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Chapter Text

The Dance of the Dragons was perhaps the most traumatic event in our land’s history. Civil wars are always vicious, but with dragons on all sides of the Dance, this proved to be the worst. House Targaryen fought itself, and by the end, the family was down to a mere handful.

Less if you consider some to be merely ‘half-Targaryen’.

The Maesters have written their own histories of this war. Too many accounts are romanticised or demonised views of all sides, including my father's own, which caused no little amount of consternation from him. My father always preferred hard reading of history. 

The Maesters will name me liar. Let them. They were not there. 

As I begin this account, I ask you to remember that this is the closest to a true story of the worst war in our country's history, meant as a reminder that the only thing that could tear down the House of the Dragon was itself.

Throne Room of the Red Keep

112 Years After Conquest

Part of him already knew why he had been commanded to the throne room, and he had been kicking himself over it. Perhaps his speech in that brothel wasn’t the smartest thing that had ever been done, even with all the stunts he had pulled over the years. Dark Sister still hung from his hip, of course, but it would be of little use against his own brother. His brother was no great warrior, but he did have the Kingsguard.

Prince Daemon Targaryen entered the throne room, still apprehensive of what was about to happen. Looking up, King Viserys seemed to have taken things seriously for once. He was dressed up in his full royal regalia, complete with Blackfyre, the Sword of Kings itself, in his hand with the tip on the ground. All seven of his Kingsguard were there as well, and they seemed to be ready to fight. 

“You cut the image of a conqueror, brother.” Daemon said. Seated up there with Blackfyre in hand and back straight, his brother really did look every inch the king he should’ve been. He couldn’t deny that it was an impressive sight, even to him.

“Did you say it?” His brother demanded. Daemon stopped short of the throne. His brother had always been a lighthearted man; to hear him speak with such severity gave Daemon images of their father and grandfather.

“I don’t know what you mean.” It was an instinctive response, more than anything.

“You will address me as Your Grace, or I will have my Kingsguard rip out your tongue.” Viserys growled. “ ‘ The Heir for a Day’… did you say it?”

Daemon had been caught, and he knew it.

“We must all mourn in our own way, Your Grace.” He averted his eyes. Daemon was not usually a man to feel shame, but seeing his brother now, he couldn’t help but feel it.

“My family has just been destroyed.” Viserys said, struggling to hold back tears. “But instead of being by my side, or Rhaenyra’s… YOU CHOSE TO CELEBRATE YOUR OWN RISE! LAUGHING WITH YOUR WHORES AND YOUR LICKSPITTLES! You have no allies at court but me! I have only ever defended you! And everything I have given you, you have flung back in my face!”

Daemon’s gaze hardened. He couldn’t let this stand. “You’ve only ever tried to send me away! To the City Watch, to the Vale, to anywhere but by your side! Ten years you’ve been King and not once have you asked me to be your Hand!”

“And why would I do that?” Viserys asked. It was a rhetorical question and Daemon knew it, but he had to respond.

“Because I am your brother. And the Blood of the Dragon runs thick.” He hoped that would be able to get through to his brother, but he doubted it. Had this stupid crown torn them apart as much as he thought it had?

“Then why do you cut me so deeply?” Viserys replied. Daemon was losing control of this, and he knew it.

“I have only ever spoken the truth; I see Otto Hightower for what he is.”

“An unwavering and loyal Hand?”

“A cunt.” Daemon replied curtly. “A second son who stands to inherit nothing he does not take for himself.” Ordinarily, Daemon would be the kind of man to praise that sort of ambition, but Hightower was an interloper. A second son of a secondary house who dared to think himself on par with their bloodline.

“Otto Hightower is a more honourable man than you could ever claim to be.”

“He does not protect you. I would.”

“From who?”

“Yourself.” Daemon had been building to this point for a while now. “You’re weak, Viserys. That council of leeches knows it; they all prey on you for their own ends.”

Viserys laid back on the throne. “I have decided to name a new heir.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed at that. “I’m your heir.”

“Not anymore. You are to return to Runestone and your Lady Wife without quarrel. And once there, you will further our family line by putting a child in her.”

Wait. Was this a command to impregnate his wife? The Bronze Bitch? “You are commanding me to-”

“I am. I have indulged your dalliances with that Lyseni whore for too long, and you will no longer be permitted to insult Lady Royce. If you refuse me, you will be exiled. Permanently.”

There was a reason that Viserys had been the last rider the Black Dread had chosen, Daemon remembered. He made to approach his brother, but Harrold Westerling blocked his path, sword partially unsheathed. Daemon figured he could take about two of the knights; maybe three. There was a reason these men were Kingsguard however. Men were not appointed to it because of their name; they were there for their skill. 

Daemon scowled, before reluctantly bowing his head. “Your Grace.” He said, before storming out of the room.

He would have to get extremely drunk to lay with the Bronze Bitch. Maybe a tavern in Gulltown would oblige him.

Runestone, later that evening.

To see her husband actually show up at Runestone was a surprise. To see him blind drunk was less of a surprise. The still badly drunk Daemon Targaryen had been dragged into Runestone’s great hall by her cousin, Gerold. 

“Husband. Why are you here?” She demanded.

“I have come… I have come to consum… consummate our marriage, wife.”

She knew he was not here of his own free will. “Why? Perhaps you would prefer one of our sheep? I hear you find them prettier.” Rhea knew she was no great beauty herself, but she’d had her fair share of marriage proposals before Daemon came along. As the one who was to inherit Runestone, she made a good marriage prospect, she figured, but had largley been married to Daemon in order to shore up support for Viserys at the Great Council of 101.

“My brother… has commanded I… further the Targaryen line.” He slurred. Rhea raised her eyebrows slightly. A royal command for Daemon to impregnate her? It was certainly pretty bloody unusual. She had half a mind to kick him back out onto his dragon there and then, but perhaps that would not be for the best. After all, at this stage, it was likely a council of nobles would have to be called to determine who Runestone went to in the event of her death, and they would likely end up choosing from among themselves, as opposed to Gerold or her niece. Such was the way of the world, she supposed. An heir to Runestone was needed to avoid the mess that had put Daemon in the position of power that he had. Heir to the Iron Throne… Gods save them if ever the day came where Daemon was King. There was a reason his brother had never named him Hand, she supposed. 

“A royal command to impregnate me? I thought you would’ve taken that up with your whore.” She spat. 

“M…Mys…Misery- wait, no that’s not it… Mysaria has returned to Lys…”

Ah, the whore had gone. At least he had rid them of that little dishonour, she supposed. 

“And you wish to consummate our marriage?” She asked. Once upon a time she had felt something for Daemon Targaryen. He was a very handsome man and a dashing knight who also happened to be a prince. How could any woman not swoon over him? That had of course changed when he had not even deigned to do anything with her on their marriage night.

“I do not wish it… it is a royal command.” He drawled. Rhea sighed. There was no affection between them, and they could make no one believe that there was. All the Lords of the Vale knew that Daemon was rarely at Runestone, and that she was never at King’s Landing. The fact that they had never really bothered to even try and keep up appearances had shown, and it was to both their detriments. 

“Then I’ll probably need to get drunk as well.” She said simply. Daemon waved the bottle in his hand at her. 

“I… have brought much drink with me…”

“We will likely need all of it.”

And so it was that Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce got blindingly drunk and slept together for the first and only time. Neither of them could really say that they enjoyed it, but they managed it nonetheless. After the deed was done, Daemon went and slept in a different room, leaving his wife alone.

A few months later, it had become apparent that Rhea was with child. Her hunting trips and horse-breaking rides became less and less. She spent more and more time abed as the months passed. Soon, she was forced to appoint Gerold as her regent to rule in her stead.

One day, as a storm passed over Runestone, it finally happened. Lady Rhea Royce entered labour.

Nine months later

The sound of cracking thunder was nothing compared to the cries of Rhea Royce. She was going to kill that white-haired cunt for cursing her with a pain like this! No injury she’d received while breaking horses hurt as much as this. At least the maester had been prompt, she supposed. Gerold was by her side as well, though her husband was not. She didn’t expect him to be; he had run off to the Stepstones for his little temper tantrum war some time ago. His brother may’ve been an indecisive man but he was still the King. Her husband owed the man his allegiance.

She screamed again. Gods above, it was painful, as if the expletives she was releasing weren’t proof enough of that. The Maester finally rushed to her side, gently saying words of encouragement to her as he took a position at the foot of the bed. Another scream. That was it, she was going to hurt that white-haired prick badly when they next saw each other. He could’ve at least had the decency to be at her side when she gave birth. 

“I can see the head, My Lady!” The Maester said. Part of her wanted to yell at the man to pull the baby out of her, but she was cut off by another scream. It was getting too much; Rhea was struggling to keep her eyes open through it all. By now, Gerold’s wife had arrived as well. She would’ve asked the woman for advice here, considering she had given birth not long ago, but her screaming prevented her.

There was another round of pain and resulting screams before it ended with Rhea finally breathing a sigh of relief, and the soft cry of a babe filled the room. Immediately, the Maester wrapped the newborn in a blanket and handed it to Rhea. “It’s a boy, My Lady. Hale and healthy.” He smiled. Rhea held her son to her chest as she listened to him coo.

“Have you thought of a name, Rhea?” Gerold asked. 

“The poor woman’s just been through an ordeal, Gerold.” His wife said. “She’s-”

“It’s fine, Julia.” Rhea replied, taking a second to catch her breath. She knew the babe would have to take the Targaryen name, as per the laws of the land, and she couldn’t help but feel a bit of sorrow for that. Her family deserved better than that, but perhaps some solution could be found in the future. Right now, the babe deserved a childhood. One away from his shit of a father. “And I do have a name.” She said. Gerold and Julia leant forward expectantly. “Daevar.”

“Daevar Targaryen.” The Maester said, making a mental note of the name to record it later. “A good name, My Lady.”

“I believe he’ll be the first Daevar in the line of either family.” Gerold responded. Rhea just nodded at that.

“His father-” Julia started before Rhea interrupted.

“His father will not care for him.” She said bluntly. “His father believes he is above everyone else… he will not show kindness to my son. He will not see him as his son.” She added. She didn’t know Daemon well, admittedly, but she knew the man believed House Targaryen to be above everyone else. There were even rumours that he still kept to the gods of Valyria, as foreign as they were to the people of Westeros.

And especially to the First Men of House Royce. 

She held Daevar close to her. “You will not turn out like your father, Daevar…” She whispered to him. “I swear it on my honour.”

116 AC, The Eyrie

Everything about him made her angry. His smug face, his confident swagger, the way he walked into a room like he owned it. Even here, in the Vale. Just the sight of him made her angry, but Jeyne Arryn, at two-and-twenty years and Lady of the Eyrie, was not a woman given over to such open displays. She wanted to have the man cut down where he stood, but Daemon Targaryen had come with his dragon, as if he were anticipating that very order.

“You demand Runestone?” Jeyne said, her hands digging into her throne in anger. 

“As Lady Rhea’s widower, it is my right.” Daemon replied. His hands rested comfortably on the hilt of Dark Sister, confident that Jeyne would pass the entire thing to him. If he was trying to threaten them, he was already succeeding just by the air of superiority he gave off.

“Her widower?” Jeyne asked rhetorically. “The laws of the land dictate that it should fall to a member of her family.”

“Am I not? Those ‘laws of the land’ you cite clearly state that the lands of the woman fall to her husband on her death.”

“But they do not fall to murderers.” Ser Gerold Royce said. Daemon looked at the man, his eyes narrowed. Well, at least he was saying it openly now. His eyes scanned downwards to reveal a small boy, no older than four, hiding behind Gerold’s leg. He had the telltale silver hair of Targaryen blood, but there was something different about the lad. It was his eyes. Brown, the same colour as the Bronze Bitch’s. Daemon scowled. It was his son, Daevar.

“Murderer, Ser Gerold?” Daemon replied, using his thumb to loosen Dark Sister in its scabbard. “I told you at my niece’s wedding that men are made to answer for their slander.”

“And I told you that in the Vale, men are made to answer for their crimes.” Ser Gerold replied. The men stared each other down for a moment before Jeyne decided she had entertained this farce enough.

“Silence, both of you!” She commanded. In spite of her relative youth and somewhat unstable status as Lady of the Eyrie, she could still speak with the authoritative tone demanded of all high lords. “Prince Daemon, Ser Gerold has already brought his accusation and evidence of it to me, and while it is not conclusive… I find it troubling.”

Daemon stared up at her. “My Lady, you cannot be serious. These accusations are-”

“Be silent!” She thundered. “As I said, I find the evidence behind Ser Gerold’s accusations troubling enough. Lady Rhea was a friend of mine, and we all mourn her passing, yet you have turned up, days after her death, to claim what you say is yours. You not only offend the honour of your late wife, you offend the honour of the entire Vale.” She signalled for her Maester to hand her a piece of paper. “This letter states that Runestone is to pass to her son, Daevar, upon her death. Under my authority as Lady Paramount and Defender of the Vale, Runestone will pass to Daevar of the Houses Targaryen and Royce.”

“My Lady-”

“Furthermore, under the same authority, Prince Daemon, you are banished from the Vale of Arryn. Leave and never return.”

Daemon did some quick calculations in his head. He could probably cut through the knights that guarded Lady Arryn without much effort, and part of him wanted to draw Dark Sister and bring that pompous woman to heel, but Viserys would never forgive him. Even his brother had his breaking point, and committing such an act here would likely lead to being sent to the Wall. 

He bowed stiffly before turning around to leave, making a point of passing by Ser Gerold on the way out.

“Well played, Ser Gerold.” He smiled thinly.

“I did not ‘play’, my Prince.” The knight replied. He already had a hand on the hilt of his sword, seemingly ready to draw it if Daemon tried anything. Daemon, for his part, wanted to take the man’s head off there and then, but even he had his limits. 

“A shame that Runestone will fall to my half-breed of a son.” He lowered his gaze to the four-year-old. “You hear me, boy? You are a half-breed. You will never be a true Targaryen… and you will never be my son.”

That’s where the enmity between my father and his father started. Only days after the death of my grandmother, my grandfather attempted to claim Runestone for himself. Lady Arryn however stood firm, and held true to my grandmother’s final wish.

My father was young at the time, but he was still able to understand the word ‘half-breed’. It was something that would stay with him his whole life. An insult. A statement that he was not part of my grandfather’s family.

It was not something that would be easily forgotten.

Chapter Text

My father had visited King’s Landing at regular intervals over the next few years. My grandfather was off gallivanting in Pentos with his new wife, Laena Velaryon, and they’re two children; Baela and Rhaena, and meetings between them were an impossibility. A pity; if my grandfather had taken more care with my father, they might have averted the catastrophe that befell Westeros. 

What can be said of my uncles Aegon and Aemond? What we know is that Aegon from a young age tended to slake his lusts on serving girls and indulged heavily in wine. Aemond had been described as a fierce youth and quick to anger, though that is certainly not the way my father described their younger years. As for my mother, she and my father shared something of a friendly bond even before their marriage; she often ascribed it to father’s patience with her.

My father’s visit to King’s Landing just after his 14th nameday is perhaps the one that history has recorded most, if only for an incident in the Red Keep’s training yard that would be one of the root causes of the war to come…

King’s Landing, 126 AC

If there was one thing Daevar hated about visiting the capital, it was was the heat. He was more used to the cooler climate of the Vale, and he already felt himself beginning to sweat under the bronze cuirass he wore as he made his way through the Red Keep. True, the rune-inscribed armour was meant to serve as a symbol of office more than anything, but he often wondered why Lamentation didn’t fill that alone. As it was, the Valyrian steel sword of House Royce was strapped to his hip, often being eyed by members of the City Watch.

He had been passing through the corridors of the old castle when quite literally bumped into Aemond. The boy seemed to have been crying earlier; his bloodshot eyes gave it away. His cousin had always been annoyed that he did not have a dragon yet, but something had happened this time. “Aemond, what’s wrong?” Daevar asked.

“They gave me a pig.” The boy replied. “Aegon and Jace and Luke. They took me down into the Dragonpit to see Jace claim Vermax and said they had a dragon for me, and they gave me a bloody pig.” Aemond was not a boy given to displays of anger or frustration, but Daevar could see it on his face. Aegon had gotten to him this time. “Even Daeron has a dragon, and he’s a year younger than me!”

“I don’t have one.” Daevar reminded him. True, Gerold had ordered part of the hillside around Runestone to be hollowed out in preparation for Daevar to claim one, but he hadn’t. He preferred the idea of keeping his feet firmly planted on the ground instead of flying over it, where all it took was one mishap for everything to go wrong. Dragons were powerful, but not invincible. There was a reason why Rhaenys and Meraxes hadn’t survived their last incursion into Dorne, that stubborn principality that defied their house to this day.

“Still…” Aemond trailed off.

Daevar pulled the boy into a hug to console him. “A dragon doesn’t define our worth, Aemond. It just means we have to make up for it in other ways.” He said, patting the hilt of Lamentation. 

Aemond gave Daevar a weak smile. “Not all of us have Valyrian steel swords, though.” 

“Then we find another way to make up for it.” He said before looking him up and down. “Have you put on muscle, cousin?” Daevar was mostly asking to make Aemond feel better, but despite having just ten years, the boy seemed just as well-built as some of the other lads who were years older than him.

“Some, I think.” Aemond replied, feeling his arms instinctually, before giving Daevar a cheeky grin. “You still look thin.”

“Watch it.” Daevar replied, laughing as the two of them embraced. It had been too long since they had last seen each other, that much was certain.

“Come on, Helaena and Daeron will be waiting to see you.” Aemond said, gesturing him along. Daevar had been wanting to see them again too, if he was honest. Daeron was a mere nine years old but was already showing signs of being an astute learner, while Helaena was… well, he didn’t know how to describe Helaena. The girl was king and gentle, but something of an enigma; she always had been described as 'odd'.

His train of thought was cut off as Aemond led him into a room, where the young girl and boy were seated on the floor. Daeron turned around and his face lit up as he saw them. He was still a precocious young boy, after all.

“Daevar!” He said, running over to hug him tightly. The boy had a tight grip, even for his age, and wasn’t dissuaded by the bronze cuirass. Daevar smiled and hugged him back just as tightly; seeing Daeron had always been a highlight of coming to King’s Landing, much as he disliked practically everything else about the place.

“It’s good to see you too, Daeron.” Daevar replied. The boy was getting bigger; soon enough he’d be big enough to start training properly with a sword and ride his dragon soon. Apparently he had claimed one of the younger ones. It was typical of a boy like Daeron; always looking for something new, never happy to settle for something just in front of him. He looked up to see Helaena with one of the creatures from the impressive collection she had gathered over the years.

“Helaena, Daevar’s here!” Daeron said happily, leading him over to the girl. Helaena barely acknowledged him, all her attention focused on the thing in her hand. “Helaena?”

“This one has one hundred legs. Two legs per ring. That means it has fifty rings. What do you think, Daeron?” She asked. Daevar had to admit that it was pretty impressive that she could rattle off information like that off the top of her head.

“I don’t like the way its legs wriggle around.” Daeron replied simply. “Helaena, Daevar-”

Daevar put a hand on his cousin’s shoulder to quiet him and approached Helaena slowly. Kneeling down beside her, he reached out and touched the tips of his fingers to hers. It was an attempt at getting her to acknowledge he was in the room; the little thing in her hand currently held all of her attention. 

Surprisingly, she didn’t flinch as their fingertips touched. Instead, her head flicked around to see Daevar smiling at her, though her own face remained impassive as she greeted him “Oh. Hello, Daevar.” She said briefly before turning back to the millipede in her hands. Daevar resisted the urge to sigh. There was something just… different about Helaena.

“How have you been, Helaena?” He asked, trying to prod her into a conversation.

“Good.” Was all she said in reply. Again, he had to contain his sigh. 

“I’m glad.” He smiled. “How many of those do you have now?” He asked, gesturing to the millipede.

“Four.”

“Is this one your favourite?”

“I find them all interesting.” Helaena replied. Daevar smiled; she wasn’t given over to long conversations and it was unlikely he was going to get much more out of her. Truth be told, her fascination with small things like that was a little endearing. It had started with insects originally; butterflies and other harmless things before progressing to others. Millipedes had become her latest fascination.

“Okay, well I’ll speak to you at dinner then, cousin.” He smiled, touching their fingertips again before hugging Daeron and nodding at Aemond. There was someone else that he needed to say hello to before heading down to the training yard, where Criston Cole was doubtless waiting.

He wandered past Nesaena as he made his way through the halls. Helaena’s twin sister was almost exactly what a noblewoman should be; gentle, pious, kind, and with a constant elegance about her. It was almost a shame that she had ended up as the one to be betrothed to Aegon; the boy was already given to drink at just fourteen and had developed a penchant for fondling serving girls. Not to mention that the boy was a bully, judging from Aemond’s story. The products of the union between King Viserys and Queen Alicent.

Daevar wasn't sure how to feel about Alicent Hightower. The woman had married King Viserys around three months after the death of Queen Aemma; and if he understood it correctly, the marriage had primarily occurred to try and secure the line further. Not many Targaryens had been in the world back then, after all, and it might’ve been the King’s thought process to try and secure his line properly so Princess Rhaenyra could ascend the Iron Throne without difficulty.

That was another enigma to him. Rhaenyra… the Princess of Dragonstone had become the heir to her father after Daevar’s own father was disinherited from the line. If the story was to be believed, he had been conceived the very same night as his father had been removed as the supposed heir to Viserys. He and Rhaenyra didn’t know each other that well; they had rarely seen each other, save for his visits to King’s Landing when Gerold permitted them, and those were few and far between. Gerold had insisted he take to his duties as Lord of Runestone before visiting King’s Landing, after all. There had been a bit of fuss over the idea of a woman taking the crown, but his mother had ruled Runestone in his own right, and Lady Jeyne had ruled the Vale quite competently for many years. What was all the fuss about?

“Enter.” A voice called out after he had knocked on one of the hundreds of doors in the Red Keep. Of course, these chambers didn’t just belong to anyone, but Princess Rhaenyra herself. The heir to the Iron Throne was holding her newest babe in her arms. “Daevar, welcome.” She greeted him.

“Thank you, Princess. I merely came by to say hello before attending to some other things, and to see the newest addition to your family.” He smiled. “What’s this one’s name?”

“Joffrey. Laenor insisted.” She replied. “After I named the others, he wanted this one.” She added, causing them both to laugh slightly. “You must be tired after your voyage from Gulltown, cousin.”

“I must admit, I still don’t take to the sea as naturally as your husband.” Daevar said. At least he hadn’t vomited overboard this time; that was an improvement. 

“I thought you Bronze Lords were all as hardy as Robar Royce?” Rhaenyra said, arching an eyebrow.

“King Robar was a hardy man, Princess, but not all us can be made like him.” 

“Must be your Valyrian blood.” She said in a slightly dismissive voice. Hanging over that was a truth that Daevar knew all too well; he was looked down on for never claiming a dragon, much like Aemond. He had little desire to claim one, truth be told. Dragons were unpredictable beasts who only obeyed their riders so much. They were beasts of war with minds and personalities of their own, and no one could claim to control the mind of another being. Rhaenyra had once told him that her father claimed that the belief of controlling dragons was a happy illusion they all had; that man should not have trifled with the power that dragons were. 

