Sunspear 113 AC.
Ser Daeron Waters.
He'd been bid first by Prince Daemon to not let Aemon out of his sight when they arrived in Dorne. Then by Princess Rhaenyra, who asked him to ensure that her husband ate and slept well too. Daeron needed neither of them to do so and yet allowed it all the same. His time watching over his charge had forged a bond between them that would have demanded he do those things anyway.
So after being greeted by a much lesser party than he had expected, one that was meant to show some disrespect, Daeron looked to where Aemon stood. His prince was not best pleased by the lack of true welcome, yet Aemon seemed to have expected as much. The small smirk he wore on his face was proof enough of that. As too was the refusal to accept the offered carriage and instead the long walk they made through the Shadow City. Aemon took it all in with each step they took and Daeron believed his prince had begun to see the truth in the words he'd spoken to him on the Winter Dragon.
Alongside the Young Wolves, it was the white one that served as Aemon's guard and protector during the walk to the Old Palace. Ghost was even more alert and watchful than Aemon was, which was no mean feat. The White Wolf looked from side to side at every alley or street they passed and Daeron would wager that was there someone laying in wait to do Aemon harm, they'd soon face a wolf's fury. There was no one waiting, however. No one was doing anything more than taking the measure of the future King of Westeros. Daeron, the Young Wolves, Ghost, and Aemon too all could see the spies for what they truly were.
"The Old Palace, my prince," Daeron whispered as they turned the last corner and the seat of House Martell came into view. The Rogue Prince's maps and those given to him by Lady Mysaria were now proven as true as Daeron expected them to be.
"And no welcome party here either." Mychel snarled, Aemon shaking his head to let the young man know he wished not to make an issue of it.
Instead, they walked through the gates undisturbed, and only when they reached the large double doors that led into the Old Palace for true, that anyone dared try to stop them. A contingent of guards led by two giants with axes being the fools who dared to do so. Their demands that they give up their weapons before entering the Old Palace, were not ones that any of them would adhere to. Something that Aemon now stated clearly and in a manner befitting the son of the Rogue Prince.
"You would dare ask me and my men for our swords. You, who treat Guest Right as merely words spoken. You who have been known to kill without provocation and to attack those you name as enemies, even should they not be." Aemon spoke firmly and yet not angrily, before then laughing loudly. "It must be the sun, Ser Daeron. Spending too much time in it must affect their minds or tongues."
"Our prince will welcome you not before Guest Rights have been taken and they shall not be offered to men who bear steel." a tall thin man in bright yellow robes called out. The guards then moved to one side to allow him to walk to where Aemon stood.
"Welcome, what welcome have we received thus far? That pitiful show at the docks. This poor attempt at intimidation. For all of Dorne's dubious charms, you seem poor at the former and ill-equipped for the latter." Aemon said. The roar that shook the ground they stood on and the shadow that flew and bathed them in shade, showed that to be true. Vermithor flew so close to the top of the Tower of the Spear, that the tip of said spear almost brushed against the dragon's bronze scales.
Around him, the Young Wolves laughed at the scared and worried expressions that suddenly appeared on the guards and the tall thin man's faces. As an act of intimidation, nothing could ever beat the sound and sight of a dragon. Yet, Daeron knew that Aemon was seeking not to intimidate, not as of now at least. Instead, he was simply showing them the folly of thinking that he could be intimidated.
'And if they get the message that the Bronze Fury is close, well that works just as much.'
"Forgive us, Prince Aemon, no disrespect was meant nor intended." a wizened older man said as he brushed past the guards and the tall thin man who had named himself not.
"None has so far been taken." Aemon lied.
"Where are my manners. Gascoyne Jordayne, Steward to Prince Qoren Martell and Castellan of the Old Palace. Dorne welcomes you most fondly, Prince Aemon, despite your initial observations." the smiling steward said.
"First impressions last longest, Gascoyne," Aemon said, wiping the smile away before speaking words that soon put it back. "However, that needs not to be what we take from the day, now does it?."
"No, Prince Aemon, it does not."
Guest Right was offered once again and all talk of them being disarmed was forgotten. The Steward looked warily at Ghost but then seemed to shake his head and come to the conclusion that where Aemon went, so too did the white wolf. A subtle wave of Gascoyne's hand to the guards allowed them to part and for them to then to enter the Old Palace finally.
It was well furnished and done so to a standard that showed much coin had been spent to see that was so. Tapestries from Myr, carpets, and glass works that were carved into the shape of various animals, all were spread out along passages that led to the Throne Room and the various wings of the Old Palace. Daeron, Mychel, Donnel and Rodrik, Ghost and Aemon, all taking in the sight of the doors and the ways out of the Old Palace as they walked through it. Ghost offered little nods of his head as he looked in one direction or the other and Daeron knew enough about the nature of the wolf to see that they provided the shortest routes to safety, should they be needed.
When they entered the Tower of the Sun, it was clear that even more coin had been spent there. The white marble floor leading to the gilded double doors was just one example of that. As for the Throne Room itself, it rivaled the one in the Red Keep for luxury if not for the impression it left upon you. The two seats on the raised dais were no match for the Iron Throne, nor even the raised seat in the Chamber of the Painted Table on Dragonstone. However, the colored glass of the windows and the dome did much to cast the room in a wondrous display of shadows and shades. From bright oranges to yellows on one wall or the other and a golden hue that seemed to bathe the two seats in its light.
