Another day dawned, and still, a sense of unease clung to the Red Keep like a fog. A low, gray sky stretched over King's Landing, blocking out the sun and threatening a fresh downpour. Within the castle's walls, however, life stirred—servants woke to haul water and scrub floors, guards changed shifts and patrolled the ramparts, and officials began another day of courtly work.

Visenya lingered by Helaena's bedside in the Maester's tower, awaiting any sign of improvement. The fever had receded slightly overnight, but her daughter was still weak, and her sleep restless. Maester Wolkan continued to administer gentle draughts and cool compresses to bring her temperature down.

When the princess awakened, it was with a soft, plaintive cry. Visenya bent over her, stroking Helaena's hair and murmuring quiet reassurances. Though Helaena was too young to voice her fears—a little over a year old—her wide, teary eyes spoke volumes.

"There, my sweet girl," Visenya whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You're safe. I'm here."

Despite the half-dark circles under her own eyes and a tightness in her jaw that betrayed her exhaustion, Visenya refused to leave Helaena's side for more than a few moments. Every time a servant or guard arrived at the chamber door, she tensed, hoping for word of Euron Greyjoy's capture. But so far, none had come.

Late that morning, a soft knock sounded on the chamber door. Visenya, seated in a low-backed chair, frowned. "Enter," she called.

Olenna stepped inside, followed by Mira, carrying a small tray. Steam drifted from a simple clay teapot, and beside it rested a plate of honeyed bread.

"I thought you might eat something," Olenna said, her piercing gaze flicking from Helaena to Visenya. "You can't help the child if you collapse from hunger."

Visenya inhaled slowly, ignoring the pinch of guilt in her stomach. She had eaten little since the rescue. "Thank you," she said softly, beckoning Mira to place the tray on a small table near the bed.

Olenna nodded toward Helaena. "How fares our little Princess?"

Helaena stirred at the sound of unfamiliar voices, letting out a tiny noise somewhere between a hiccup and a whimper. Visenya laid a calming hand on the child's arm. "Her fever's better," she said, eyes never leaving her daughter's face. "She still won't take much more than watered-down milk."

Maester Wolkan, who had been recording notes in a worn ledger at the other side of the room, set his quill down. "Little by little, Princess Helaena recovers," he assured Olenna. "It may be a few more days before she's truly out of danger, but she's young and resilient. I'm optimistic."

Olenna's sharp gaze landed on Visenya. "And what of you, Your Grace? Have you slept?"

Visenya shook her head. "There's too much to do. Aegon and Jon are out there, searching the coasts, speaking with Yara Greyjoy and our allies. I should be planning next steps with the Small Council."

"I've just come from the Council," Olenna said briskly. "They know to carry on until you're ready to join them. And if some of our lords grumble at your absence, let them. You've earned the right to see to your child."

A hint of gratitude flickered on Visenya's face. Olenna Tyrell, ever the master of courtly maneuvering, had clearly managed to keep the political rumblings at bay.

"Thank you," Visenya said, voice quiet. She glanced from Olenna to Mira, who lingered by the tray. "You can stay, if you wish," she offered gently. "I know you're worried, too."

Mira's eyes softened, and she gave a short nod. "I'll remain as long as you'd like, Your Grace."

Time passed slowly in the Maester's tower. Between feedings and attempts to comfort Helaena, Visenya drank small sips of the tea Olenna and Mira had brought. Honey-sweet bread was forced down, bite by bite, more from necessity than appetite. In all honesty, she felt that with each bite she took, it made her feel sick to her stomach, as she was practically forcing it down her throat. Every so often, a raven's message arrived. Mira took them from a page outside the door and brought them to Visenya. Most were from lords across Westeros: some expressing joy at Helaena's safe return, others full of mundane reports on local disputes. None mentioned sighting Euron Greyjoy.

One note, however, caught Visenya's eye. It was from Myrcella in Dorne. Visenya opened it carefully and with a sense of eagerness as well. While she expressed how happy she was that her sister was safe, Myrcella had heard rumor that a damaged Ironborn ship was seen limping past the Stepstones, its sails torn. The rumors gave no definite confirmation that Euron was aboard, but it was enough to sharpen Visenya's rage. She was grateful, however, that Prince Doran had offered support if needed for the entire situation, which made Visenya feel slightly at ease.

Slightly.

"He flees like a rat," she muttered under her breath, scanning the letter a second time. "If only we'd found him sooner."