It was hard to dispute the point, as far as Daevar was concerned.

“Alas, Princess, I am merely half-Valyrian. The blood of the First Men runs in my veins as well as the blood of Old Valyria.” He replied, causing an uncomfortable silence between the two of them. “May I be excused, Princess?”

“Of course, My Lord. You must have other things to do.” Rhaenyra said, again in that dismissive tone that could drive a man to madness. Daevar forced a smile, bowed and left. A serving girl walked up to him as he did. She smiled at him; she was certainly pretty, with hair as black as a raven’s and big brown eyes that seemed almost mischievous.

“Please, allow me, My Lady.” He said, opening the door for her.

“My name’s Kyra, m’lord.” The serving girl said, before giving him a grateful smile.

“Kyra… that’s a pretty name.” Daevar replied, earning a giggle from the girl.

One of the things Daevar truly missed about King’s Landing was the girls. He’d had a couple of minor dalliances here and there when he had visited, but made sure to keep it as chaste as it needed to be. He wasn’t going to dare put a bastard in the bellies of any of the girls that served the royal family; that had the potential to destroy their lives forever.

There was nothing wrong with having a bit of fun though, which was currently why Kyra was underneath him as they kissed feverishly. The girl had been surprisingly ready to accept his advances after their brief meeting outside the Princess’s chambers, and never one to turn down a chance with a girl, Daevar had eagerly talked her into his chambers. He began pressing kisses to her neck and pressing their bodies together. He began unlacing her bodice and kissed her again, prompting a gasp from the girl.

“M’lord is certainly eager.” She said, rolling her hips against him, eliciting an excited moan from Daevar’s lips.

“You have no idea.” He groaned out, palming her breast as they kissed, taking satisfaction from Kyra’s moans and gasps. Yeah, it had been way too long since he’d felt something like this. Gerold wouldn’t allow this sort of thing to happen at Runestone; it was considered unbecoming of the lord-in-waiting to be spending his time around the servant girls. Men of the Vale were supposed to be honourable folk, and men of House Royce were especially so. He wasn’t married yet though, so what was the harm in it?

He had started to kiss between her breasts when he heard the door open. With a yelp, he jumped off Kyra to see his ten-year-old cousin covering his eyes.

“Don’t you know the meaning of a closed bedchamber door, Aemond?!” Daevar snapped. “It means-”

“It might mean any number of things!” Aemond replied, still covering his eyes and unsure if Daevar and Kyra were decent. 

“Oh uncover your eyes. Fun’s over and we’re still dressed.” Daevar grumbled. He turned to Kyra, who had just finished lacing her bodice back up. “I’ll find you later.” he said and winked at her. 

Kyra giggled slightly before curtseying. “My Lord.”

Aemond finally uncovered his eyes. “I came to tell you, Ser Criston wants us in the training yard. And I think Aegon wants to test himself against you.”

Daevar chuckled at that. “Aegon was to test himself against me?” He laughed as he began fastening the cuirass around himself. “Should be interesting; I don't much care for Aegon though.” He managed to fix the last straps in place with practised ease.

“No one does.” Aemond replied. “Daeron wanted to join us today, but Aegon forbade it. He doesn’t seem to want to be around Daeron a lot.”

Daevar sighed. “No matter. I intend to ask His Grace for permission to take Daeron as a cupbearer. Get him away from all this.” He said. Daeron had always been the most enthusiastic of his cousins, he supposed. Aemond for his part was a little let down by that. Why Daeron and not him? Surely he could count Daevar as a friend?  He had been hoping that Daevar might take him back to Runestone as a squire or cupbearer or something similar, but…

He shook his head. No use dwelling on it when Daevar had made his decision.

“I’m sure Daeron will be delighted.” He said neutrally. “Come on, we don’t want to be late for Ser Criston.”

The Red Keep’s training yard was surprisingly well-occupied today. Besides Aemond and Daevar, Aegon had also made his presence known with some flashy but impractical strikes on the training dummy, while Jacaerys and Lucerys Velaryon practised with each other, with Ser Criston Cole overseeing everything from the sidelines.

Watching from the edges was Daeron; wishing he could join in the training, but unwilling to defy his eldest brother. Aegon was bigger than he was, after all.

“You alright there, Daeron?” Daevar asked, noticing the boy’s glum expression. “It’s because that brother of yours won’t let you train with us, right?”

“It’s not fair.” The boy said. “I’m nine, same as Jace” He pouted. 

“Well, Aegon can sod off.” He said, casting a look over at the prince. Aegon was busy dancing around the dummy with no real skill; he was trying to look like the knights he’d heard about in stories no doubt. The problem with that, Daevar knew, was that the stories were rarely completely true. Embellishments often occurred to make the whole thing sound better. “Come on, I’ll show you some basic strikes.” He took up a spare wooden sword and handed it to Daeron.

The two went through a few different strikes; upwards, downward, thrusts. Daeron was particularly eager to learn the different attacks that could be put together in a chain, but Daevar talked him out of it. A bit too advanced for a beginner. Aemond eventually joined in and Daevar could get a bit more hands-on with him. Slowly, the two began to exchange strikes and parries, with Aemond picking up on a few points. 

“Remember, the crossguard isn't just there for show. It’s part of the sword as well.” He said, parrying another one of Aemond’s swings. “See, Aemond? I’ve caught your blade in my crossguard, and now all I have to do is slide my blade down yours…” He did so, the dulled point of the wooden blade hitting Aemond’s breastplate with a slight thud. “Fight’s over.”

“Oh, is it?” Aegon said. “What sort of nonsense are you showing my brothers, Daevar?”

“How to wield a sword, my prince. I have learnt some things over the years from Ser Gerold and the other Knights of the Vale.”

“I’ve been trained by the Kingsgaurd. No comparison.” Aegon said, smugly.

“Mayhaps, but the difference is how well someone takes to the training. Judging by the way you were swinging your sword, I would think you’d be more inclined to dance with your opponent than fight them.” He said.

“Is that a challenge, cousin?” Aegon asked, his face twisting into a scowl as he stepped away from his training dummy and pointed his sword at Daevar. “Come at me then, if you’re so inclined.”

“Later, Aegon. I’m still showing Aemond and Daeron a few things.”

“I thought bronze caught the eye better than steel.” Aegon said, gesturing to Daevar’s cuirass. “Better for dancing. Fits the son of the Bronze Bitch, after all.”

That earned Aegon a hard punch in the arm. “If you want to insult my mother, you answer for it.” Daevar growled.

Aegon smirked. “Ser Criston, might we have some gauntlets and helmets?”

“My Prince, I don’t think-”

“It’s quite alright, Ser Criston.” Daevar said. “I look forward to this.”

Sighing, Criston passed them a helmet and set of gauntlets each as the other boys gathered to watch the fight. Daevar shot a wink at Kyra, who was likely passing by on her way to Rhaenyra, and slid the helmet on. He and Aegon saluted each other, and Criston called the fight on. Anyone could see that it was a mismatch; Aegon’s footwork was sloppy and unrefined, while Daevar made sure every movement he made was precise and on target. When Aegon’s sword cut downward, Daevar almost toyed with him; deflecting the blows without much effort, or simply stepping back to avoid his swings.

“Come on, Daevar!” Aemond shouted. Aegon responded by angrily throwing his weight behind a cut at his opponent’s chest, only to find that his blade had become caught in the crossguard of Daevar’s sword. Seconds later, the eldest son of Viserys Targaryen found himself flat on his back, with the tip of opponent’s sword just inches from his face.

“What did I say about the crossguard, Aemond? Daeron?” Daevar asked as Jace and Luke laughed slightly

“He’s right.” Criston said. “A sword's not just a blade, Prince Aegon.”

Aegon, enraged, bolted to his feet, enraged by Jace’s laughter. “You, fight me, now!” He ordered. Jace couldn’t exactly turn down such a challenge, and this time, Aegon had the advantage. Jace was still small compared to him, and Aegon used that to his advantage as the fight started.

“Close with him!” Ser Criston said. “Stay on the attack! Use your feet!” He shouted. As if on cue, Aegon delivered a savage kick, sending Jacaerys to the ground. “Don’t let him get up!”

Aegon kept smashing the blade of his sword against Jace’s, beating it into the ground until Harwin pulled him away. “YOU DARE LAY YOUR HANDS ON ME?!” Aegon raged.

“Aegon!” The voice of King Viserys chided, who had been observing everything from the balcony that oversaw the training grounds.

“You forget yourself Strong, that is the Prince.” Ser Criston said. Daevar could see something was about to happen between the two men.

“This is what you teach, Cole?” Ser Harwin asked. “Cruelty to the weaker opponent?” He started gathering up the practice swords.

“Your interest in the princelings’ training is rather unusual, Lord Commander. Most men would only have that sort of devotion to a cousin, or a brother… or a son.”

That was all it took.

Harwin Strong charged forward and began laying into Criston Cole. He was larger than the Kingsguard knight, but Cole was not hitting back, Daevar noticed. In seconds, Criston was on the ground, Harwin beating him savagely. The twins, Erryk and Arryk Cargyll, ran forward to pull him off, but it took the addition of Sers Steffon Darklyn and Rickard Thorne to restrain him completely.

“SAY IT AGAIN!” Harwin bellowed. “SAY IT AGAIN!”

Daevar, in a bit of disbelief at what he had seen, cast a look over at Jace and Luke, then back at Harwin Strong.

My father said there and then, he knew that the Princes Velaryon were not Velaryons, but bastards of Ser Harwin Strong, who was having an affair with princess Rhaenyra. He had apparently never considered the notion before, yet it was now not able to leave his head. If they were bastards, he said to me once, then they could never sit on the Iron Throne.

Which meant that at the time, Rhaenyra had no legitimate heir. 

More than that, his opinion of Princess Rhaenyra had been permanently coloured; as far as he was concerned, she lived her life without a care for anyone but her immediate family. He used to say she lived in a bubble, sealed off from the rest of the world where consequences could never reach her because of a father in King Viserys who overindulged her. 

Regardless, there was little my father could do. After all, the Lord of Runestone was secondary to the head of House Arryn. So he remained silent. For now.

Chapter Text

What can be said of Viserys I, better known as Viserys the Peaceful? He reigned over Westeros at the height of Targaryen power. More dragons were in existence during his reign that at any other. Yet at the same time, his reign planted the seeds that would grow into the Dance of the Dragons. I have often pondered how things would have turned out if he had been a better father to his children by Queen Alicent. My father’s opinion of the man, to this day, remains complicated. Ultimately, it will only be the fullness of time that can judge Viserys I, and we cannot know how kind or unkind it will be.

King's Landing

Viserys sighed as he and Lyonel Strong, his ever loyal Hand, made their way through the Red Keep to his chambers. The scuffle in the training yard had wrecked any hopes he had at the boys forming a bond in the short term. The only one of them who didn’t seem to have any grudges was Daeron, and that was likely because he was too young, though he hoped it was because the boy was genuinely kind at heart. He shook his head as he sat down, looking out over King’s Landing through the window.

“What do you make of Daevar, Lyonel?” He asked, turning to face the Lord of Harrenhal.

“Your Grace?”

“Daevar. Daemon’s son. What do you make of him?” He asked again. Lyonel tried to pick his words carefully but truthfully. He had a great deal of respect for Daevar already, truth be told. The boy was not exactly the spitting image of his father, but did seem to inherit the Rogue Prince’s skill with a sword, if the training yard was any indication.

“He is growing into a fine young man, Your Grace. I’ve no doubt that Runestone will be well served with him as its ruler.” Lyonel said.

Viserys smiled and nodded. “Indeed. And Lady Jeyne will be well served having him as one of her bannermen. When the time comes for him to lead men, I’ve little doubt he will prove himself indispensable.” He replied enthusiastically. Much had been said of Daevar; how he had inherited his mother’s skill on horseback and his father’s skill at arms, though it was usually coupled with the mention of Lady Rhea’s untimely death and Daemon effectively abandoning him.

Viserys sighed. The boy was owed better than that. At the very least, Daemon could’ve had him sent to Driftmark to be raised by Rhaenys or something akin to that instead of leaving him in the Vale. Instead he’d gone off to fight in the Stepstones and waste his life in Essos with Laena Velaryon, leaving Daevar in the care of Ser Gerold Royce, and raising tensions with the entire Vale as a consequence. “I think–” He was cut off by the door opening, revealing Ser Erryk Cargyll.

“Lord Daevar of Houses Targaryen and Royce, Your Grace.” He announced as the boy entered the room. Daevar was only of average height, yet carried himself with an air of lordly authority, with his shoulders squared, back straight, and his head high. Lamentation was strapped to his hip, and the bronze cuirass still adorned his chest. Viserys had heard the tales of the bronze armour of House Royce; how the runes made them invulnerable to their enemies. Of course, many Royces had died wearing that armour, so Viserys mostly saw it as a status symbol.

The King smiled as his only nephew approached him. “Ah. Daevar, my boy. Welcome.” He said, holding out his one good arm. Over the last decade, Viserys’s left arm had rotted with disease, forcing Maester Orwyle to have it removed to stop the infection. To any man, an injury of this magnitude would shake their lives, yet Viserys seemed to be bothered by it very little.

“Your Grace.” Daevar greeted, bowing.

Viserys chuckled. “Is that any way to greet your uncle?” He asked, before putting a hand on Daevar’s shoulder. “It’s good to have you back in King’s Landing. Tell me, how are things in Runestone?”

“Fine, uncle. Gerold has been making sure I’m ready to rule the castle and its lands in the next two years.”

“Indeed. You wear your office well, Daevar. Your mother would be very proud. So, to what do I owe this audience?”

Daevar took a second to form the right words in his head before saying, “I’ve come to ask your permission to bring Daeron back to Runestone as a cupbearer and page when I return there. Aemond already has Ser Criston to oversee his training. I wish to oversee Daeron’s.” He said. The words were slightly awkward, but they seemed to have the intended effect as Viserys inclined his head.

“A fine proposition, Daevar. Yes, Daeron would perhaps do well away from his brothers. But what would be done about his dragon? Tessarion is still a small beast, but she will grow with time.”

This time, it was Daevar’s turn to nod. “Ser Gerold had a cave dug into the hills near Runestone when i was young; everyone thought I was going to claim a dragon when I was growing up. Alas, I never did.” He said, parting his hands. Lack of a dragon was not a dealbreaker to Viserys, they both knew that. If it had been Daevar’s father, well…

“Then I see no reason why Daeron cannot go with you to Runestone.” Viserys smiled.

Daevar returned the gesture, before bowing once more. “Thank you, uncle. I swear you will not regret this.” Viserys saw that his nephew was growing into a young lord already, and though he seemed to have inherited his father’s striking good looks, the boy hadn’t inherited much of his father’s attitudes. There had been no reports of him coupling with whores, for example. Daeron would also likely benefit from his sword instruction; he had seen how skilled a fighter Daevar was in the training yard.

Once Daevar had left the room, Lyonel spoke up. “The Queen had planned on having Prince Daeron squire for her cousin Ormund, Your Grace.” He said, causing Viserys to sigh.

“Then I shall inform her that there has been a change of plans. Daeron will go to Runestone and learn the arts of war from the Knights of the Vale; the finest warriors in Westeros. There are no finer people to learn from." And with Daevar overseeing his training, what could go wrong?

Later that evening…

It was a warm night in the capital. Most of the city had already faded off to rest, and honest folk had abandoned the streets. That hadn’t occurred up in the Red Keep though; someone was always up and about. Tonight, Helaena had decided that she wanted to look at the stars, which is why she found herself sitting in the godswood, gazing up at the sky. It was clear and beautiful, and the stars shone like specks of white against the night. 

The godswood was the one place in the Red Keep that she found oddly calming. She knew her mother found the heart tree especially to be strangely frightening; she had once commented that it felt like the tree was staring into her soul. Yet Helaena felt at ease here; maybe it was something about the trees swaying in the gentle breeze or the stars themselves. Sometimes she had seen Larys Strong, her father’s Master of Whisperers, walking through and gently muttering what she though was a prayer before he moved on, but other than that, the godswood was mostly deserted. 

She looked up into the sky again before she was interrupted by a visitor, though she smiled when she turned to the heavy footfalls. “Daevar, it’s good to see you.”

Her cousin was still wearing the bronze cuirass, though she had heard that it was a status symbol for the Lord of Runestone, or so she had been told. “It’s good to see you too, cousin.” Daevar said. “Would you mind if I joined you?”

Helaena shook her head, and offered a spot beside her. Daevar had always been kind to her whenever he’d visited King’s Landing. She’d have liked to have visited him in Runestone at least once, but such travel had been forbidden by her mother. She would have a duty to fulfill to her family in time in the form of a marriage. With Aegon and Nesaena being betrothed, she always figured that she would marry Aemond, but she supposed it was just as likely that she would be married off to secure an alliance with another house. Maybe the Winterfell heir Cregan Stark.

“It’s a lovely night.” Daevar said, trying to spark a conversation.

Helaena nodded. “I enjoy coming out here.” She replied. “It’s quiet and peaceful.” Not like the inside of the Red Keep, she thought but didn’t add.

“No arguments here.” Came the reply as Daevar finally untied his sword belt and sat down on the soft grass next to her. “Can still smell the stink from the city though.” He added.

Helaena couldn’t help but agree with him. “It can be rather pungent at times. What’s it like in Runestone? The sky, I mean.” She asked.

“It’s always clear there.” Daevar replied. “Look up, and you’re always able to see blue skies. Unless it’s raining.” He deadpanned. 

“Because of the clouds?” She asked. Daevar nodded. It was sometimes easy to forget that Helaena occasionally needed confirmation about what someone was talking about. He followed her gaze upward at the stars after that. He didn’t hold the same affinity for stars and the world above as Helaena did, but he was happy to keep her company.

“You should come and visit us in Runestone, cousin.” He turned to her. “His Grace agreed to let me take Daeron as a cupbearer. You could come and visit him on Dreamfyre.”

Helaean knew she’d have to think about that one. Her mother wouldn’t be happy about it, of that she was certain. She would have to convince her father to let her visit. And with Daeron there, it would be a lot easier; she could say that she was simply going to visit her brother and see how he was doing so far from home. Her mother would have to allow that.

“I will speak to mother about it. I cannot see a reason why she would not.” She said, Daevar nodded at that. Hopefully Alicent would agree to let her come and visit Runestone at some point; he had little doubt that she’d like it there. 

Daevar then raised his hand and held it out towards Helaena, who raised her own hand, pressing the tips of her fingers to his with a slight smile. He liked it when he could get that kind of reaction from the girl; she always seemed so happy when she did. A far cry from her brother Aegon’s treatment of her, that was for sure. Daevar had, admittedly, avoided her quite a lot when they were young, mostly down to the fact that he was unsure how to interact with such an odd girl, but it had come with time. Now, seeing her whenever he was in King’s landing was one of the joys of his visits there, among other things. 

“Actually, speaking of your mother, Her Grace will likely tan my hide if I don’t bring you inside soon.” He said. It was unfortunate, but perhaps that was necessary, Helaena knew. Her mother was extremely myopic about keeping her safe. She shrugged and stood up, Daevar following her. “I’m sorry Helaena; I just don’t think your mother trusts me around girls.”

“What, because of you being caught with the servant girls around the Red Keep?” She asked. Daevar looked at her, a little stunned. “I may be odd, Daevar, but I’m not stupid.” 

He smiled. “You most definitely are not, Helaena.” He tied his sword belt on as he stood up with her.

The two of them walked in a comfortable silence, even as they occasionally came across the soldiers patrolling the corridors, as well as the odd Goldcloak. Daevar was a bit more cautious around the City Watchmen now, especially with the confrontation between Ser Criston and Ser Harwin in the training yard. 

“Goodnight, cousin.” He said as they arrived at her chambers.

“To you as well, Daevar.” She said as she left. 

He spotted Kyra on his way back to his chambers, and beckoned for her to follow him. Kyra giggled before eagerly taking his hand.

Pentos . . .

Daemon sat on the roof of Prince Reggio’s Palace. Much had gone through his mind lately; he knew they couldn’t stay here forever, even with the Prince’s hospitality. Sooner or later, they would have to move on, either north to Braavos or east to Volantis. He was more likely to get a dagger in the chest if they went to Lys, Myr or Tyrosh. He could try his luck back in King’s Landing, and send Laena and the girls to Runestone. Daevar would make sure nothing bad would happen to them, that much he hoped at least. At the very least, the Vale’s traditions would forbid him from doing harm. 

He heard a door open and saw his wife, Laena Velaryon approaching him. He smiled gently as he approached and he moved a cushion around for her, knowing that rest was vital when a woman was as pregnant as she was. “Laenor has written again.” She said. “Rhaenyra has given birth to another son.” She smiled. Daemon laughed humourlessly.

“Did your brother mention that this son also has a marked yet entirely coincidental resemblance to the Lord Commander of the City Watch?” He scoffed. Part of him had to admire Rhaenyra’s boldness at having such an affair openly, but boldness often skirted close to being outright foolishness. As far as he was concerned, this fell into the latter. Ser Harwin Strong had been his deputy for some time during his own tenure with the Watch, and he was certainly muscled well enough to attract any maiden’s attentions, but he was not nearly of high enough station for someone like Rhaenyra, not to mention he was not Valyrian.

“He seems to have left that detail out.” Laena chuckled. “I miss my brother, Daemon. As I think do you.”

“I miss Westerosi strongwine.” Daemon replied. “It could be depended on for a few hours of peaceful oblivion. This amber shit they drink here…” He stood up and made his way over to the wall.

“Do you never long for home?” Laena asked, hands resting on her stomach.

“No.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you please.”

“You laud the virtues of Pentos, but you have no interest in it.” Laena challenged. “If you did, you would go down into the city. Instead you spend all your time in the library, reading accounts and histories of the dead dragonlords whose legacy you claim has no hold over you.” She figured now was a good time to air her frustration, much to Daemon’s own frustration.

“I was unaware that I was being so minutely observed.”

“You do not sleep-”

“How can I, with you haunting my every move?” he asked. Laena sighed. She wasn’t getting through to him.

“I know life has disappointed you, Daemon. Perhaps I am not the wife you wished for.” He turned to interrupt her but she wasn’t finished. “It does not pain me; I have made my peace with it, Daemon. But you are more than this. The man I married was more than this.” She sighed, resting a head on his shoulder. “And I want Baela and Rhaena to know their home.”

“What home do we have in Westeros?” he asked.

“Runestone.” Laena answered, as if the answer was obvious. “Your son rules there. Baela and Rhaena would live comfortably there. They deserve to meet their brother.” 

Daemon sighed and dropped his head. So, he wasn’t the only one that notion had occurred to. His letter to Lady Jeyne asking her to reconsider his banishment had gone unanswered; evidently the woman still held a grudge against him. Fortune pisses on me.

“You may go to Runestone if you wish. I have no doubt the boy will take care of you. But I cannot go there, Laena. I am forbidden from setting foot in the Vale. However, it will be safe for you and Baela and Rhaena. You deserve a place to rest your feet.” He had to admit that much. The constant shifting of their home wasn’t exactly conducive to raising children. 

“We cannot go without you. Send a letter to your son, ask him to speak with Lady Arryn. She will listen to him.”

