Chapter 7: The Crown's Gamble
"Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me."
"Hope is the thing with feathers" by Emily Dickinson

Rhaenyra

The morning sun cast a warm, golden glow over the great hall of the Red Keep, its rays filtering through the tall, arched windows and bathing the room in soft light. The stone walls of the chamber, usually cold and imposing, seemed to soften under the sun's gentle touch, bringing a rare warmth to the ancient fortress. High above, the banners of House Targaryen fluttered slightly in the morning breeze, their rich crimson and black colors vivid against the gray stone.

The long table at the center of the hall was set with a modest but inviting breakfast, designed to cater to the varied tastes of the guests gathered around it. A blend of Southern and Northern fare was carefully arranged on silver platters and wooden boards, a symbol of the unity Rhaenyra hoped to foster between her house and the Northern lords.

Steaming bowls of porridges, Fresh fruits— a stark contrast to the more subdued food of the Northern dishes also Spiced honey cakes. Alongside these Southern delicacies, more robust Northern fare was prominently displayed. Roasted meats ,Thick slices of the bread, Bowls of preserved berries, pickled vegetables, and aged cheeses completed the Northern offerings, providing a taste of home for the guests who had traveled far from their own halls.

The Northern lords and lady, who had grown accustomed to the simpler fare of their homeland, seemed to appreciate the effort, their eyes lingering on the familiar foods that reminded them of the cold, harsh lands they had left behind.

Rhaenyra herself sat at the head of the table, as she observed the scene before her. The subtle interplay of Southern and Northern culture was evident not just in the food, but in the very atmosphere of the room. The crackling of the hearth at one end of the hall provided a comforting background to the low murmur of conversation, the fire's warmth adding to the sun's golden rays. The Northern guests, though still somewhat reserved, were beginning to ease into the unfamiliar surroundings, their voices growing louder, their laughter more frequent.

As Rhaenyra watched them, she couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. The breakfast was more than just a meal; it was a subtle yet powerful gesture of goodwill, a way to bridge the gap between the cold, austere North and the more opulent South.

Rhaenyra Targaryen's violet eyes observing the Northern lords who had arrived days earlier. The group, led by Rickon Stark, had settled into King's Landing, and their presence was now a familiar part of her daily routine. The Northern lords, with their imposing figures and quiet strength, seemed to fill the hall with an air of resilience and fortitude that was as invigorating as the brisk Northern winds they had brought with them.

Rhaenyra Targaryen's violet eyes swept over the table, taking in the sight of the Northern lords who had become an integral part of her daily life since their arrival. The group, led by Rickon Stark, had brought with them the cold winds and stoic temperament of the North, and though their presence was initially a stark contrast to the warmer, more relaxed atmosphere of King's Landing, it had quickly become a welcome change.

Rickon, seated to her right, was the embodiment of this Northern spirit. His silver eyes, steady and contemplative, rarely missed anything, even as he listened intently to the conversation around him, he squeezed her hand once to let her know that he was aware of her next to him.

There was a gravity to Rickon, a quiet authority that commanded respect without ever needing to demand it. He was a man of stern words, but when he spoke, his voice carried the weight of his convictions and the unyielding resolve of a true Stark. Rhaenyra had come to rely on his counsel, finding in him a partner who understood the complexities of their positions and the challenges that lay ahead.

Beside Rickon sat Bernard Stark, his uncle, a man whose presence was as imposing as the ancient walls of Winterfell itself. Bernard's silence was not one of disinterest but of careful observation, his piercing gray eyes taking in everything with a calm, measured gaze.

Further down the table, Cley Cerwyn provided a lively counterpoint to the more reserved demeanor of the Starks. With his sharp wit and easy humor, Cley had a knack for lightening the mood, his laughter a bright note that often broke through the more somber discussions. Yet beneath his playful exterior lay a keen mind, always assessing, always calculating. His green eyes, twinkling with mischief one moment, could turn sharp and perceptive the next, revealing a depth of understanding that belied his age.

At the far end of the table, Maege Mormont sat with the quiet intensity of a warrior, her dark brown eyes keenly observing everything around her. Maege was one to engage in idle talk, her presence was a constant reminder of the fierce loyalty and unyielding strength of House Mormont.

She had seen battle, had fought and bled for her people, and her scars were etched into the steel of her gaze. Maege's respect was not easily earned. Rhaenyra found herself admiring Maege, seeing in her a kindred spirit, a woman who understood the burdens of leadership and the sacrifices it demanded.

It was clear that the days of rest had done them good, restoring their energy and spirits. Rhaenyra, ever attuned to the mood of those around her, sensed that it was time to engage them in activities that would keep them occupied —a crucial step as they prepared for the challenges ahead.

Rhaenyra allowed the conversation to ebb and flow for a few moments longer, her mind already working on a plan. She had spent enough time with these Northerners to understand that they were people of action, not idle chatter.

With a subtle smile, Rhaenyra placed her goblet of wine on the table, the sound drawing the attention of her guests. "It seems the days of rest have done you all some good," she began, her tone light and teasing. "But I can see that you are not men and women who enjoy idleness for too long. What say you to a bit of sport today?"

The suggestion sparked a ripple of interest around the table. Cley Cerwyn was the first to respond, his grin widening as he leaned forward, his green eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Sport, Princess? I thought the South was all about leisurely walks and courtly dances," he quipped, earning a round of chuckles from the others.

Rhaenyra's smile deepened, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Oh, we have our share of those, Lord Cerwyn," she replied, matching his playful tone. "But I was thinking of something more to your liking—perhaps a bit of fishing? The waters near the Blackwater Bay are considered many treasures not just fish."