"Prince Aemon Targaryen, Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks, Future King Consort to Princess Rhaenyra, and envoy of his uncle, King Viserys of Westeros." a herald called out. Daeron and the Young Wolves, were not introduced or mentioned once he'd done so.
"You stand in the presence of Prince Qoren Martell, Prince of Dorne, Lord Protector of the Rhoynar, and Commander of the Green Blood."
"Be welcome Prince Aemon."
"I finally feel so, Prince Qoren." Aemon again lied. Daeron had no need to look to see that was so.
That was it, two sentences spoken between the Prince of Dorne and the Future King of Westeros. Refreshments and rooms were offered and accepted, reluctantly though that may have been. A feast was to be held in honor of Prince Aemon's visit and any true talk on what that visit was about, had been put off until the morning. Daeron was happy to see that Aemon seemed put out by it not. Instead the prince took it all in his stride and once again spoke to him and the Young Wolves to tell them to be wary.
"They will try and get to my secrets, my truth for being here, and will seek to use any means to do so. Should the offer come to share a bed, do so." Aemon said, to surprised looks from Mychel and Rodrik. "As long as you use your tongues in a manner befitting the occasion." Aemon winked. To laughs from the Young Wolves.
At that night's feast, Aemon partook only when Ghost brushed against him. During one course, the wolf moved to Donnel and Rodrik and silently snarled at them both. The two men refused to eat the meat on their plates once he'd done so. For another, it was wine that was given to him and Mychel that Ghost bid them not to drink, the warning again was one that they heeded. As for Aemon, it was the desserts that he refused at Ghost's behest.
More than one woman made their way to the High Table in a vain effort to get his prince to dance with them. Aemon refused every single one of them and only when he nodded to the one or two Young Wolves who were unsure if they should accept, did those men do so. It was Mychel who made his way to his chambers in the company of a young lady. Donnel and Rodrik refused to do so and though he had offers, it was at his prince's door that Daeron stood once the feast was done.
Daeron broke his fast with Aemon that morning. Both of them doing so inside the chambers that had been allocated to his prince. Chambers that at least showed they were attempting to be respectful. Though given they'd tried to poison them the night before, Daeron would name it a mummery at best.
He wondered how Aemon felt about it and while it would not normally be something he'd bring up first, he felt that he must, so he asked the question on the tip of his tongue.
"How are you so calm, my prince?"
"You speak of the poison?"
"Of course. I understand not why Dorne is not already in flames." his words garnering a laugh from the prince.
"They meant us no true harm, Daeron. It was not our lives that they sought to take, but our dignity."
"My prince?"
"Had we not been so diligent, then it would be in the privy that most of us spent the morn."
It took him a moment to understand what his prince was saying, even when he did he couldn't come to terms with the fact that Aemon was so calm about it all. His prince was not a man who accepted slights or easily forgave those who aimed them his way and yet, Aemon seemed unperturbed.
"I have mine own motivations with this visit, Daeron. Mine own things I seek to find out. Last night I found out that Dorne is ever petty and yet…"
"Yet?"
"They are no fools," Aemon said cryptically.
Later as he stood at his prince's back in Prince Qoren's solar, Daeron was still unsure if Aemon had the right of that. Listening to the offers be made, rejected, worked on, and considered, he named the man on the other side of the table a fool indeed. For at various points during the discussion, Daeron saw how the white wolf raised its haunches and how were it not for Aemon's hand brushing through its soft white fur, either it or his prince would have ended Qoren Martell where he sat.
King's Landing 113 AC,
Alicent Hightower.
There may have been a time when the words her father had written would have shocked and disgusted her. A point in the past where the simple suggestion of doing what her father wished her, would have led to angered words between them. That time was long since passed, however. Alicent understood the danger that a child born to Rhaenyra and Aemon would pose to her own and so, she now thought only as a mother.
She made her way to the Grand Maester's chambers, spoke the words that the raven's scroll had bid her to speak, and left with enough Moon Tea to do as she must. More than enough if she was being honest with herself and as she lay in her bed that night, it was not simply thoughts of stopping Rhaenyra falling with child that her mind was full of. Other thoughts which were just as wicked and dangerous had joined them and Alicent welcomed these just as keenly as she did her father's request.
Upon waking the next morning, it was with thoughts of the former that she spent her time on. The breaking of her fast with her husband and her children had been spoiled by Rhaenyra's appearance which made it so. Alicent saw just how easy it would be to do as her father and she wished to do and it took all she had in her not to smile because of it. As it did when she walked with Ser Criston as her shadow and considered just what she was now more easily able to do.
"Have you explored much of the keep, Ser Criston?" Alicent asked, innocently enough.
"A little, your grace."
"Mayhap we could do some exploring together later today," she said, very much not so.
"As your grace wishes."
It was how she spent much of the morning. The conversation she had with Ser Criston crossed lines of propriety and treaded dangerous ground and Alicent enjoyed it all immensely. She may not have come right out and said that she wished him to raise her skirts and feast upon the delights hidden beneath them, but she left the Dornish Knight in no doubt that's what she was hinting at. The look on Ser Criston's face had been proof enough of that and it left Alicent wearing a smile for much of the day. One she may have still worn that night at the evening meal had it not been for the run-in she had with Princess Rhaenyra.
"Your grace." Rhaenyra all but sneered. "Lord Commander."
"I had not expected to see you here, Gooddaughter, though with your husband away, mayhap I should have." Alicent snarked back.
"I find I much enjoy walks around the Red Keep, your grace. Even more so since it's one day to be mine own and mine husband's seat."
