Save the Dragons
F.Y.I: I changed Ser Adrian Crabb and Ser Arthor Celtigar with Ser Denys Woodwright and Ser Thoron True. Shouldn't really matter though.
This chapter follows Laenor's attempt to woo Rhaenyra, his experiences with woo, and Episode 3's plot at the end regarding Rhaenyra's inevitable betrothal.
Laenor is going to be OP in this fic, that's all there is to it. I want to make him a character like Doctor Manhattan. SIs are already inherently OP in stories given their knowledge of future events, I want to draw conflict from other areas. The Blacks are going to be OP already. Instead of hamstringing the SI, I'm making him super powerful, and there will be consequences to the story about that. Mary Sues aren't Mary Sues because they're powerful, they're Mary Sues because they're perfect, and Laenor isn't going to be perfect, just incredibly powerful.
Chapter 3 – Woo
Rhaenyra
She eyed him wearily - the Velaryon boy with the pretty face and the nervous smile.
He'd been welcomed at court as her father's squire, but that didn't mean the rift between their houses had disappeared in a moment.
"Your Grace," he said, bowing before the Iron Throne of Aegon the Conqueror, "you honour my House by allowing me to be your own squire, I swear by the Seven Above that I will serve you faithfully and true."
Father smiled, "I am pleased to have a Velaryon back at court, your father has been too long away."
"The Triarchy threatens the realm entire, Your Grace," explained the lordling, "the tolls they impose on passing ships hurt trade all along the Narrow Sea and-"
"None more so than Lord Corlys."
"Indeed, Your Grace, my father is the wealthiest man in the Seven Kingdoms. It is true, but he is deserving of it."
"He has certainly marshalled a great enough fleet."
Rhaeynra knew there was tension between the king and his vassal, and the relative size of the royal fleet was a thorn in their side as long as the Sea Snake remained estranged from the crown.
"Necessary to break the Triarchy's grip over the Stepstones, who kidnap commoner and high born alike and sell them into slavery."
It was true, even Lady Johanna Swann had been taken and sold to a Lyseni brothel when her niggardly uncle refused to ransom her.
"Yes, and Daemon is fighting for the side of justice."
"Prince Daemon is Your Grace's own brother," shot back the insolent Velaryon. "You would know his motives better than I."
"That I do." laughed Viserys from on high. "So you will be my new squire. I have little need of one as I am no knight like my brother, but you will serve."
"I hope I serve you well, Your Grace."
Viserys dismissed him, and Rhaenyra wondered why House Velaryon had sent the boy to court in the first place.
The two of them were taking lessons from the Grand Maester inside the Red Keep.
"And what are the arms of House Serret?"
Rhaenyra did not recall ever hearing about a House Serret.
"A peacock, in his pride, on cream." answered the Velaryon boy.
"And their words?"
"I have no rival."
"Excellent," congratulated the Maester, "Now Rhaenyra, what are the arms of House Toyne?"
She struggled to remember the lesser house's sigils.
Seeing her face, Velaryon made a heart with his hands and then a pair of wings, jogging her memory.
"A winged black heart on gold."
Velaryon raised his hand high and then spread his arms wide.
"Fly high, fly far."
"Good, good."
She smiled.
Rhaenyra surmised that Ser Criston Cole did not like the Velaryon boy.
He was currently knocking the boy this way and that way around the training yard with his training sword, as the boy struggled to fight him off.
Velaryon was usually the terror of the training yard, often besting boys beyond his years, even seasoned knights, but Ser Criston was likely the finest warrior in the Seven Kingdoms and seldom took it easy on his young charge.
The king had more pressing issues at hand than to worry about knocking around boys with a stick, so he left the training of his squire to the Kingsguard.
Thankfully, the Lord Commander was usually present to temper Ser Criston's wrath. Unfortunately, today
Despite how one-sided the bouts would be, the Velaryon boy always threw himself into the next round with renewed determination. Something she couldn't help but respect. Though he would oft mutter about duelling Ser Criston with Silverwing at his side...
She cried out when Ser Criston sent the Velaryon boy flying into the dirt.
"Go gently, Ser Criston!" she shouted, "I would not see the boy harmed too badly."
Velaryon gave her a wide smile and thanked her for her worry.
Ser Criston for his part, seemed to gain a second wind and a newfound fury.