Mira, clearing away empty dishes, paused at the anger in Visenya's tone. "Your Grace, we'll find him. We have allies everywhere. With Dorne on the lookout as well, I am certain we will find him soon."

Visenya exhaled through her nose, forcing herself to calm. She looked at Helaena's sleeping form. "Yes. We have to."

That afternoon, the storm clouds broke apart, letting in strands of pale sunlight. A beam of light fell across Helaena's face, rousing her from another bout of feverish sleep. Visenya reflexively placed a hand on her daughter's forehead. It was warm, but not as searing as before. Even so, Helaena was still listless. Her tiny mouth opened in a soft wail.

"Shh," Visenya cooed, lifting her up slightly so she was half-cradled in her arms. "You're safe, my sweet girl."

Helaena's eyes drifted over her mother's face. Then, in a moment so subtle Visenya almost didn't notice, the corners of the child's mouth twitched—a fleeting attempt at a smile. It wasn't much, more like the memory of a grin than the real thing, but it stole Visenya's breath all the same.

Olenna, from a chair across the room, caught sight of it. "Well," she said softly, "that's a good sign."

Visenya felt tears prick at her own eyes. "Yes," she whispered, pressing her lips to Helaena's temple. "Yes, it is."

When Helaena dozed off again, Visenya finally rose and handed the princess into Mira's careful arms. Stretching her stiff limbs, she stepped into the corridor outside. She needed a moment to gather her thoughts—a moment where Helaena's soft breathing couldn't distract her from the kingdom's many demands. She found Jaime there, speaking in hushed tones to Brienne. Both turned at the sound of the door opening.

"How is she?" Jaime asked immediately.

"She... gave me a little smile." Visenya's voice trembled with relief. "Maester Wolkan says she's on the mend."

Jaime's shoulders relaxed, a flicker of gratefulness in his eyes. "That's the best news I've heard all week."

Brienne offered a small bow of her head in deference. "Your Grace, if you'll pardon me—the Queensguard stands ready should you need us."

Visenya nodded. "Thank you. I need to speak to you and the others soon about our city patrols. Greyjoy's men are scattered, but there's always the chance one of them might think to infiltrate."

Brienne nodded with calm determination. "Of course. I'll be in the training yard."

Once she departed, Jaime drew closer to Visenya, reaching for her hand. "I know you've been reluctant to leave Helaena's side," he began gently, "but maybe you could take a break. The maesters say she's stable, and you haven't rested."

Visenya's jaw clenched. "I can't rest until this is resolved. Until Euron is caught...I fear our children will never be truly safe."

Jaime rubbed a thumb across her knuckles. "We will catch him. Or Aegon and Jon will."

She met his gaze, the anger in her eyes softening just a fraction. "We'd better," she murmured. "For both our children's sake."

In complete and utter silence, except for the sounds of their footsteps, Visenya and Jaime made their way down the corridor to the Small Council chamber. Though she longed to return to Helaena's side, she knew she had to keep the kingdom running smoothly—and keep the pressure on every lord and vessel that might harbor information about Euron Greyjoy.

In the softly lit hall, mosaics of dragons and past kings glinted from the walls. Steeling herself, Visenya pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped inside. Tyrion, Rodrik, Edmure, Bran, and Davos were already there, seated around the table alongside Olenna, who must have hurried ahead. All rose as the Queen entered, and they all sat once she was seated.

"News?" she asked, voice clipped, though she already knew the answers that were coming her away.

Tyrion cleared his throat. "A few letters came in this morning. One from Myrcella in Dorne, another from Gendry Baratheon in Storm's End. They confirm sightings of a battered Ironborn vessel. No one can say for certain if Euron Greyjoy was aboard."

Visenya gave a curt nod. "Then we keep looking. Double any bounties if we must."

Edmure let out a sigh. "We've spoken of the potential risk if he attempts to rally more support. He could approach the Free Cities, or worse—seek out mercenaries."

"What's left?" Olenna asked with slight annoyance. "The Golden Company was destroyed during The Sacking of King's Landing...how many more imbeciles are there...and if they are still lurking, they will not help the crown."

"Persuasion might be the best option." Tyrion nodded.

Visenya's lips tightened. "Then we offer more gold for his head." Her gaze flicked to Davos. "What of the Narrow Sea?"

The former smuggler folded his hands. "Yara Greyjoy promised her fleet would patrol the waters between Pyke and the Stepstones. She's no friend to Euron, so if she spots him, she'll strike."

"What of the Prince of Dragonstone?" Rodrik asked with a frown. "And that of Jon Snow?"

