wish to discuss an idea, I will be there to point out the flaws and offer other points. I will be there to encourage you to keep going and to guide your anger to the proper target. Above all else, I will be there."
The words struck a chord in Rhaenrya's heart. He meant each word, believed them. And she wanted to believe them too. This man had offered him up to her, with nothing to hold him back. All the other suitors just wanted her to be a part of their family, their bloodlines. He was offering her himself.
And she wanted it. Wanted him.
"Your offer is accepted, ser," she said with a smile. "Lord Baratheon, you may dismiss the rest. I have found my suitor."
Lord Boremund nodded. It was for formality's sake, but he still had to ask the question. "Ser Duncan, will you accept the princess's betrothal?"
"No."
That single word grinded the hall to a stop. Rhaenyra couldn't help but stare as the man she chose turned his back and walked away. His tunic came back on and he reached down for his doublet. The muscles in his legs stood out, distracting her for a moment. Then she came back. "What do you mean, no?" she demanded.
He glanced back without a care in the world. "You've accepted me as your betrothed, but I haven't accepted you." The doublet flew around and his arms slid through the sleeves with ease.
"And why not?"
"I wanted to see if there was a woman to be a bride, not a girl." The look in his eyes was a harsh one. "Especially not a spoiled brat."
People came to their feet in outrage. Ser Criston pulled his sword free and held it at the ready. "Apologize at once, ser!" thundered Lord Boremund. "You speak to your future queen."
"I will not, not when it was true." His eyes stayed on her, pinning her in place. "I already told you that I was watching you, Princess. You didn't want to be here. You mocked each suitor who came before you and you didn't care what it meant." He walked over to the Blackwood boy, placing a hand on his shoulder. "And the worst of it was what you did to him."
She stared at the boy, who couldn't match her gaze. "What of him?" she asked.
"He came here, even though he did not want to and he knew that he did not have much of a chance, not for a princess who didn't know him. But he still came and stood before you, nervous as all hell and doing his best to get the words out before they stumbled on his tongue.
His eyes burned with anger. "And you laughed." No one dared to speak. "Worse than that, you laughed when a son from a rival house, a boy five years his elder, mocked him during his offer and insulted him. You didn't even thank Lord Blackwood here for taking the time to come and see you. You were content with mocking him. That is not the act of a princess, or a woman. That's a spoiled brat." He turned his eyes from her to the Blackwood boy. "C'mon, laddie. Trying to woo a princess is hard work, could make a man hungry."
They left the hall in silence, the audience too stunned to say anything. The Bracken boy started to get back on his feet, only for Duncan to look back. "Who said you could move, boy?" he snapped. The Bracken boy froze in place. He stayed like that for a good long while.
Try as she might, Rhaenyra couldn't forget Duncan. There was something about the way he talked to her that she couldn't forget. He was blunt and honest, and called her out on her actions. More than that, it made the other lords look at her in askance. She knew what they were thinking. If she acted like that to her suitors, how would she act to the rest of the realm?
It was infuriating, galling.
How dare he talk to her like that? He might've looked Valyrian but she was a Targaryen, a princess!
And yet, his words lingered.
Because he was right.
She had laughed at Lord Blackwood when he made his offer, laughed when he had been insulted. And why not? It was funny. She needed a bit of humor after being put all that tedious business with the suitors. A little fun didn't hurt anyone.
But he called her out on it and didn't budge. Even when she later apologized to Lord Blackwood for her actions, his eyes bore into her. She knew why. She wouldn't have apologized if he hadn't said anything. Her actions did nothing for him. He still saw a girl, not a woman.
Well fine, if he wanted to see it so, that was his choice. Rhaenyra didn't need him. She was the princess. Clearly, she was wrong to even think that he was worthy of being her husband and consort.
That attitude would've been a lot easier to maintain if he hadn't gone to King's Landing with them. Rhaenyra wasn't sure how he wound up on her ship and she certainly wasn't sure how he got himself into the Red Keep. As far as she could tell, he hadn't met with the king or the queen, not with the sudden arrival of her uncle. She was certain Daemon and Duncan had talked, although about what, she didn't know. But she was certain that he was watching her, seeing what she would do.
He even managed to get aboard the ship taking her and her father to Driftmark, to discuss a potential marriage between her and Leanor. Rhaenyra was aware of her cousin's tendencies and she saw a way around such a problem.
So, while the adults talked it over in the castle, she and Leanor walked along the beach. The sight was breathtaking, with the morning mist curling across the cliffs in the distance, along with the roar of waves crashing and the birds overhead. It all allowed them to be at ease and talk about what was needed.