She would have to talk to her white knight and explain to him that he needn't be jealous, even if a small part of her was rooting for the underdog.
She dreamt of a city of steel towers that scraped the sky, of horseless carriages that were two stories tall, of metal dragons soaring like birds through the sky.
She dreamt of the Velaryon boy dressed in ridiculous clothes.
"Woo-hooo!" screamed the Velaryon boy from the back of his dragon as he passed her on Silverwing, diving down from high.
She couldn't help but smile, as she drove Vermithor harder. They'd agreed to race to Dragonstone. Her seat.
Rhaenyra soon caught up to him, and she couldn't help but think the Velaryon boy had slowed down to allow her to pass and be victorious.
Small matter. The Velaryon boy tended to defer to her in all things. She was the Princess of Dragonstone after all, his liege lady and future queen. Even the race had been her idea. Vermithor loved to fly with Silverwing and she was loathe to deny her dragon anything that brought the old creature joy.
They were soon soaring atop the Dragonmont, looking down at the enormous volcano. It hadn't erupted in centuries but it still bore a fiery heart.
As they landed in the fields outside of Dragonstone, and unsaddled their respective dragons, Vermithor soon ran over to the Good Queen's old dragon and began to coil around Silverwing, much to Rhaenyra's embarrassment.
The Velaryon boy just laughed.
"Alicent's so ugly her portraits hang themselves."
Rhaenyra snorted and squirted goat's milk out her nose.
"Alicent's so ugly she makes blind children cry."
Rhaenyra's giggles drew the attention of the entire court, and she had to bury her head into her hands when Father looked at her.
Laena Velaryon was impossible to dislike. They had stayed up for hours talking about all manner of things from boys to dragons. Not that Laena was interested in the former.
She had come with her mother, Rhaenys, for her brother's nameday celebration.
"Laenor is mad about you, you know?"
Rhaenyra did know, it had been his only nameday wish to have her attend the celebrations and she could hardly refuse such a request.
The Velaryon boy was speaking wildly with his mother about some new pet project of his that was supposedly going to change the world; something to do with stinging eels and copper. Rhaenyra could not make sense of it but according to Velaryon, it was going to one day be used to light cities and send messages instantaneously from the Wall to Dorne.
It sounded impossible to her.
All the same, she believed in him.
"Now that you're a knight, why aren't you fighting in the Stepstones with your father?" she'd asked.
"I'd much rather be here with you."
The Velaryon boy was a prodigy, all agreed. Excelling in his lessons with Grand Maester Runciter and with the Kingsguard. Toying away with the Alchemists' Guild in his spare time.
Rhaenyra would have been jealous if not for the fact that the boy seemed enraptured by her.
She could not despise the Velaryon when he seemed to live and breathe by her word.
He had also proved a staunch ally against Alicent and her new babe, Aegon. Allowing her to vent her frustrations to the only peer who attended most of her lessons to be queen.
It didn't hurt that he composed such extraordinary music in her honour, songs of such an exquisite nature that it was clear the boy genius was a legendary poet as well.
"I've been alone with you inside my mind. And in my dreams, I've kissed your lips a thousand times."
Why did the Velaryon boy have to have such a beautiful voice?
"There are rumours at court that you're not interested in the company of women," she told him wryly. There weren't in truth, but she did so like to tease him.
"The rumours are true," the Velaryon boy said scandalously, "I'm only interested in the company of one woman."
She blushed and flicked him on the forehead as he laughed.
The two of them were alone in the dark, the Velaryon boy was showing her magic tricks. Conjuring fires of silver and blue, morphing the light into extraordinary shapes, and telling stories with the shadows.
He was singing softly "You're sailing softly through the sun." A sailboat appeared as a shadow on the wall, sailing towards a black sun.
"In a broken stone age dawn." What Rhaenyra could only recognize as Valyria during the Doom appeared next.
"You fly so high." Two dragons dancing in the sky
Velaryon passed her a goblet of a thick blue liquid and she took a sip.
It was so foul that at first, she wanted to spit it out, it tasted like rotten meat and metal, but Velaryon presumed to put a finger beneath her chin and she gulped on instinct, swallowing the putrid drink.
"I get a strange magic," the Velaryon boy continued singing.
She could feel it blossoming in her chest, like a ring of fire coiling around her heart.
"Oh, what a strange magic."