The men nodded in approval, their expressions brightening at the prospect of a day spent outdoors, away from the confines of the Red Keep. Bernard Stark, who had been quietly listening, gave a rare smile. "Fishing sounds like a fine idea, Princess. It's been too long since we've had the chance to enjoy such a simple pleasure."

Rhaenyra then turned her attention to Maege Mormont, whose eyes had been observing her with that same intensity. "And Maege," Rhaenyra continued, her voice warm and inviting, "I was hoping you might accompany me on a ride—on dragonback, if you're willing. Syrax could use some exercise, and I thought you might enjoy seeing King's Landing from the skies."

Maege's surprise was evident, her dark eyes widening slightly, but it quickly gave way to a grin that matched her fierce nature. "You know how to seduce a woman, Princess," she replied with a chuckle. "I've never been one to turn down a challenge, even one that involves flying on the back of a dragon. Count me in."

Cley Cerwyn, not one to be left out, leaned forward with a mock pout. "And what of me, Princess? Am I to be left behind while you two go soaring through the skies?"

Rhaenyra couldn't help but laugh at Cley's antics. "Worry not, Lord Cerwyn," she replied with a playful glint in her eye. "I'll make sure Syrax is ready for another ride tomorrow, and you shall have your turn. But only if you promise not to try to jump while we're in the air."

Cley placed a hand over his heart in mock solemnity. "You have my word, Princess. Though I can't promise that I won't be shouting my victory to the winds when we're up there."

Rhaenyra smiled at Cley's antics, her grin turning sly. "You can shout all you like, Lord Cerwyn," she teased, her eyes gleaming with mischief, "but in the sky, no one can hear you."

Rhaenyra's gaze then shifted to Bernard Stark, who had been quietly observing the exchange. "And what about you, Lord Bernard? Would you care to join us as well? I imagine seeing the land from the back of a dragon offers a view unlike any other."

Bernard held her gaze for a moment, his expression contemplative before he nodded. "I would be honored, Princess," he replied, his voice steady. "Opportunities to ride a dragon are rare indeed. I'd welcome the chance to see with new eyes."

As Rhaenyra and Maege made their way toward the Dragonpit, Ser Criston was behind them. the towering structure loomed ahead. The air was thick with the smell of hay, dragon dung, and the lingering scent of fire, a constant reminder of the beasts that resided within. The path they walked was lined with guards and keepers, their eyes sharp as they watched over the approach to the most feared and revered creatures in all of Westeros.

Rhaenyra moved with a practiced grace, her violet eyes forward, her demeanor exuding the confidence of one accustomed to the presence of dragons. Beside her, Maege Mormont walked with a determined stride, her sturdy build and warrior's gait a testament to her strength. Despite her formidable presence, there was a flicker of something akin to awe in Maege's eyes as they neared the Dragonpit—a place few Northerners had ever seen.

"Is it true what they say?" Maege asked, her voice low and reverent. "That a dragon's fire can melt stone and steel?"

Rhaenyra glanced at her with a knowing smile. "It's true," she confirmed, her tone carrying a hint of pride. "Their fire is hotter than any forge."

Maege nodded, her gaze lingering on the massive iron doors that guarded the entrance to the pit. "I've seen many a beast in the North—direwolves, bears, even the occasional giant—but nothing like this. There's a wildness here, a force of nature that can't be tamed."

Rhaenyra's smile softened, a mixture of understanding and camaraderie in her eyes. "Dragons are not tamed, it's true. But once a bond is formed, it's unbreakable. Syrax and I… we understand each other. It's a partnership built on mutual respect, trust, and love."

As they approached the gates, the Dragonkeepers stepped forward, their expressions a mix of deference and caution. They opened the massive doors with a groan of iron and stone, revealing the dim interior of the Dragonpit. The air inside was thick with heat, and the sound of low, rumbling growls echoed off the walls, a constant reminder of the power that lay within.

Syrax, Rhaenyra's golden dragon, lay curled in the center of the pit, her luminous scales glinting in the dim light. Her large, intelligent eyes focused on Rhaenyra as the princess approached, and she let out a low, rumbling purr of recognition. Maege paused at the threshold, her breath catching as she took in the sight of the massive creature before her.

"She's… beautiful," Maege breathed, her voice filled with a mix of awe and respect.

Rhaenyra stepped forward, her hand reaching out to gently stroke Syrax's snout. The dragon responded with a deep, contented rumble, the sound vibrating through the air. "She is," Rhaenyra agreed, her voice soft with affection. "Would you like to get closer, Maege? Syrax won't harm you as long as I'm here."

Maege hesitated for only a moment before stepping forward, her movements careful but steady. As she approached, Syrax shifted slightly, her golden eyes watching Maege with a curiosity that bordered on approval, as the dragon read her soul and resonated with her. Maege reached out a hand, her fingers brushing against the warm scales of the dragon's side.

"She's… hot," Maege remarked, her tone full of wonder.

"Dragons are creatures of fire," Rhaenyra explained, her smile widening. "Their blood runs hot, just like the flames they breathe. A drop can melt flash to the bones"

Maege nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she took in the sheer magnitude of the experience. "I never thought I'd be this close to a dragon. The stories don't do them justice."

Rhaenyra chuckled softly. "No, they don't. But now you've seen one with your own eyes. And in the future, you could tell how you flew on the back of Syrax, the dragon of the Queen."

Maege grinned, her fierce demeanor softening as she looked up at Rhaenyra. "Aye, that I will. And it's one story the men of Bear Island will never believe."

Rhaenyra smirked, her eyes gleaming with shared mischief. "That is for me to confirm, Maege. With both of us standing firm, they wouldn't dare to disagree."

Maege laughed heartily, her voice filling the chamber. "I'd give a pocket full of gold coins to see their faces when you say that."

Rhaenyra's grin widened a spark of mischief in her eyes. "No need for payment, Maege. I'd gladly do it just for the fun of it."