"Prince Aegon is searching the western coast with Aegonar, and Jon Snow is patrolling the Shivering Sea with Drogon." Davos explained. "They flew out before the dawn. I believe Prince Aegon will patrol any waters that Yara Greyjoy hasn't covered...I do believe he and his brother informed me that either of them will strike if Euron Greyjoy is spotted by them."

"Good," Visenya said. She paused, eyes flicking around the table. "If there is any word of him making landfall—any sign of him or his crew—you'll bring it to me immediately. I want no rumor dismissed."

Olenna leaned back in her chair, her sharp eyes fixed on the queen. "And if he's gone to ground? Euron Greyjoy is no fool. He knows how to vanish when the tides turn against him."

Visenya's jaw tightened. "Then we force him into the open. He is not just a criminal—he's a symbol of defiance against the Crown. If we strip him of his allies and safe havens, he'll have nowhere to hide."

Tyrion frowned. "And when we find him?"

A small smile came on her face, making some members of the council frown at how calm she was.

But her answer was immediate.

"He will die screaming."

Tension bristled in the air, the weight of Euron Greyjoy's threat looming over them like a thundercloud.

With that decided, the council shifted to lesser concerns—grain shipments, tax disputes, preparations for the upcoming harvest festival. Visenya listened with only half an ear, her mind drifting back to Helaena. She wondered if her daughter was awake, or if she'd smiled again.

The man had stolen too many precious moments already.

After the meeting concluded, Visenya stood. Her eyes landed on Jaime, who was standing in the doorway. He gave her a small, encouraging nod. Tyrion and Davos bustled about gathering parchments; Olenna lingered to chat with Brienne about security matters. Bran had already retreated back to his chambers to see if he was able to 'see' something, while Edmure and Rodrik began to discuss potential persuasion tactics on gathering mercenaries.

Visenya felt the knot of tension deep in her chest loosen—just a hair—knowing that the kingdom would keep watch, that allies were mobilizing. But she could not truly breathe until Euron Greyjoy was in chains or in a grave. Quietly, she slipped from the council chamber and made her way back toward the Maester's tower. Sunlight angled through narrow windows, illuminating motes of dust dancing in the corridor. Each step brought her closer to her daughter.

When she entered the room, she found Mira humming a soft lullaby while little Helaena lay propped against pillows, eyes half-lidded but alert. Spotting her mother, the princess let out a weak coo of recognition. Visenya crossed to the bedside and reached for her child, mindful of the bandage wrapping Helaena's delicate wrist where Maester Wolkan had pricked her vein for leeching. Carefully lifting the girl, Visenya cradled Helaena to her chest.

She felt the rise and fall of her daughter's breathing, steady and warm, and in that moment, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was simply a mother, relieved and still fearful, full of love and vengeance in equal measure. Bowing her head, Visenya rocked Helaena gently, letting the child's soft presence soothe her raging thoughts. Soon enough, she would ride the skies again to hunt Euron Greyjoy. But for right now, in the glow of the quiet afternoon, the only thing that mattered was the child in her arms—and the fragile peace that had been restored, if only for a moment.

Outside, King's Landing bustled with its usual noise and chaos. Knights patrolled the streets. Ravens soared overhead. And somewhere far beyond the city walls, a storm was brewing—one that would carry Visenya's wrath to every corner of the realm until justice was done.

Sunlight spilled through the windows of the Maester's tower the following morning, painting the stone floors in squares of warm gold. Outside, the city of King's Landing shook off the last traces of night, its streets filling with vendors, laborers, and the early chatter of market-goers. Yet within the castle walls, quiet stillness prevailed.

Visenya sat by Helaena's bedside, letting the first rays of dawn settle on her daughter's face. The child's fever had broken in the night. Now she was dozing peacefully, her breathing more even and her cheeks no longer flushed with the heat of infection. Every soft sigh Helaena made felt like a gift.

At a gentle knock on the open door, Visenya turned to see Mira carrying a small basket of freshly laundered linens. "Good morrow, Your Grace," her handmaiden greeted softly. "Maester Wolkan will be along soon to check on the Princess."

Visenya inclined her head in thanks. "She rested well," the Queen said in a hushed tone. "I'm hoping he'll say she can sit up for a while today...maybe even see a bit of the sun."

Mira's lips curved into a small, hopeful smile. She approached, setting the basket down on a nearby table. "Would you like me to prepare some broth for her? Something light but nourishing?"