The taste on her tongue was like honeyed wine and Arbor gold, of mother's milk and salty tears, like hot blood and molten gold. It was all the tastes she had ever known, and none of them.
"Oh, it's as strange magic."
Rhaenyra let the experience flow over her, as she leaned onto the Velaryon boy's shoulder and let the shadows entertain her.
"Got a strange magic! Got a strange magic..."
Honestly, it was quite flattering how jealous the Velaryon boy was of her.
Though poor Forrest Frey still bore the scar from when he asked for her hand.
Rhaenyra could not help but appreciate how someone fought for her time as Uncle Daemon had run to the Stepstones and her father doted on her new half-brother.
It had become something of a running joke.
The sons of great lords would come seeking her hand and promptly be challenged to a duel by the Velaryon boy.
Blackwood, Bracken, Oakheart, Tarly, Tully, and Tyrell. All the heirs of their lord fathers had fallen to Velaryon's sword.
Currently, Ser Harwin, the strongest knight in the Seven Kingdoms was raining down blows on the Velaryon knight's seahorse shield, as he too made a bid for his hand.
When things seemed in hand for Lord Strong's son, Velaryon amazed her when he lit his blade on fire and terrified all in the yard.
Soon, it was Ser Harwin on his back as Velaryon loomed over him, flaming sword in hand.
Rhaenyra was not surprised. Fire and blood were their words after all.
It was her nameday, and she had received a horde of presents from across the realm.
Her most cherished was a mirror, made of miraculous glass that stood at her height, given to her by Velaryon.
"So that you might see and know for certain, that you are the most beautiful woman in the world."
Rhaenyra had stammered out thanks and started to daydream of what she would get him for his next nameday.
It was that dream again. It was the same dream she'd been having ever since she mounted Vermithor.
He was standing before her, bare-chested, silver hair glistening in the pale moonlight, violet eyes piercing her soul.
"You're mine," he whispered.
Before she could blink, he was at her back, wrapping his powerful arms around her.
She leaned into his embrace and kissed him, stars in her eyes as their lips touched. She snaked a hand into his trousers, and whispered "No, you are mine."
Rhaenyra woke with a fright. Her pillow was wet from the drool.
It was that same damned dream.
It had to have something to do with how she and the Velaryon boy rode the dragons of the Good Queen and the Old King. They had been lovers, and now Silverwing and Vermithor were a bonded pair. It needs must have to do with how dragons bind with their rider, as Septon Barth wrote in 'Unnatural History'.
Yes, it had to be that. She wouldn't be thinking such unnatural thoughts about the Velaryon boy otherwise.
In the morning, she would light a candle to the Maiden and pray for the dreams to stop.
Yet as she fell back asleep, she couldn't help but wonder where the dream was going before waking had interrupted them.
Laenor
The Alchemist's Guildhall was a dark and dreary place, a cold labyrinth of black marble on the Street of Sisters. A foreboding place but a great repository of knowledge dwelt there.
He'd been working tirelessly in these dusty rooms since the day he'd arrived. When he wasn't attending to his other duties as the king's squire of course, or his much more important task of wooing the princess. Thankfully, both of those had been going well. He'd been knighted at the tender age of six-and-ten and become the youngest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, and Rhaenyra had finally seemed to have fallen for his charms after what had seemed like ages of grief. So now he'd found more time to work on his current project.
He'd forgotten so much of the modern world, that he desperately needed some way to remember. That was where all his spare energy had been placed.
So the Sea Snake had spared no expense in bringing experts from all over the world to King's Landings to tutor him in magic, or the higher mysteries as the people here called it. The Archmaester of the Citadel with his Valyrian steel mask and rod, a Red Priest of Volantis with his scarlet and crimson robes. Travelling maegi from across Essos, an alchemist of Lys, a warlock from Qarth, the Grand Master of the Alchemist's Guild, a Shadowbinder, and an Aeromancer from Asshai. All of them had come from far and wide to teach him.
Magicians in this world guarded their secrets jealously. It had cost them dearly for the lessons, in excess of four hundred thousand gold dragons for all of his studies and supplies. Such was Lord Corlys' belief in his son's talents. Laenor could only hope he lived up to expectations.