"Indeed, lest the Triarchs are more successful in the upcoming war than they were in their attack in the prince's own chambers." Ser Criston's words were spoken in a manner that named them a jape and yet one look at the expression he wore would name them as more hopeful.
"Wishing ill on the prince, Lord Commander, you should be careful in speaking such words even in jest. Though whether it would be Prince Aemon or his father who would take most offense at them would be most amusing to find out." Arnolf Snow said, the giant Northman was a recent addition to the princess' guards. "For the princess I mean, I doubt it would amuse you much, Lord Commander." the giant added and Alicent bristled as did Criston.
"I believe Ser Criston has already suffered at my husband's tongue, Arnolf, it too is as sharp as his blade."
"Though not as sharp as Dark Sister's, Princess," Arnolf said to a true laugh from the princess.
"No, few things are." Rhaenyra glared at them both before she, Arnolf Snow, the three other Young Wolves, and Ser Steffon Darklyn who at least bowed to both her and Ser Criston, now all walked away.
They waited until they were out of earshot and then between them both, she and Ser Criston spent the next half an hour speaking their true thoughts regarding Rhaenyra and Aemon. Each vitriolic word that came from the Lord Commander's mouth was one that inflamed the desires that had been building up within her since she had gathered the Moon Tea. Yet as much as she wished she could do something to soothe those desires, for now, Alicent knew she could not.
Instead, it was to other thoughts that her mind turned. To plans and to how best to carry out those plans. Her chambers were her new destination and Alicent would not lie, it excited her seeing how put out Ser Criston was that she entered them alone. The small touch on his shoulder and the look she gave him, were the only signs that she allowed him to see regarding her true thoughts.
After calling for the servants that she knew she could trust implicitly, Alicent gave two of them their orders before then giving the other two other just as important ones. Two to distract and two to carry out the plan, she believed it was enough and from now on, each meal that Rhaenyra took would be one served with Moon Tea to follow. Not that it would actually be Moon Tea exactly that the princess consumed. The effect, however, would be just as deadly to any child that dared take root in Rhaenyra's soon to be poisoned womb.
'With luck one already has and the effect will be even more deadly.'
Unfortunately, that night the chance to see it done was one that Alicent had to forego. Rhaenyra did not join them during the evening meal and though her Gooddaughter had begged off due to tiredness, Alicent worried that her plans had somehow been revealed. Only to realize that if that was so, then her own life would have been in danger. Something that one look to her fool of a husband was enough to show it was very much not.
By the time the Hour of the Wolf had come around, Alicent could wait no more. Sending a servant to fetch the Lord Commander, she was soon walking the Red Keep once again. She even stopped by her husband's chambers so as to not raise suspicions as to why she was doing as she was. Viserys had been happy to see her and luckily for Alicent, her husband was in no mood to couple when he did so. The thoughts of having to lay with him when it was another man she wished lie with, were ones that almost cooled her ardour. Almost.
"My queen." Ser Criston said huskily when Alicent stopped their wanderings and reached out to touch his manhood, or to try to at least. Armor was not conducive to easy access, or so she had now found out.
"I wish to be seen as more than your queen, Ser Criston." Alicent leaned forward and kissed the lips she'd been dreaming about for the past few weeks. Mayhap even longer if she was being truthful with herself.
"I…"
"Remove your armor, Ser, for I would see what lays beneath it and I would see it post haste."
She was wet by the time Ser Criston's shirt joined the armor on the ground. Keen to see what lay beneath his britches and even more so for him to see what she wore beneath her dress. The raised eyebrow and curl of his lip when she showed that she wore nothing at all, made her wetter still. How he grabbed her, pushed her against the wall and then dropped to his knees before her, that was almost enough to bring about her fall. Feeling his tongue kiss her between the legs, he managed to do so. Alicent was happy to find that it was not the last fall she'd have that night. As she was to find that Ser Criston wielded the sword between his legs as well as he did any weapon she'd seen him wield in his time in the yard.
Driftmark 113 AC,
Daemon Targaryen.
The offer to travel to Driftmark was one that Daemon welcomed, as the thoughts of staying in King's Landing or traveling to Dragonstone were not ones he wished to entertain. For the first, it was because anytime he looked at Criston Cole or the Lighthouse Keeper's Daughter, it took all he had in him to contain his anger and disdain for them both. As for the second, it had been long since Daemon named Dragonstone his home and absence did not make his heart grow any fonder of the place.
Daemon was well aware that there were fools who'd think him jealous or upset that his niece had been gifted the keep. Little knowing that just as with the Stepstones, Dragonstone belonged to his niece, son and his future grandchildren. Something that Daemon may very well play an even larger part in seeing come to pass than he had ever imagined. Thoughts of the agreement his son had made with Corlys and Rhaenys were now never far from his mind. As were thoughts of just how that agreement would mayhap be sealed.
At least they were until they arrived on Driftmark and Daemon found that he had a rival for Laena's affections. A man who brought less than he did to the table, by every measure. In normal times the son of the Sealord of Braavos would be a worthy match for the daughter of the Sea Snake. Braavos and all its power and might would come damnably close to trumping a Prince of House Targaryen, even one who came with the Stepstones as dowry, which Daemon did not. Yet not only had the man squandered his father's fortune and wielded power not, but he was a fool to boot.
"My lady, a dance if I may." Denyo Erastes asked as Daemon swirled his wine in his glass, his annoyance not allowing him to drink yet.
"I would be delighted to join you," Laena said glancing Daemon's way, and much as it bothered him seeing her in the arms of another man, Daemon had to admit the glint in her eyes was most attractive.