Daemon sighed again and looked out over the city. Where did they belong? Valyria was gone. King’s Landing was unfriendly to him. He couldn’t go near Runestone. Running all over the Free Cities wasn’t a great idea either, especially with the Triarchy beginning to recover its strength. Braavos was uncertain as well, come to think of it. The city had its lifeblood in trade, and had enjoyed quite a significant agreement with the Three Daughters before he had smashed their armies and killed a former Sealord’s wastrel of a son in a duel over Laena. He smiled briefly at the memory.

There was nowhere for them to go. Not really. Any journey would be fraught by hazards from angry pirate captains who would chance their luck on them, and there was no way they, their children, and their belongings could all be carried on Caraxes and Vhagar. 

He would have to think things over.

Unusual for him, he had to admit.

Laena Velaryon would pass away that evening. Most say that she died from complications in childbirth, but my aunts always insisted that she died a dragonrider’s death. That could mean any number of things though, from commanding Vhagar to burn her to simply falling off the old dragon mid-flight.

Word of her death would reach Driftmark first, and King’s Landing not long after. My father recalls feeling sorry for the Velaryons, but unable to truly empathise with their feelings; likely a consequence of having never met Laena. Either way it was soon announced that Laena’s funeral would be held on Driftmark, with all the royal family in attendance, including my father.  

Chapter Text

My father and the rest of King’s Landing were informed of Lady Laena’s death not long after. It was decreed that she would be taken to Driftmark and given the full Velaryon funeral rites; her body committed to the sea. 

It was also the first time my father and grandfather had laid eyes on each other for ten years, and it was not a reunion that would be a happy one. Though, it must be said, that is not what this funeral is known for. Today, this funeral is known for being one of the causes of the Dance. 

It was the night my uncle lost his eye.

It was a solemn affair. Everyone was wearing some sort of dark clothing to mourn the loss of Laena Velaryon. Rhaenys wore a black veil over her face. At the very least, she had taken comfort in her daughter meeting a dragon rider’s end, to hear Daemon and their daughters, Baela and Rhaena, say it.

The Rogue Prince himself had been greatly saddened by Laena’s death. He had tried to see if there was any way of being able to rescue her during the childbirth, but there hadn’t been. He realised what a sadistic choice his brother had faced during the birth of his son Baelon all those years ago now; if he had been in Viserys’ position, he honestly could not say he would’ve done the opposite of him. His eyes, scanning the crowd for potential threats, landed on the same woman who had denied him all those years ago. Jeyne Arryn. She was two-and-thirty now, and carried herself with the air one would expect of the Lady Paramount of the Vale. She had endured an uprising from her kinsman, Arnold Arryn, in that time, and had put it down with much effort. She could only be here as sending a statement towards him, that much he knew. The bitch was bold, he had to give her that much. Standing not too far from her, was his estranged son, Daevar.

He wasn’t like the spindly little boy that Daemon had imagined. He was actually rather strongly built, with a fit frame and Lamentation at his hip. Daemon was struggling to maintain his decorum at the sight of Daevar bedecked in the bronze cuirass of the Royces, and the fact that he had seemingly appropriated as much of the imagery of his mother’s house as possible.

Daevar for his part was trying to translate what was being said by Ser Vaemond, who was eulogising his niece. Daevar wasn’t completely daft when it came to Valyrian, but he knew only a mere handful of phrases when it came down to it. After a while he simply gave up trying to translate what was being said and settled for standing peacefully. Helaena was at his side; she had stood close to him when he had walked up. Maybe it was the sense of security or something, he wasn’t quite certain.

His train of thought was broken by… laughter? He turned his head in the direction of his father to see him laughing freely. At his own wife’s funeral. Daevar scowled. Clearly, his father had no real concept of what it meant to grieve. After all, it was Daevar’s mother that he had murdered all those years ago; the man really did simply believe he could do what he pleased without facing the consequences.

Eventually, Laena Velaryon’s sarcophagus was lowered into the ocean, farewelled to the sea in the traditions of her house, and the various parties made their way elsewhere for the wake.

The first people Daevar approached were the Lord of the Tides, Corlys Velaryon, and his wife Rhaenys. The latter gave Daevar a small, sad smile as he approached them. “My Lord. My Lady.” Daevar bowed to both of them. “I am deeply sorry for your loss… I did not know Lady Laena well, but I would’ve liked to.” Daevar felt awkward with this; he had never actually known what Laena was like. Corlys and Rhaenys smiled, however.

“Thank you, Lord Daevar.” Corlys said. “I am certain that Laena had a wish to meet you as well.”

“As do I.” Rhaenys added. “You have grown much since I last saw you, Lord Daevar. You were that bronze rather well.”

Daevar instinctively looked down at his cuirass and placed a hand on it, his fingers running over the runes that decorated the plate. “It’s a symbol of House Royce, My Lady. The Lord of Runestone must wear this armour at all times. The power of the First Men protects us from harm.” He said.

Corlys nodded. “Indeed. It reminds me of a man who said something similar in Yi Ti during my travels. He was not the smartest man alive, it must be said.” 

“And you carry Lamentation as well.” Rhaneys smiled again. “To be carrying a sword of Valyrian Steel is a great honour indeed.”

“It is, My Lady.” Daevar smiled. “It’s been in the hands of the Lords of Runestone for thousands of years, and has protected us against many a foe and slain many of our enemies.”

“House Royce does have a reputation for producing fine warriors.” Corlys replied.

“Indeed. And I have little doubt that you will join them one day Daevar.” Rhaneys ruffled his hair slightly. The Lady of the Tides had a great deal of affection for the boy, and was the only Targaryen to actually have paid significant attention to him growing up, apart from Aemond and Daeron. As far as she was concerned, her cousin’s attitude towards the lad was disgraceful. At the very least, he could’ve had him sent to High Tide to foster with her and Corlys, maybe marry Baela or Rhaena upon their return. Or anywhere else for that matter; one of the Tully boys was a squire to Ser Gerold Royce; surely they’d have taken him in at Riverrun?

“I hope so too, Lady Rhaenys.” Daevar bowed again. “Alas, I feel I must speak with some of the others here. I hope to speak to you again soon.” As the Lord and Lady inclined their heads toward him, he moved off to say his condolences elsewhere. He spoke briefly with Ser Laenor Velaryon, offering him his sympathies as much as he could. To his credit, Laenor was grateful for it, and promised to bring Jace and Luke to Runestone one day. Daevar wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

Then came his half-sisters, Baela and Rhaena. He knew even less about them than he did about Laena. This was his first time ever laying eyes on them. The two were young, younger than he was, and likely the same age as Rhaenyra’s sons. They had the look of both Targaryens and Velaryons, though from what he had heard people say, they looked more like their mother than their father. Daevar found some relief in that, hoping he would he not take an instant dislike to them

“Baela, Rhaena.” He bowed, introducing himself. “I’m Daevar, Lord of Runestone. Daemon’s first son.”

“We know, brother.” Baela said. “Mother told us that we’d be able to meet you one day.”

“I had heard that my father had sired two daughters with his second wife. I hoped I’d be able to meet them one day, though I wish it had been under better circumstances. I am sorry for your loss, sisters.”

“Thank you, brother.” Rhaena said through her tears, reaching out and taking Daevar’s hand in hers. She had been a bit distant from their father, mainly due to the fact that she didn’t have a dragon. Baela’s Moondancer was still young, but it had contributed to their father’s preference for her over Rhaena. It had always been their mother who had doted on her, and the loss had affected her very deeply, as Daevar could see.

He leaned forward and hugged both of his sisters. It was awkward for them, pressing against the breastplate of the cuirass, but they managed. “Should you ever desire some time away from here, you would always be welcome at Runestone.” It was the offer he was no doubt expected to make, but he did mean it. “It’s rather lovely this time of year.”

Rhaena nodded. “We may visit one day, brother.” Daevar bowed again and took his leave of his sisters. As he left, Rhaena dried her eyes and watched her elder brother leave.

“Do you think he’s handsome?” Rhaena asked, turning to her sister.

“I suppose he is.” Baela replied. “His hair is quite short of a Targaryen, though.” The two girls were then approached by Nesaena, Helaena’s twin. To their surprise, Nesaena did seem genuinely upset for them.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a mother…” Nesaena said, taking their hands in hers. “If you need anything at all, just ask. I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Thank you, cousin.” Baela said before hugging the girl.

The next person Daevar went to see was Lady Jeyne Arryn. The woman had always been kind to him growing up, and it was a joy anytime he got to see her. Her blonde hair seemed to shine even in the growing darkness, and her eyes always seemed to twinkle with mischief.

“It is good to see you again, Lady Jeyne.” Daevar said in greeting.

“I only wish this meeting was under more pleasant circumstances, Lord Daevar.” Jeyne said, smiling sadly. It was not the first time that she had been faced with loss; Rhea’s death still haunted her ten years later. Her father, Yorbert Royce, had guided Jeyne through her formative years, and she and Rhea had become rather well acquainted in that time. Her death had left a mark on the entire Vale, and few more so than Jeyne Arryn.

“As do I, My Lady.” Daevar replied. “If I may ask, My Lady, I am curious as to your presence here.”

Jeyne smiled, a bit more genuinely this time. “I was visiting a Motherhouse in Gulltown when I received a message from the King inviting me to King’s Landing for discussions on matters in the Vale. What Arnold is up to, how we’re containing the Hill Tribes, and so on. We had put in at Claw Isle when we heard of Lady Laena’s death, and the King wanted us to redirect here for those discussions.”

Daevar nodded. Jeyne had already fought off one uprising against her rule; she did not want to fight another. Arnold Arryn had escaped as well and was now in hiding somewhere; and every day that he was not in one of the Sky Cells was another day where he was likely plotting his return with an army, possibly even with the backing of the Gulltown Arryns and their limitless reserves of coin.

“Is there anything I should know?” He asked.

“Hardly.” Jeyne replied. “Arnold has not been seen in many moons and the Hill Tribes have mostly been keeping to themselves for now. The odd raid still occurs, but we’re able to fight them off without much effort.”

“Well, that is some good news at least.”

“For now. I’m ever on my guard, as you know. Many of my vassals believe that a woman should not rule in the Vale; it is a necessity to remain watchful.”

Daevar nodded and took his leave of her before approaching Helaena. The girl was lying on the ground near her father, playing with her bugs no doubt. He noticed that Helaena was mumbling something as he approached her, though he wasn’t sure what it was about.

“…hand turns loom, spool of green, spool of black, spool of bronze…”

“Helaena?” Daevar asked. The girl actually looked up at him this time, a bit different from when she was fascinated with her bugs back in King’s Landing.

“Daevar. Hello.” She said as Daevar sat down next to her.

“Are you alright?” He asked. 

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” She replied. Daevar just smiled at her.

“Just asking. I thought you would’ve preferred King’s Landing to here.” It was warmer there, he had to admit. Driftmark, thanks to being surrounded by the sea, got cold fast, especially at night. 

“I don’t mind it here.” She replied, turning her attention back to the spider that was crawling along her hand. Daevar looked out over everyone again. His father and uncle were talking, no doubt with Viserys offering his condolences to Daemon over Laena’s death, for what it was worth. Daevar half-expected his father to have some role in Laena’s passing; he had murdered the boy’s mother after all. Or at least, that’s what Gerold had always told him.

“Well, I’m glad to hear that.” He said in reply.

Viserys, for his part, had noticed the two talking and made a decision after telling Aemma that he was going to bed. Instead, he invited Lady Jeyne to talk with him. In truth, Viserys had admired Jeyne Arryn for some time; he had married a relative of hers, of course, and the woman had proved strong-willed enough to see off a major uprising by her kin and keep the Hill Tribes in check. There was a certain steel to the woman, and he hoped that steel would make itself apparent if anyone challenged what he had decided.

“Do you remember our discussions ten years ago, My Lady? Regarding Daevar and Helaena?” VIserys asked. The two of them had discussed betrothing them when they were much, much younger, not long after the death of Daevar’s mother. The idea of betrothing them so young had sat ill with Viserys, but given Daemon’s repeated insults to the Vale, a way was needed to pacify them before things got out of hand.

“I remember them well, Your Grace. I remember us speaking of betrothing Daevar and Helaena at a young age, and I recall you were uneasy with the idea.” She said.

Viserys grunted in agreement. “Because I was. I believe I’m right in saying that was the main reason such a betrothal never happened?”

“Indeed. I had no wish to press the issue, given your well-founded unease of betrothing them at such a young age. I’d be lying if I said I did not understand the sentiment.” Jeyne had felt a bit of unease at the prospect as well, but less so than the king. She supposed that was because she had come to her rule at such a young age, all things considered.

“They spent some time together in King’s Landing, and again when you saw them out there. Maybe we should resurrect those discussions.” Viserys said.

“You wish to betroth them, Your Grace?” She asked.

Viserys had to think that over genuinely for a minute. On one hand, Helaena was expected to marry Aemond, or likely Cregan Stark or Kermit Tully. On the other hand, the Vale had been in continuous uproar over what had been claimed to be a denial of justice over the ill fate of Lady Rhea. Not to mention that despite being raised in the Vale, Daevar was of Targaryen blood, meaning any children to be had between them would be of pure Valyrian Blood.. Finally, he had reached his decision. “Yes, I do. Helaena will marry Daevar when she has had her blood.” 

He didn’t add that he hoped that would not be for some time. He wanted Helaena to enjoy her life a bit longer before she was married off. The marriage could not happen any earlier besides, considering what were the traditions of the wedding night. Oh well, Helaena would be prepared for it by her mother, she supposed. No reason for him to interfere. He turned to Jeyne again. “Now if you will excuse me, I really must be going to bed.”

Later that evening…

Daevar had been sitting by the window of the chamber he had been assigned, looking out over the water. One could almost see Dragonstone from here; the two islands were so close. Hopefully one day he would be able to see the island of his ancestors for himself; it was where Aegon had conquered Westeros from, after all.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Lady Rhaenys. “Lord Daevar, how are you finding your chamber?”

“Pleasant enough, Lady Rhaenys.” He said, turning to her. “Do you need something?” 

Rhaenys smiled and nodded. “Yes. Will you walk with me?” She asked. Daevar nodded as the two left his chamber. The hallways and passages at Driftmark alternated between being stone passageways and tunnels that had been dug since the Velaryons had settled on the island. “You’ve grown into a fine young man, Daevar.”

“Thank you, Lady Rhaenys.” Daevar beamed at her compliment.

“Still, as you get older, you must be thinking of the prospect of marriage, no?” She asked.

“I… yes. Ser Gerold has talked about betrothing me to Lady Alysanne Blackwood, the sister of Lord Willem.” He had met Alysanne only a few times, but she was not the typical noble lady, more at home with a bow in her hand than anything else. She was a spirited girl with a sharp tongue; Daevar liked that about her.

“A Blackwood is a fine match, but you might look at something closer to home before committing.” She said.

Daevar gave Rhaenys an inquisitive look. “Who did you have in mind?”

“My granddaughter, Baela. It would mean the world to me for her to marry you.”

“Wha… what?!” Daevar said in disbelief. “My sister?! That’s forbidden!”

“It is our way, Daevar.” Rhaenys replied, in a matter-of-fact way. “We are Targaryens. Your grandfather, Baelon, married his sister and soon enough your cousins Aegon and Nesaena will be wed. House Targaryen has done what it must to keep its bloodline pure. It is the way it has always been.”

“Regardless of the fact, Rhaenys, I can’t marry Baela! I’d never be able to show my face in Runestone again! This may be viewed as the status quo within the Red Keep, but not in the Vale. And not to me for that matter, either.” The thought of marrying his sister was repugnant to him; a brother should never fornicate with a sister, as he had been told by Gerold and Julia numerous times. He had no intention of repeating that part of Targaryen tradition.

“Daevar, we must-” She was interrupted by a servant running to them

“My Lady, My Lord, you must… you must come with me immediately.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Daevar asked.

“It’s Prince Aemond. He… he’s lost his eye!”

That was the news that would shape the Dance. It was not something that anyone would forget easily. What my father later learned had started with my uncle claiming Vhagar, the largest dragon of the era, and ended with a brawl between Aemond, Rhaenyra’s eldest sons, and my aunts Baela and Rhaena where Aemond lost his eye. 

I was never told of what my aunt’s reaction was to my father rejecting marriage to her on the grounds that it was incest, especially given my ancestors’ proclivity for marrying brother and sister in order to keep their Valyrian blood pure, but we can safely assume that knowing my aunt’s nature, she did not take it well.

Chapter Text

The loss of Aemond’s eye ensured that Rhaenyra and her sons would be facing a powerful, implacable enemy from that point on. Perhaps though, there was still a chance of avoiding the war that was coming if Viserys had acted as a king should, and punished Lucerys properly.

I must admit, I have always felt far more sympathy for my grandmother in the aftermath of this incident. Rhaenyra escaped the consequences of what had happened because her father refused to consider that any child of hers could be in the wrong.  His blatant favouritism towards her made itself apparent that night; a recurring problem that would only doom our family to war.

By the time Daevar had managed to barge into the Hall of Nine, he saw that practically everyone was already there. Aemond was getting his eye sewn up by the Maester, and straight away he knew that the boy would be crippled his entire life. He didn’t even hear the Maester describe the condition to Alicent, and only looked up when Rhaenyra entered the room, immediately rushing to her sons.

Daevar also noticed his father standing in the doorway, watching the entire thing unfold. Of course he would be here, though that did beg the question of why he had shown up with Rhaenyra of all people. There was likely something there, he thought, but decided not to bring it up now. He rested his hand on Lamentation’s hilt as the others began shouting and squabbling over each other, narrowing his eyes at Rhaenyra. Do not expect me to be silent, cousin.

“Silence!” Viserys shouted, before walking up to his second son. “Aemond, I will have the truth of what happened.”

“What needs to be heard?” Alicent asked rhetorically, tears in her eyes. “Your son has been maimed. Her son is responsible.”

“A regrettable accident.” Rhaenyra said.

Daevar scoffed. “‘Accident’? You mean to say that Aemond, your own brother, got his eye slashed out by accident? Strange accident, if you ask me.” He said. Now Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes at him, as did his father.

“The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. He meant to kill my son.” Alicent said. Daevar felt his grip tighten around Lamentation, until he recalled the words Ser Gerold said to him once: ‘Never draw steel unless you intend to use it.’ With those words in mind, he carefully, yet reluctantly, let go his his blade.

“It was my sons who were attacked!” Rhaenyra loudly proclaimed. Daevar rolled his eyes. “Vile insults were levied against them.”

“What insults?” Viserys asked. He just wanted to smooth this whole affair over and bid them make up.

“The legitimacy of my sons’ birth was put loudly to question.” Rhaenyra answered.

Gods, I wonder why that could be? Daevar thought.

“My sons are in line for the Iron Throne, Your Grace. This is the highest of treasons.” Rhaenyra continued, casting her gaze over to Aemond. “Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we may learn the truth of these slanders.”

If looks could kill, the one that Daevar gave Rhaenyra then would have seen her dead, buried, and Aegon being named heir. “Your torturer would find himself without hands, cousin.” He said, stepping forward with his hand firmly grasping the hilt Lamentation.

“You would have my child tortured over an insult?” Alicent asked. She didn’t know if Rhaenyra was being serious right now, but the mere fact that she was even suggesting it meant that she considered this grave. “My son has lost an eye!” She repeated, to no reaction from Rhaenyra. You stand there in all your false righteousness, my old friend. And my idiot husband refuses to do anything for his own son!

“You tell me boy… where did you hear this lie?” Viserys asked, leaning towards Aemond. Why couldn’t these boys just bloody well get along! It wasn’t that hard to be nice to other people, surely?!

“It was training yard bluster, nothing more.” Alicent replied. Again, Daevar rolled his eyes. It was more than that, and they knew it.

“Aemond… I asked you a question.” Viserys said, as sternly as he could muster. Daevar tried another way of defusing the situation.

“Where is Ser Laenor? He’s their father. Mayhaps he has something to say on the matter.” He said, trying to avert the confrontation that was no doubt about to happen. He looked pointedly at Rhaenyra, expecting an answer.

“I do not know, Lord Daevar. I . . . could not find sleep; I went out for a walk.” Rhaenyra said. Yes, I can tell from the way my father walked in with you, cousin.

“Entertaining his young squires, I would venture.” Alicent replied. Everyone shifted to looking at her then; the accusation levied was not a light one, considering the laws they lived by. Viserys, uncomfortable with his wife’s words, decided to shift everyone back to the matter at hand.

“Aemond, look at me.” He said. “Your king demands an answer.”

The room was deadly silent, almost to the point where one could hear a pin drop. It certainly would’ve startled everyone in that room if one had. Aemond anxiously glanced over at his mother, but just as quickly looked back at Viserys. “It was Aegon.”

The boy in question looked stunned. “Me?”

“Tell me boy, where do you hear these calumnies?” Viserys said in a low, threatening voice that made Alicent’s ball her hands into fists, he nails digging into her palms. You blind, doddering old fool… IT’S YOUR SON WHO HAS LOST AN EYE!

“AEGON!” Viserys roared, grabbing his son by the arm and pulling him forward. “TELL ME THE TRUTH OF IT!”

To his credit, Aegon didn’t flinch. We know, father.” He replied, keeping his cool as much as he could. “Everyone knows… just… look at them.” He added. It was actually a rather cunning play; he’d essentially disarmed his father’s accusations with a few words. Father… he doesn’t give a shit about me. Or Aemond. He’s just proven it.

“This interminable infighting must cease!” Viserys shouted. “All of you! We are a family!” He continued, his voice cracking in despair. Was this what the House of the Dragon was doomed to every time there was more than a single child in the family? “Now make your apologies and show goodwill to one another! Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it!” He ordered. That will get them back in line, he thought as he made his way out of the Hall.

Alicent wasn’t satisfied. You senile old man… why won’t you defend your own fucking son!? 

She wanted to lash out. To tell Viserys exactly what she thought of him; that he was an old fool who owed his success to the men around him, as well as his grandfather. She wanted to tell him that the only reason the realm was stable was because of her father’s years as Hand, that he was a weak and feckless father who had never shown an ounce of affection to any of his sons. Instead, she kept her temper.

“That is insufficient.” She said through the angry tears that were forming in her eyes. “Aemond has been damaged permanently, My King. ‘Goodwill’ will not make him whole.”

“I know, Alicent.” Viserys said. “But I cannot restore his eye.”

“Because it was taken from him!” She snapped. 

“Then what would you have me do?” He asked. Damn woman… why can’t she just let this go?!

“There is a debt to be paid…” Alicent fixed her glare at Rhaenyra’s sons. “I shall have one of their eyes in return.”

Instantly, Daevar readied himself for a fight. Viserys simply gave Alicent a warning, and turned around to face the rest of them. “Let it be known: anyone who dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons… shall have their tongues removed.”

And there it was. The typical, head-in-the-sand approach that was Viserys’ solution to every problem. He’s just placed his own daughter above the law. Daevar thought. The truth had, effectively, just become punishable by order of the King.

Alicent didn’t even hear Rhaenyra. It was like the world stopped for her. First her son had been maimed, permanently. His left eye was now an ugly flap of skin that had been sewn shut by High Tide’s Maester. Then all Rhaenyra had done was say a few words, and her father had stepped in to save her once again. She looked at Viserys, then at Rhaenyra. She thought back to happier times that seemed like a lifetime ago. You fucking… you little white haired bitch!