He had learned much and more. He had learned how to create the substance, better known as wildfire, and how to light his sword with it. How to control the currents of the air. He had coaxed the Shadowbinder into revealing Melisandre's powders. Powders to change the shape and form of fire. Powders to make smoke that could induce lust, truth, even death...
Already he imagined ways of mass-producing the powders. Oh, what he could do with truth serum produced in bulk, an on-hand aphrodisiac, or a chemical weapon that could be deployed from on dragonback. If he ever managed to do it... the ingredients were quite rare as of yet. He really needed to get an Alchemist's Guild setup in Spicetown to begin scaling up production.
Progress would be slow of course, it was hard to get people he trusted with his secrets lest they become common knowledge.
He'd even been taught how to manipulate the shadows as Melisandre had once done to kill Renly, but such a thing was not done without a great cost to one's health.
He could manage a glamour, but not a great one, it would still require a great deal more practice to become good at it. Thankfully, it was much easier to make him look much older, which was a useful disguise for learning the higher mysteries.
Laenor was probably the world's most expert magician in the world now, given how seldom the different sects interacted with each other. He'd already earned two Valyrian steel links to add to his ever-growing chain. He'd received special dispensation to forge links outside of the Citadel in thanks for sharing his contributions to medicine with the order of maesters.
Yes, he had learned so much, but there was one thing that remained elusive.
He'd had 'Blood and Fire' taken from the Citadel's vaults and it spoke of the glass candles of Old Valyria. How one could see across mountains, seas, and deserts. Give men visions and look inside their dreams. Communicate with others on the far side of the world. He'd prayed to the Crone, in so much as he personally viewed them as aspects of nature, that she would provide the answers he needed.
Laenor remembered a book from his past life, a book that had the answers he so desperately sought. If he could just glimpse the pages of that book, the marvels he could create in his new life would make everything worth it. Electricity, explosives, and so much more.
He'd already earned two links for the higher mysteries, now he meant to earn the third.
The night before an acolyte of the Citadel takes his vows, he would stand vigil in a vault with nothing but three glass candles with no other light allowed. The acolyte would have to spend the night in darkness unless he could light the candle. To the maesters, it was a ritual meant to show that even with all the knowledge one had acquired, there were some things that remained impossible.
Laenor knew that was bullshit. He remembered Samwell's chapters in the books where the glass candles were burning, and working.
They could be lit, and Laenor was going to light one.
Just the candles had cost a pretty groat. About 140 million groats a pop to be more specific. If the seller had known that he wasn't just selling relics, it would have cost an arm and a leg, so thank the Gods for that.
The candles themselves were made of obsidian, one was green while the other two were black. They were tall, with sharp edges, and looked like melted wax candles made of molten rock.
Laenor had been trying to light one for years now.
Yet recently, Rhaenyra had shown him the library of Dragonstone and let him have his pick of the litter for his nameday.
He'd spent weeks on Dragonstone, to the consternation of everyone around him. But he'd found a withered journal of Queen Visenya, who'd forgotten more about magic than he knew.
The secrets contained within it were invaluable.
Among them was the secret to lighting a candle.
It was worse than Laenor could have hoped.
Bloodmagic.
If anyone discovered what he was doing, he very well might be put to death. The Faith at least would demand as much. He already had to spend an inordinate amount of time in the Red Keep's sept to appear as pious, to belay suspicion about his 'queer activities' involving magic. Mayhaps the king would spare him, but the stigma of witchcraft was a darker mark than paedophilia in this world. He could kiss his marriage to Rhaenyra goodbye if it was discovered.
But the rewards were well worth the risks.
If he could make it work, then he wouldn't even need Rhaenyra...
Kneeling in front of the glass candle, he took a deep breath.
He pricked his thumb on the tip, and blood oozed from his fingertip. "Ōños," he whispered. The High Valyrian word for 'light'. Laenor doubted the language was magic itself, but helped to manifest a thought's power.
With a woosh, the glass candle lit.
It gave off an immensely bright light that hurt his eyes, even as he laughed at his victory!
The light was doing odd things to colours, the shadows in the room became so black that it looked like there were craters in the floor.
Following Visenya's instructions, he stared into the light and thought of the book. Unbeknownst to him, his eyes went white and he collapsed to the ground.
In an instant, Laenor was lying on his bed, except it wasn't Laenor Velaryon lying there, but a man long since dead, with brown hairs and blue eyes.
The man was Laenor's past self, slowly reading the screen of his laptop.