Leanor listened to her offer and thought it would work. If they were married, that would be their agreement. Everything seemed to be going well in Rhaenyra's eyes.
Then she saw Duncan standing a way away, looking out at the sea.
She bade Leanor goodbye and marched over to her would-be betrothed. "How much did you overhear?" she demanded.
"Enough," he answered. "So that's your plan now, is it? Have a baby and then you can do whatever you like."
Rhaenyra didn't see how that was his concern but she was willing to indulge him. "Yes. We satisfy our duties to the realm and be happy afterwards."
"I see." His eyes turned back to the sea. "So, who are you planning on fucking? Leanor's father?"
The shock was quick rolled over by disgust. "No!" She didn't care if her voice rang out through the air. The waves muffled the sound well enough.
"His uncle?"
"No!"
"Well, he doesn't have any cousins I know of." His thoughtful expression glanced at her. "Are you planning on sleeping with his sister or mother? I promise you, that's not going to work."
Just like that, the fury she had at his impudence came roaring back. "And what do you know about this?" she demanded.
"More than you." This time, he turned and looked at her fully. "Leanor might have a slightly darker skin tone but you both share the same hair color. If you give birth to a child that doesn't have that same hair, at least, people are going to know that you've been unfaithful, especially if you try to give the babe your husband's name. People will talk, you'll give fuel for your enemies, and your standing goes downhill fast."
Her fury boiled. Not at the accusation but at the fact she could see he was right. But she knew something he didn't. "My father wouldn't care about my children, only that they are mine."
Duncan rolled his eyes. "King Viserys is one man and he won't live forever. If that's your excuse, it's a weak one."
"I'm his heir, his chosen heir."
"Then act like it!"
The snap was so sudden and sharp, she couldn't respond. She just stood there with a stunned expression. Duncan took that opportunity to speak further. "You're a princess, Rhaenyra. More than that, you're the king's heir, the future ruling queen. The first in the Seven Kingdoms. You will be the standard any future ruling queen will be measured against. Which means you pretty much have to be perfect, or as close as you can get. Otherwise, people will tear you down and claim that because of you, no woman should rule."
His words hurt because she knew on some level, he was right. She had been told those words by her father and others on the Small Council many times but this was the first they ever struck her in the heart. More than that, she found she couldn't argue with it. That made it all the worse. "What about me?" she demanded. "What about I want? Don't I get a say in all this?"
"No," Duncan answered, blunt as ever. "Power isn't freedom, princess. If you want freedom, give everything up and walk away."
Those words invoke an old dream of hers, of just getting on Syrax and flying away. It was a tempting dream, especially on hard days. But she couldn't do it. She couldn't leave everything she knew, what her father wanted from her, behind. "I can't."
Duncan shrugged. "Then get used to setting the standard. And not being a brat."
Oh, she was starting to hate that word. Was that all he saw when he looked at her? She wasn't a brat! "Is there anything else you wish to share with me?" she asked with acidic anger. "Perhaps some grand secret that only you know then?"
He smirked. It was a deadly thing that could make a weaker person shiver. "Well, if you insist, I could talk about how the Valyrians aren't as special as they think they are or how your family is being conned by Westeros but they're tied together."
"What?" Those words sounded mad; the kind only spoken by a fool. Yet he meant each word spoken.
"I'll let you in on a little secret, princess: Aegon the Conqueror didn't do much when he took over."
"You lie. He united warring kingdoms into one!"
"Really?" he asked. "He came in and laid claim to the land. There might've been some internal shuffling in the ranks but when everything was done, things went on they always did. Why, just look at the Baratheons. What about them changed, exactly?"
Rhaenyra knew that answer. Every noble child in Westeros knew it. "Orys Baratheon married Argella Durrandon, taking her into his own house."
"His house. Which was her family's castle along with her family's banner and words. And all future Baratheons have been born with the black hair, blue eyes, and short tempers of the Durrandons. So nothing much changed there."
"They're loyal."
"Orys Baratheon was loyal to Aegon and Boremund is loyal to Viserys because of Rhaenys." His smirk widened just a little bit. "But the future Baratheons? They'll only be loyal if they have a good reason for it. After all, they're just Durrandons with a new name. Face it, princess. The only real change Aegon made was in the Reach and that was because he wiped out the Gardeners. If even one of them was still alive, they would be ruling Highgarden today, not the Tyrells. Aegon didn't do much, except get sucked into a con that's been played before."