As Syrax soared over King's Landing, the city unfolded beneath them in a patchwork of rooftops, winding streets, and bustling marketplaces. From this height, the city seemed almost peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos and politics that churned within its walls. The dragon's wings beat steadily, creating a rhythmic whoosh that accompanied the rush of wind around them. The distant cries of vendors and the clamor of life below were mere whispers in the air, leaving Rhaenyra and Maege in a cocoon of solitude high above the world.

Rhaenyra's hands tightened slightly on the reins, her thoughts tangled as she tried to find the right words. The silence between them was comfortable, but it was also heavy with unspoken questions. Maege, seated behind her, had a presence that was impossible to ignore—a combination of raw strength and unyielding resolve that marked her as someone who had faced countless challenges and emerged stronger for them.

Maege's voice cut through the wind, steady and curious. "Princess, you've flown with Rickon and spoken with Cley often. Why did you ask me to join you today?"

Rhaenyra hesitated, feeling a knot of uncertainty in her chest. She had wanted to have this conversation, but now that the moment was upon her, the words seemed harder to find. She glanced down at the city below, the tiny figures of people going about their lives, unaware of the struggles and fears that weighed on the minds of those far above them.

"I do want allies when I go to the North, female allies" Rhaenyra began, her voice measured as she tried to maintain her composure. "It's important for me to understand and respect the people who will be part of my future. But…" She hesitated again, her gaze fixed on the horizon as the truth pressed heavily on her. "There's more to it than that."

Maege was silent, waiting, her patience a testament to the respect she had for Rhaenyra. The Northern woman's presence was grounding, giving Rhaenyra the courage to continue.

"I've been thinking a lot about Rickon," Rhaenyra admitted, her voice softer now, almost reluctant. "He's… different from what I expected to find in a husband but I've come to care for him, and I find myself wondering if there's someone in the North, someone special to him, or if there was someone before me." The confession hung in the air between them, as heavy as the weight on Rhaenyra's heart. "Someone who held his heart"

Maege's grip on the reins tightened ever so slightly, a subtle sign that she was carefully considering her words. Her gaze shifted from the city below to the back of Rhaenyra's head, sensing the vulnerability in the princess's question. After a moment, Maege spoke, her tone firm but gentle. "Princess, that's a question only Rickon can answer. It's not my place to share the details of his past or his heart."

Rhaenyra's breath caught in her throat, the response both expected and disheartening. Yet, there was a truth in Maege's words that Rhaenyra couldn't deny. This was something she needed to confront Rickon about directly, no matter how difficult it might be.

"I see," Rhaenyra murmured, her voice carrying a mix of resignation and determination. She could feel Maege's steady presence behind her, a silent reminder of the strength she would need to face whatever truth lay ahead. "Thank you, Maege. I have come to respect all of you and didn't expect a different answer"

The Northern woman nodded, her gaze returning to the horizon as Syrax continued to glide through the sky. The dragon's powerful wings carried them effortlessly, the world below shrinking further as they ascended. Despite the intensity of the conversation, there was something freeing about being up here, away from the constraints of court and the expectations of those around them.

Maege shifted slightly in the seat behind Rhaenyra, her voice breaking the silence once more. "Princess, if I may— Whatever in Rickon's past, you can be sure that he would never deceive you. If there is someone else, he will tell you. But you must be prepared for that conversation, for whatever the answer may be."

Rhaenyra nodded, her heart heavy with the implications of Maege's words. She knew that Maege was right—Rickon's honor was something she admired deeply, and it was that very honor that made this situation so difficult. If there was another woman in his heart, Rhaenyra would need to know, and she would need to decide how to handle that knowledge. She would still marry him, but she would need to find a way to reconcile her own feelings with the truth of his past, to accept the reality that she might not be the only one who holds his heart.

The thought sent a pang of uncertainty through her. Rhaenyra was no stranger to political marriages—alliances forged not out of love but necessity. But this was different. She had begun to care for Rickon, to see him not just as a political ally but as a partner, someone she could stand beside through the trials of ruling. The idea that someone else might hold a piece of his heart, that there could be a love she would always compete with, was unsettling.

She would marry him, but she would also have to guard her own heart, to steel herself against the possibility that she might never fully claim his love. It would be a test of her strength, of her ability to lead with both wisdom and compassion, even when her personal desires were at odds with her duties. She would need to balance the needs of the realm with her own, to navigate the complexities of their relationship with the same care she applied to the politics of the court.

Rhaenyra took a deep breath, the cool air filling her lungs as she looked out over the vast expanse of land beneath them. The flight had given her clarity, but it had also brought a new set of challenges to the forefront of her mind. She could see the path ahead, but it was fraught with uncertainty and potential heartache. Yet, as a Targaryen, she was no stranger to the weight of responsibility and the sacrifices that came with it.

Maege's voice brought her back to the present, filled with the quiet strength of someone who had seen her own share of battles, both on and off the field. "You're stronger than you know, Princess. Whatever comes, you'll face it with the same courage and determination that you've shown in everything else."

Rhaenyra offered a small, grateful smile, though her thoughts remained clouded. "Thank you, Maege. Your words bring comfort, but I know this won't be easy."

"No, it won't," Maege agreed, her tone firm but understanding. "But you're not alone. You have allies, and friends who will stand by you, me included, even in the most difficult times. And whatever Rickon's past, remember that you are his future. That carries its weight."

The words resonated with Rhaenyra, a reminder that she was not just a pawn in a political game but a key player in shaping the future of her house and the realm. The marriage would bind their fates together, and she would have to find a way to make it work, to build a partnership that could withstand the pressures of the crown and the demands of their hearts.