She snatched Viserys’ dagger from the sheathe on his belt and lunged at Rhaenyra, though perhaps without using all of her strength, as Rhaenyra caught it with ease. “You have gone too far!” Rhaenyra said. 

“I have?! What have I done but what is expected of me?!” Alicent snapped, as her hand shook with rage. "Forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law… where is duty?! Where is sacrifice?! It is trampled under your pretty foot again! Now you take my son’s eye, and to even that, you feel entitled!” Alicent said through her tears. 

“Exhausting, wasn’t it?” Rhaenyra snarled. “Hiding beneath the cloak of your own righteousness. But now they see you as you are.”

And we see you as you are, cousin, Daevar thought. You hide behind your father. Well, what will you do when he’s gone?

Rhaenyra’s defensive grip on Alicent’s arm gave way, and the knife slashed her arm. It was a flesh wound, nothing severe, but it put everyone on edge. Daemon had his hand on the hilt of Dark Sister, while Daevar loosened Lamentation in her scabbard, eyeing his father off. Unexpectedly, it was Aemond who defused the situation.

“Do not mourn me, mother.” She said, stepping forward, still half-high on Milk of the Poppy. “It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye… but I gained a dragon.” He said simply, before going to hug his mother.

Daevar exhaled before putting Lamentation back in her scabbard and approaching Aemond, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. Aemond looked up at him with a weak smile. Daevar returned to the look, though trying his best to not pay too much attention to the still red gash that went from his forehead, all the way to his cheek.

“This proceeding is at an end.” Viserys declared before leaving. As the crowd began to disperse, either retiring to their chambers or going about their business.

“Your grace, if I could only have a moment to discuss a few things–” Daevar said as he followed his uncle.

“Discuss what, Daevar? How my daughter and my wife seem determined to rip and tear at each other’s throats?” He asked, shaking his head. Why in the Seven hells can’t they make peace? He thought to himself. It hasn't been many years since the two of them were close friends, so what the bloody hell had happened?

“Not that, Your Grace. Rather the matter of succession.” Daevar said. He was trying to be as careful as he could here.

“Succession? Rhaenyra is my heir. I had decreed so years ago. Before you were even born.” Viserys answered.

“I understand that, Your Grace. I’m talking about the succession after her.” Daevar elaborated. “I’m talking about Prince Jacaerys.”

Viserys’s expression became deadly serious at that, as he turned to face his only nephew. “I suggest you choose your next words carefully, my lad.”

Daevar gulped. “It’s not just him, but Lucerys and Joffrey as well. Even with them in line to the Iron Throne, there is going to be a challenge to Jace as soon as he ascends it. But I believe that it can be prevented. Put the issue to rest, here and now.”

Viserys arched an eyebrow. “What are you suggesting?”

Daevar took a breath and delivered his answer. “Legitimise them. Talk to Rhaenyra about them and promise that they’ll be legitimised. It’s easily within your power as king.”

Viserys laughed humourlessly. “I can’t issue decrees of legitimisation for children that are already legitimate, Daevar. You know this.”

Daevar sighed. “Look at me, uncle. And look at them. What is the difference between us?” He asked. He may have inherited the brown eyes from his mother, but everything else, from the aquiline nose, to the silver hair was Targaryen; nothing like the dark hair and pug noses of Rhaenyra’s sons.

Viserys, aware of the implications Daevar made, hardened his gaze. “If you have any value in your tongue, I suggest you hold it firmly, Daevar…” Viserys warned.

“Uncle… Everyone knows. I know you do as well. Simply pretending the issue doesn’t exist won’t–” He was cut off by Viserys slamming the butt of his cane against the ground.

“There IS no issue, Daevar!”

“Your Grace, the law states-”

“The monarch’s word IS THE LAW!” Viserys roared,his voice echoing throughout the room. Daevar was stunned. In all his visits to King’s Landing, he had never seen his uncle so mad before. After taking a deep breath to settle his temper, Viserys spoke again in a more authoritative, yet taciturn tone. “Your intentions may be pure, Daevar, but I will hear no more of them. I suggest you leave me, now.”

Daevar turned on his heels and left without another word. His uncle knew about Rhaenyra’s sons. He had to, there was no way he was as blind to what was going on as he pretended that he was. Yet, it seemed that his desire to avoid conflict played more of a role than Daevar realised. It seemed that the man failed to realise that the whole peace was going to crash down the moment he passed. 

Daevar stormed into the training yard. He needed to blow off some steam after that confrontation with his uncle. He removed his sword belt, standing Lamentation up against the wall, and drawing a training sword from the rack. No sense in using his good sword for something like this.

He spent a good while swinging his sword in familiar motions, keeping his form clean and his feet firm. He had his back to the door, so he had no idea that his father, hearing the sound of metal clanging, decided to investigate. He stood leaning against the doorway, observing his son’s form. He had to admit, he was surprised that the lad he saw before him was once a scared little boy he saw hiding behind Ser Gerold’s leg. And even more impressed to see how he handled a sword.

“Stop that.” He said, earning Daevar’s attention as he stepped into the room. “You’re only wasting your time.” Daevar gave him a hardened look, still holding the training sword firmly in his hand, as Daemon approached a weapon rack and drew another blade from it. “When you spar alone, the only thing you remember are your mistakes.”

Daevar frowned. “Ten years since we last saw each other, and that’s all you have to say?”

“What else is there to say?” Daemon asked, assuming a defensive stance, inviting him to make his move.

“You could ask how Ser Gerold has been treating me. How I’ve been. You could’ve even written!” Daevar swung his sword forward as he said that last sentence, only for Daemon to deflect his blow and side step.

“I had my reasons…”

Daevar felt his temper rise at that comment. “That’s all…?” He said, as his grip began to tremble. He swung again. “You abandoned me!” Another strike. “Left me without my mother!” Another. 

Daemon had not anticipated his son would be this quick with his strikes; the boy had been but four when he had last seen him, and he had expected to find a weakling who hid behind Lady Julia’s skirts. Even he was impressed by this. “You’re not bad with a sword.” He said, trying to deflect the conversation without much success.

“Well, after you abandoned me, I was trained by the Knights of the Vale.” He swung again, but this time, Daemon was ready, and easily batted it away. “Every Knight of the Vale has seen battle against the Hill Tribes.”

“Hill Tribes?” Daemon laughed haughtily. “Primitives.”

“Have you seen a Tribesman, father? Taller than most men you’ve seen, and wielding an axe in each hand? The only way to stop them coming is killing them instantly, or they crush your skull. If you’re lucky.” Daevar replied, defending his homeland’s honour. 

“I’ve fought a war in the Stepstones. Dealt with the worst scum in Flea Bottom. A hairy tribesman is nothing to me.” He deflected another one of Daevar’s cuts before kicking him in the stomach and sending him to the ground. “And neither are you, it seems.”

Daevar coughed before standing up. “Don’t expect me to do you any favours when I rule over Runestone under my family name.”

“Your family name? You’re a Targaryen, boy.” Daemon narrowed his eyes.

“After I reach my majority, I’m taking the Royce name.” Daevar replied, leaning on the sword as he recovered. “House Royce has ruled Runestone for thousands of years; I won’t be the one to break that.”

“You would forsake your own family name?!” Daemon said, with barely hidden rage. “You wear the trappings of a Royce, you might fight like one, but your name is that of a Targaryen.” He paused for a minute before bitterly saying, “And you are still my son…”

“Did you come to that realisation after you disowned me? Or was it after you murdered my mother?” Daevar snarled. Daemon punched him hard in the face, causing the boy to stagger back slightly before giving his father a defiant look. “Too bad you didn’t have a rock this time, isn't it?” He challenged.

Daemon lunged forward again, delivering another hard punch in the boy’s face and kneeing him in the gut. Daevar fell to the ground again, except this time, Daemon continued to hit him. Soon enough, Daevar felt the taste of copper in his mouth as his face began to swell with bruises, but Daemon would not relent. “You weak, insubordinate cur!” He shouted. “You will show me the respect you owe me or–”

“What is the meaning of this?!” A feminine voice shouted. Daemon turned to see it was Jeyne Arryn. She was older now, with lines on her face and a few grey hairs, no doubt from the stresses of ruling the Vale. She hurried into the room to help Daevar to his feet before turning to one of her guards and giving him an order. The guard bowed his head before rushing off; returning minutes later with Viserys.

The entire time, her group of guards kept a close eye on Daemon with their hand firmly gripping the hilt of their swords.

“Daemon, what is this?” Viserys asked when he saw the bruised and bloodied boy, all animosity over earlier forgotten.

Daemon scoffed, wiping his bloodied knuckles on his pants leg. “Merely disciplining my petulant and ungrateful son, Your Grace.”

“Your Grace, this is but the latest in a long line of insults your brother has inflicted on the Vale.” Jeyne said. “First he took a lover while married to one of our most powerful nobles. Then he refused to attend her funeral before attempting to claim her lands as his own. Then he remarried within days of her death.” She was building to her point, even Viserys could sense it. “And now, he has assaulted one of my bannermen; his own son. I cannot countenance this any longer.”

“I agree, Lady Arryn.” Viserys replied, grimly. “You disappoint me, Daemon.” He turned to Harrold Westerling; the old Lord Commander, having accompanied him. “Ser Harrold, help Daevar to the Hall of Nine, and ensure that everyone else is woken up. There is an announcement to be made.”

It took a while before everyone was gathered in the Hall, bleary-eyed and still sleepy. The confrontation in there earlier had left everyone with not much of a desire than simply to rest and wait for the morning, but Viserys had insisted on the whole thing. When Ser Harrold nodded, he cleared his throat before he began.

“Some time ago, Lady Jeyne Arryn and I had… certain discussions. Now I feel it is time to announce before you all; to announce the union between my daughter, Princess Helaena, and my nephew, Lord Daevar of Runestone, to tie the Vale to the crown.”

The first words, predictably enough, were from Daemon. “You expect me to take that… idiot for a daughter?!”

“Don’t call her that!” Daevar shouted.

Jeyne couldn’t help herself but smile at the situation. Not only had she humiliated Daemon in public by orchestrating a marriage, but saw that Daevar was willing to stand up for his new bride-to-be. He’ll make a fine husband for her, yet. She thought.

Viserys silenced Daevar with a look, before glaring back at his brother. “When Helaena has had her blood, she and Daevar will be wed. And I will have no objections on the matter. Not from you, or anyone.”

That night had set multiple things in motion. I still see this moment as where the Dance of the Dragons began; saw Aemond become a permanent enemy of Rhaenyra, and my mother and father were finally betrothed for all the world to see.

I never met my grandfather even as a babe, and I thank the Seven for that, given the stories that I have heard about him over the years. He expected respect from my father for no real reason, but as my uncle Daeron is fond of saying, one must earn respect in order to command it.

Chapter Text

The news of my father’s betrothal to Princess Helaena changed the dynamics of my grand-uncle’s court considerably. A Princess of the Blood was to marry the Lord of Runestone. Such marriages weren’t unheard of, of course. Viserra Targaryen had been betrothed to Torrhen Manderly and to hear my father say it, Ser Harwin Strong was one of the potential suitors for Rhaenyra.

I don’t know much of what happened after the return. What I do know is that my aunt Nesaena had attempted to talk with my mother about it. According to mother, she was a much different person in her youth.

The trip back to King’s Landing was not what would be described as an overly pleasant one, given the news that had been revealed. Daevar was to marry Helaena. It was a good match, he had to admit that, solving multiple problems with one stroke. It would tie the Vale to the crown, placate the Vale lords still angry at his father, and he suspected that his uncle was counting on the marriage to heal the divisions in his court.

Daevar had no intention of playing that game though. If he was going to marry her, it would be for the benefits to their houses, not for anyone else’s. He saw Helaena leaning against the side of the deck, staring out at the ocean as he approached her. “Helaena, I-… hello.” He said lamely. It was less smooth than his regular approach with girls, he had to admit.

“Hello, Daevar.” Helaena replied, gazing out over the horizon. She liked the sea. It had always been calming to her to see it whenever she was in her chambers in the Red Keep. Seeing the ships go in and out of the harbour had been one of the few things that she had been able to enjoy. Apart from her bugs. Sixty rings, two hundred and forty legs. One abdomen and fangs, eight legs and harmful. She turned to him. “It appears we are to be married.”

“So it would seem, yes.” Daevar replied. “Helaena, I swear on my mother’s grave, as long as we are betrothed or married, I will do what I can to keep you safe.” He knew it might not mean much right at this second, but it was for the best. He didn’t want her running away from him on their wedding night.

“Your mother, what kind of woman was she?” Helaena asked. Daevar resisted the urge to raise an eyebrow. He had not known his cousin to speak much of his mother.

“She was… an amazing woman. A strong Lady of Runestone. People loved her. Apart from her uncle Gunthor, that is. As skilled an archer and horse-breaker as you’d find in the Vale.” He sighed, standing beside Helaena and leaning over the railing. His memories of his mother weren’t the best in the world; he had only been four when she had died, after all. “And she was a close friend of Lady Jeyne. My grandfather Yorbert was Lady Jeyne’s regent in her youth.” The Royces had a reach that extended across most of the Vale; there was a reason that Queen Alysanne had arranged for his mother and father to marry, after all.

“I would've liked to meet her.” Helaena said. She would’ve liked to have met a lot of people who were no longer with them. Especially several people around Daevar. Still, maybe she would have the chance to know Lady Jeyne better, especially since she was to be a Lady of the Vale in a few years.

“I would have preferred she stayed with us longer.” Daevar sighed. No conclusive evidence proving his father’s guilt had ever been found, but her death was simply too convenient for it to be anyone else. And as Ser Gerold had always said, the only way his mother’s head could have been caved in like that would be with a rock.

He found his mind wandering back to that fateful day. It was early in the afternoon when his mother decided to go hunting. He tearfully begged her not to go, but she simply smiled and kissed him on the forehead, promising to return. And she did… on the back of Gerold’s horse the next day with a sheet covering her body. He hoped never to see that again.

“Indeed, cousin. I would’ve as well.” Helaena said, snapping him out of his reverie. What to say at this moment was a bit lost on her; she was not natural at comforting people, and Daevar had suffered much with the death of one parent and the other abandoning him to spend time in Essos after launching a war her father had not sanctioned. Yes, she had heard much and more of Prince Daemon’s ways over the years, how he had repeatedly insulted the Vale or launched a war with pirates in the Stepstones for no reason other than to gain a crown, how he had been exiled almost immediately upon his return, and of course, his showdown with Gerold Royce at her cousin’s wedding.

All in all, Daemon was not a man that she wanted to know too deeply. Seeing as she was to marry Daevar one day, it was likely that she would not be too familiar with him in the coming years.

“I hope you will like the Vale, Helaena. It will be a lot simpler than what you are used to.” Daevar said. Runestone was his home, but there was no way it would be able to match the sheer grandness of the Red Keep; even he was capable of admitting that much. “We don;t have any grand cities for one thing.”

“I don’t mind.” Helaena replied. “Father said to me that it is growing near the time that my brothers and I should see beyond the walls of King’s Landing.” She had heard many times how Aegon the Conqueror and Jaehaerys the Conciliator had made progresses of the realm to ensure the loyalty of their subjects and to assess issues with the realm firsthand. 

“Indeed. Whatever happens, I’m sure Kermit will be excited to have some additional company.” Daevar said.

“Kermit?”

“Kermit Tully; son of Ser Elmo and squire to Ser Gerold. I’ve known him since he was a page.”

“He’s your friend?” Helaena asked. Whenever someone had come up with such odd names, she was curious.

“My dearest friend.” Daevar replied, a small smile on his lips. “We grew up together. He will make a fine knight and lord one day. When he eventually learns how to rule himself, that is.” He shuddered to think what sort of havoc he was creating for Ser Gerold right now.

“‘Rule himself’?” Helaena questioned. What in the name of the Seven did that mean?

“A manner of speaking, cousin.” Daevar replied. “Kermit… is not the most disciplined of people. I’ll say that much.”

“I see.” She replied. She supposed she would meet this Kermit Tully soon enough anyway; within a few years at least. The Tullys, as she had been taught, were an honourable house that had bravely rebelled against Harren the Black and sworn fealty to the Conqueror during his campaigns to unite the Seven Kingdoms.

Not far, on the other side of the boat, the recently reappointed Hand of the King, Otto Hightower, watched the two of them talk with an impassive look on his face. With Aegon to marry Nesaena one day, he had always assumed that King Viserys would either betroth Aemond to Helaena, or perhaps find a suitable spouse for her elsewhere, such as Cregan Stark or Kermit Tully. The idea that he had betrothed her to Daevar sat ill with him.

True, the King’s reasoning was quite sound. The Vale had been growing restless at Daemon’s actions over the years — something he was no stranger to — and any more insults from him would likely leave the crown dealing with a full insurgency. Lady Arryn herself had brought the same grievances before the crown more than once, and Viserys had been unable to overrule her banishment of Daemon from the Vale. In another life, he might’ve admired the woman. Here, she was proving an annoyance.

And however sound his reasons for betrothing them were, Daevar was still the son of the Rogue Prince, and had already inherited some of his less desirable traits. Otto knew all about the servant girls of the Red Keep he had charmed into his bed over the years, even if none of them had shown up with a bastard in their belly. It was a worrying sign of what he had the potential to grow into one day.

“Thinking on them, father?” Alicent asked, walking up next to him. Like her father, she had been observing the conversation between her daughter and Daevar. 

“Yes. You’ll forgive me if I say that the King has made a grave mistake in betrothing them.” He said. He resisted the urge to shake his head; he was not a man given over to displays of emotion.

“A grave mistake?” Alicent asked, a tone of disbelief entering her vice. “Daevar defended Aemond. He was the only one who would.” Something like that stuck in her memory. The entire room had been against her son that night, and for Daevar to take on such a position in direct defiance of Rhaenyra could’ve easily resulted in his death.

“I say he has made a grave mistake because it now means that two of your children will be at Runestone.” Otto explained. “Your youngest son is to be his squire. Now one of your daughters will marry him. Alicent, two of your children will be in his power, and he is Daemon’s son.”

Alicent had given some thought about that. At first, yes, the thought disturbed her, but Daevar had given no indication he was anything like his father. He might’ve found the odd servant girl he liked, but that made him no different from just about any other Lord in Westeros. “He is also Rhea’s son,” she finally said, “and House Royce is one of honour. They have done right by him; far better than what his father could do.” Alicent looked back at the boy with sad eyes. She had remembered when she heard the news of Rhea Royce’s death, and how Daemon had left his eldest and only son in the Vale. What kind of monster could abandon their own child? She thought.

“I do not doubt House Royce’s integrity. Only his.” Otto replied gruffly, before looking back at Daevar with a hardened look. “Time will tell who Daevar becomes, but I will not hold my breath…”

Upon their arrival to the capital, Daevar immediately made his way to his assigned chambers. He had intended to sit down and try to process the news of his betrothal properly, maybe even write a letter to Kermit explaining what had happened. The Tully boy would likely bombard him with questions as soon as he returned to Runestone.

Instead, as soon as he entered his chambers, he found Kyra lying on the bed. She had a smirk on her face, and the skirt of her dress had been pulled up to expose her thighs. Daevar was tempted for a moment to have her then and there; maybe that was what he needed to try and process the situation. No! He thought to himself. You are betrothed now. You will not be like your father.

“M’lord looks a bit troubled.” Kyra said, approaching him and taking his hands, planting them firmly on her hips. “Perhaps he requires my services?” She asked coyly, reaching her hands up to caress his cheeks.

Daevar sighed, shaking his head and taking a step back. “Kyra, we have to stop this.”

“What?” She asked, confused.

“This.” He said, gesturing between the two of them. “We have to stop this.”

“But why?” Kyra asked. “Have I done something wrong?”

“No! No, of course not!” Daevar said. “Kyra, you’re a lovely girl, and I like you. But the reason we can’t do this anymore is because I’m betrothed now. To Princess Helaena.” He added, hoping that she would get the message.

Kyra’s eyes widened at the news. Clearly word of the betrothal hadn’t spread very far. After all, how could it? It was only announced last night. “It’s… it’s not uncommon for Lords to have mistresses-”

“Kyra, stop.” Daevar said, pulling away from her. “My father had a mistress while he was married to my mother. It was a deep insult to her, and I will not be him.”

“Well… what will become of me?” She asked worriedly. It wasn’t an unreasonable question. She was nominally in the service of Rhaenyra’s King’s Landing household, but she wasn’t sure what the status of that was now. If she couldn’t stay here, then she would likely have to get on the next ship to Dragonstone and resume her duties there.

“I will arrange for something, I swear it.” Daevar said. “You can trust me, Kyra. I-” He was cut off by the girl storming out of the room. He sighed, undid his sword belt, and sat down on his bed; he had hoped that she would trust him to find someone else to go in the service of, but she was upset right now and wasn’t thinking all that straight. She has that right, he thought.

He laid down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as he thought of the events that had just transpired. He was to marry Helaena; his cousin. Compared to Rhaenys’ proposal to marry Baela, it made him feel less sick in the stomach. Baela was his sister after all; even if that was the Targaryen tradition, it wasn’t one he had ever intended to have a part of. At least if he married Helaena, no one in the Vale would look at home sideways.

Maybe a marriage to Helaena wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. The two of them were on friendly enough terms to make it work, and hopefully Kermit wouldn’t make her feel too uncomfortable, though he supposed that Gerold would pull him into line if he did. It would also mean that Aegon’s betrothal to Nesaena would likely proceed without much interference from anyone.

He sighed again and tried to close his eyes. He needed some rest after everything that had happened.

Helaena had been looking through her collection of bugs when Nesaena entered. The two of them had been born as twins, though Nesaena was older by about ten minutes. She was said to be the prettier of them too, even at their young age. Her hair tumbled past her shoulders down to her waist, and her eyes were easily the deepest violet of any of the siblings.

“Sister, it is good to see you.” Nesaena smiled. “You are to marry our cousin, Daevar, it seems.”

“So it seems.” Helaena replied. She and her sister got along rather well, even with Nesaena being betrothed to Aegon as soon as they were of age for it to happen. They likely wouldn’t marry for some years yet, but Helaena figured that her father would arrange for the wedding to occur as soon as Nesaena had her blood, as was the custom.

“He is rather handsome.” Nesaena said. She hadn’t seen Daevar frequently over the years, but as she had said to her handmaidens, one would have to be blind not to see that he was one of the most handsome men around their age. “I… actually wished to speak with you about it. I would be sad to see you go to Runestone.”

“And I would be sad to leave you.” Helaena replied. She and Nesaena had often stuck together over the years, along with Aemond. Even their dragons, Helaena’s beloved Dreamfyre and Nesaena’s young green dragon she named Windfyre, had been close friends during their time in the dragonpit.

Nesaena smiled. “You will be the envy of many a maiden, sister. I think the hearts of a thousand Valewomen broke when father announced the two of you were to marry.” Helaena was tempted to ask how hearts would be able to break without killing a person, but she decided not to. Perhaps this was another one of those metaphors that her mother and Daevar were so fond of.

“I am not sure what to think, if I am honest.” Helaena said. “I always thought father would marry me to Aemond, like he plans to do with you and Aegon.”