His Kindle app was open, and the book's title he was reading displayed ' The Knowledge – How to Rebuild Civilization in the Aftermath of a Cataclysm'.
Laenor could see the room vividly, and could even read the words on the screen.
"The stethoscope need be no more than a hollow wooden tube held to the ear and pushed against the patient's body, or even a rolled-up bundle of papers, which was how the tool was invented in 1816. René Laennec was uneasy about his ear and cheek touching the chest of a particularly buxom woman and so he improvised, realizing that the makeshift tube was not only perfectly adequate for transferring the sounds of the heart, but actually served to amplify them. A stethoscope can reveal the internal sounds of the body: not only anomalies in the sound of the heartbeat, but the wheeziness or crackling indicative of lung disease, the silence at the point of an obstructed bowel, or the faint heartbeat of a fetus..."
That was just one page, soon he was flipping forward and backward through the book, reading highlight after highlight.
Soon, Laenor woke from his slumber when an acolyte came to fetch him - he'd passed out on the floor. The candle had been extinguished.
"No luck then, my lord?"
He rubbed his aching head and sucked his thumb.
"None at all," he said as he took his leave.
He ran with all haste to the nearest piece of parchment and frantically began to write down everything he'd read.
Finally, the greatest discovery had been made.
Laenor would begin uncovering 'The Knowledge''s secrets, and he would even be able to revisit 'Fire and Blood' and remember who to trust canonically.
The Sea Snake's bet had finally paid off.
Viserys
"He has your hair, Your Grace," cooed some courtier.
"He does have my hair," answered the king.
"And he has your eyes, Your Grace."
"Yes, he does."
Viserys fawned over his two-year-old son Aegon, on this his second nameday, "And you have my nose, don't you, little one?"
All around him laughed, and Viserys laughed with them. Today was a good day.
"Your Grace..." interrupted his Master of Ships, the golden-haired Tyland Lannister as he bowed his head in deference to his king. "I bring urgent news from the Stepstones. The Crabfeeder has dug in on Bloodstone while his men sabotage our fleet under the cover of darkness."
"Not today, Tyland," waved off Viserys, keeping the smile on his face, trying to keep his spirits high while the Lannister interrupted his son's nameday celebration.
"The matter of the Stepstones is regrettably urgent."
"It's been three years," laughed off Viserys. "It can wait another three days."
Viserys bid his guests to partake in the feast.
"Is the baggage train ready?" he asked Lord Strong.
"It is presently massing at the River Gate. Lord Jason expects us in the Kingswood before midday," answered his Master of Laws, Lord Strong.
"Have you seen Rhaenyra?"
"I have not, Your Grace," Lord Strong answered somewhat worryingly.
As Viserys filled his plate, Tyland descended upon him again.
"With the Triarchy now sheltering in Bloodstone's caves, the threat of the dragons is blunted."
"They don't have foot soldiers?" queried Viserys.
Tyland looked abashed at a glance, "Uh- their sellswords have been withdrawing in droves, Your Grace. Even the mercenaries can see it is a losing effort."
Viserys stalked up to Criston Cole and asked where his daughter was.
The man did not know.
Tyland badgered on, "The Velaryon forces have suffered heavy attrition, Your Grace. The seeds of dissent are sown amongst the rank and file. Daemon has driven the men hard, they have begun to question his command. If the crown were to ever intervene..."
"Tyland-" Viserys tried to interrupt.
"Now is the time."
"Daemon and the Sea Snake started their war without His Graces' leave, it would make the crown appear weak if he were to intervene now after so long," butt in his Hand.
Viserys had finally had enough. "Can someone please tell me, where in the Seven Hells Rhaenyra might be?"
Rhaenyra
"Wise men say, only fools rush in, but I can't help – falling in love with you."
She loved to hear him sing for her. The songs he wrote for her were so beautiful.
"Shall I stay, would it be a sin? If I can't help, falling in love with you?"
Rhaenyra wished she could stay forever under the Godswood's oak tree listening to her Velaryon boy sing for her. Not that Rhaenyra had confessed her feelings. She preferred to play things coy, which could not hurt her since Laenor was obviously in love with her. Doting on her whenever he pulled his nose out of his studies or duties long enough to notice her, which she was grateful was quite often.
"Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be."