As they continued their flight, Rhaenyra's mind began to turn over the possibilities, the ways she could approach Rickon, the conversations they would need to have. She would need to be patient, to listen as much as she spoke, to understand his past without letting it overshadow their future. It was a delicate balance, but one she was determined to achieve.

For now, she would focus on the present, on the bonds she was building with the Northern lords, and on the strength she would need to face whatever lay ahead. The future was uncertain, but Rhaenyra was prepared to meet it head-on, with the determination of a dragon and the wisdom of a queen.

Rhaenyra dismounted Syrax with a sense of satisfaction, the thrill of the flight still pulsing through her veins. Maege had been a formidable companion, and the experience had only solidified Rhaenyra's resolve to strengthen her bonds with the North. As she walked back towards the Red Keep, her thoughts were already turning to the challenges ahead, particularly the need to secure her alliances with the Northern lords.

However, as she approached the entrance to her chambers, she noticed Queen Alicent waiting for her in the shadows, her expression tight with barely concealed frustration. The queen's green gown shimmered in the fading sunlight, but there was nothing warm about her demeanor. Rhaenyra immediately sensed that this would not be a pleasant conversation. She wondered who opened her private chambers to the queen's use, ire flooded her system as she thought of Criston in the corridor.

"Princess," Alicent began, her voice cool and controlled, though the edge was unmistakable. "A word, if you please."

Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes, gesturing for the nearby servants to leave them in privacy. As the door closed behind them, Alicent wasted no time in voicing her concerns.

"I've heard you've been spending a great deal of time with the Northern lords, especially that Stark boy, even tho you aren't officially betrothed, I was relieved to hear " Alicent began, her tone laced with disapproval. "It's one thing to be polite and diplomatic, but you're aligning yourself too closely with them. Have you forgotten what these Northerners are like? They're savages, Rhaenyra. Their religion is strange, their customs barbaric. They're nothing like us."

Rhaenyra felt the heat of her anger rising, but she forced herself to remain composed, her voice calm yet firm as she responded to Alicent's provocations. "First of all, Alicent, your faith is not mine. While I respect every religion in the realm, it isn't the only one, especially not mine. The North holds to the Old Gods, and as you know, the Targaryens have long held their own beliefs. I do not expect everyone to share my views, nor do I impose mine on others. That's what it means to rule a diverse realm."

She took a step closer, her violet eyes locking with Alicent's in a silent challenge. "Secondly, the North is an integral part of this realm, just as much as the South. Its people will be my subjects, and their loyalty is as vital as any others. There is no harm in getting to know them, in understanding their ways. It's called diplomacy, something you should be familiar with. Since I am to live there as their future lady, it is my duty to bond with them, learn their customs, and earn their respect. This isn't a choice; it's a necessity."

Rhaenyra's voice softened, but the steel in her words remained. "As for Rickon and me, our betrothal is real in every way that matters. The official document may not be signed, but our commitment to each other is undeniable. I've made my choice, Alicent, and no amount of scorn or disapproval will change that."

She paused, letting her words sink in, before continuing, "You may think the North is full of savages with the wrong religion, but I see strength, loyalty, and honor in its people. They are different, yes, but not lesser. And as I am going to be part of their world, I intend to understand it fully, not just tolerate it from afar."

Rhaenyra's gaze never wavered, her expression a mix of defiance and resolve. "So, if you think that by questioning my decisions, you can sway me, you're mistaken. I am not a child to be led by the opinions of others. I will forge my own path, just as I always have. And if that path leads me North, then so be it. It is where I will find my future, and I intend to embrace it fully."

Alicent's eyes narrowed, her frustration barely concealed as she locked her gaze with Rhaenyra's. "Diplomacy may be necessary, but aligning yourself with those who worship trees and reject the Faith of the Seven is a step too far. You are a Targaryen, Rhaenyra. Your place is among those who honor the traditions of the realm, who respect the Faith that has guided us for centuries."

Rhaenyra felt her anger rise, but she kept her voice steady and firm. "First of all, Alicent, It's your faith that is not mine. The North holds to the Old Gods, I know, the Targaryens have long held the religion of the fourteen flames. I do not expect everyone to share my views, nor do I impose mine on others, try to do the same!"

Alicent's expression hardened, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone. "Be careful, Rhaenyra. You're walking a fine line. The realm is watching you, and aligning yourself too closely with the wrong people could cost you everything."

Rhaenyra met Alicent's gaze with equal intensity, refusing to be intimidated. "Aligning with the North isn't about choosing the wrong people, Alicent. It's about recognizing that the Seven Kingdoms are not a monolith. They are made up of diverse cultures, beliefs, and traditions. To rule effectively, one must embrace that diversity, not fear it."

Alicent's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and concern. "You may see it as embracing diversity, but others will see it as a betrayal of the traditions that have kept this realm together for generations. The Faith of the Seven is more than just a religion; it's the foundation upon which this kingdom stands. By aligning yourself with those who reject it, you risk alienating the very people you need to support you."

Rhaenyra stepped even closer, her voice steady and unwavering. "The North has its strength, its traditions, and its sense of honor. By understanding and respecting that, I am not betraying the realm; I am ensuring its unity. The Targaryens have always been different, Alicent. We are not bound by the same rules as the rest of the realm. Our strength lies in our ability to forge our own path, to adapt and grow. That is what I am doing—preparing for the future by building alliances that will make us stronger, not weaker."

Alicent's face remained tense, the underlying tension between them palpable. "Just remember, Rhaenyra, that power can be fleeting. If you're not careful, the alliances you forge could become chains that bind you, dragging you down when you need to rise."

Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed, her resolve only hardening in the face of Alicent's veiled threat. "I am well aware of the risks, Alicent. But I won't let fear dictate my decisions. I will do what is necessary for the realm, even if that means challenging the status quo. The North is not a threat—it is an opportunity. And I intend to seize it."