It was why Daemon then danced with her the moment he could. Daemon not settling for the one dance either. Why too when the man she was betrothed to could take it no longer and walked their way, he did so with no understanding of just how perilous a walk that was.
"I would like to speak to my betrothed, Prince Daemon."
"I've no doubt you would, though what words a fool could say to a beauty such as Lady Laena, I know not."
"I'm no fool."
"Hmm, are you most certain of that? Was it not motley you dressed in this very morn? Or was that simply what you wore the last time we spoke? For I well remember seeing a fool who was the very image of you. Not that he knew he was a fool, mind." Daemon chuckled as he pulled Laena even closer to him. "Then again, how would a fool know such a thing."
That he laughed was one thing. When Laena joined in, Daemon saw how Denyo bristled and how his hand moved to a sword that was not there. Daemon's own hand moved to the dagger he always wore which was enough to make his meaning clear. A chastened fellow suitor soon left him to continue his chase undisturbed. While the quarry he was chasing smiled a true smile at him and rebuked him not for his words or actions.
Later that night, it was Daemon and not Denyo who escorted Laena to her room. Images of what may happen should she invite him inside were chased away by the thoughts of whether or not she had ever invited the Sealord's Son to join here there. Daemon not liking those images one bit and it surprised him to find he was so jealous at the thought of someone else's attentions being welcomed. So much so that he spoke words he expected not and was on tenterhooks while the unasked question was answered.
"I reserve the delight of my chambers for the man who steals my heart, my prince. Denyo Erastes is very much not that man."
A kiss on his cheek was followed by a caress of his lips and then, like the sun seen through a gap in the clouds, Laena was inside her room and Daemon stood outside. The door was half open and yet for the first time in his life, Daemon took it not as the sign he believed it to be. Instead, he closed that door and walked down the halls to where Corlys and Rhaenys kept their own chambers.
Knocking on their door, it was his cousin and not her husband who opened it to answer him. Rhaenys looked a little flushed and yet pleased to see him standing there. Daemon again spoke words that had he been told he'd speak, he'd have named the man or woman who did so, liars. There was no desperation in his request, that was not him, there was eagerness and a slight worry about the granting of it, however. Not that there should have been. Corlys had already made the Sealord's Son wait many years for the marriage to take place. So it was as clear as night follows day that the Sea Snake had no intent of ever allowing it to occur.
"Should it be my daughter's wish then I would most welcome the match, Daemon," Corlys said, a warm smile on his face as he did so.
"Yet, there is the matter of her betrothed to overcome and we will accept no shame nor blame attributed to Laena over the breaking of that betrothal," Rhaenys added.
"Nor will there be any forthcoming, cousin," Daemon stated as a matter of fact. His ideas of how to remove the Sealord's Son from his path were now taking shape in his mind.
"Then you have our blessing and our good wishes, Daemon." Corlys' words were spoken without any doubt and Daemon was already thinking of the wedding night to come when Rhaenys all but dragged her husband back to their bed and shut the door behind them.
It took three days and more insults than he had ever spoken to, if not about, one man. Only the Lighthouse Keeper was able to surpass Denyo Erastes in that regard. During those three days, Laena spent thrice the amount of time in Daemon's company than she did in that of her betrothed. The woman who had so captivated him, doing all she could to show to one and all just who it was who held her affections and while there was no more than a kiss or two between them, it was more than enough, for now.
When the challenge eventually came, it was done so in the most public of settings. Daemon allowed the Sealord's Son to speak words that all who knew him, knew exactly what they'd then lead to. Insults were never swallowed by the Rogue Prince and yet Daemon waited until Denys spoke words about Laena before he rose to his feet. His anger had intended to be an act but was far more true when he accepted the challenge to a duel that had been laid down before him.
"You speak words and dare impugn my reputation and yet they are the words spoken by a fool and so they mean naught. The words you speak about a daughter of House Velaryon, however, those I give you no respite for. I accept your challenge and say we see who the gods favor this very day." Daemon said before turning to the woman next to him." Lady Laena, I would ask for your favor and for your leave to serve as your champion in this matter."
"You have it, my prince," Laena replied instantly, that eager look in her eyes was back and the way she tied the favor to his arm and placed a kiss on his cheek, was enough to send Denys stomping away from the table.
A part of him had intended to do this in private. To goad the young man into challenging him to a fight and then end him far from most of the residents of the keep. Other than but for a few witnesses, Daemon would have simply accepted taking Denyo Erastes life from him and moving on to collect his prize. Given that the woman herself seemed so very eager for him to remove the man from her sight and from the world, Daemon now truly welcomed the large crowd that had gathered to see him do both.
Helm on his head, his armor shined and polished, Daemon bowed and offered a look Laena's way. A look that was returned not simply with eagerness but with a small amount of trepidation too, he believed. That she worried for him, pleased him greatly, as he wished not to be the only one to have feelings between them both. Thus far, his ego alone had named it as true that Laena cared for him as much as he had come to care about her. Now, seeing that look, he named it as certain that she did so.
There were no words spoken to start the duel. Dark Sister was simply unsheathed and the Sealord's Son removed his sword. The sound of the two blades crashing together then rang out around the yard, while above them eager eyes looked their way. Once, twice, and then thrice the two swords clashed before Daemon saw his opening. A feint that was followed by another and then another, was all it took for him to ready the blow that was to take advantage of that opening. Daemon then thrust Dark Sister forward where before he had feinted and as he had expected, the Sealord's Son had no answer for his strike.