“Aegon is the eldest son, and is next in line to inherit the Iron Throne.” Nesaena replied simply, “And seeing how I was born before you, it became my duty to become his wife. The task of you, Aemond, and Daeron is to secure alliances for our family.”

Helaena paused for a minute, but eventually nodded. As Lord of Runestone, Daevar would be the second most powerful noble in the Vale, and House Royce had a reputation for producing excellent warriors. And considering that her mother was a Hightower, Daevar was no less a Targaryen than her or any of her siblings. “Then… I suppose our own children wouldn’t be too different from you or Aegon’s.” She finally said.

Nesaena resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Indeed, sister. We must do our duties for our houses.” She said, “Well, I must be off. I’m meeting with mother and Aegon.” She said before leaving.

Helaena watched her leave before turning back to her bugs.

It may be that my mother’s conversation with my aunt was completely innocuous. I certainly hope it was; it would paint some of my aunt’s later actions in a better light.

Father and mother never spoke much of my grandfather’s reaction to Daemon and Rhaenyra marrying. All they have told my siblings and I is that he reportedly flew into a rage upon hearing that they had married; a rage fuelled by Otto Hightower’s machinations. After all, the marriage had been without his consent, and he had likely heard stories of what Daemon had subjected my grandmother to. I must admit, part of me can’t help but think that he did in fact believe that Daemon had murdered my grandmother, but simply couldn’t bring himself to say it aloud.

It would certainly be in line with what else I know about the man.

Chapter Text

Runestone has always been my father’s true home, and any time he gets to visit, he finds it difficult to leave. After all, it was the land he ruled over prior to the war, and where he met his closest compatriots. Among them were Ser Willam and Lady Alyssa, the children of Ser Gerold Royce and Lady Julia Tully, and his faithful dog, Arrow.

However, none of his companions have ever been as close to him as Kermit Tully, who served as Ser Gerold’s squire at the time.

Much has been said and written of Kermit Tully. His years of service to my father, his bravery in the war, or his skill with a morningstar. What many don’t know is that the Kermit Tully of my father’s youth was very different to the one history remembers…

“Ow! Was that really necessary!?” 

The two figures sparring in the middle of Runestone’s courtyard had been at it for some time now. One of them was swinging around a wooden morningstar with practised ease. The other, a wooden longsword, which he had just used to crack his opponent’s hand, making him drop his weapon.

“Evidently so, Kermit. You’re still not using the shield properly.” Willam replied; he was feeling slightly smug that Kermit’s desire not to wear gauntlets in this training session had now come back to bite him. Kermit simply rubbed the pain out of his hand before picking up his morningstar once more, and making another attempt to attack. And after several swings and one successful attempt to graze his opponent’s sword, Kermit once again felt the sting of defeat when Willam’s sword clashed with his helmet, sending a ring through his head as he fell back on his bottom, and left sprawling on his back. He pulled off his helmet, revealing the red hair and blue eyes of House Tully, and hurled it at the swordsman, who deflected it easily with his shield.

“See? This is how you use it.” He replied.

“I’ve had enough of you for today, Willam.” Kermit grumbled, getting up and dusting off his trousers.

“You could always go back to fighting my father. I’m sure he’ll go much easier on you than I will.” Willam replied, pulling off his own helmet, a smug grin plastered on his face.

“Fuck you.” Kermit muttered under his breath, making sure that Willam couldn’t hear him. “Is this punishment for last night or something?” He asked, this time more clearly.

“Kermit, you broke into the castle cellar and made off with a flagon of wine!” Willam exclaimed, putting away his sword and shield before turning back to Kermit. “I’d say my father is going rather lightly on you, considering you didn’t drink it all.”

“That was just a sampling! I was saving the rest for when Daevar–”

“When Daevar what?” Came a voice. The two of them turned to see that the boy in question had ridden through the gates on horseback, still looking every inch the Lord of Runestone with that magnificent, highly-polished bronze cuirass glinting in the sunlight.

“When you came back.” Kermit finished, hugging his friend with a grin the second he had dismounted the horse. “It’s good to see you again, Daevar. I was beginning to think you’d abandoned us for the capital!”

“Not in a million years, Kermit.” Daevar smirked, patting him on the shoulder. Much as the events of the last few weeks were playing on him, he felt relieved to be back home where everything made sense once again, and to see his friends. Especially Kermit. As it was, the boy was sweating madly underneath the training armour that he was wearing. “Why don’t you go clean up first, Kermit? We can catch up in the keep.”

“Anything happen while you were there?” Kermit asked, throwing an arm around his shoulder. “Did you finally meet the girl you’re going to marry one day?”

Daevar looked a bit stunned. This was likely the first time in forever that Kermit’s glibness was true. “. . .Yes, actually.” He said.

“Wait, you’re serious?” Kermit stopped dead in his tracks and looked at him. Willam, too. Daevar’s expression, however, remained unchanged. “Seven Hell . . .you ARE serious. Who?”

Daevar sighed. “Princess Helaena Targaryen. My cousin.”

Kermit’s eyes widened at that. Everyone knew that Queen Alicent had bore the King three sons and two daughters, and the fact that Daevar was marrying one was… well, it wasn’t exactly unheard of for a secondary lord to be betrothed to a royal princess, but it was still amazing.

“A Princess of the Blood?” Kermit asked before slapping Daevar’s shoulder. “That IS something to celebrate. We must–”

“Must what?” Another voice said. A younger boy, around nine, rode through the gates before dismounting and running up to the trio. “We must what?” He repeated.

“Erm… we must… Daevar, who’s this?” Kermit asked, afraid of saying something he might regret around a child so young.

“Oh! Of course. Kermit, Willam, this is Helaena’s youngest brother, Daeron Targaryen. I’ve taken him as a page and cupbearer, with permission from His Grace, King Viserys.” Daevar introduced them. Daeron, never one to shy away, gave Kermit and Willam both a surprisingly firm handshake and a smile.

“So not only are you betrothed to a Targaryen Princess, but you have a Targaryen Prince as your cupbearer?” Willam asked rhetorically. He was still trying to process the whole thing himself.

“Every noble house should make you their negotiator now!” Kermit laughed, clapping Daevar’s shoulder again. “Just remember, that means I get Aly all to myself now.”

“And I’m certain she’ll be overjoyed.” Daevar replied. “Apparently Lady Arryn and my uncle had been talking about it for some years but never acted on it until recently.” He understood the reasoning for that. Viserys had apparently been rather uncomfortable at the prospect of marrying the twelve year old Laena Velaryon after Aemma died, though he had apparently married Queen Alicent without much hesitation despite her being only fifteen at the time. He likely would have been even less enthusiastic of marrying off one of his own children at such a young age.

“Well, either way, a marriage to a Princess is something to be celebrated.” Kermit said. “Come on, I have a flagon of wine waiting for us in my chambers.”

“A flagon that you stole.” Willam reminded him. Daevar sighed at that. It wasn’t the first time Kermit had been in trouble for stealing something; there had been an incident not that long ago where he had gotten in trouble for stealing vegetables from a farmer’s patch; he did eventually pay the man back after a scolding from Gerold, but the whole thing had been rather humiliating for the future Lord of Riverrun.

“Stole, repossessed, what’s the difference?” He said before they were interrupted by a small roar as a dragon began to descend, eventually landing beside Daeron. It wasn’t a big one, Kermit noted – not much larger than a horse – but everyone present recoiled slightly at the sight of it. Kermit and Willam especially, as both began judging the distance between themselves and the armoury, ready to make a dash for their weapons.“Oh, don’t mind her. This is Tessarion.” Daeron replied, rather happily. The she-dragon was a beautiful creature to look at, with wings the colour of cobalt and a crest and claws of bright copper. She was still a young dragon as well, barely six years old, but that made her perfect for her rider. Daeron had relished the chance to raise his dragon from a young age. I’ll ride her one day. I know I will.

“She’s also still young.” Daevar said. “Not to worry, everyone. Tessarion will follow every command that Daeron gives her; the two of them are very tightly bonded to say the least.” He explained. He had felt a bit nervous about the dragon’s arrival itself, but there was still the expectation that he would end up claiming a dragon one day, which probably accounted for the restrained shock on most of the soldiers’ faces.

“It’s a good thing we kept that cave ready then, isn’t it?” A voice said. The four looked over to see Ser Gerold Royce approaching them, sword fasten at his waist. Gerold’s face was showing more signs of ageing now; his once black hair and beard had become dotted with grey and he was slightly stooped over form the weight he used to carry on campaign against the Hill Tribes. Still, he was Regent of Runestone for another two years yet, and Daevar had learnt to trust his guidance over the last decade.

“It certainly is, Ser Gerold. Willam, would you be able to show Daeron and Tessarion to the cave that we had hollowed out a few years ago? Seems like the best place to keep her.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Willam replied, nervously informing Daeron of where it was. Daeron called for Tessarion to follow them, and to the surprise of just about everyone, the dragon did without much hesitation.

“I’m surprised the beast follows his instructions that easily.” Gerold said, raising an eyebrow.

“He is her rider, Ser Gerold. That sort of bond is a strong one.” Daevar said. He just hoped that Daeron would be able to keep the young dragon in check.

“It is good to see you again, Daevar.” Gerold smiled, putting a hand on Daevar’s shoulder. Every visit to King’s Landing Daevar made these days had him on edge, leaving him wondering if this would be the time the Targaryens would finally sink their claws into him. Thankfully, he seemed to be able to resist them for the most part. Like his mother, he had remained loyal to House Royce.

“You too, Gerold.” Daevar replied, closing the distance between them with a hug. Gerold was a bit caught off guard, but eventually chuckled, giving the lad a small pat on the back as he returned the gesture. “Now, what’s this about Kermit stealing wine?”

“He stole a flagon from the castle cellar.” Gerold sighed. “If that boy wishes to become a knight, he needs to learn proper discipline sooner or later. I’d rather he learnt it from me than Elmo.” Elmo Tully was Gerold’s nephew by marriage, and a good friend of his besides. He was also, with the death of Julia’s older brother, the heir to Riverrun. Kermit seemed to revel in his status as being second in line for House Tully’s ancestral home, much to the chagrin of just about everyone around him.

“He will learn one day, Ser Gerold.” Daevar said. “I’m sure he will.”

Gerold just nodded. “So, I overheard what was said. You are to marry the Princess Helaena when she has her blood.”

Daevar nodded. “I am, Gerold. This doesn’t trouble you, does it?”

“Quite the contrary, Daevar. This will mean great things for House Royce.” Gerold said. Once upon a time, he had hoped that Daevar would marry Alyssa, or failing that, Alysanne Blackwood, but he was aware of the possibility that Daevar would marry a Targaryen one day; the dragonlords always seemed to marry within their family. Still, it was better than marrying a sibling.

“It was apparently at the behest of the King and Lady Jeyne.” Daevar explained. “Though I suppose I could do worse than Helaena, at least.” 

“What do you mean ‘at least’?” Kermit asked, running back from the keep and sliding an arm around Daevar’s shoulder once again. “You’re marrying a princess! We must celebrate!”

“Not with the flagon of wine you stole, Kermit.” Gerold said.

Kermit groaned. “Must you always ruin my fun, Ser Gerold?”

“Come on, Ser Gerold,” Daevar intervened, “The wine was going to be drank some day anyway, and a marriage to the throne is a momentous occasion. Surely you can let it slide just this once? I just got back.” He technically could overrule Ser Gerold if he wanted to, but hopefully the man would simply let it go by this time.

Gerold sighed and nodded. “Fine. Just this once.” He said. Kermit quietly cheered and led Daevar back into the keep.

“Do you wish for your new squire to join us, Daevar?” He asked.

“No, absolutely not. Daeron is far too young for what you have in mind, I think.”

Kermit let out a laugh at that. “Indeed! Now, let’s get drunk, eh?”

The situation on Dragonstone was… volatile in the aftermath of the Driftmark incident to say the least. The death of Laenor and rapid marriage of Rhaenyra to Daemon hadn’t exactly endeared her sons to the man, who remained suspicious that he had something to do with their father’s disappearance. Jace in particular seemed intent on avoiding the man as much as he could, while Luke mostly followed his brother’s lead.

Not all things were as calm as that though. Upon hearing of Daevar’s swift refusal to marry her, Baela had flown into a rage. “Why did he refuse to marry me?! Who does he think he is?!” She shouted. By now, word had spread that the reason he had reacted so poorly when asked to marry her by Rhaenys was that it would be incest, and he could never abide an incestuous marriage. Baela had reacted with rage at the whole thing; incestuous marriage was what they did! They had to keep the bloodline pure and uncompromised! It was what separated them from the rest of the country they ruled over!

Rhaena was more circumspect. Did she think Daevar was handsome? Yes, no one could deny that he was a handsome boy and would only grow better-looking with age. While she put on a brave face though, part of her couldn’t help but think that maybe if they hadn't been related, he would’ve married her.

Perhaps that was a bit ludicrous; Baela was the eldest – by nearly two years – and it was  expected that he would marry her. The fact that he had ruled it out so emphatically, though, had left her staring out the window of her chamber in the direction of Dragonstone, perhaps hoping that something might change and he would come around eventually. She sighed and returned to her embroidery; perhaps that would end up calming her down a little.

Baela however, had determined to get answers from her father. After all, he had fathered Daevar once, so it stood to reason that he understood the boy better than she did. She found her father looking down at the Painted Table, where Aegon had planned his conquest of Westeros with his sister, Visenya and Rhaenys. He often told them stories about that as they had grown up in Pentos. 

“Father, I need to ask you something.” She said, in her typical straightforward fashion.

“What is it, Baela?” He asked, as if he was annoyed with her interrupting his daydreaming. Nonetheless, she pressed on.

“Why did Daevar react so poorly when Lady Rhaenys suggested we marry?” She asked. “We are Targaryens after all; we’re meant to marry within the family.”

“That boy is no Targaryen anymore.” He growled lowly. “He has turned his back on this family for good.”

“But he’s still my brother and your son. Surely-”

“He is no son of mine.” Daemon snapped. “But it is typical of these lesser lords to refuse offers from us out of nothing but spite and jealousy. They believe themselves our equals when in reality, they are not. So, they find whatever ways they can to spit in our eyes while still declaring their allegiance. It is their way.”

Baela was uncertain on that. Daevar might have worn the bronze armour of the Royces and had their runes worked into the metal, but he still looked like a Targaryen. He had the silver hair and good looks, even if his eyes were brown rather than violet like theirs. “What exactly did happen between the two of you, father? You mislike him for some reason.”

“The boy accused me of killing his mother.” Daemon replied. He had rehearsed his response to this about a million times and knew it off by heart now. “She died in a hunting accident, but he blames her passing on me. I suspect Gerold Royce found his way into Daevar's head and turned him against me.”

Baela was still unsure, even with that answer. She had her own suspicions for how rapidly her father had remarried himself to Rhaenyra after her mother’s death, not to mention she was quietly angry that it had been just after the funeral. “I… think I understand, father.”

“Good. Now run along and see to Moondancer; I’m sure she’s hungry.” He said, waving her away. Baela sighed; she had been hoping for a longer conversation about Daevar, but she supposed this would have to do for now. You’ll get the chance to see him again, she thought. It would after all be expected for Daevar to make routine visits to the Crownlands as he had done for years now, and Rhaena had often spoken of her desire to see the Vale. Baela did too, even if it was just to see the sites of the battles Robar II Royce had fought.

There was something about the gallant defender of the people that she was really interested in.

Sighing to herself, Baela made her way back to her chambers. She had intended to stop by Rhaena, but after seeing Luke talking with her, decided not to interrupt. Better for the two of them to get used to each other now rather than later. With Daevar now to be married to Helaena, Rhaena and Luke would likely be betrothed, along with her to Jace; the brothers that they barely knew, and it wouldn’t be many years before they were betrothed to each other.

How can I marry a man I barely know? She thought to herself.

The friendship between my father and Lord Kermit has endured all manner of war, pestilence and conflict, and is one of the foundations of Westeros today. Their commitment to peace has remained one reason why our country remains a shining light to the rest of the world, while their strength at home has prevented another major war between the houses since the Dance. It will ultimately be up to future generations to see if their legacy sticks.

As for my aunts, I can understand their bafflement at my father’s refusal to marry either of them. The Targaryens have practised familial incest for generations, and the marriage of Daemon and Rhaenyra was merely the latest in that line. My father, however, has always been uneasy on some of our family traditions, and I suspect his closeness to his own Westerosi heritage-which he has always felt closer to than his Valyrian ancestors-played a part in it.

Either way, the matter of marriage was settled. My parents were to marry when they were of age. And with that marriage, came new horizons.

Chapter Text

Many of us already know the story of Lady Jeyne Arryn. Coming to rule the Eyrie at a mere three years of age, my great grandfather Yorbert Royce would serve as her regent for many years. Yorbert saw off risings against Jeyne as she grew, eventually taking over rule of the Vale herself. Even when Arnold Arryn attempted a second uprising against her, Jeyne would be prepared to fight him again.

It is said that she and my grandmother grew close during the regency, yet the woman Lady Jeyne was reportedly in the company of the most was her dear companion, Lady Jessamyn Redfort. Only my mother and father are said to know the details of the relationship between the two women though, and they have both resisted my attempts to find out more.

“Are we there yet?” Daeron asked, earning a sigh from Daevar. The boy had been asking that nearly every few minutes for the last few hours. A raven had arrived at Runestone not long after Daevar’s return from King’s Landing, requesting his presence at the Eyrie for some reason. Of course, Jeyne wouldn’t summon him there if she didn’t have a good reason to. Perhaps the Hill Tribes were attacking again and a force was being gathered to strike back, or some important emissaries had been lost somewhere in the mountains and needed a party assembled to find them.

Daevar hoped it was the former. He hadn’t had the chance to wet his sword yet, and the possibility of it happening against someone like Arnold Arryn was too good to pass up. The man had already rebelled against Jeyne once, and Daevar was resolved that if he attempted it again, he wouldn’t live to see another dawn. Joining him was about half a dozen Royce guards, customary for any travelling lord, Kermit, and Daeron. Kermit was eager to leave the confines of Runestone for a while, while Daeron was brought so he could see the Vale for himself.

“No, Daeron. But we’re getting close.” Daevar pointed up ahead. “See that structure out in the distance?”

Daeron’s eyes followed his cousin’s finger, where he saw two long parapets built into the walls of the rocky pass they had been travelling on for seemingly forever. Built in between them, was a large stone bridge that arched over the pathway, guarded by two watchtowers. 

“That’s the Bloody Gate, one of the Eyrie’s many defences.” Said Daevar. “A few keeps like this help fortify it further, making the Eyrie virtually untouchable. Anyone wanting to attack the Eyrie had to march up this valley, no more than three abreast, with arrows raining down on them the whole way from those clifftops.”

As soon as the party approached the Bloody Gate, they heard a voice call down from above. “Halt!” Everyone looked up to see a young man not much older than Daevar staring down at them from the battlements. He wore a steel plate cuirass embellished with the falcon of House Arryn over a simple leather gambeson. But his head was uncovered, revealing a head of lengthy brown hair that draped over both sides of a youthful, cleanly shaven face. “Who would pass the Bloody Gate?” The knight asked.

“Daevar Targaryen! Surely you must have recognized this, Ser Joffrey!” Daevar called up, banging a fist on his bronze cuirass.

After squinting for a minute, the knight named Joffrey, softened his expression. “Oh, Daevar! Good to see you!” He then turned to the rest of the guard. “Let them through. The Lady Paramount is expecting them.”

“Thank you, Ser Joffrey!” Daevar said, signalling the rest of his party to follow as the gate began to open for them. “Runestone is open for you should you ever visit!"

“Of course!” Joffrey nodded. “Oh, and send my regards to Lady Alyssa!”

“We certainly will, Joffrey!” Daevar shouted back as the Gate shut behind them. The massive fortification had sparked Daeron’s attention, and he looked to Daevar for an explanation on it as they walked through.

“That, there, was Ser Joffrey Arryn. He’s been a Knight of the Gate for several years now..”

“He was a knight at ten-and-five!” Kermit said, shaking his head. Joffrey was a good three years older than they were, but the fact that he had achieved a knighthood three years before they were usually given was nothing short of amazing.

“Is Ser Joffrey the son of Lady Jeyne?” Daeron asked as the party made their way through the Bloody Gate.

“No.” Daevar shook his head. “Lady Jeyne has never taken a husband, and has no children. He’s a younger cousin of hers. Don’t ask which cousin; I have no idea. The Arryns are a large family, Daeron. They even have a branch in Gulltown under Isembard.” And he certainly makes the most of it , Daevar thought. The Gulltown Arryns had been founded years ago, when a branch of the family married powerful merchants from the city. They weren’t discussed by the rest of the family, but Daevar suspected that it was down to pride more than anything else. And the fact that the Gulltown Arryns could match them in wealth despite having less power. Even that was up for debate though; House Grafton nominally ruled Gulltown, but Isembard had enough coin to make quite a few men forget their allegiance. Not that the Graftons were liked anyway. “Joffrey is just about the finest warrior in the Vale. He holds his office as Knight of the Gate well.”

For the next few miles, the party continued to educate Daeron on everything they knew of House Arryn, only for that to end as soon as their destination came into view. Daeron couldn’t stop marvelling at the sight of the Eyrie. The Red Keep was certainly an impressive structure, having a remarkable view of the Narrow Sea and trade ships at the ports, but he had grown a bit too accustomed to the sight of it over the years. The Eyrie, on the other hand, was a very new sight to behold. It wasn’t any bigger than the Red Keep, in fact it was quite small in comparison, but it was beautifully constructed.

Daevar smiled at his cousin; the look of amazement on Daeron’s face reminded him of the times he had first visited the Eyrie with his mother. He suddenly felt his smile fade away as the memories returned to him. My mother…   His recollection of that day was limited, but Gerold had made a point to tell him the story of that fateful day over ten years ago.

It was early in the afternoon that his mother decided to go on one of her usual hunting trips for deer. Julia was troubled by the notion of her going off on her own, but Rhea Royce was a stubborn and independent woman, refusing to be coddled or guarded like some virginal princess. She was already an excellent rider, and was deadly with her bow; a finely crafted instrument, it was one of Rhea’s most prized possessions, carved from fine birch wood, and strung with a combination of hemp and the finest of horsehair. She was more than capable of looking after herself. After all, she had managed to rule over Runestone on her own despite her husband’s constant absence.

Daevar remembered tearfully running out of the keep and into the courtyard as his mother prepared to leave. “Mother, don’t go! I’ll miss you!” He cried.

He then recalled his mother kneeling down to his level with a smile and kissing his forehead. “I won’t be gone long.” She had said. “I’ll be back before your any wiser. I love you.” Daevar then watched as his mother mounted her horse and rode off.

Daevar shook his head, in a desperate attempt to escape the thoughts running through it. That had been the last time he had seen his mother alive, and he would never be able to get the image of her return out of his head. He still saw it most nights when he closed his eyes; her lifeless body being brought into Runestone on the back of a cart, skull caved in and neck broken. He shook his head again, as if trying to dispel the thoughts from it.

“Are you alright, Daevar?” Asked Kermit, frowning slightly.

“Yes, Kermit. I’m fine.” Daevar replied. “Come on, we should get to the Eyrie soon. See what this summons here was all about.”