The tension between them crackled like a live wire, neither willing to back down. After a long moment, Alicent finally turned on her heel, her green gown swirling around her as she exited the room with a final, haughty glance. The door closed behind her with a sharp click, leaving Rhaenyra alone to simmer in the aftermath of their confrontation.

Just as she was about to take a calming breath, Criston Cole stepped into the room, his expression conflicted. Rhaenyra could see the worry etched in his features, but there was something else there as well—something darker, more troubling.

"Your Grace," Criston began, his voice hesitant, "I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with the queen. May I speak freely?"

Rhaenyra nodded, though she felt a prickle of unease at the intensity in Criston's gaze. "Of course, Ser Criston. Speak your mind."

Criston took a step closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "I'm concerned about your decision to marry Rickon Stark. The Northerners… they're not like us. They're rough, and uncivilized. Their ways are so different from what you're accustomed to. Are you certain this is the right choice?"

Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed slightly, her patience beginning to wear thin. "You sound like the queen. The North is as much a part of the realm as the South, and Rickon is a man of honor. I've made my decision, Criston, and I expect my shield to support me in it."

But Criston didn't back down. His jaw tightened, and there was a flash of something almost desperate in his eyes. "I'm only thinking of your safety, your happiness. You deserve better than to be tied to a man who—who can never truly understand you, who might… who might never love you as you deserve to be loved."

The implication in his words hung heavily between them, and not for the first time, Rhaenyra felt a chill of doubt regarding Criston's loyalty. She had always trusted him implicitly, relied on his unwavering support, but now… now she could see that his feelings were clouding his judgment.

"Criston," she said, her voice cold and firm, "you are my sworn shield, not my advisor on matters of the heart. Your duty is to protect me, not to question my decisions. I will marry Rickon Stark, and I expect you to show him the same respect you show me. Is that clear?"

She paused, her eyes narrowing as she added, "And perhaps you should also question how the Queen managed to enter my chambers without my leave."

Criston stiffened at Rhaenyra's words, his expression a mix of surprise and unease. "Princess, I—" he began, but Rhaenyra cut him off with a sharp wave of her hand.

"Enough, Criston," she said, her tone brooking no argument. "I trusted you with my protection, with my life. But now I find myself wondering if that trust was misplaced. The Queen's presence in my private chambers, uninvited, is not something I take lightly. You are here to guard my person, my privacy, and my secrets. If you cannot do that, then perhaps I need to reconsider who I place my trust in."

Criston's face paled slightly, the weight of her words sinking in. "Princess, I swear I—"

"Sworn shields do not allow uninvited guests into their liege's chambers, Criston," Rhaenyra interrupted, her voice icy. "Especially when those guests come with veiled threats and seek to undermine my position. You are meant to protect me, not to facilitate others in undermining my authority."

She took a step closer to him, her violet eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and disappointment. "You have been loyal to me, Criston, and I do not forget that. But understand this—my decisions, my alliances, and my future are not yours to question. You serve me, and by extension, those I choose to align with. If you cannot fulfill that duty, then perhaps you should reconsider your position."

Criston's jaw tightened, his pride wounded by her rebuke, but he could not meet her gaze. "I... I understand, Princess. My loyalty remains with you, always."

Rhaenyra gave a curt nod, the tension in the room still thick as she turned her back on him. "See that it does," she said, her voice cold. "And make sure that from now on, my privacy is respected. No one enters my chambers without my express permission. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Princess," Criston murmured, his voice subdued.

With a final glance over her shoulder, Rhaenyra dismissed him with a wave of her hand. "You may go."

Criston hesitated for a moment, as if he wanted to say more, but the sharpness of Rhaenyra's gaze left no room for further argument. Bowing stiffly, he turned and left the room, his footsteps echoing down the corridor as the door closed behind him.

As the silence settled once more, Rhaenyra stood alone, the weight of the confrontation heavy on her shoulders. The breach of privacy had been a stark reminder of the dangers lurking within the very walls that were supposed to protect her. It was a lesson she would not soon forget—trust, once given, was fragile, and even the most loyal could falter.

The small council chamber was bathed in the warm afternoon light, filtering through the tall windows and casting long shadows on the stone floor. The room hummed with the muted sounds of rustling parchment and the soft clink of goblets, the weight of the realm's troubles hanging heavily in the air. Rhaenyra sat beside her father, King Viserys, at the head of the table, her violet eyes sharp as she listened to the council members speak. The gravity of the situation was palpable, the atmosphere tense as they gathered to address a growing issue in the Vale.

Lord Lyonel Strong, his expression serious, held up a letter sealed with the unmistakable wax of House Targaryen. "We have received word from Prince Daemon," he began, his voice carrying the authority of his station. "The mountain clans in the Vale have become more organized, launching coordinated attacks on travelers and trying to break into settlements. Prince Daemon reports that they hide in caves whenever he and Caraxes fly overhead, rendering his efforts to subdue them ineffective."

The council members murmured amongst themselves, the news unsettling. The Vale, long known for its defensibility, was now under threat from within, and the situation was deteriorating rapidly.

As Lord Lyonel continued, he read from the letter, his tone grave. "Prince Daemon suggests that the clans' desperation may be driving them to these extreme measures. Despite the presence of a dragon, they persist in their attacks. He believes the situation is critical and that the crown's intervention is necessary before it escalates into open war within the Vale's borders."

Lyonel paused, his eyes scanning the faces of the council members before continuing, his tone taking on a darker edge. "Daemon, in his typical manner, suggests that the most effective way to handle the situation is to burn the entire area where the clans are hiding. He believes this would send a clear message and end the threat once and for all."

A tense silence fell over the room as the council members absorbed the gravity of Daemon's suggestion. The idea of using dragonfire to quell the uprising was extreme, even for Daemon, and the implications were not lost on anyone present. The destruction would be immense, and the loss of life, especially among innocents, would be devastating.