The Queen nodded, looking fondly at her slumbering daughter. "Yes. She needs her strength back."

Not long after Mira left, Podrick appeared in the doorway. He bowed, breathless from a rapid climb up the tower's stairs. "Your Grace, the Small Council requests your presence in the throne room. A ship has arrived from the Stepstones, and the Lord Commander says...well, she believes it may be urgent."

A tension coiled inside Visenya, like a knot pulled tight. Any message from the Stepstones could mean news of Euron. She glanced at Helaena, torn between duty and maternal instinct. But the child seemed stable, chest rising and falling in soft rhythm. With a resigned breath, Visenya stood.

"Send for Jaime," she told the boy, as she carefully brushed a curl from Helaena's forehead. "He'll watch over her while I attend the council."

She hesitated a moment more, then forced herself to leave the chamber, heart heavy with worry—but also with a flicker of grim anticipation. If news had come of the Ironborn's whereabouts, it might be time to strike.

The echoing space of the throne room felt colder than usual. Light streamed through high windows, illuminating drifting dust motes. Since it's reconstruction, the throne room had more light coming into it, something Visenya had wanted to show that the Red Keep wasn't that dark at all.

Especially more so now that the Iron Throne was gone.

Visenya swept across the floor, her footsteps clicking across the polished stone. She spotted Tyrion, Edmure, Rodrik, and Davos conferring with Brienne, while Olenna Tyrell fiddled impatiently with the rings on her fingers. Bran seemed to be in his usual trance that he always was in. When they saw the Queen approach, all dipped their heads in respectful greeting.

"Your Grace," Brienne said, stepping forward, her voice urgent. "We've received a raven from a Lyseni merchant vessel. They claim they witnessed a sea battle near the Stepstones—a clash between Yara Greyjoy's Iron Fleet and another group of Ironborn ships."

Visenya's pulse quickened. "Euron Greyjoy's men?"

Tyrion inclined his head. "That's the suspicion. The merchant wrote that the Kraken sigil was plain on the sails of both fleets—one presumably Yara's, the other presumably Euron's. But there's more." He cleared his throat, smoothing a folded parchment. "They say the sea churned red with blood. A handful of Euron's ships sank, but one broke away and disappeared into the open ocean. Yara's fleet pursued—but with no final confirmation of Euron's capture."

Olenna exhaled sharply in annoyance. "A near miss, then."

Visenya's grip tightened on the edge of the table. "We were that close to ending this." She took a measured breath, steadying the anger that flared within her. "What of the merchant? Did they see anything else? Any sign Euron was aboard one of the ships that sank?"

Davos shook his head. "They couldn't say. Their captain got close enough to see the fighting, then fled before they were drawn into the battle themselves."

Visenya's jaw set. "We must speak to Yara directly. Send a raven at once—offer the Blackwater as a safe harbor if she needs to make port. I want details of this battle and how many ships were sunk."

Rodrik nodded. "At once, Your Grace."

Olenna tapped her fingertips against the table. "One more thing: If Greyjoy survived, he could be injured. Cornered. It may be to our advantage that he's lost men and ships."

Visenya's eyes narrowed. "Then we press the advantage. Double the bounties along the coasts. Make it known that if any portmaster or sellsail spots Euron Greyjoy, they'll be rewarded handsomely for information."

The council murmured agreements. As orders were delegated, Visenya felt her heart pounding. Every report, every clash at sea, reminded her that she could not rest—not until she had Euron in irons or ash.

He'd stolen Helaena.

He made Helaena ill.

He made Helaena be on the verge of death.

He'd pay for that.

She'd make sure of it.

Not long after the council meeting adjourned, Visenya returned to the tower, eager to check on Helaena. She found Jaime seated at the bedside, stroking a gentle hand over the child's hair. The princess was awake, propped up by a small mound of pillows, eyes half-lidded but more alert than before. A wave of relief swept through Visenya.

"Jaime," she greeted in a soft voice.

He looked up, a light smile touching his features. "She woke not long ago—Mira managed to give her some broth. She...doesn't seem to mind my terrible storytelling, either."

"What did you tell her?" She asked in curiosity.

"How I won the Siege of Pyke." He mused, making her frown in disbelief. "Then some how it morphed into how Robb Stark kept me in a cage for over a year."

"Did you mention how you lost Whispering Wood?" She asked with a slight smile.

He frowned in disbelief, but she could tell he wasn't angry at her. "I'll never tell her about it."