He turned away from the sea, to the west. To Westeros. "Your people might've created a great nation with dragons, princess. And your ancestor might've forged a kingdom out of many with the same method. But make no mistake, House Targaryen only rules Westeros because they are permitted to."
Rhaenyra frown, letting her fury rise up again. "I don't care for your words, Duncan. The Seven Kingdoms obey and follow my family."
"For now. That'll change," he said. "After all, the Great Houses have been playing the game long before Valyria was even considered. If something new comes to Westeros, it'll only stay because they permit it." Rhaenyra was read to protest, so he raised a hand to stop her. "How much of the original Faith survived leaving Andalos? It's been changed by centuries of living in Westeros, all because the Great Houses permitted them to stay. And like Aegon, they only caused real change in one kingdom: the Vale.
"The southern kingdoms might claim they're Andals but they still follow the houses that were here long before the Faith came, the Great Houses of the First Men. And because of that, the First Men has survived to this day. The Andals might think they've won but their ways have changed since coming here. It's the same with your family."
"What do you mean?" Rhaenyra asked.
"They'll slowly but surely make you forget what it means to be Valyrian. This is not something that'll happen in months or years, princess," he told her before she could protest. "This is something that takes centuries, and the Great Houses are very patient. And why wouldn't they be? They're still ruling their realms, they just have to pay the right amount of service to the person sitting on the Iron Throne. At the same time, they are slowly changing you into Westerosi. Your customs, your language, your practices, all wiped away by time and patience."
She didn't want to believe these words. And yet, they painted a clear image in her mind. Just how much were the Great Houses' loyalty was because it was real, and how much was just waiting for the right moment? "My family is one of the Great Houses," she retorted.
Duncan chuckled and shook his head. "Not even close, princess. Stark, Lannister, Durrandon, Tully, even Dayne and Yronwood, these are Great Houses. They were here before shepherds ever thought about taming dragons and they're still here after Valyria fell. Your family are newcomers, and I wouldn't be surprised that if they went too far, the rest of Westeros would get rid of them whilst keeping the Iron Throne intact. After all, it wouldn't be good to break into separate kingdoms after being unified for so long."
The image transformed into a terrifying potent of doom. Suddenly Rhaenyra was confronted by the fact House Targaryen wasn't as strong as they believed to be. "But we have dragons," she protested. "That'll quell any uprising against us."
But would it be enough? How many of them would still be left standing afterwards?
"What can we do?" she demanded.
Duncan wasn't surprised, only amused. "Well, you're taking it better than your uncle. He stormed off in a huff."
So they had talked. It wasn't important. "What can we do?" she demanded, reaching out to grab his doublet.
He stepped back, letting her hands touch nothing but air. "It can start with you, princess. But it will require you to do something that is painful, something you don't like to do: Think."
In spite of the revealing horror of what he said, Rhaenyra was able to focus on that declaration and be properly offended. "I do think!"
His eyes bore into her. "No, you don't. You don't think of how your actions affect others, of what they will do to you, or that they might actually have consequences. You don't think, princess. You just do. And that can lead to mistakes, very damaging mistakes. It already could've happened, if I didn't take measures."
"And what does that mean?"
That smirk came back. "Ever wonder how that secret passage into your chambers got blocked?"
The question took her back to that night. A bag had been left in her chambers, full of clothes to disguise her as a boy and instructions on how to sneak out. But when she tried the supposed secret door, it wouldn't budge, no matter how much she tried. In the end, she gave up and went to bed. Her uncle had looked so disappointed the next day.
"That was you?" she demanded.
"Yep. Be grateful. If I hadn't, you would've ended up destroying what remains of your friendship with the queen and turning Ser Cole against you." He didn't wait for her to understand. "Here's another thing for you to consider: be an actual sister to your siblings." Her disgust was quick to show. He didn't care. "If you don't want them to rebel against you, be the sister they need. Love them, be loyal to them, and they will do the same. Otherwise, you'll just be doing what Westeros expects of you."
As much as it galled Rhaenyra, he had a point. She knew that she should try to love Aegon and the others. It was just…hard, especially since they were Alicent's children. But another thing pricked at her. That night. "What would've happened, if I had gone through the passage?" She wanted to know.
"I'm not gonna tell ya. I'm not here to help you, princess, only to mitigate your stupidity. You have to figure this out by yourself. You have to be the Heir of King Viserys, the Heir to the Iron Throne. That means you have to think about what you will do and what happens because of it. If you don't?" He shrugged without a care in the world. "Things will go to shit. I'll get a good laugh out of it."