Viserys's expression hardened, his discomfort with his brother's suggestion evident. "Daemon's approach is… drastic," he said, his voice laced with concern. "We must consider the consequences of such an action. The Vale is a vital part of the realm, and the loss of life would be catastrophic."

Rhaenyra, who had remained silent up until this point, glanced at Rickon Stark, who was seated beside her. She could see the tension in his posture, the way his jaw clenched as he considered the situation. Rhaenyra knew Rickon well enough to recognize that he had been thinking deeply about this issue, and she trusted his judgment.

Rickon, sensing her gaze, met her eyes briefly before speaking, his voice calm and steady. "If the mountain clans are willing to continue their attacks despite the presence of a dragon, then there is something more driving them," he said, his tone measured. "Desperation can make people act irrationally, but it can also make them more dangerous. I believe that instead of resorting to violence, we should consider reaching out to them with an offer of peace, or at the very least, an attempt to understand their grievances and solve them in exchange for peace."

His words hung in the air, a stark contrast to Daemon's suggestion of annihilation. The council members exchanged uncertain glances, the idea of negotiating with the mountain clans clearly unsettling to some.

Lord Lyonel frowned, his skepticism evident. "You suggest we negotiate with these lawless clans? They may see it as a sign of weakness, Lord Stark. We can not allow such behavior to be rewarded"

Rickon held his gaze, unwavering. "Or they may see it as an opportunity to voice their grievances, to seek a resolution that doesn't involve further bloodshed. If their actions are driven by desperation, we must understand what has pushed them to this point. A peaceful solution could prevent a full-scale conflict and stabilize the Vale for years to come."

Rhaenyra felt a surge of pride at Rickon's suggestion. His approach was wise and tempered with the compassion and insight that made him a natural leader. She leaned forward, her voice clear and resolute. "I agree with Lord Stark. We should not dismiss the possibility of a peaceful solution. If we can address their concerns, we may be able to prevent the situation from escalating into war."

Viserys looked between his daughter and Rickon, a mixture of pride and concern in his eyes. He was a ruler who valued peace, and Rickon's proposal resonated with his own instincts. "It is a risk," Viserys acknowledged, his tone thoughtful, "but one that could save many lives. If there is even a chance for peace, we must take it."

Tyland Lannister, less cautious than them, finally spoke, his eyes darted to Rickon. "And who would we send as an envoy? The mountain clans are not known for their trust in the crown."

Rhaenyra exchanged a glance with Rickon before she spoke, her voice steady and resolute. "I will go," she announced. "As the heir to the Iron Throne, I hold the authority of the crown. If anyone can negotiate with the clans, it should be me. I will request Lady Rhae and Daemon to join me—two dragons should be more than enough to command the respect of even the boldest among them."

A murmur of surprise swept through the council, and Viserys's eyes widened, his expression a blend of shock and deep concern. "Rhaenyra, you cannot do this," he urged, his voice laden with the weight of paternal worry. "It is far too dangerous. You are the heir to the Iron Throne—you are too important to risk your life on such a perilous mission. These clans are unpredictable. Sending you into their midst is a gamble I'm not willing to take. You would be putting yourself in great danger, not just from the clans but from the very elements that shape their harsh existence."

Viserys's words hung heavily in the air, the protective instinct of a father clashing with the harsh realities of their world. His voice, usually commanding, now carried an edge of desperation, as if pleading with his daughter to reconsider.

Rhaenyra met her father's gaze with unwavering determination. "I understand the risks, Father," she replied firmly, her voice steady. "But this is my duty. If I am to rule one day, I must be willing to take on these challenges. The people of the Vale are my subjects, and I will do whatever it takes to ensure their safety and the stability of the realm. If I were a son, you wouldn't think twice about sending me on such a mission. I am the heir to the Iron Throne, and that responsibility means I must be prepared to face danger head-on. This is what it means to be a ruler, to protect and serve all of our subjects, no matter the cost."

Her words were resolute, cutting through the air with the force of her conviction, leaving no doubt that she was ready to step into her role as a leader, regardless of the peril.

Viserys sighed, the weight of his decision pressing heavily on him. He looked around the table, seeing the mixture of support and concern in the eyes of his council. Finally, he turned to Rickon, his expression serious. "Lord Stark, I trust you to accompany Rhaenyra and ensure her safety. You have experience in dealing with the clans"

Rickon inclined his head respectfully. "You have my word, Your Grace. I will—"

Rhaenyra interrupted, her tone decisive. "No, Rickon. I will go alone, or perhaps with Maege. The last time Syrax carried both of us, she struggled with the weight, and time is of the essence. I need to address this swiftly and return before the party from Winterfell arrives in five days." Her words left no room for argument, her focus clearly on the urgency of the mission.
Rickon hesitated for a moment, his brow furrowing in concern, but he quickly nodded in agreement. "Very well, Rhaenyra. If you believe this is the best course of action, I trust your judgment. But I still want you to take Maege with you. Her experience in dealing with threats could prove invaluable."

The other members of the council exchanged uncertain glances, but one by one, they began to nod in agreement. Lord Lyonel Strong was the first to speak, his tone measured. "The princess has shown time and again that she is capable of handling herself in difficult situations. If she believes this is the best way to resolve the issue, I see no reason to oppose it."

Ser Harrold Westerling, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, nodded reluctantly. "If Maege Mormont accompanies her, and with the protection of Syrax, I believe the princess will be well-guarded. I will, of course, ensure that the necessary preparations are made for their safety."

Even the usually cautious Lord Beesbury voiced his support, albeit with a hint of reluctance. "If the princess is determined to go, then we must support her in this endeavor."