By the time they’d ascended up the path to the Eyrie and through Stone, Snow, and Sky, the three waycastles leading up House Arryn’s ancient stronghold, Daeron was as tired as ever, but proud that he’d actually managed to ascend that far despite his age . He turned his attention to Daevar, who was barely breaking a sweat. Evidently, his cousin had made this trip several times before.

Their entrance to the Eyrie was less grand than Daeron had anticipated, with only a few guards standing to attention as they walked through the courtyard. The only visible person of rank was a man standing near the door to the Eyrie’s main keep, wearing a tunic with three black ravens holding three red hearts. Daevar smiled, recognising him. “Is that you, Ser Corwyn?”

The man looked their way, returning the grin. “Daevar, my boy!” He said, greeting him with a bear-like embrace that nearly took the wind out of him. He was a good twelve years older than Daevar and Kermit, tall and broad-shouldered like most men in their mid-twenties. At his waist was the familiar red ruby and lead pommel of the Corbrays’ ancestral Valyrian sword, Lady Forlorn. Daeron for his part was amazed at seeing two Valyrian swords in one place, and wielded by two warriors no less.

As soon as the two separated, Corwyn turned to address Daevar’s companions. “Kermit Tully! Good to see you again.”

Kermit nodded with a grin. “Likewise, Ser Corwyn.”

“And who is this lad?” Corwyn asked, turning his attention to Daeron. The boy was still young of course, but Corwyn could tell he was still a strong lad with a future in soldiering. He had a distinct bearing to him.

“My cousin: Daeron. Youngest child of King Viserys and Queen Alicent.” Daevar then put a hand on Daeron’s shoulder. “Daeron, this is Ser Corwyn Corbray. Another Knight of the Vale. He taught me everything I know about fighting.”

“Even that fancy crossguard trick.” Kermit added.

“Indeed.” Corwyn replied, ruffling Daeron’s hair briefly before turning back to Daevar with a pained expression. “Daevar, Arnold Arryn is here, trying to bring his case against Lady Jeyne again. He hasn’t quite grasped that bringing his constant grievances to her is simply making her less disposed to keeping him around.”

Daevar and Kermit both frowned at that. Ser Arnold Arryn, referred by some as the Mad Heir, had rebelled against Lady Jeyne once already and gotten off fairly lightly; not much more than a house arrest and a permanent revocation of any lands he had held. “My guess is that his son is staying quiet?”

“Eldric is smarter than his father, so yes.” Corwyn sighed. “You’re expected inside, Daevar. The presence of the Lord of Runestone would add some weight to Lady Jeyne’s side of the argument.” He said as he led them into the main keep. In the great hall of the Eyrie, Arnold Arryn, aggrieved as ever, was shouting at a clearly bored Jeyne as she sat on her throne, only smiling slightly at the sight of Daevar entering the room.

“You rose in rebellion against me, Ser Arnold. Be thankful that you have kept your position as heir at the behest of my lords.” Jeyne said. Daevar had noticed that most of the lords of the Vale were in attendance; no doubt Jeyne had cut a deal with them to keep Arnold as heir in exchange for their support against him. At his side stood his son, Ser Eldric. Eldric was remarkably similar to Joffrey; both of them were ten-and-seven, and they were both excellent warriors who had been knighted at a young age. The similarities ended there though. While Joffrey was seen among the best the Vale had to offer, Eldric was largely distrusted by virtue of his father. 

“I am a Knight of the Vale! I have a right to keep my own lands!” Arnold raged. He had once been a fit, firing warrior, too, but those days were gone now; his jowls were showing more and more with every passing year, and what hair he had left had gone from a dark brown to a withered grey.

“You also rebelled against your Lady.” A sharp voice came. It was Jessamyn Redfort, the close confidant and advisor of Lady Jeyne, who stood beside her Lady in solidarity. “I would have struck your head from your shoulders for such disloyalty. Lady Jeyne however is a merciful woman–”

“My point exactly!” Arnold interrupted, before turning to address the other lords present. “A woman simply cannot rule the Vale! The Hill Tribes will have us for supper!”

A few men murmured their agreement until Daevar stepped forward. “Ser Arnold, there was a war. You lost. In any other Lord’s court, you’d have lost your head for treason. Be thankful that Lady Jeyne is your superior, and they are not.”

“Ah, yes. The Half-Breed of Runestone, is it?” Arnold demanded. “Strange for a Targaryen to be gracing us in our halls. One that doesn’t have a dragon to answer his beck and call. One that was rejected by his own father, the second he was born.” Daevar’s fist clenched at that last comment, while Kermit stepped forward, his hand on the hilt of his sword, only for Corwyn to dissuade him by simply putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Let it be, Kermit.” He said. “He knows what he’s doing. Watch.”

“This Half-Breed also happens to be a Lord of the Vale, Ser Arnold. I outrank you.” He said. “And I know Lady Jeyne to be just as capable a leader as any man in this room. I owe her a great deal, as do you. Your waste of a life being one of them.”

Arnold, enraged, lunged forward and attempted to strike Daevar, and he likely would have if Eldric hadn't intervened at the last second, pulling his father back. “Apologies, My Lord. My father is rather emotional at the moment.” He said, signalling to two soldiers over to see to his enraged father.

“Of course, Ser Eldric. No harm done.” Daevar replied.

“I believe I have seen enough.” Lady Jeyne said, causing a hush to fall over the crowd. “Arnold  Arryn, in light of your actions against me, I see that there is no other alternative than for me to have you exiled, and removed as heir to the Eyrie. I pray that the Gods will find their justice in this.”

As the crowd began to disperse, Daevar made his way to approach Lady Jeyne, who smiled as he knelt before her. “Well played, Lord Daevar. Any lesser man would have attempted to open his vein.”

“Believe me, I was tempted to.” Daevar muttered. “Lady Jeyne, I must ask, why simply exile him? He has committed high treason. My uncle or father would’ve killed a man for such an offence.”

Lady Jeyne sighed, sitting back down in her weirwood throne. “I understand your dislike for him, Daevar. I do. I do not have much love for him either. But Arnold is my kin. My family. And while I know your father set a poor example the day he tried to claim Runestone for himself, there truly is no stronger bond.”

Aemond had been sitting beside Helaena for some time now, helping her with her bugs and other creatures that were in her little collection. There was everything there, from spiders to cockroaches, to small worm-like things that had hundreds of tiny legs too small to be seen with an eye alone. Helaena had no trouble seeing them though, he noticed. Probably my eye. He fingered the ugly flap of skin where his left eye used to be. Most people would see him as nothing more than a grotesque monster now. Not to mention his martial training would be severely hampered by it. 

I will take that brat’s eye one day. Make a gift of it to mother.

“Fascinating creatures, Helaena.” He said quietly as he watched one of them crawl over her wrist. He wondered what it was like, seeing everyone as so much bigger than you were. He had been the same way, once. The only Targaryen without a dragon. Now, he had the greatest dragon in the world-Vhagar, the Queen of All Dragons; the only dragon left who had conquered Westeros. The one ridden by Queen Visenya. And now she’s all mine.

Helaena merely hummed in response. “They are, Aemond.” Her mind was elsewhere too. She supposed marrying Daevar wouldn’t be too bad. He had always been kind to her, and they had been friends since childhood. Mayhaps he hadn’t had an easy life, but then again, few of them did in this world. She found it hard not to sympathise with Daevar. His mother had died when he was very young, and his father had all but abandoned him. She remembered him as a melancholy boy, rarely smiling, usually brooding, but that had changed after a few years. She did suspect it had something to dow with this Kermit Tully fellow that he had talked about.

“You are to marry Daevar now.” Aemond said.

“Yes, it would appear so.” She said nonchalantly. She did not really have much to talk or think about their betrothal at the moment. She could not imagine it being too awful though; he would be able to provide for her after all, and her mother had been giving her lessons in what it meant to be a proper wife. Care for your husband, make sure he has whatever he needs, and when he asks you to, fulfil his desires. The lessons had been given to her and Nesaena, but Nesaena seemed to have taken to it more readily than she had.

“Not so long ago…” Aemond began, a bit nervously, “Mother spoke about marrying us.” Aemond said. Maybe there was still a chance if he could speak with her properly now. He could convince her to talk to their mother about the betrothal; get their father to overturn it, then the two of them would be free to marry each other.

“It seems that the circumstances can change, Aemond.” She said. For a moment, Aemond thought she was making a jest about his missing eye, but dismissed it. His sister was too kind-hearted for that, and it was likely that she simply had not thought through what she was saying, especially when she found it difficult to pick up on cues from the person she was talking to.

“I suppose.” He said, trying to push all thought of insult out of his mind. “And you are not opposed to marrying our cousin?”

“No.” Helaena replied, twisting her wrist so the creature could keep crawling. “He is a friend, and we have known each other since we were young.” It sounded a bit rehearsed, but Aemond got the point. There would be no turning her against Daevar. Frustrated, he turned his attention back to Helaena’s little collection. 

“How many rings does this one have?” He asked, changing the subject as quickly as he could.

“Eighty rings. Two hundred and forty legs in total…”

“Amazing how you can count that much.” He remarked. Helaeana simply hummed in response.

Ultimately, there was not much that anyone could do after my grandfather betrothed my mother and father. Their future together was set in stone; and any attempt to break it would likely not go well for anyone involved. It was a message my uncle would’ve done well to remember, and his inability to move on would cause our family untold misery and pain.

Arnold Arryn was no doubt preparing a second uprising against Lady Jeyne, but his son was always more circumspect when it came to fomenting a rebellion. It was part of the reason why Eldric would become such a dangerous enemy in the years to come.

Chapter Text

I can’t be sure what the situation on Dragonstone was around this time. To hear my aunts tell it, it was tense. The possibility of confrontation with Queen Alicent and Ser Otto loomed over them all, though I have been told it took the heaviest toll on Rhaenyra. The Princess remembered all too well her father’s stories of when the dragonlords fought over Valyria.

Other historical records of this time have largely been lost; likely burned when Aegon took Dragonstone during the war. My aunts however suggest that Daemon began to concoct a plan to sway my father to their side . . .

Once upon a time, Dragonstone had been a minor outpost at the far reaches of the Valyrian Freehold, now it was arguably the second-most powerful stronghold in Westeros. The heir to the Iron Throne held court here, ruling as the Prince of Dragonstone until they were crowned, and were expected to carry out their duties as any other Lord would.

Except the current heir to the Iron Throne was not a Prince, but a Princess. 

Rhaenyra was looking northward, towards the Vale and beyond that, to White Harbor. Part of her yearned to take Syrax for a flight around Westeros as the Conciliator and Good Queen Alysanne had done, but she knew the impracticality of that. Besides, her father would see to it that the lords would have no objections to her.

“The entire world in the palm of my hands…” She mumbled. True, there would be those who objected, but there would also be those who supported her. Those would be the ones who would be rewarded when the time came. She would remove the Hightowers from court and replace them with men loyal to her and no one else.

“Mother?” She heard someone say, before turning around to see her eldest son.

“Jace.” She smiled. “It is good to see you. What brings you out here?” 

Her son was growing. He had put on a bit of muscle since the confrontation on Driftmark; possibly out of a desire to protect his brothers from Alicent’s children, monsters that they were. 

“I wanted to talk about Daevar, Mother.” He said. Rhaenyra resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

“Is there nothing else, Jace?” She half-jokingly asked. “I hear enough of him from my husband. Always carrying on about how much of a disappointment he is.”

“Disappointment? But he is a good warrior for his age. And he is apparently well-liked at Runestone.” Jace replied. How his… stepfather could describe Daevar as a disappointment was beyond him, especially when Daevar seemed to be shaping into an ideal lord.

“I believe he fears for his reputation; he does not take kindly to it being threatened.” Rhaenyra said before chuckling slightly. “Sometimes I wish the two of them would make peace. It would make the matter of my accession far easier.”

“How?”

“Daevar would be one of my advisors. He holds a powerful title, and will likely command respect from the rest of the Vale in time. I need people like that on my side.” And so it seems does Alicent… It had been of some suspect to her that Alicent had so quickly agreed to the marriage due to it now making him a brother-by-marriage to Aegon. We shall have to see who can get to him first… Rhaenyra thought. “That is where you come in.”

“Me?” Jace asked.

“I would like you to honour Laena Velaryan’s wishes and take Baela and Rhaena to Runestone.” She said simply. “Daevar will continue to be an advisor to you one day, Jace; it only makes sense for you to get to know him. After all, he is your brother by marriage now.” And it might help soften his attitude towards me. It wasn’t exactly a secret that the relationship between herself and Daevar hadn’t been the best after the confrontation on Driftmark, and if there was a chance to heal the rift, she would take it. The lad was her stepson now, after all.

“His friend tried to kill us!” Jace replied, a little incredulous. Maybe his mother was right, but that didn’t erase the fact that Daevar had sided against them when they fought with Aemond. “Aemond tried to kill us and Daevar defended him!”

“Daevar was doing what he thought best; there is little more than any of us can do but that.” Rhaenyra sighed. Truth be told, she admired Daevar a little for standing with Aemond that night, and found it a little bizarre that her father hadn’t done anything to punish Luke or defend his own second son, but she wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Then… I suppose I could.” Jace said, finally agreeing to it. 

“Good. You and Luke will go, along with Baela and Rhaena. Time spent mending rifts with powerful lords is never wasted.” She smiled. Perhaps this was her chance to find out the certainty of Daevar’s support as well, given his defence of Aemond and betrothal to Helaena.

“What will Daemon say?” Jace asked. Rhaenyra hadn’t thought about that; she had almost come to think of Daevar as being entirely a Royce with no connection to Daemon. And doubtless he’d prefer it that way, given their animosity.

“I will speak with Daemon. You must tell your siblings of the travel plans; the details will be arranged in the coming weeks.” She said before disappearing back inside the ancient Targaryen fortress. Predictably, she found her husband in the Chamber of the Painted Table, poring over the wooden table of Westeros. It was here that Aegon and his sisters-Visenya and Rhaenys-had planned their conquest over a century ago. Many calamites had befallen their house since then, and Rhaenrya was often left wondering if those long-dead Targaryens would be proud of what they had achieved today. How could they not be? Our country is stronger than ever. 

“Daemon, there is something I want to discuss with you.”

“And what would that be?” The Rogue Prince asked, turning to face his new wife with a smirk. “More concerns regarding Laenor? I assure you he is safe and happy in the arms of many men.”

Rhaenyra frowned. She was not in the mood for japes. “It is regarding your son. Your eldest son.”

Daemon’s smirk began to fade, turning away and looking back at the painted table. “What more is there to say of him? The boy has gone native, cursing the family name, and raking my own through the mud with every defiant breath.”

Rhaenyra held her tongue at that. She still failed to understand how Daemon could feel such animosity towards his own son and not even attempt to make amends with him. Surely her husband felt at least some affection for him; as Jace had said, he was almost exactly what Daemon would have wanted in a son. “I am sending Jace and Luke to Runestone. To visit him. I want to send Baela and Rhaena as well, but I would need your permission; you are their father after all.”

“The boy has no affection for me; he likely has even less for his sisters.” He said, shaking his head. “There is no point to having anyone visit him. Not now that he is betrothed to that idiot daughter of the Hightower whore.”

“At the very least, it would make him think better of us if we were to offer the first branch.” Rhaenyra insisted. “Daevar cannot be erased from our bloodline. We must show him that there are still those willing to call him family.”

Daemon had gone silent. Thinking the situation over, he realised that Rhaenyra may’ve had a point. After all, the boy still acknowledged Rhaenyra as heir to the Iron Throne, regardless of his opinion of any of them. “… he would make a valuable ally in the wars to come.”

“I do not intend to make him a soldier for a war that might not happen.” Rhaenyra said. “WhiIe I do not doubt there will be some struggle, and soon, it would be vastly more beneficial to welcome Daevar as part of our family. And given the recent rumblings in the Vale, it would be difficult for him to visit us.”

Daemon grunted. “I heard that Lady Arryn humiliated that idiot Arnold?”

Even here, they had heard of Arnold Arryn’s incessant whining about him being the true heir to the Vale, and not Jeyne. The whole thing was a bit absurd to Daemon. The man had been beaten, and as far as he was concerned, that was the end of the story.

“To hear Lady Redfort’s report, it was rather amusing.” Rhaenyra replied. She was grateful to have an example like Jeyne Arryn to follow; ruling women were always in a difficult spot with their male relatives, and the fact that Lady Arryn had not only ruled well but also crushed a rebellion gave her heart. “But given that Ser Arnold has risen against her before, I doubt he will let her have the final word on this.”

“As do I.” Daemon said simply. “So, we have Jace, Luke, Baela and Rhaena visit him in Runestone. With whom? The two of us cannot leave Dragonstone.”

“He and Rhaenys get along well enough. She will escort them.” Rhaenyra replied.

“Fine. They can go. But do not expect me to start sending gifts to the boy. If he wants me in his life, the boy can come here.”

“What?” Viserys asked. “You wish for me to depose Jeyne Arryn as Lady Paramount of the Vale?”

 “With me taking her seat.” Arnold replied simply.

For once, Otto was a bit at a loss for words. The mad heir went through the trouble of traveling from the Eyrie to King’s Landing, all to simply ask this of them without any messenger raven heralding his arrival or requesting an audience. Otto would consider the act bold if it wasn't so foolish; not that Arnold Arryn had ever been a picture of sanity to begin with. Looking around, he could see the rest of the court was thinking the same.

Tyland Lannister was attempting to disguise his chuckles through feigned coughs, while even Larys Strong, who usually gave no indication of emotion whatsoever, was smirking slightly at the whole thing. For his part, Eldric Arryn was pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation; his father had honestly thought that they would actually take this into consideration without looking at anything else about the court members present, and there was nowhere to hide in the Throne Room.

“Lady Arryn has served the Vale and crown loyally for many years, Ser Arnold.” Otto said, attempting to put an end to this farce before it could go any further. “There is no reason to remove her from authority, nor is there precedent.”

“My Lord Hand, would you permit your niece to inherit the Hightower?” Arnold protested. “The Vale is under constant threat from the Hill Tribes! Lady Jeyne has let them run amok! She is too soft to rule the Vale.”

“You have already risen against Lady Jeyne once, which gave those Hill Tribes the opportunity to strike.” Viserys replied in as firm a voice as he could muster. Ultimately, the decision had already been made that this man would not be given any concessions. “If you had been a member of my family, I would have exiled you permanently. Lady Jeyne, however, is of a more merciful nature, so you should consider yourself lucky that you’re escaping with a mere confiscation of land.”

Arnold’s face was turning bright red, Otto noticed. Truthfully, the affairs of the Vale were usually far from his mind unless the Hill Tribes attempted a major assault on the lords of the Vale. It had happened before after all, but the Valemen always got a hold of it before the Tribes became a problem. There was no reason to think that there was a major attack coming soon, as far as the Eyrie’s reports said. 

“I am a Knight of the Vale! I am entitled to my own lands!” Arnold shouted.

“Yet it is not your lands you feel entitled to; it is the lands of your better.” Larys said, breaking his silence with his hand resting comfortably on the top of his cane. 

“Lord Strong is correct.” Otto added. “Lady Arryn has ruled well for many years; I fail to see a need to replace her.”

“As do I.” Viserys spoke. “Ser Arnold, I cannot punish your indiscretions because it is not me you rebelled against, but Lady Arryn herself. All I can say is that she has treated you more mercifully than you deserve.”

It was intended to be the final word on the situation. The King had made his decision known, and it was now the law of the land. Arnold Arryn would have to find another route to air his grievances to an ever-shrinking crowd of people that were listening to him. Eldric couldn’t help but notice that the list of people entertaining his ideas were mostly landless knights and second and third sons who stood to inherit nothing, which was not exactly the crowd one wanted to draw. 

His father had never been good at taking hints though, and that extended to now as with barely contained rage, he continued his little diatribe. “A woman cannot rule the Vale!” 

Everyone was set on edge almost immediately, especially Viserys. With the question of his own succession resolved long ago, insisting that a woman couldn’t rule was very hard for him not to take as some sort of personal attack. It felt like a challenge towards his own rule; he was aware of the rumblings around Rhaenyra’s ability to rule, and he sought to put an end to them now.

“What do you mean by that, Ser Arnold?” Viserys asked, standing up. “A woman is currently heir to the Iron Throne!”

“I said a woman cannot inherit the Vale. I never said a woman cannot inherit the Iron Throne.” Arnold said, quick to defend himself. Eldric let out a long sigh. His father was lying; he had in fact railed against the idea of Rhaenyra inheriting the crown multiple times, but never to large crowds, and only to people who were loyal to him and wouldn’t pass on the information to anyone else.

“That is enough, Ser Arnold!” Viserys roared. “You come here, demand I revoked the title of one of my chief vassals, and then dare to attack my choice of successor?! You are a scoundrel, ser! You will not remove Lady Arryn from her authority by my command!”

“Then you give me no choice but to take what is mine with force!” Arnold shouted. Eldric sighed and punched the bridge of his nose again, wishing he could shrink between the cobblestones that formed the floor. His father had just revealed his plans to high treason in front of the entire court. Nevermind the fact that the crown would intervene if things went badly for Jeyne Arryn and her supporters; it was unlikely it would get that far in the first place. 

“Threaten what you like, Ser Arnold. But you condemn yourself with your own tongue. I caution you to forget what you are planning.” Otto replied. He was enjoying this; seeing this pompous man be humiliated was one of the few things he got any joys from these days when he wasn;t busy managing the realm as Viserys fiddled with his model set of Valyria.

Humiliated, Arnold stormed out of the Throne Room, determined to gather what resources he could. Of course, if he wasn’t so focused on himself, he might’ve noticed his son hadn’t followed him, and as the King and Hand stepped down, he approached them. “Your Grace, my Lord Hand, my father will not take these refusals lightly.”

“And what do you wish for us to do?” Otto asked.

“He is gathering an army. A small one; hedge knights and other men desperate to make a name for themselves. After his last rebellion, none of the major houses will follow him.” Eldric explained. His father had already damaged both of their reputations despite Eldric’s attempts to moderate his father’s ambitions.

“Why are you telling us this?” Viserys said. “You would turn on your father so quickly?”

“I am not turning on my father; merely trying to save him from his foolishness. He has already caused us to become pariahs in the Vale. I want to change that.” He said. Their reputations were not beyond saving just yet, and perhaps he could salvage something. 

“Your primary concern is your reputation?” Viserys said incredulously. Did no one ever have pure motives for anything anymore?

“What does it matter? I’m giving you the information on my father’s force. I don’t know the size, but I assume it’s less than six thousand and laden with infantry. That’s all I know.” He said before leaving.

Later that day, a raven was dispatched to the Eyrie, and from the ancient seat of House Arryn, a cloud of ravens burst forth.

The Lords of the Vale were to answer the call to war.

Arnold Arryn’s second rebellion was already well in motion by this point. He had a force large enough to pose a serious threat to Lady Jeyne’s power while her own hosts prepared for war. The issue was that with his smaller force, Ser Arnold could move far more quickly than the larger armies of the Arryn vassals.

Fighting would break out weeks later as Arnold Arryn began burning farms and stampeding livestock throughout the central Vale. The few roads that passed through that small kingdom were also cut by supporters of his, who set up barricades and impeded movement throughout the region.