A pained cry, Denys' sword falling to the ground, and Daemon then moving to end the man for true. All in all the duel had lasted only mere moments and through it all, Laena had eyes only for him. Daemon looked at her after he'd taken Denys' life and saw that there was no joy in her eyes, but there very much was relief. He found he welcomed that even more than he did had she clapped or cheered loudly. The knowledge that it was worry for him that was the reason for her expression, was something that truly brought his joy to the fore.
As did the announcement that very night of the wedding that was to be held on Driftmark upon Aemon's return. Though not as much as the even truer kisses that he and Laena shared as Daemon finally entered her chambers and was led to her bed.
King's Landing 113 AC,
Rhaenyra.
Rhaenyra was furious. How dare she. Alicent Hightower deigning to speak to her in such a manner. Had Ghost been by her side then the white wolf may have become a Queenslayer. Unfortunately, or mayhap fortunately, Rhaenyra had not yet decided which, Ghost was in Dorne with Aemon and so Alicent would live to be a bitch another day. Yet, as she stormed through the Red Keep with the Young Wolves and Ser Steffon by her side, Rhaenyra wished that the white wolf was here with her instead. Or mayhap it was simply Aemon that she wished she was making her way to instead of the Dragonpit.
'No, for was my husband here then the Dragonpit would still be my destination.'
That was the truth of things. Even if Aemon was in King's Landing and not on some fool's errand in Dorne, then it would be to their dragons that her husband would take her. To the skies and the peace and comfort that flying on Syrax was certain to bring her, before then speaking on what exactly had irked her so much. Alas, the second of those two things would not be available to her for a few more days at least and so it was simply the first of them that Rhaenyra sought.
Together with her guards, she left the Red Keep, mounted up on her horse, and was soon riding far too fast through the city. It was only with thoughts of her great aunt Viserra that slowed the ride and turned it first into a trot and then almost a walk. Images of being thrown from her horse and breaking her neck were not ones that she much enjoyed thinking about. So it was at a far more leisurely place that Rhaenyra and her guards arrived at the Dragonpit.
"Bring my dragon to me, at once," she demanded. For while she may fear being thrown from her horse, Rhaenyra held no such fears about flying on Syrax. If anything, the thought of such a thing happening while flying on her dragon's back was enough to put a smile on her face. The bond they shared and her own experience with Dragonriding would never allow her to suffer such a fate.
It felt like an age until she was standing in front of her dragon. The simple acts of resting her head against Syrax's scales and looking into her eyes were enough to remove even more of the anger and annoyance that Alicent's words had caused her. While mounting the dragon and then taking to the sky, almost did so completely. Even if it took more than an hour of flying over the city, the bay, Driftmark, Dragonstone, and then the Red Keep, to truly do so.
"Kirimvose Syrax, kirimvose sīr olvie." (Thank you Syrax, Thank you so much.) Rhaenyra spoke the words happily as her dragon trilled before Syrax then landed in the Dragonpit.
After dismounting, Rhaenyra thanked her dragon again and then nodded to the two Young Wolves who'd waited inside the Dragonpit for her. The others awaited outside and soon enough she was riding back to the Red Keep, at the same leisurely pace that she'd arrived at the Dragonpit.
That night she refused to show for the evening meal. Rhaenyra had no wish to see her stepmother or her spawn and certainly not to sup with them. She had no desire to be forced to share pleasant conversation with a woman she wished to be anything but agreeable to. Nor to see her father look their way and almost will them to get along. The time for such had long since passed and she and Alicent would never be friends. Not when they had trouble enough even being civil to each other. Certainly not when each time Rhaenyra looked her stepmother's way, she believed she saw the truth of what Alicent named her.
"An obstacle to her son's rise to the Iron Throne."
It had taken Aemon to truly get her to see that. For far too long she'd given Alicent the benefit of the doubt and believed that the ambition for Aegon to be king ended at Otto Hightower's door. Her husband, however, had always seen it in them both. Aemon said he saw it in Aegon too which was why he liked the boy not. That Ghost had seen it even more clearly than he had, which was why the white wolf avoided Alicent Hightower's firstborn son, yet did not the second nor her daughter.
"The wolves know, my love. Far more than you or I ever will, the wolves know. Ghost and Shadow, both mine cousin and I take their leads in more things than not. For they were gifted to us by the gods and the gods are ever watchful."
Rhaenyra had come to trust in that as much as Aemon had. Yet Ghost was not here nor was her husband and other than the Young Wolves, and her ladies, she had few allies in King's Landing. This was the thought that preyed on her mind when she awoke the next morning and it was one she carried with her as she made her way to break her fast. None other may have joined it until she saw her stepmother. was it not for the sudden appearance of an annoying dwarf. Mushroom seemed to almost be waiting for her and while Aemon had said the dwarf could be trusted, Rhaenyra liked the man not.
"Begone foul creature, I would have no words with you this morn." Rhaenyra spat. Her words and their vitriol surprised both her and the Young Wolves at her back.
"Yet I would have some with you, my princess. Words of warning that I would bid you to heed."
"You dare warn your future queen." Arnolf Snow said moving forward. The giant truly towered over a man who was very much not one.
"I would warn her when others seek her harm, Ser Wolf." Mushroom smiled. "My princess, the night is dark and full of terrors and there is little light to be found in this keep. Especially not for one who carries the future in her womb."