Viserys looked around the room, seeing the consensus forming among his council. Though worry still clouded his expression, he finally relented with a heavy sigh. "Very well, Rhaenyra. If this is your decision, you have the council's support. But please, take every precaution and return safely."

Rhaenyra nodded, grateful for their trust. "Thank you, Father. I will ensure that this mission is carried out swiftly and with as little risk as possible."

The decision was made, and the atmosphere in the chamber shifted, the tension giving way to a sense of purpose. As the council members began to discuss the logistics of the mission.

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting long shadows across the practice yard as Rhaenyra and Rickon made their way to the training area for last-minute practice before she was meant to fly with Maege, who was excited to fly again and on a mission.

The cool evening breeze carried the scent of the sea, mingling with the earthy aroma of the freshly turned soil beneath their feet. The air was crisp, a reminder of the rapidly approaching winter, yet the warmth of the day still lingered on their skin.

Rickon had been unusually quiet since the council meeting, his brow furrowed in thought as they walked side by side. Rhaenyra could sense the tension in him, the way his shoulders were slightly hunched and his jaw set with determination. She knew him well enough by now to recognize when something was weighing heavily on his mind, but she also knew better than to press him before he was ready to speak.

They reached the training yard, where the crossbows and targets were set up, waiting for them. The yard was quiet, the usual bustle of soldiers and guards having dissipated with the fading light. It was just the two of them now, alone in the stillness, with only the occasional rustle of leaves to break the silence.

Rickon handed her the crossbow, his fingers lingering a moment longer than necessary as they brushed against hers. It had become a pattern lately—these small, seemingly incidental touches that sent warmth through Rhaenyra's veins. He never seemed to miss an opportunity to be close to her, to bridge the physical distance between them with a subtle connection that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

The touch lingered for a moment, sending a jolt of warmth through Rhaenyra's veins. She met his gaze, seeing the flicker of something in his silver eyes—something unspoken but undeniable. He stepped behind her, guiding her to stand in front of the target, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders.

The touch lingered for a heartbeat longer than necessary, sending a jolt of warmth through Rhaenyra's veins, and igniting something deep within her that she hadn't expected. It was as if his touch carried a current, a pulse that resonated through her entire being. She met his gaze, her violet eyes locking with his silver ones, and for a moment, the world around them seemed to fade away. There was a flicker in his eyes—something unspoken, a depth of emotion that neither of them had yet dared to voice aloud, but that hung heavy in the space between them.

Rickon's breath caught slightly as he looked at her, the connection between them growing more intense with every passing moment. He stepped behind her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body, his presence wrapping around her like a protective shield. His hands, strong and sure, came to rest lightly on her shoulders, guiding her into position in front of the target. The simple gesture held a tenderness that made her heart skip a beat, his touch gentle yet firm, as though he was afraid of letting her go but also of holding on too tight.

Rhaenyra's pulse quickened the sensation of his hands on her shoulders both grounding and exhilarating. She could feel his breath against the back of her neck, sending shivers down her spine as he leaned in, his voice low and intimate as he spoke. "Relax your shoulders," he murmured, his tone soft but commanding, the words reverberating through her, resonating on a level far deeper than mere instruction. "Let the tension flow out of you. Trust your aim, and the shot will find its mark."

His hands moved from her shoulders to her arms, guiding her with deliberate care, his touch a steadying force that both calmed her and set her heart racing. She felt the strength in his grip, the quiet confidence that came from years of training and battle, but also something more—something that spoke of a connection beyond words, a bond that was still growing, still finding its shape in the moments they shared.

Rhaenyra's breath hitched slightly as she adjusted her stance under his guidance, the proximity between them making it difficult to focus on anything other than the heat of his body so close to hers. "Like this?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the vulnerability in her question reflecting the deeper, unspoken uncertainties that lay beneath the surface of their growing relationship.

Rickon's hands tightened ever so slightly on her arms, a gesture of reassurance that sent a wave of warmth through her. "Yes," he replied, his voice a low murmur in her ear. "Just like that." The words were simple, but the way he said them made her feel as though he was speaking of more than just the crossbow, as though he was acknowledging the delicate balance of trust and care that had begun to develop between them.

She exhaled slowly, her breath mingling with his as she tried to steady her racing heart. The world seemed to narrow to just the two of them, the weight of the crossbow in her hands, and the feel of his touch, grounding her in the moment. But even as she focused on the target ahead, her thoughts drifted to the question that had been lingering in her mind, the one she had been hesitant to ask but could no longer keep at bay.

"Rickon," she began, her voice soft, almost tentative. "Have you… have you ever loved someone before?" The question hung in the air between them, fraught with the vulnerability of its asking, the fear of what the answer might bring.

There was a pause, a brief moment where she felt his hands still, the tension in his body shifting subtly as he processed her words. When he spoke, his voice was quieter, tinged with a hint of something more. "I was betrothed once," he admitted, his tone steady but with an undercurrent of old memories. "To Gilliane Glover. She was my childhood friend, and in many ways, my first love."

Rhaenyra's heart tightened at his words, a pang of something close to jealousy mixed with the ache of understanding. She could hear the depth of emotion in his voice, the way he spoke of Gilliane with a kind of quiet reverence that spoke to the importance she had once held in his life. But there was also a finality to his words, a sense that whatever feelings had once existed had long since been laid to rest.

"What happened?" she asked, her voice gentle, not wanting to press too hard but needing to know the answer.

Rickon's hands slid down her arms, his touch seeking to comfort and take comfort than a guide as he leaned in closer, his breath warm against her ear. "She ran away," he said softly, the words carrying a weight of loss and resignation. "She married Radnor Bolton, the heir to the Dreadfort, about a year ago. It was her choice, and I've made my peace with it. Whatever I felt for her… it's gone now. It was gone even before she ran away."