The loyalists would soon rally their forces though, and the rebels began to encounter pockets of heavy resistance. While outposts held their ground, the loyalists were gathering an army in the foothills beneath the Eyrie, led by Ser Corwyn Corbray.

It would be my father’s first real taste of battle; a far cry from the training he had been undertaking for several years by now.

Chapter Text

Arnold Arryn had already risen once against Lady Jeyne, and had apparently nearly succeeded. In this second attempt of his, he would prove remarkably less successful. He rallied merely a small army that he would never have been able to seize control of the Vale with and was composed of a truly pitiful lot: second and third sons, hedge knights with only basic arms and armour, and a handful of landless nobles who had been promised a restoration of their lands.

It was my father’s first battle, as well as that of Lord Tully’s. Records of the battle remain sparse; after all, it was a fairly minor engagement by the standards of the Dance, which got closer every day. What is known is that my father had his first brush with the Stranger that day . . .

There weren’t many things Daevar feared, and the dark certainly wasn’t one of them. Even if the crypt was dimly lit by the torches scattered about it, he had the lay of the area memorized thanks to his frequent visits. He began counting the various graves that were neatly organized in a row before coming to one that lay right beside the tomb of the last Lord of Runestone, Lord Yorbert Royce; his maternal grandfather. Sitting before him was a small stone statue of a woman, not wrapped in fancy silks or dressed like a septa, but adorning the runic armor of House Royce and a pair of breeches. She was posed standing firm, with a bow in one hand, and an arrow in another; his mother looked every part the Lady of Runestone.

Daevar frowned at the state of the statue before him; it had not been tended to in the weeks that he was away. He began wiping off the cobwebs that clung to the stone with his bare fingers, as well as brushing out any dust that happened to linger. Once he was certain it was clean - as clean as he could allow it be, at least - Daevar knelt down before the statue, placing a small candle at its feet. Once the candle was lit, Daevar interlocked his hands and began to pray. It was not something he was very particular about, but he made a note to pray for his mother ever since he was a child; it was the only way he could feel close to her.

“Mother…” He began. “I’m not sure if you’ve been watching, but a lot has happened these last few months. I met my sisters. The daughters of Laena Valaryon. You’d like them, I think, though I’m not sure what to feel about them… how am I supposed to treat them as my sisters when I barely know them?”

The statue, as always, remained silent. Maybe he really was going mad; thinking that his mother could hear him talking. He liked to believe that she still watched over him, in whatever place the Stranger would take the newly departed. She had to be. She wouldn’t abandon him like his father did. At least he had certainly hoped not. “Mother, there is something else… King Viserys has betrothed me to his daughter, Princess Helaena. My cousin. I’m not sure what to think of it; things are tense between the Queen and Princess Rhaenyra, and I’m afraid this marriage may get me caught in the midst of it.” He shook his head for a second. “Daemon also married Rhaenyra right after laying Laena to rest. He hasn’t changed. I don’t think he ever will.” He felt his hands begin to tremble as the memory of his father entered his head. “Sometimes… I wish it was him who died instead of you. I wish–”

He was suddenly cut off by a bell ringing outside. Quickly, he got up, leaving the crypt and heading straight for the courtyard. Once his torch was extinguished and placed on a rack, he emerged to see soldiers forming up in the courtyard, and horses being brought out from the stables. A few of the men present had shields bearing the three ravens of the Corbrays, while others bore the red castle of Redfort. Those Daevar recognised as senior commanders were barking orders to their subordinates, who rushed to prepare. After trying to make his way through the hustling, he finally found Gerold speaking with Ser Corwyn.

“Gerold, what’s happening? Why does it look like we’re getting ready for war?” He asked.

“Because we are.” Gerold replied, grimly. “Arnold Arryn is encamped near here with four thousand men. Lady Jeyne is gathering forces near the Eyrie, but has given Ser Corwyn command of a force down here to attack immediately.” He explained grimly. 

“Well, how many men will we have?” Daevar asked.

“Combined with the Redforts, around six thousand, as well as the hundred knights Ser Corwyn brought with him. And you will be riding with us as well.”

Daevar’s eyes lit up at that. What else had he been training for the last few years other than to defend the right of his liege lady to rule the Vale? “About time we put Arnold in his place.” He grinned.

“Do not get overconfident, Daevar; that is a killer in battle.” Gerold replied as Kermit ran up to him, handing the man his helmet. “You’ll be with us too, Kermit.”

“Yes, Gerold.” Kermit replied, simply nodding at Daevar before rushing off to find his horse. Daeron came rushing up not long after, handing Lamentation to Daevar.

“I’ve got your helmet and mail already in the mule’s saddlebag.” He smiled proudly. 

Daevar smiled, patting his cousin on the shoulder. “Thank you, Daeron. Any chance we can get you on Tessarion for this?” He asked.

Daeron shook his head. “She’s not large enough to fly yet, but she will be soon.”

“We’ll have to make do then.”

“Alright, everyone, mount up!” Ser Corwyn called. He had already planned an assembly point with the Redforts. “Time to show Arnold Arryn what a true ruler of the Vale can muster!”

All the men – including Daevar, Kermit and Daeron – cheered as the gates of Runestone opened, allowing the knights and guardsmen of House Royce filed through. Daevar had one hand resting on the hilt of Lamentation as he joined the ranks.

This is it. My first taste of battle.

Staring at the enemy camp, it didn't seem highly organised from Daevar's point of view. There were few sentries on duty, yet no force ready to respond to any immediate danger. In fact, Arnold's men all seemed to be treating it fairly casually. With the loyalist army hidden behind hills a distance off, the element of surprise was clearly with them. The main commanders of their army had gathered to observe the encampment rather openly, all told.

Daevar grinned wolfishly at the visible lack of readiness. "If we attack straight away, we catch them off guard and wipe them out." He said excitedly. He was already encased in his mail and cuirass, ready for battle. Corwyn, on the horse beside him, shook his head. much as Daevar was eager to fight, that was not how things were done in the Vale. 

"We must adhere to the chivalric code, My Lord." Corwyn said. "We will call them out for a parley and ask Arnold to surrender." 

Knights of the Vale adhered to a strict code of chivalry at all times. Though an enemy and traitor, Arnold Arryn was also an anointed knight, and entitled to the privileges that rank afforded him, including a chance to surrender. Kermit however, couldn't understand it. "Daevar's right. Let's just hit them in force and be done with it."

Gerold sighed. "There is nothing any of us would enjoy more, but Corwyn is correct. Whatever else he is, Arnold is still a knight."

"One who has forsaken his oath by turning traitor." Lord Kevan Redfort said. "The lads are right. Traitors have no honour, so we should show them none."

"Which is why while Gerold and myself parley with Arnold, you will ready the host for battle." Corwyn said. Though social norms demanded that he offer Arnold the chance to surrender, he did not expect the man to take it. Daevar simply nodded; despite his disagreement, Corwyn was in command.

A rather simple plan had been concocted, though it was one that would undoubtedly work, given the rabble that Arnold's army was, according scouting reports. From what Daevar understood, lines of infantry would advance on the camp under the cover of archers, while the knights would sweep around the flanks and attack from behind. Daevar himself would be staying with Corwyn's command group, with Gerold and Kermit out with the infantry. He then turned to Daeron who was handing him his helmet.

"Daeron, you will stay with the baggage train." Daevar said, causing his shoulders to visibly sag.

"I want to fight with you, Daevar!” The boy protested. “Why can't-"

"Because you're still very young, and a prince of the blood. Not to mention your mother and father would likely have me murdered if anything happened to you." He said plainly, before putting a hand on Daeron’s shoulder. "I need you to do this for me. Just this once."

Though disappointed, Daeron nodded, rushing back to the baggage train as the army formed up under the watch of Lord Redfort and Ser Gerold. It was only a short while later that Corwyn and Gerold returned with the expected news: there would be no surrender. Daevar excitedly mounted his horse and awaited the order to advance.

When it came, the loyalists crested the hill to be confronted with a ragged force noticeably smaller than them. The disparity between the two armies was obvious; one was well-trained, well-equipped and motivated, while the other was lacking in arms, armour, loyalty and mostly out to further their own reputations as warriors. It was that last factor that would prove most decisive.

"Archers, at the ready!" Corwyn called out, and two wings of archers ran to the front of the infantry line, longbows at the ready. Daevar slipped his helmet on, leaving the visor open for now. He heard a few commands shouted out, and saw the arrows fly as the rebel bowmen were still taking up their positions. The result was even more devastating than he could've imagined; he saw several dozen men go down before the rebels even loosed a volley in reply. 

"We're crushing them already!" Kermit yelled triumphantly.

"Settle down, Kermit. The battle has not been properly joined yet." Gerold reminded him, though it was plain to see that Kermit was right. Arnold's archers were already breaking and fleeing the battlefield. Corwyn was of half a mind to simply pepper the rebels with arrows from afar, but the spectre of his own men being swept aside by horsemen put paid to that idea. 

"Gerold, get to your post with our footmen. We attack now." He ordered. Gerold nodded and motioned for Kermit to follow him to the infantry line below. Daevar was frustrated that he was being held back; he was just as good a warrior as anyone else here, so why was he being held back?

The infantry lines clashed. Once again, it was a mismatch in almost every regard, and the melee would be decided between who could hold out the longest. Corwyn, however, knowing how murderous they could be, made his move. Calling Lord Redfort up beside him, he prepared the cavalry attack.

"Lord Redfort, you will take the left wing, I'll take the right. We'll circle around the enemy line and attack from the rear." He said. He had already ordered the archers to halt their own attack to prevent the possibility of their own men being killed.

"And me, Ser Corwyn?" Daevar asked, piping up.

"You ride with me, lad." The knight smiled, signalling to his squire for two lances, who dutifully handed one to him and Daevar. Daevar had trained with lances at Runestone before, but it was different to feel the weapon in his hand. The pole of ash was tipped with a steel spike to drive through an opponent's armour, and was seemingly perfectly balanced.

With the knights formed into a wedge, Corwyn finally gave the order. "Charge!" He called out. The order was furthered on by warhorns and the same order being shouted by Lord Redfort.

Daevar levelled his lance and followed Corwyn into the fray. As planned, they circled around the infantry melee and flanked the enemy line before smashing into the rear. Daevar picked out his target; a man who was clearly giving orders to the rebels to turn their spears around to face the knights, but had exposed himself in the process. Daevar's lance crashed against the man's mail, splintered and broke. 

Now devoid of his lance, Daevar drew Lamentation, and the Valyrian steel flashed and turned in the midday sun as he brought the blade down on his enemies. This was what he had craved; the feeling of power as he slashed downwards at the throng of soldiers.

Corwyn could see Arnold's own heavy cavalry – what little he had – charging in on them. He called out an order to withdraw and prepare another charge; with the rebel line collapsing, one more concerted charge would rout them and force Arnold's surrender. Daevar heard him, but decided to ignore it. They were winning; why would they need to retreat?

With no other horsemen to cover him, Daevar was exposed, and at the worst possible time as Arnold's own horsemen it home. The lance struck his horse in the head, killing it instantly and sending Daevar tumbling to the ground. He drew his dagger, but knew it would be futile against a spear or axe coming down on his head or chest. He tried to grab up Lamentation, but in the chaos that surrounded him, the sword was trampled underfoot. The one bright side was that no one had identified him as an enemy just yet.

His luck didn't last, however. All he had time to see was one man draw his sword back for the killing blow. Of course, the rebel army might be falling apart, but he would still be able to take this lordling's head with him. That would make his name throughout Westeros; the killer of the Rogue Prince's son.

Or, he would have killed Daevar had fate not intervened. The collapsing line was making it difficult for him to swing his sword, and then he felt a blade slash up his back; his thin leather armour did little to stop the Valyrian blade of Lady Forlorn from slicing him apart.

Corwyn had timed his second charge not as well as he would have liked, but it didn't matter. The charge had broken the rebel army, and it wouldn't be long until Arnold himself was captured. There was little chance Jeyne would be as merciful to him this time.

A cheer went up from the loyalist soldiers, though Corwyn didn't join in. Spying Lamentation on the ground, he picked it up and marched up to Daevar. "Why in Seven Hells are you cheering?!" He demanded.

"Because… we won…?" Daevar said lamely. 

"You deliberately disobeyed me, and nearly got yourself killed!” He shouted, shoving Lamentation against Daevar's chest. "You're too fucking reckless in battle! You disobeyed me because you wanted to kill a few more soldiers! When I give you an order, YOU BLOODY WELL FOLLOW IT!" He shouted before storming off.

Daevar was left shaken. He couldn't even bring himself to cheer with Kermit.

As everyone gathered in the camp that night to celebrate their victory by pillaging what few valuables Arnold’s army had, Daevar sat alone, with nought but a cup and flagon of wine for company. The battle had been won and Arnold Arryn’s rebellion was broken; it had been a simple matter to find him afterwards and turn him over to Lady Jeyne, but Daevar was ruminating on what Corwyn had said.

Did he disobey an order? Yes, he did; he couldn’t deny it. Had he not helped to win it for them though? He was under the impression that he had fought hard and fought well despite the odds against him that brawl afterwards. Yet Corwyn’s first instinct had been to scold him for killing the enemy? It was frustrating, to say the very least; Corwyn was a man he respected as much as Gerold, and to find out he disapproved of Daevar’s actions cut a little. 

He took another drink as Gerold approached with Kermit in tow. “You alright there, Daevar?” Gerold asked, taking a seat next to him. “We won the battle. I had thought you would be celebrating with everyone else.”

“Maybe finding a nice girl for the night?” Kermit chuckled.

“I’m betrothed now, Kermit.” Daevar replied. “It’s just… Ser Corwyn’s angry at me for killing the enemy? How can it possibly be wrong to kill rebels?” He frowned.

“He’s not angry about how you fought lad; he’s angry that you didn’t listen to his orders.” Gerold said. “You did fight well; as well as any man would’ve in your situation. But you also were nearly killed because you left yourself exposed and without support.”

“My father made a run at the Crabfeeder’s army in the Stepstones by himself.” Daevar said .

“Your father also murdered your mother. Do you want to be like him?” Gerold shot back testily. Chastened, Daevar shook his head. “I understand you’re eager to prove yourself. You both are. But that will come with time. It is all well and good to be an accomplished fighter, lad, but to be overconfident to the point where you refuse to listen to men more experienced than you is the height of foolishness.”

“I suppose.” Daevar mumbled. Maybe Corwyn was right to be angry with him; he had nearly been killed after all, and forced Corwyn to take his own risk to keep him alive. “I just want to be like everyone else.”

“The first lesson a Knight of the Vale learns is to listen to those older and wiser than him, Daevar.” Gerold said. “Bear that in mind next time you go charging into a fight.”

“He does have a point, Daevar.” Kermit said. “You’re a good swordsman for our age, but neither of us have seen battle before.”

“Maybe.” Daevar said, a little louder this time. “What happens from here?”

“Well, Lady Jeyne will send word of this to King’s Landing first of all, then will likely have her forces start searching the lands for any of Arnold’s sympathisers that managed to slip through the net.” Gerold said, shaking his head. “My father was among them, I’m sad to say.”

“Gunthor?” Kermit asked. Gerold nodded.

“He never got over the fact that his brother, Yorbert, named Rhea heir over him. And to him, Daevar is still an outsider.”

“And an abomination.” Daevar added. “How many names is that now? The Half-Breed, the Abomination…”

“You’re also my friend.” Kermit said, throwing an arm around Daevar. 

“And the closest thing to a second son I’ve ever had.” Gerold said, standing up. “I should get back to Corwyn to discuss the search parties.” He nodded a farewell to the boys before heading off back to the middle of the camp.

“Hey, you did well today. Just… maybe a bit less impulsive.” Kermit said, prompting a laugh from Daevar.

“You’re going to lecture me about impulsiveness?” 

“I know more about it than you do.” Kermit grinned. Daevar just shook his head.

“Shut up, Kermit.” He chuckled. “You have a cup with you?”

“Of course.” Kermit said, holding one up. Daevar poured out the wine for him and topped up his own cup before the two clinked their cups together and drank.

With the battle over, Arnold’s forces broke and fled. They would be swiftly hunted down in the weeks that followed; the few who refused to surrender were killed on the spot. Arnold himself was taken to the Eyrie where Lady Jeyne, though enraged that Arnold had thrown her mercy back in her face, did not execute him. Instead, he was locked in a Sky Cell and kept there until his death; though his mind would break long before his body did.

His son Eldric was nowhere to be seen at the battle, and there is no record of where he was at the time.

This battle would actually serve to enhance my father’s reputation in the eyes of his peers, particularly the Princes Velaryon and Prince Aemond. Of course, it wasn’t long after that my father received news of Aegon and Nesaena’s wedding, which was to be held within the year.

Chapter Text

The wedding of Aegon and Nesaena Targaryen was a spectacle the realm had seen several times before. Granted, it was not as spectacular as the Golden Wedding, but this was still a marriage of two Targaryens at our family’s height of power. All of the realm was invited of course; every Lord and Lady from the Arbor to Last Hearth, though only a few from the North would attend. 

The Maesters have recorded this as a truly spectacular event, and mayhaps it was. All that is known for certain is that this is arguably where my father’s place in the war grew more apparent, as his allies and enemies became more clear. He had always told me that the matter of succession meant little to him, only restoring peace to the realm.

The morning of the wedding was hectic in King’s Landing. Servants had been rushing around at the last minute to try and organise the last elements of the wedding even as Alicent and Viserys saw to Nesaena and Aegon’s individual preparations for it.

Despite it being well-known that Nesaena was a sweet girl, she was far from stupid, and even a half-wit would have noticed Aegon leering constantly at the servant girls of the Red Keep. So, she had devised a plan to keep his interest; to prevent him straying from their bed once they had said the vows. She would drop hints here and there that she was attracted to him; after all, the way he looked at her made it clear where his own desires lay. While he wasn’t exactly the most desired lad in the seven realms, he was hardly the least, and Nesaena was ready to follow her mother’s example and do her duty; being queen of the Seven Kingdoms one day did not sound too miserable, either. This led to Nesaena asking him to court her properly, resulting in one incident where she had surprised Aegon in his chamber one day, mere weeks before the wedding.

“Brother,  I know you desire me.” She said that day, bringing her face so close they could practically feel the air coming from each other's noses. “It is not a well-kept secret… but I’m happy to know I can bring such a reaction out of you.” She smirked, pressing a kiss just below his ear as he gripped her waist. Taking advantage of the power she had, she moved her hands off him. “Not until our wedding night, Aegon.”

“Then… what am I to do?” Aegon asked. Normally when he wanted a girl, he could simply have her and damn the consequences, but it was very likely that their mother would have him punished to the fullest extent if he had tried anything of the sort.

“Seduce me, brother.” Nesaena whispered in his ear. “Romance me. Make me want you.” She pulled back. “Then on our wedding night…”

In a haze of lust, Aegon pulled Nesaena closer to him, kissing her hard. Though taken by surprise, Nesaena returned it, wrapping her arms around him, before pulling away after a few seconds with a smirk. “Not until our wedding night, brother.” She reminded him before pressing one last kiss to his neck before leaving. “And remember what I said. Romance me. A woman likes a strong king who can charm her.”

In the weeks since, Aegon had shown a surprising amount of restraint; spending long hours being  remarkably focused in his weapons training with Ser Criston. His skill with a sword, while likely never to be at the same level as Daevar’s - or even Aemond’s, for that matter - would be good enough to hold his own. In his eagerness to make himself seem like the best possible husband to Nesaena as he could be, he began focusing on improving himself. While he still found himself unable to resist the temptation of wine, he would stick to a single cup a day, eventually gaining a state of sobriety he hadn’t felt in years. Even the serving girls began to breathe a sigh of relief now that his attentions were now focused elsewhere.

Nesaena, in the meantime, kept up her act. Exhausting as it was, it would be necessary to keep him from straying. So, she would continue to pay visits to him when she knew he would be in his chambers, and each time would rile him up even more. Sometimes it was a comment laced with hints of desire, other times it was a glimpse of her legs or a kiss and whisper in his ear.

Inflame his passions, and he will never grow tired of you .

The turnaround was ridiculous. The Vale was still in a state of cleanup after Arnold’s rebellion when Daevar had boarded a ship for King’s Landing. Daeron was with him, of course, as were Kermit and Tessarion. The blue dragon was getting bigger with every day, and would soon be big enough to fly; Daeron could hardly wait for that day.

When they disembarked, they were greeted by all the signs of a Targaryen wedding. Dragon banners had been draped over every structure possible as performers and merchants of all sorts stood on every street corner, plying their trades as the guests walked past on their way to the Red Keep. Of course, the seat of the Targaryen kings would only have the very best in entertainment for their guests.

Daevar sighed as the group approached the Throne Room of the Red Keep where the ceremony was held. “Felt like just yesterday I was here, now I’m back again…”

“Mm. Must be terrible being at a wedding.” Kermit bantered, walking beside his friend. “Not nearly enough food, drink, or girls to possibly keep a man entertained.” He made a gesture with his head towards a particularly striking contortionist performing an impressive display, holding up her own weight on both hands, while spreading her legs in a near-perfect split, earning her the gazes of many patrons; the two boys included.

Daevar then shook his head, trying to keep any perverse thoughts from taking over. I’m still betrothed, dammit! He thought. He would not be like his father; he was dead certain on that. Averting his eyes, he cursed himself slightly. As much as he liked women, he wasn’t going to indulge in the sort of behaviour that had led his father to dishonour his mother and take enough lovers to empty the brothels of King’s Landing.

“Distracted by that remarkable woman, are you Daevar?” Kermit grinned. “She might spend some time with you later if you asked her nicely, I think.” He grinned as he continued, clearly enjoying Daevar’s displeasure.

“Shut up, Kermit. You’re not here to put sinful thoughts in my head.” Daevar replied, though he was still very pointedly not looking at the contortionist, though found his capacity weakening and the temptation growing.

“You know, I think you’ve lost your ability to have fun now that you’re betrothed.” Kermit teased.

Suddenly, the two heard a familiar voice call out, “Kermit.” causing the lad to nearly freeze on the spot. He turned around to see a man in his thirties approaching them. He wore a blue and red shoulder cape over a green leather jerkin, and a rather irate look in his blue eyes; his auburn hair only making him seem angrier.

Kermit audibly swallowed hard as the man approached them. “Father.” He said. “I wasn’t told you’d be coming.”

“With your great grandfather too old to leave the keep, I was to attend the royal wedding in his stead.” Kermit’s father then turned to Daevar with a nod. “Daevar. How do you fare?”

“Well enough, Ser Elmo.” Daevar replied, returning the nod. “How are things in Riverrun?”

“The Blackwoods and Brackens continue their feuding, with my house caught in the middle trying to sue for peace.” Elmo sighed. “There is simply no reasoning with either side. You’ll forgive me for being blunt, Lord Daevar, but I would wish to have a word with my son.”

“Of course, Ser Elmo.” Daevar turned to leave, leaving Kermit alone to face his father’s stern gaze.

“I trust you’re on your best behaviour in Runestone…” Elmo said, crossing his arms.

“Of course, father.” Kermit lied, silently hoping Gerold would omit some of his more ridiculous antics in his occasional letters to Elmo. Though the displeased look in Elmo’s eye said otherwise.

“Tell me, Kermit… have you been remembering to keep your dagger sharp?” 