Rhaenyra, Arnolf and Arnold Snow, her ladies, Ser Steffon, all of them gasped at the words that Mushroom spoke. Her hand moved to her stomach of its own accord and was it not for the shocking nature of the words Mushroom had just spoken, or for what the truth of those words may bring, Rhaenyra would have smiled a true smile. As it was, all she could do was turn and look to the Young Wolves and then back to Mushroom. A nod of her head was the only sign that she gave that she wished him to continue speaking. The dwarf then spoke words that while she wanted to challenge him on, she named as true. Or true enough that she accepted the warning he gave her and was more than willing to take his advice too.
"This is no safe place for a soon-to-be mother or her babes, my princess. Few here who look to you and see what I and others do. More who seek favor from the impostor who wears your queenly crown than not. Dragonstone, my princess, far from those who would wish you harm and safe among those who name you their princess and future queen."
"My princess, we should…."
Rhaenyra waved off the words from one of her ladies, not even turning to see who it was who spoke. The rumble in her belly then made her take a step forward as she sought to break her fast, only for Mushroom to shake his head and point his finger to the ceiling.
"A dragon could have you supping in your own halls within the hour, my princess. Those who protect you to follow and your meal eaten in true comfort and far more enjoyable because of it."
"My princess, you cannot…" Arnold Snow began only to be interrupted by the dwarf.
"You speak to the future queen of Westeros, Ser Wolf, there is naught she cannot do," Mushroom spoke in a far different voice than he had thus far and it was one that begged her to listen. Yet it took the words he said next to truly get her to do so.
"Maester Gerardys is a good man and true, my princess. Mayhap he can put your mind at ease about the future you carry within you."
No more words were spoken or listened to. Rhaenyra accepted no complaints nor challenge to the actions she would now take. Hurrying back to her room, she dressed in her riding clothing and within the hour was flying from King's Landing and to Dragonstone. Less than an hour later she was being examined by the Maester and the words he spoke brought a true smile to her face.
"You are with child, my princess. Two or three moons along I'd wager.!
"All is well, Maester?"
"All is well, my princess. Never have I seen a healthier mother-to-be."
Her appetite was fulsome as she ate heartily. The raven had already been sent to Driftmark to bid her uncle to come to speak to her. Another had been written and was ready to send to Aemon in Sunspear, only she feared that the Martells would use the information somehow. So it would need to wait for her husband's return for Aemon to find out he was to be a father. Rhaenyra, however, relished the thought of being a mother. Of having a babe of her own. A prince or princess of the realm. Her very own heir.
"I will love you with all I am, my son or daughter. Be to you what mine own mother was to me. I swear it. I swear it on Fire and Blood."
Barrowtown/Winterfell/White Harbor 113 AC.
Lord Roderick Dustin (Bloody Roddy).
The call had come from Prince Aemon himself. An offer of blood and the spoils of war along with a request that Roddy take his place by the side of the son as he had the father. It was a call that naught but death would stop him from answering. His future king had taken much time to let Roddy know just how highly he thought of him. It was why out of all the men who surrounded Prince Aemon and his wife, most of them had been those that he vouched for. Roddy's words served as true as the actions that the men themselves took in earning them the trust of the White Wolf.
It was a strange feeling to be held up as something you believed yourself not. To be thought of far more highly than you named yourself to rightly be. Even the fact that he'd bled with Aemon's father shouldn't have earned him such regard and yet, mayhap it should. For just like him, the young prince had spoken words that Roddy had always lived by. Even if he'd yet had a chance for them both to live those words truly.
"We find our true friends on the battlefield, Lord Dustin. My father told me that my mother named this as so. That it was something my grandfather, Benjen, was oft heard to say."
"Aye, your uncles too would speak such words, my prince."
"Well, I name you a true friend for what you did by my father's side, Lord Dustin. For what you've done with the men you sent my way. For the Young Wolves. I name you, a true friend for that and more."
The thoughts of finally fighting and spilling blood beside Aemon Targaryen were even more his reason for answering the call than simply the joy he felt in shedding the blood of men who wished to shed his own. To best an enemy who wanted to take your life and send you to your gods before your time, there were few better feelings in the world than that. Yet to do so next to men you named good and true, to fight alongside your friends, Roddy would name that its equal at least.
"To fight alongside my prince, I'd name that as even more so."
As with the Stepstones, it would not be all of the North that was called forth. An army of less than three thousand men would march to White Harbor and set sail to the Stepstones. There to join the close to a thousand men of the North who now named those islands their home. Wealth and renown were as sure to follow as were injury and death. Yet only the former that was on anyone's mind when Barrowtown was left behind once more.
In Winterfell, Roddy was stunned to find that Bennard Stark would be joining them. As he was to see Beric Umber and Benton Glover would be setting off to play their part in the war to come. The former represented his father, while the later was sent by his sister to look after his Goodbrother. Lady Gillane bid it of Roddy too as he prayed at the great Weirwood tree in the Godswood. Lord Rickon bid him to bring back as many good and true men of the North as he could and to make sure his nephew did nothing foolhardy.
"I don't believe Prince Aemon has it in him to do so, Rickon."
"Yet he's still a boy pretending to be a man, Roddy."
"I think he stopped pretending on the day he was wed. I know I did." he japed, earning him a true laugh from his liege lord. "I'll watch over him as much as I can, but I'm fucked if I'm joining him on a dragon."
"Good fortune to you and him, Roddy. May the Old Gods watch over you and see you both safely home. Oh, and bring my brother back too, he may be a fool at times, but Bennard is the only brother I have."