Visenya stepped closer, her hand reaching instinctively for Helaena's tiny palm. The princess's fingers curled weakly around hers. "It still would be better than silence," the queen murmured, lips curving into the faintest smile. "How is she?"

"Better than yesterday," Jaime said, careful optimism in his tone. "Less feverish. She's too young to say what she's feeling, but she hasn't fussed much."

Visenya brushed a hand through her daughter's silver curls. She didn't care if her shoulders ached or her eyes were gritty with fatigue. This fragile moment of calm—Helaena awake and not crying in pain—felt like a blessing.

A short time later, Mira poked her head into the room with a polite cough. "Your Grace, a visitor has arrived. One of Lady Yara's captains, fresh from the Stepstones."

Visenya and Jaime shared a look. Carefully, Visenya settled Helaena back against her pillows, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I'll be back soon," she murmured, before following Mira out into the corridor.

She made her way, with Mira following tentatively behind her to a small receiving chamber, modestly furnished and warmed by a brazier. A tall, lanky Ironborn woman in salt-stained leathers stood waiting, hair braided tight to keep out of the way at sea. She bowed stiffly when the Queen approached.

"Your Grace," she said, voice raw from days of shouting orders over crashing waves. "I'm Captain Torgon of the Iron Fleet. Lady Yara sent me."

Visenya wasted no time. "What news?"

The woman cleared her throat. "We cornered Euron off the Stepstones. There was a fierce battle—cannon fire, boarding attempts. We crippled at least three of his ships. Thought we had him, but a sudden squall rolled in. He used it to slip away. We chased him beyond the Straits of Tarth, but lost him. Some say he headed deeper into open water; others think he might've turned toward the Basilisk Isles."

Visenya's nostrils flared. "So he's still free."

"Aye," Torgon confirmed, shame touching her voice, "but not unscathed. Reports say he was injured—saw blood on deck, could've been his men's or his own. Lady Yara is regrouping at Dragonstone to resupply, then she'll sail again. She thought you'd want to know."

Visenya's expression sharpened, and she nodded curtly. "Good. Go and rest. Your efforts are appreciated by the crown."

The Ironborn woman bowed again, relief flickering in her tired eyes. "Thank you, Your Grace. I'll await further orders before returning to sea."

Once the woman had departed, Visenya lingered in the receiving chamber, hands clasped behind her back. The sea battle was both heartening—he was weakened—and infuriating.

The bastard still got away.

Footsteps behind her announced Jaime's arrival. He stepped close, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "I heard. The Iron Fleet did all they could."

Visenya's gaze went distant, recalling the echoes of the council, the pleas of the realm, and most of all, the haunted look in Helaena's eyes when she'd finally been freed from Harrenhal. "He's wounded now," she said grimly. "If he tries to raise more men, they'll see him a weaker leader. This is our chance."

"Then we'll make the most of it," Jaime agreed. "Aegon and Jon can coordinate with Yara by air..if she hasn't already informed Aegon, since he hasn't returned from his patrol."

She let out a shaky breath. "I can't leave Helaena...at least not yet." A flicker of motherly protectiveness crossed her face. "I refuse to risk our daughter's peace again."

Jaime's fingers squeezed her shoulder. "Then we'll plan. We'll watch the seas and keep the city protected. He will slip up sooner or later."

Visenya exhaled, tension easing just a fraction. "He will," she echoed, her voice taking on a razor edge. "And when he does, we'll be ready."

Back in the Maester's tower, Helaena dozed in her mother's arms, her breathing soft and steady. The child's fever had waned enough that tiny beads of perspiration clung to her temples—her body cooling at last. Mira stood nearby with a fresh basin of water and cloths, occasionally dabbing the princess's brow.

Visenya glanced down as Helaena stirred, eyelids fluttering. The little girl's head shifted to rest against her mother's chest, and she made a tiny sound, halfway between a sigh and a coo. Visenya smiled through the lingering ache in her heart.

One day—she vowed silently—this world will be safe for you, free from the terrors that haunt it.

For now, though, the storms of war still loomed. The battered Iron Fleet would sail again, dragons would take flight, and the hunt for the rogue kraken would continue until justice was served. But within these tower walls, a fragile peace and a mother's love reigned for one more day.

Helaena's small hand twitched, clutching the collar of Visenya's gown. She gave a quiet, drowsy whine, and Visenya bent down to whisper soothing words in her ear—holding her child with renewed resolve, a silent promise that no harm would come to her again.

A/N:

As always, let me know if you have any questions, comments, concerns, ideas, or suggestions.