Rhaenyra nodded, her heart-aching with a mix of empathy and relief. She could sense the lingering sadness in his words, the echoes of a past that had shaped him, but also the resolve to move forward. The knowledge that his feelings for Gilliane were no longer a burden lifted a weight from her chest, though it also left her with questions of her own.

As the silence stretched between them, Rhaenyra felt the need to share something in return, to offer a piece of herself as he had done. She turned her head slightly, her eyes finding his silver ones again, their faces close enough that she could see the flicker of curiosity and something more in his silver gaze. "I've never cared for a man in that way before," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper, as though the admission itself was a fragile thing, easily shattered by the weight of expectations.

Rickon's gaze softened, his expression one of understanding and quiet acceptance. He didn't rush to fill the silence, allowing her the space to find her words, to let the truth come forth at its own pace.

"Growing up, I was always told that love wasn't something I could afford," Rhaenyra continued, her tone tinged with a mix of bitterness and resignation. "As a princess, I always knew my hand would be sold to the highest bidder, and since I became the heir that meant my choices were dictated by duty, by what was best for the realm, not by what I wanted or felt. I've been surrounded by suitors, men who sought power, status, and a pretty thing with a royal womb, but… I never let myself care enough to think of marrying any of them. I couldn't afford to care for anyone else."

Rickon's hands tightened slightly on her arms, a gesture of reassurance that sent a wave of warmth through her. "And now?" he asked quietly, his voice steady, though she could hear the tension in his words, the hope and fear intertwined in the simple question.

Rhaenyra's breath caught, the vulnerability of the moment making her heart race. She knew that this was a turning point, a moment where she could either step forward into something new and uncertain or retreat into the safety of the walls she had built around her heart. But with Rickon, those walls seemed less necessary, less impenetrable.

"And now… I find myself caring," she admitted, her voice soft but resolute. "For you."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with the weight of their significance. Rhaenyra watched as Rickon's expression shifted, the flicker of emotions in his eyes—surprise, relief, and affection—playing out in the silence that followed. He didn't speak immediately, but instead, his actions spoke for him. One of his hands slid up her arm to gently cup her cheek, while the other moved down to rest on her waist. His thumb brushed lightly across her skin, the touch so delicate it was as if he were handling the most fragile of glass.

The tenderness in his gestures, the way he cradled her cheek and held her close, told her everything she needed to know. Words were unnecessary; the warmth of his touch, the way he looked at her with such intensity and care, spoke volumes more than anything he could say.

Rhaenyra felt her pulse quicken as his touch lingered, her heart pounding in her chest with a mix of anticipation and longing. She hoped, with a quiet desperation, that he would close the gap between them and kiss her again, just as he had before. The warmth in his gaze now was undeniable, a softness that peeled away the layers of the stoic exterior he so often wore in the presence of others.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her cheek, sending a shiver down her spine. Every inch of her was acutely aware of his proximity, the way his hand held her cheek so tenderly, the subtle pressure of his other hand at her waist drawing her closer to him. It was as if the world around them had fallen away, leaving only the two of them suspended in this moment, teetering on the edge of something profound and unspoken.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a low murmur, intimate and filled with a depth of emotion that made her breath catch. The words were soft, almost reverent, as though he feared breaking the spell that had woven itself around them.

"I care for you too, Rhaenyra," he confessed, his voice filled with the sincerity of a man unaccustomed to laying his heart bare. "More than I ever thought I would. More than I should, perhaps."

The honesty in his words sent a shiver through her, not of fear, but of something far more exhilarating. The boundaries between them were dissolving, the barriers they had both erected to protect themselves slowly crumbling in the face of what was growing between them.

"Kiss me," she whispered, her breath fanning his face, her voice tinged with both a command and a plea. Rickon's gaze darkened with a mix of longing and restraint, and she felt his hesitation reverberate through her entire body. He shook his head slightly, a small, almost imperceptible movement, but the effect was felt deep within her. The tension between them was palpable, a current of unspoken desire that hummed in the air.

"Kiss me," she repeated, her voice firmer now, as she leaned closer, her lips barely inches from his. She could feel the heat radiating from his skin, the tension in his muscles as he fought against the urge to close the gap between them. The conflict in his eyes was unmistakable—he wanted her, just as she wanted him, but something held him back.

"I can't," Rickon murmured, his voice strained with the effort it took to resist. "Not until the betrothal contract is signed and—"

"Kiss me," she interrupted, her voice carrying an edge of desperation. "I don't care, Rickon. You're mine, and I'm yours. That's what's important right now."

For a moment, he looked at her, truly looked at her, as if searching her eyes for any trace of doubt. But all he found was certainty—a fierce, unyielding certainty that matched his own. The resolve in her words broke through the barriers he had tried to keep between them, and with a low, guttural sound of surrender, he leaned in.

But instead of claiming her lips, he placed gentle, lingering kisses on each of her cheeks, as though marking her with his affection in a way that was both tender and restrained. The softness of his lips against her skin sent a shiver down her spine, the gesture somehow more intimate, more reverent, than a kiss on the lips might have been. It was as if he was telling her, without words, that he respected her, that he honored the bond they were forming, and that he would not cross the line until the time was right.

When he finally pulled back, he looked into her eyes, his expression filled with a quiet intensity. "Soon," he promised, his voice a hushed vow. "Soon, when it's right, and when safe to act on emotions."

He let her go then, his hands slipping away from her as if it pained him to do so. The distance between them, though small, felt like a chasm, and yet the bond they had forged at that moment was stronger than ever.

For a moment, they simply stood there, not close, to Rhaenyra it felt yards apart. The crossbow was forgotten on the floor, the target in the distance irrelevant compared to the connection they had just forged. The training had become something more, a moment of shared vulnerability that had brought them closer together.