That was it. Words spoken where they would mean the most and a feast to send them off. A long march through the North and within a moon they were at sea, sailing out of White Harbor and to war.
"It will not be the last one I know."
Dorne 113 AC,
Prince Aemon Targaryen.
He had expected it, predicted it and so was ready for it. First the slight at the docks where he was welcomed not. Then the palaver regarding Guest Right, where his will and the will of his men was tested and found to be far from lacking. Finally, at the feast itself where first they sought to shame them by having them eat food that would have led to them shitting themselves for a day at least. Then by daring to send women his way in a vain effort to get him to shame his wife. Aemon had been more than ready for it all.
As he had told Ser Daeron, the women wouldn't stop at him and yet it was only Mychel who truly listened to the subtext in his words. Aemon wished for more of the Young Wolves to lay with those that Prince Qoren set their way, yet he'd not explicitly told them to do so. He'd not ask a man to lay with a woman that he wished not to, and so he was happy enough that Mychel at least lay with one he very much did. The sly smile that the knight wore on his face the next morning was sufficient proof of that. While the tales he told of what the woman asked him were precisely what Aemon wished to hear.
It would be years mayhap until Lady Mysaria truly knew the Dornish mindset. A careful and slow integration of her spies into the positions where they could be most useful and one that was necessary. Thus far three of those spies had already lost their lives due to pushing too hard or seeking answers too soon. Though loathe as he was to admit it, those deaths served Aemon as well as any answers those spies may have found out. For just as he was prepared for certain things regarding Dorne, Dorne was ready for much when it came to him.
"Though far lesser when it comes to Vermithor." Aemon smiled.
Like every Targaryen, Aemon knew all there was to know about the death of Queen Rhaenys and Meraxes' fall. Unlike some of his family, however, he understood what that action had reaped when it came to House Martell and Dorne itself. They believed in taking down one dragon they were untouchable. House Martell thought themselves to be Unbowed, Unbent, and Unbroken, while Aemon knew that the truth was, that you were only so until somebody made it so you were not.
Yet, it was not a war with Dorne that he sought, not now and mayhap not in the future. Instead, it was an agreement that they would play no part in the war to come. That they would keep their ships and their men far from those of the Triarchy and in doing so, they'd earn some of his favor. As for what else they wished to charge for him to get his way, that was something he was about to find out now. The long walk to the Prince's chambers was one he did in silence and upon reaching it, Aemon made it clear that he, Ser Daeron, and Ghost would all be entering together or not at all.
It was Qoren himself who bid his guards to stop his progress not. The prince who then welcomed him in a far more friendly manner than his people had thus far. Behind him, two guards with axes stood, and yet were he to wish it, they'd protect Qoren from Aemon not. While in the corner, sat the same wizened old man who'd welcomed them finally to the Old Palace. Gascoyne Jordayne, the prince's steward, was a man that Mysaria had told Aemon much about and he was now finally going to see the truth of her words. For it was him more so than the prince himself who would decide if Aemon's offer was to be accepted.
"I'll not beat around the bush, nor bog this meeting down with pleasantries, Prince Qoren. All of us know the true reason for my visit and so, I would ask your terms for Dorne to play no part in the battles to come." Aemon said, catching both the prince and his steward by surprise.
It took a moment, a glance between the prince and his steward to get them to begin to speak. Gascoyne handed Aemon a list that he immediately tore in two before laughing.
"I came to negotiate, Prince Qoren, not to capitulate. The Stepstones are a wedding gift to my wife, I'd no sooner give them away than I would allow a man to spit in her face."
"Yet, it is our price, Prince Aemon," Qoren stated.
"Then think of another else this meeting is at an end and when the Bronze Fury looses its roar, it'll be followed by Fire and Blood."
His words brought angered looks and Prince Qoren then made his own threats, Aemon simply sitting and rubbing his hand through Ghost's white fur as they were spoken. They were in truth a mummery, a reaction that had been pre-planned no doubt, and Ghost allowed him to see that was so. Waiting until the prince was done, Aemon then spoke in far more truthful words, bidding the man and his steward, though not by name or look, to tell him what it was he truly wished for.
It surprised him not, to find it was the tolls that aggravated the Dornish the most. Nor that they hoped for a foothold on the islands that Aemon would never agree for them to have. When it came to talk of future marriages, however, that actually did shock Aemon a little. Not that Dorne wished for their blood on the Iron Throne, for in this they were the same as everyone else in Westeros, but that they already looked his and Rhaenyra's way to see that was so.
"My son will sit on the Iron Throne one day, Prince Qoren, and beside him will sit a lady from House Velaryon, this is agreed upon and has been for some time. So, there is no path for any blood of yours to sit on the Iron Throne among the upcoming generation." Aemon said as Qoren bristled. "However…." he paused and raised the glass on the table before taking a sip from it, for effect rather than due to any true thirst. "My wife and I hope for more children and in time should one of them be matched with one of your own, then it would be through their children mayhap that such an accord could be reached."
It was the steward and not the prince who spoke then. Qoren seemed to take his offer under advisement while Gascoyne wished for that offer to be made more clear. Aemon wondered if he truly should and then, he saw the potential boon that a match between House Martell and House Targaryen could bring.
"Yet a future queen is worth far more than a simple accord, is it not?"
"And you would ask for what in return, my prince," Gascoyne asked eagerly.
"Dorne itself."