They were supposed to be in the banquet hall, getting ready for the hunt. But she did not care to be in Alicent's or Father's company when she could be alone with Laenor, reading one of his books about Nymeria's voyages.
"Take my hand, take my whole life too, for I can't help, falling in love with you."
"Your Grace," she heard Laenor say.
Damn it. Alicent had found her.
"Again," she commanded. She would not let the new queen ruin her fun.
"Rhaenyra."
"Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling, so it goes, some things are meant to be."
"Yes, My Queen."
"Take my hand, take my whole life too, for I can't help, falling in love with you."
"Your presence is wanted in the outer courtyard. The royal hunt readies to depart."
"I've decided to remain here and read instead with Laenor."
"You may go, Laenor," bid Alicent, and the singing stopped.
Damn her. "You are to stay by order of your princess."
"The Queen commands you to leave the Godswood at once."
Laenor looked stricken, but she knew he would not disobey the queen over something so paltry. "Rhaenyra, I will see you later."
When Rhaenyra asked if it was the king's command, she went begrudgingly.
The time Rhaenyra spent in the wheelhouse was excruciating, but she bore it with silent grace. Perhaps she would attend the hunt if Laenor was going, he was the king's squire after all.
Lord Lannister's proposal she took with less grace.
"Is that what I am to you?" she accosted her father, "A prize to proffer about to the great houses?"
Father gave his Master of Laws a disconcerted look and sighed, "You're of age, Rhaenyra. And Jason Lannister is an excellent match," he tried to convince her.
"He's arrogant and self-serious," she argued.
"Well, I thought you might have that in common, he argued back. "Since you came of age, I've slowly been drowning in a lake of parchment flung from every corner of the realm. Marriage proposals, all."
"And I have tried often to discuss with it you," he said as he raised his voice, drawing the attention of some courtiers. "But you have refused me at every turn."
"That is because I do not wish to get married," she bit back.
In a rare show of his temper, Father shouted "Even I do exist above tradition and duty, Rhaenyra!"
Her response was interrupted by the Hand, "Excuse me, Your Grace."
Father looked around the crowd watching them, but turned to her still, "You must marry."
She disappeared out of the tent as Hightower spoke of regal portents and white harts.
"Lannister really said that to you?" Laenor laughed.
Rhaenyra groaned, "Yes, he said he would do anything for his queen... or his lady wife."
Laenor scoffed, and sardonically said, "Well I guess that's it, I'm going to have to kill him."
She giggled.
For a moment she basked in his presence. He was the most gorgeous man she'd ever seen with his long silver hair and purple eyes. And that cute nose of his.
Today he was wearing an aquamarine doublet with a silver hippocamp broach on his chest, looking every bit the Lord Velaryon.
He'd ridden off with her with just a nod and now they walked together through the Kingswood. Ser Criston had tried to follow them, but she had ordered him back. She did not want the knight to report anything back to her father.
Remembering what Lady Redwyne had said about the war in the Stepstones, she asked Laenor about it.
"My father and Daemon will see to the Crabfeeder soon enough, but it won't stop the Triarchy, even if Daemon takes the Stepstones, Dorne will join the cause against him and the war will continue indefinitely."
She did not feel to question why Laenor believed that, she took him at his word. Laenor was always right about these sorts of things.
"So they do need father's support."
"If they hope to win, yes," explained Laenor. "But even if Daemon does win, he will not stay in the Stepstones for long. He'll crawl back to court eventually."
"My father has driven my uncle from the realm."
"Your father will allow him back, that's his nature."
Rhaenyra could not disagree. Father never could stay angry for long, and Daemon was dear to him, even after what he had done.
They stayed seated close together for a long while before Laenor finally broke the peaceful silence.
"Mayhaps your father is right in your argument."
"Ugh," groaned Rhaenyra, "I don't want to get married to Jason Lannister. I want to ride Vermithor and listen to you sing for me."
"If we were to wed, I could spend much more time singing to you."
"Marry you? Would Father allow such a thing? With your father away fighting in the Stepstones."
"I think that would weigh in our favour."
Rhaenyra couldn't help but blush, and wonder how her maroon dress would look in sea-green, or more importantly how Laenor would look in Targaryen red and black.
"I would not try to make a simple lady out of you, Princess," Laenor said, "I would be Your Grace's most stalwart champion."