How was it his words were both an insult and a challenge? Rhaenyra wanted to smack that damn smirk off his face, yet at the same time pull it in close to see what he tasted like. The way he talked was dangerous, and borderline treasonous when directed at her. But she wanted to hear more, hear that Northern burr change words she knew. All of it was confusing.
And she wanted answers. "Who are you?" she demanded. "Why are you doing this to me, forcing me to do all this?"
Duncan stared at her for a moment longer, before leaning in. She thought he was going to kiss her (and hoped he would for a second), only to turn towards her ear. "Why would I tell you that?" he asked in a whisper, before turning around and leaving her on that beach.
End
Author's note: Thank you for all the reviews you've sent me.
I'll be honest. I know she's supposed to be the protagonist of House of Dragons, but I have very little sympathy for Rhaenyra. Half of her problems stems from her own choices and because she didn't think. If she thought about what might've happened, Alicent and Cristan wouldn't have become her enemies. What that woman needed was someone who would stand by her side but also slap her upside the head and call her an idiot when she was.
Hence this chapter. This is not a Peggy Sue story. If anything, it's a Peggy Troll. Yeah, the guy went back into the past and could possibly stop the Dance from happening, but he doesn't have a high opinion of Rhaenyra and he's not above having some fun.
Duncan was wearing modern clothes when he walked into Storm's End, jeans, shirt, and an overshirt. People just saw what he wore and put words to what they thought they knew. The jeans would probably cause a stir once people got a better look at them, saw how comfortable they were (and how easily he could get out of them).
I'd like to thank BluBooThalassophile and his series Wolves Amongst Dragons for pointing out how long the Great Houses have been playing the game. It's a great series that gives us a sympathetic Aemond, a nastier Lucerys (which sticks more for me than canon, truth be told), a no-nonsense Maester Vaegon, and a pairing I hadn't considered (Aemond/Sansa).
But it's how the series shows the Great Houses operating that got my attention. Once I started thinking about that, everything else pretty much fell into place. Sure, Aegon the Conqueror united Westeros but nothing really changed. He wiped out two houses, one of which didn't technically belong in the Riverlands, but allowed the rest to keep their holdings. Sure, there was a change in titles and their pride took a hit, but they were still alive and still ruling over their lands, exactly what they were doing before Aegon showed up.
And I say two because I don't count House Durrandon. Orys Baratheon might've taken over their castle, lands, and sigil but he pretty much married into the House. His descendants were Durrandons with a new name. When you consider that, Robert Baratheon rebelling is not that surprising.
If you want the best evidence of how the Great Houses, and Westeros, were slowly changing House Targaryen, just look at the Baelor the Blessed. He became a septon before being king, something that never would've happened if his grandparents had been alive. After him, and losing the dragons, things kept changing for House Targaryen. By Rhaegar's time, the incest was the only thing that kept them from being Westerosi. I'd like to say them using the Valyrian language as the royal tongue also counts but we don't know if that's true.
Once I thought about how the Great Houses operated around House Targaryen, it also got me thinking about how they would operate against one another. Plenty of people either believe or write about how the maesters used the Dance to wipe out the dragons or how House Hightower wanted control of the Iron Throne, but I would like to propose a different theory:
The Dance of the Dragons was the method the Great Houses used to smack House Hightower down.
Consider this: during King Viserys I's reign, with the help of his Hand Otto Hightower, the Hightowers were considered more powerful than the Tyrells, their liege lords. The other Great Houses saw how powerful they were becoming and took steps to either challenge them, see if they could become a proper Great House, or stop them. And I'd say it worked. After the Dance, House Hightower's power and reach was curtailed, and they haven't tried to do it since. Meanwhile, the Great Houses (with the exception of a few people) weren't affected or lost that much power.
As for using House Targaryen (the royal family) as their patsy, it could be their way of saying "This is how you play with the big boys."
I know it's a bit of a stretch, and the evidence might be flimsy, but I think it's an interesting theory all the same. It would also show a great irony about House Targaryen: the war might've been named after their dragons, but it wasn't about them. That's how insignificant they were in the grand scheme of things.
Hell, even the fact Westeros was still technically running after the Targaryens were overthrown shows how little an impact they had. Yes, they created one kingdom and ruled for three hundred years. Considering their vessels had been ruling their own lands for thousands of years (and still were) it's not that impressive. Even them being Valyrian didn't do anything. Silver-gold hair and purple eyes probably doesn't exist much else outside of the Crownlands. That might've changed if the Valyrians looked outside their own people for marriages.
I'll see you all next chapter!