There were more angered words, these ones more true, and again Aemon sat and rubbed his hand through Ghost's white fur. Nothing was agreed, so it was to the sparring yard that he made his way. Aemon not taking part but watching as the Young Wolves and Ser Daeron both bested and were bested by men of Dorne. At least half the latter only because of the nods that Aemon sent their way. While some were truer fights that either side could have emerged victorious in.
Three hours later, Aemon once again sat across from Prince Qoren and read the parchment the prince handed him. It was a looser agreement than he wished for. One that he wagered both his father and wife would not be best pleased with. Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys, however, he'd imagine would very much be so. Since it would be their grandchildren who added Dorne to the Crown and were feted for doing so. Time would forget it was Aemon who negotiated the agreement and he cared not that it would. Nor even if the agreement ever truly came to pass, for he'd achieved all he truly wished for.
Minor tolls were to be paid and more access was to be given to Dornish goods in Westeros itself. His second son was to be wed to a daughter of House Martell and to serve as it's Prince Consort while their firstborn daughter would be wed to Aemon's firstborn grandson. Only upon the wedding taking place and the ascension to the Iron Throne itself would Dorne then swear their oaths to the Crown and be named as its seventh kingdom.
As deals went, it was one that Aemon could live by. Whether his wife and father could, he knew not. Yet, in the end, it mattered not whether or not they truly brought Dorne into the fold. Aemon had taken them off the table for the war to come and though he had no doubt that even had they taken part, they'd pose no true problem, it was for the best that they did not. So he signed the paper and its copy. One to be held by him and by Prince Qoren, he even shook the man's hand when he bid him to. Before then accepting that he was to be feasted that night. Another day spent in a place he wished not to be, as something bid him to fly and fly east.
Something that he did the next morning and when he saw them beneath him, Aemon smiled maliciously.
"Dracarys," he called out loudly and the Bronze Fury loosed his dragon's flames on the ships that sailed below.
The Summer Sea 114 AC,
Tregar Orthys.
He had volunteered for this task, much to his father's delight. To be among the first ships to launch the attack on the Stepstones and to gain the Triarchy a foothold on one of the islands, was something that was much needed and so Tregar volunteered. That there were no dragons on the island and that he believed that the smaller fleet he led would be less likely to bring them down upon them, had only been partly the reason why he'd done so. The true reason was to earn a name and his father's respect. Something that volunteering for the attack on Grey Gallows had seemingly seen him gain already.
For days, a week, they sailed through calm seas and with good wind, and then one night there seemed to be none of the latter. The wind deserted them and so it was to oars that his men turned their attention. Their speed was far less than it had been, so the timing of their arrival would be off by a few days at least. Tregar had thought that to be the biggest of his worries. That and the taking of the island itself, though without the protection of a dragon's flames, would be much easier than it should be. Or so he'd believed. Right up to when he heard the roar above him, he truly thought he'd be successful and the acclaim he'd sought all his life would then be his.
From the moment he saw the flames being unleashed from the bronze dragon, Tregar found he cared not for renown and acclaim. That the men he'd named as friends and drinking partners had been in the right of it.
"Better to only have to wield the sword between your legs, Tregar."
"Between a woman's legs, I find my true pleasure and calling there."
"What need I of glory when I have coin a plenty."
Those words now resounded in his head and were only drowned out by the sound of the dragon's roar. Soon enough it was the sounds of screams and the splashing of the sea as men who were aflame jumped into it in a vain effort to put out the fire that washed over them. Tregar stood unable to move and instead simply bore witness to destruction the likes he could never have imagined. The tales of those who'd faced the Blood Wyrm and lived to fight another day, as well as the burns those men now bore all coming back to him now.
"What a fool I was to think I would be different." he lamented.
In the seas around him, it was pure chaos. Arrows flew, and scorpion bolts came nowhere close to where the dragon continued on its path of destruction. Tregar looked at it all and watched as the bronze dragon drew ever closer to where his ship tried vainly to turn and row away. The lack of wind now seemed like a sign that he should have paid far more attention to than he did. The sight of the dragon for true would live with him for the rest of his life. No matter how long or short that life may now be.
That he wasn't armored was now a blessing. Feeling the movement of his feet, a gift from the gods themselves. The jump from the deck of the ship was a thing of beauty and though he crashed hard into the water and almost drowned, it was far better than being burned to death. Something that his men were now learning and the sight of his ship in flames brought Tregar naught but relief. His concerns for those aboard that ship were forgotten as instead it was his own life he found he truly cared for. Renown, acclaim, glory, they were for other men, life was for the living and he would now do anything and everything to ensure that he lived a full and long life.
It took less time than he ever would have believed. Five and twenty ships burned and of the more than two thousand men that he'd set sail with, Tregar would wager there were now less than fifty alive and not kissed by fire. All in all, more than two hundred men now held onto bits of wood, barrels, and anything they could to stay afloat. Some of them were barely able to do so because of the injuries they bore and that night, they were the first to fall beneath the waves never to be seen again. Over the next week, they were joined by many more, yet Tregar was not among them.
How long he floated for, he knew not. The land when he sighted it, he believed was the same as he'd set out to take in the Triarch's name. The invading force he'd brought with him, was long gone and the six and fifty men that were taken prisoner on Grey Gallows were all that remained. Tregar called out that his father would ransom him. That he was a valuable hostage and yet the men cared or listened not. Instead over and over one sentence was spoken to any who begged for release. One sentence and the promise of it sent a shiver down Tregar's spine.
"The Rogue Prince will decide your fate, none other."
A/N: in contininuing my quest to get all my stories up to date on this site, this is the latest chapter of this story and a new chapter should be up in month or so.