That was important, she knew, already people spoke of how Aegon should be king. She would need powerful allies around her when she came to her throne, and there was no more powerful house in the realm than House Velaryon.
"You are already my champion," she teased.
"I love you, Rhaenyra," answered Laenor, bending down on one knee, "if you feel the same, you must tell me."
Rhaenyra was conflicted. Their game had gone on for so long, that it seemed like she might lose if she spoke truly but worse yet that she be lost entirely if she spoke falsely.
"I do," she whispered.
Laenor swept her up in his arms and twirled her around, "I knew it!"
She giggled in his embrace.
Laenor eased her to the ground and looked deeply into her eyes. "So I will beg your father for a betrothal? We can wed when you are ready."
It was all so fast, but her heart was soaring. Father was right, after all, she would have to marry one day if she was to be queen.
She still did not want to get married and bear children yet, but marriage to her Velaryon boy did not sound half so unappealing. He was the man of her dreams after all.
Rhaenyra shyly nodded back.
Laenor began to scream for joy, jumping into the air and pumping his fist in a queer motion. "Yahoo!"
She laughed. No, marrying Laenor didn't sound bad at all.
When Uncle Daemon returned, she hardly cared at all. She had a more important someone on her mind.
Viserys
His Master of Laws, his strong left hand had given keen advice.
Wed Rhaenyra to her Velaryon boy. A lad of pure Valyrian descent, a dragonrider who had his own claim to the throne, and was the heir to the wealthiest house in the realm.
It hardly hurt that the man was a genius, making the maesters of the Citadel look like infants in comparison.
And the two were dear friends, even closer than he and Aemma had been before they wed.
Viserys watched the two of them enter the canopy, holding hands and laughing all the while. Viserys could not help but smile. More than anything he wanted his daughter to be happy.
He watched as his former squire kissed his daughter on her cheek, before marching up to him.
"Your Grace," the Velaryon spoke to his king, "Princess Rhaenyra has told me of your wish that she should marry."
"She has?" Viserys was too deep in his cups to play at courtesies.
"She has, Your Grace," the man struck an imposing figure, much more distinguished than the boy who had come to court just those few short years ago.
Ser Laenor bent the knee to him, "I beg of you, Your Grace, for her hand in marriage."
Viserys was taken aback, "Have you spoken to Rhaenyra about this?"
"I have, Your Grace, she has agreed to the match granting your permission."
Viserys laughed, could it really be that simple?
"And what of your father?"
"My father will be overjoyed, I am certain."
Viserys was overjoyed himself. If all this marriage business was so easily resolved as this, then he'd kiss Lord Strong on the lips.
"Then there is the matter of the bride-dowry."
"If the coin is meant for Rhaenyra's household, Your Grace, then I am willing to offer no less than a hundred thousand gold dragons."
Such a generous offer, Viserys mused House Velaryon truly wanted the match, or they had grown wealthier than anyone suspected. "It will suffice."
Laenor smiled, as did Viserys. "So, we have your blessing?"
"Indeed."
The realm would have to prepare for a royal wedding. Viserys might soon be a grandfather.
Even after all today's toil, the day had turned out to be a good one.
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I loved writing Rhaenyra's scenes, I hope you guys liked them.
I'm wondering if anyone has any ideas about the glass candles they'd like to see implemented. I'm thinking about letting Laenor see the memories of his ancestors, but that might be too OP even for the time-traveling genius.
I know people are going to call Laenor a Mary Sue for knowing magic, but it wouldn't make sense for him not to learn it. I mean come on, he's read the books, he knows what Melisandre can do and it's not like she invented them herself. Laenor's rich, the world is his oyster, and everyone has a price.
As to the glass candles let him see his past, I wanted an explanation as to why the SI could remember how things worked in the modern world. Characters are far too often just practically clairvoyant in these kind of stories, I wanted to give him an in-lore reason for knowing stuff. I think it's perfectly in line with what the glass candles are capable of, given they can give people dreams and you can experience memories in dreams.
To the anonymous person who already called Laenor a Mary Sue, for knowing high school math and how microscopes work, I'm not sorry I didn't dumb myself down for my SI to be sufficiently an underdog enough for you. I have a modern university education and I've read non-fiction too, I would be a genius in medieval times. SIs that don't revolutionize the world's technology are usually just lazy. Loke_lyon's is the exception that proves the rule.