“Of course, father.” Kermit replied, drawing his dagger and presenting it. “See for yourself.” Unfortunately, Elmo’s look remained unimpressed. Inspecting his dagger, Kermit ran a finger along the edge of his dagger and found that it remained blunt. For over a month at least.

“Just as I feared…” Elmo replied. “If this were a time of war, you would likely be flogged.”

“Right, but it’s not. So maybe we can just let it go?” Kermit smiled sheepishly at his father, though his glare said everything.

“Kermit… just how am I to expect you to become Lord of Riverrun one day, if you continue to neglect your duties? Has Gerold taught you nothing?”

“Of course not!” Kermit protested. “He’s taught me how to fight! I was there to help quell Arnold’s rebellion! You should’ve seen it!”

“Kermit, a lord has to be more than just a warrior. He has to be a leader, not a child. I have put a lot of trust in Gerold shaping you into what the Riverlands needs you to be. Do not make it all a waste.”

Kermit cleared his throat and nodded; he had had this talk more times than he could count, which was actually quite high compared to what others like Willam and Daevar would think. And while he wasn’t one to feel much in the way of shame, even he was not immune to a son’s natural yearning for his father’s approval. “Yes, father.” He said. “I… suppose we should see to the ceremony then?”

Elmo nodded, and the two of them headed inside, taking his position with his father a few rows behind the Targaryens and Hightowers, next to Lord Rickard Stark and his son, Cregan.

Truth be told, Daevar was not paying much attention during the ceremony as the words were said. Oh, he saw Viserys leading Nesaena up to the space in front of the Iron Throne where the High Septon and Aegon were standing, and Aegon himself looking like he was marrying the Maiden made flesh, but his focus was mainly on his father. The man seemed almost bored by the proceedings; as if he had something a million times better to do. It seems that for once, we agree on something. Daevar thought, feeling almost as squeamish at that realisation when he saw Aegon and Nesaena share a very deep, and uncomfortably heated kiss. Seven Hells, this bloody family...

As Daevar approached his table at the reception, to his contentment, would be sharing a table with Lady Jeyne Arryn. “Lady Jeyne.” He said, bowing his head as he had been accustomed to. However, Lady Jeyne did not greet him with her usual smile, but a rather hardened look.

“Daevar.” She said. “I was given a report on the battle against Arnold from Ser Corwyn. He said you broke the lines in an attempt to keep fighting.”

“My Lady, I-”

“You nearly got yourself killed, Daevar. I cannot have one of my bannermen so flagrantly violating orders.” She said. Truthfully, the fact that he could’ve been killed weighed on her more that the violation of orders, though she couldn’t let that on. “You need to start listening to those wiser than you.”

Chastened, Daevar just silently nodded. “I understand.”

“I hope you do.” She sighed. “Daevar, I only want to have you grow up safely. Your mother was a friend of mine, as was your grandfather. I don’t intend to dishonour their memory by letting you die.” 

“I… I understand, My Lady.”

“Good.” She smiled slightly. “Now go and enjoy yourself, Daevar. Weddings do not come that often.”

Daevar nodded and took his seat as the reception began. Music was starting of course, though not a sort they would play in the Vale. It was slower, more melodic than anything else. Daevar was not exactly knowledgeable about music, but at a guess, this was Valyrian; likely played only here, on Driftmark, and Claw Isle. Musing as he was, he failed to notice that Rhaena had approached him. “Lord Daevar, a pleasure to see you once more.” She said.

“Rhaena, there’s no need for formalities. I’m your brother; you may call me that.” Daevar smiled slightly.

“Alright then, brother.” She said, smiling back with a faint blush to her cheeks. “I… was going to ask if you wished to dance.”

Daevar’s smile faltered for a moment. “Much as it shames me to admit, I do not know how to dance to Valyrian music.” He said as Aegon and Nesaena began their Dragon Dance. It was an intricate dance that combined traditions from Valyria with that of Westeros, and had become the custom of newlywed couples where both partners were of that ancient Freehold.

“You never learned?”

Daevar shook his head, his brow furrowing a bit as he looked away. “I didn’t have father to teach me about Old Valyria like you and Baela did. Most of my lessons involved the history of the Vale, mostly.”

Rhaena smiled. “Well, it’s a good thing that they’re actually fairly easy to learn. I–”

“Hello, cousin.” Helaena said, approaching the two of them.

“Ah, Princess Helaena.” Lady Jeyne smiled, welcoming Helaena rather eagerly. “How do you fare?”

“Very well, Lady Jeyne.” Helaena replied, before turning to face Daevar. “I was hoping to ask you to dance. We are to be married soon, after all.”

“A capital idea, Princess.” Lady Jeyne nodded. “Lord Daevar will happily accept.”

“But I-” Daevar paused for a moment before shrugging his shoulders. “I suppose she has a point. “We had best get used to being together.” Daevar then turned and offered out his hand. “Very well, let us dance.”

“But Daevar…” Rhaena trailed off. 

“It’s fine, sister. Why don’t you ask Daeron for a dance? He could use a partner too, it seems.” Daevar said as he and Helaena moved off from the table and into the middle of the room.

As the music began, so did their dance. At first, it was fairly easy for Daevar to follow, a simple hop to the right, then back to where they started. Daevar stepped back with his left foot and bowed, while Helaena simply lifted her skirts with a curtsey. They then stepped forward, interlocking their arms and began to circle one another. Helaena’s gaze remained averted, while Daevar kept his eyes on her, trying to copy her every move; he was unfamiliar with the dragon dance. He hated to admit it, but he wasn’t familiar with many of the customs or cultures of House Targaryen, not that he had much of a care for them. He preferred the more energetic and folkish dances back in the Vale, with laughter and drinking and merriment. While there was a certain merriment to the song being played, it seemed to lack the spirit of the Vale that he found so intoxicating.

Focusing his attention back to Helaena, Daevar found himself surprised and impressed to see Helaena move with surprising confidence, not having to watch every step like he had to. “You seem to know what you're doing.” He said.

“I have done this dance before.” She replied. “Usually with Aemond.”

Daevar smirked. “Well, I think you do it very well. Better than me.”

To that, he saw Helaena smile. It was not a broad one, with her lips parting to show her teeth, but a small, rather shy one, the corners of her mouth curving upward into dimples. It wasn’t very often he saw his cousin smile like that, and he assumed that was because that he was at least trying to get this dance right. It was futile effort however; the hand movements were difficult to coordinate with his feet, and a stumble or two later, his unfamiliarity with it became apparent.

Daemon had turned away from the spectacle. He hadn’t made much of his own appearance there; he hadn’t wanted to dignify this filthy abomination of a Valyrian wedding with his own presence but Rhaenyra had insisted. His embarrassment at this had only been emphasised by his son’s complete lack of understanding of the Dragon Dance, and he had opted to stay at the back of the Throne Room to avoid anyone noticing.

Aegon, for his part, was suppressing a laugh as he and Nesaena moved to the edge of the crowd to watch. It seemed that for all of Daevar’s abilities and skills, dancing was not one of them. “So he can’t do everything after all.” He laughed. Nesaena was chuckling slightly at the display; maybe she had misjudged their cousin. Even Alicent, who smiled broadly at the sight of her daughter dancing with her betrothed, began to shift uncomfortably at the sight of her nephew making a spectacle of himself.

However, what seemed to be beyond notice to everyone was Aemond, who remained seated at his table, watching them intensely with his one good eye, the other now covered with a simple eyepatch. He watched the two of them dance, not saying a word, and not even bothering to touch his food.

Aware that his fumbling had become the attention of everyone in the room, Daevar felt a blush creeping up his cheeks. To make matters worse, he was embarrassing Helaena as well. Suddenly, he stopped his attempt at dancing and looked at Helaena. “Cousin, may we take a walk outside? I think I could use the fresh air.”

Though surprised, Helaena nodded. “Of course, Daevar.”

The two of them made their way through the gardens of King’s Landing, with the sounds of the tide mixing with the calls of birds, and the air thick with the smell of the sea. The two of them found it much easier to deal with than the stench of the city.

“I also wanted to extend my congratulations to you.” Helaena said, in an attempt to start a conversation. It wasn’t something she was inclined to do most of the time, but she felt it best to make some attempt with her cousin. After all, they were betrothed. “We heard that the war against Arnold Arryn was a success.”

Daevar, shook his head. “The credit goes to Ser Corwyn. He led the forces to drive him back, while also having to save me from being killed from my own recklessness. At least Arnold can rot in a sky cell for the rest of his life, the traitor.” Helaena nodded, not quite sure what to say next. Thankfully, Daevar was able to continue the conversation for her. “I’ve also spent these last few months thinking about things. Our betrothal, I mean.”

“Has your mind changed on the matter?” Helaena asked, a slight bit of anxiety washing over her. She herself had already made peace with the arrangement, and took solace knowing her husband would be him. But to marry some other lord she barely knew from lands farther from King’s Landing… that frightened her. Though there was always Aemond. She supposed he wouldn’t fare too badly either.

“No. If I ever was to marry within the family, I’d much rather it be you than either of my sisters.”

“Are they not to your liking?”

“No, it’s not that. They’re fine. It’s that they’re my sisters. I would rather leave that family tradition out of my life, that’s all. Doctrine of Exceptionalism be damned.”

Helaena was taken slightly aback at his eagerness to condemn their family traditions, but she supposed it was just something with his upbringing. After all, he had been raised in the Vale away from them; maybe that had led to his distaste for their traditions. “And you would be happier marrying me?”

“I said that, and I meant it.” Daevar replied. If it wasn’t Helaena, then it was going to be Alysanne Blackwood or some lady from the Vale. That was whom he had expected to marry when he was old enough; he had already met the younger sister of Willem Blackwood more than once in his lifetime. “I may not be the husband you had in mind, Helaena, but I will do what I can to make the marriage a strong one. I will preserve your honour, and protect you with my life.”

Helaena nodded, a small sense of relief replacing the earlier anxiety. At least he had promised to treat her well, and not just publicly for the benefit of her mother and father as many lords would have. “And I will give you many children of pure Valyrian blood, and strengthen the family line.” She said.

Daevar blinked at that, feeling a tad uneasy with such a declaration from his cousin. He wouldn’t be surprised if Queen Alicent had told her to say those words. In fact, he wouldn’t be surprised if Helaena dancing with him was her idea as well. “Well… yes.” Daevar cleared his throat. “The air is much clearer there than here, and I know that Daeron will be looking forward to having you around.” Daeron might have been fitting in well at Runestone, but having someone else from his family around could only make the situation better for him. “And there should be room in the caves for Dreamfyre. Tessarion does not take up too much space.”

“I can bring Dreamfyre with me?” Helaena asked, a smile spreading across her face at the thought of bringing along her dragon. The beast had been one of her closest friends since she had claimed her, and the idea of it was too good to simply ignore.

“Of course. I don’t think there’d be any way for her not to come with you. And-” He was cut off by Rhaenyra’s voice.

“Daevar, I am sorry to ask this, but may I have a moment of your time?” She asked. Of course, when the heir to the Iron Throne was asking for his time, Daevar couldn’t really ignore it. After signalling for two guardsmen to escort Helaena back to the reception, he resumed walking, but this time with Rhaenyra.

“What is it you wish to speak of, cousin? Your marriage to my father? You already know my opinion of the man.” He said curtly. Rhaenyra ignored the question.

“I wish to speak of Runestone.” She said. “I have only been to the Vale once. I was a child at the time and it was only a few days at the Eyrie. What I do remember of the place is the clear mountain air cleansing away all my worries for a few hours.” She smiled at the memory. “As it is, my family is connected to the Vale. My mother was an Arryn, so I have always felt a particular fondness for it.”

“Yes, the Vale is quite lovely, but I am certain you had other things you wished to discuss.” Daevar said, aware that there were intentions behind this conversation.

“Of course. I do not want my children to lose touch with their Vale heritage, and your father wishes for your sisters to meet you properly and spend some time together. I was going to ask if you would do us the honour of hosting them at Runestone for a time. No more than a moon’s turn. I would join them, but it would be unwise for me to travel much during this time.” Rhaenyra began to caress her stomach rather lovingly. “I’m with child, you see. Another sibling for you to meet in time.”

Daevar blinked at the news, before taking a minute to think things over. He had no qualms of hosting Baela and Rhaena, they were his half-sisters after all. Jace seemed fine for the most part, but he wasn’t so sure about Luke. He still remembered how he had cut out Aemond’s eye, and how Rhaenyra suggested having him tortured. He felt his fists tighten at the memory, almost refusing Rhaenyra’s request on the spot, but he couldn’t. She was still the designated heir, and he truly did wish to know his siblings better. “If I were to host them, I must know who will be coming with them. After all, I cannot have the kitchens stay unprepared, especially with the way Kermit eats…”

Rhaenyra laughed. “Very well. I’ll send a raven to Runestone a few days after you return there. Once that’s done, we’ll see about arranging a visit.”

That little arrangement was to only further the divide between my father and Aemond. The One-Eye would never forgive anyone who gave any sort of comfort to either Jacaerys or Lucerys, and to a lesser extent Baela and Rhaena. 

I suppose one cannot truly fault Aemond for despising them through his life. After all, one of them had taken his eye and then escaped without facing punishment; a pattern that would haunt our family throughout the reign of Viserys. That feeling of superiority simply because of who we are… I can see why my father despises it so much.

As my brother always said, just because Targaryens are the rulers of Westeros, we are not exempted from the law, or indeed the consequences of our actions. We are not separate from the rest of the country, but it was that very thinking that would be among the causes of the Dance.

Chapter Text

It was early in the new year when Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys, accompanied by princesses Baela and Rhaena and Lady Rhaenys, arrived in Runestone. Ostensibly, it was for the Princes to become more acquainted with their heritage in the Vale, and for the princesses to become more familiar with their brother. 

However, what Rhaenyra had missed was that the dynamics had already been established, particularly in regard to my father and Lucerys. The night that boy had slashed out Prince Aemond’s eye and escaped without consequence had likely made him a marked man in my father’s eyes. The two of them would never get along until the day Lucerys met his death.

127 AC

Arriving at Runestone hadn’t been the difficult part; there were several ports dotted along the coastline, and they found one that would take their ship easily enough. With the children’s dragons not yet old enough to ride, Rhaenys had resolved to travel with them on the ship. Meleys was of course unhappy about being left behind, but she had obeyed readily enough. 

A small party was waiting at the port for them as they stepped off the boat, with a tall, strapping young man standing with a group of several knights. The young man stepped forward, removing his helmet to reveal  “Lady Rhaenys, Princes, Princesses, I am Willam Royce, son of Ser Gerold.” He stood at attention and bowed his head. “Lord Daevar has commanded me to be your escort to the castle. Come, we have a wheelhouse ready for you.”

“I’ll ride, if it’s all the same to you.” Baela said, gesturing towards one of the horses. She was quickly followed by a murmur of agreement from Jace and Luke, while Rhaena stayed silent. She had been hoping that Daevar would be here to greet them, but she supposed he would be waiting for them at the castle itself. 

“I will as well.” Rhaenys said. “What of you, Rhaena?”

“I will take the wheelhouse, I believe.” She said quietly.

“I’ll go with you.” Luke said. Much as he had wanted to ride one of the horses, far be it from him not to be the gallant protector of a princess. 

“I’ll go and see if I can get some spare horses; it wouldn’t do for knights of Runestone to be on foot, after all.” Willam replied before heading over to a small stable. A few brief words, and the stablemaster agreed to release three horses, provided they were returned later. Really, the whole thing was done far too easily for there to be any genuine dislike by the smallfolk. With Jace, Rhaenys and Baela mounted, the party set off for Runestone.

It was nowhere as impressive as the Red Keep of course, but Jace was nonetheless impressed by the ancient building. He had brushed up on his Vale history while on the ship there, and knew all about how the Royces had led an alliance of First Men against the Arryns during the Andal invasions, until the death of Robar Royce II, that was. 

As they were waved through the gates, they could see two lads in the courtyard, one practising with a training dummy, and the other overseeing his training. One second glance, Rhaenys recognised the boy in-training as Daeron, while the one giving him pointers on proper form and strikes was unknown to her. He was just in the middle of showing him how to strike with the shield when Baela called out. "Cousin! How are you?"

Daeron immediately halted his training and removed his helmet, wiping his brow as he did so. "Princess Baela, good to see you again. You too, Lady Rhaenys.” He paused for a second when he saw Rhaenyra’s eldest son was with them. “Jacaerys." He said, rather bitterly with a glare, before Luke and Rhaena exited the wheelhouse. "Princess Rhaena, Lucerys. Welcome to Runestone."

Rhaena curtseyed. "A pleasure to be here, cousin. It is a lovely place."

"It does have a certain charm to it." The other boy said, stepping forward and bowing. "Kermit Tully, at your service."

"Ah, yes. Daevar’s friend.” Rhaenys smiled. “A pleasure to meet you. Daevar has spoken of you quite frequently."

Kermti grinned and raised both his hands in surrender. "I deny everything, My Lady." Kermit replied, earning a slight giggle from Baela and Rhaena.

“Where is our brother, Ser Kermit?” Jace asked. “We were expecting to see him here.”

“Daevar is currently dealing with business in the keep with Ser Gerold and Maester Barden. I believe he should be finished with his duties just around now, actually. Come, we can show you in.” Kermit and Daeron then set about removing their training armour and setting their drill swords on one of the racks. Once everything was in its place, the two led the group inside.

Daeron, for his part, had stayed silent as the group made their way through the ancient halls of Runestone, watching Jace like a hawk. The two of them were the same age, yet only one of them had enjoyed the attentions of Daeron's father, and it wasn't him. Then of course, there was the night that they had ambushed his brother and taken his eye without any sort of justice to follow it. The fact that his nephews were obvious bastards just made it even more outrageous in his eyes. Why in Seven Hells is he so favoured?! What makes him so special?!

Daeron’s constant vigilance over him did not go unnoticed by Jace, who in turn returned his dour look with one of his own. “Something on your mind, Daeron?” He asked, rather testily.

Daeron looked away, still holding his glower. “No. Not at all…”

As the group entered the Great Hall of Runestone, they saw that it was of a decent size; the walls were adorned with paintings of past Royce lords and leaders of centuries past, as well as various suits of armour, all decorated with elaborate patterns of runes and studs, and behind the Lord's chair, hung a large bronze shield on the wall, studded with hard black iron hung ominously. Almost as if it's a warning , Jace thought as he stood next to Baela. Across from him stood his uncle. Uncle… He's the same bloody age I am. It's absurd.

In the back of the hall, they saw a large table spread out before them, with Daevar seated in the middle of it. On his left sat Ser Gerold, looking as stern as ever, and at his right, an older man who semed to be pushing nearly fifty, with his brown hair showing signs of greying, and noticeable wrinkles forming around his eyes, with his expression nearly as focused as Gerold’s. He sat with both of his hands folded on his lap, with a book and quill pen sitting on the table in front of him, like he was ready to start writing at any given moment. Aside from the grey robes he wore, the man had a noticeable chain around his neck, signifying his place as a maester of the Citadel, with the chain decorated with links made of bronze, copper, silver and blackened iron. Before the table, with his back facing the party, stood a markedly less well-dressed man, with his simple linen hat in his hands.

“So you want to expand the potato crop?” Daevar asked the man, trying his best not to sound bored. Farming issues had never really been at the forefront of his mind all his life; it always seemed so… detached from the world he inhabited. However, Ser Gerold had insisted that he learn, so here he was.

“Yes, m’lord. With the blight now finished on them, expanding them out would increase our yield tenfold.” The farmer said.

“Is this true, Maester Barden?” Daevar asked the man on his right.

“Tenfold is a bit optimistic, but it would give us a much needed yield in the coming years.” Barden replied. “And that section of land is something we rarely use. I don’t see much of a problem.”

“I do.” Ser Gerold said, speaking up, before turning to address the farmer. “The land you’ve designated to move your farmland into has already been marked for winter shelters. Some of the homes around here are in poor shape, and it would be best to have people wait out winter closer to the castle, where we can help them more easily.”

“That’s why this would be the best place to grow potatoes, Ser Gerold!” The farmer insisted. “They’re a hardy crop, and will grow in any season. Store ’em away for the winter; you’ll see!”

“I’ve heard enough.” Daevar said, raising a hand, causing everyone present to become silent. “You are right… potatoes can be grown in any weather, and it is true that our food stores could always be larger. At the same time, Ser Gerold has a good point about the winter shelters as well; our Locator has already designated the area for that purpose. Here’s what will happen: you will receive half the land to farm, and in exchange, you will provide… half the yield to the castle’s stores. Agreed?”

“You are a most wise and generous ruler, Lord Royce.” The farmer bowed and left as the three were finally able to turn their attention to the new arrivals. 

“Apologies for that; the business of ruling waits for no man.” Daevar said.

“Or any boys, for that matter.” Barden muttered. Daevar pretended not to hear him.

“You must be very hungry after such a long journey, so I have ordered food and drink prepared for your arrival.” He said as two servants, almost on cue, ran off to alert the kitchen. 

“I must extend my apologies, but I cannot join you.” Ser Gerold said as everyone sat down. “I was unable to complete a full inventory of our armoury thanks to that farmer.”

“You have my apologies as well.” Barden added. “I must inform the Locator of the change of plans.”

With a bow, the two men left the Hall as the servants hurried in. As everyone seated themselves, one servant was busying himself by bringing out bread and salt for the guests, while others were setting out trenchers loaded with trout and crispy bacon, and still more followed out with wine. "It might not be quite what you're used to." Kermit said as he sat next to Daeron.

"I'm sure it will be fine, Daevar." Rhaenys smiled as she dipped a chunk of bread in the salt. "Thank you for welcoming us into your home. You’re already starting to look the part of a Vale Lord."

"I welcome you all here in the tradition of guest right. As seriously as it is taken elsewhere in Westeros, it is sacred to the First Men." He said, patting his cuirass gently.

"Why is it made of bronze, brother?" Baela asked.

"The armour? The runes keep whoever wears it impervious from harm. And you might have noticed that bronze is very much the colour of choice here." He said.

Rhaena giggled slightly. Was her behaviour affected slightly? A little, but her curiosity was piqued as well. "Was it worn by Robar?" She asked. She and Baela had heard the stories of Robar Royce II's heroic resistance to the Andals growing up in Pentos from their mother.

"No. There's a design that our smiths keep to when forging them. Most of the cuirasses have been lost in battle over the years." Daevar explained. "As it is, I'll likely have to have a new one made when I've finished growing."

"I'm sure it will be strong armour, cousin." Daeron said, looking pointedly at Jace and Luke. Of course, the brown-haired lads could not let something like this stand.

"Say that again, I dare you!" Jace exclaimed, jabbing his knife in Daeron's direction.

The boy smugly sipped at the watered-down wine in his cup. "I didn't say anything." Daeron answered innocently. "We're not in King's Landing right now. You don't hold away here; my cousin does."

"And he's my brother!" Jace shot back.

“And he’ll be mine by marriage soon enough, too!”

"Both of you, calm down!" Rhaenys snapped.

"She has the right to it." Daevar added. "Keep it to yourselves."

"It's not my fault his father doesn't care for him." Jace muttered, just loud enough for Daeron to hear. Daeron's face went red, and he stabbed the table with his own knife.

"You dare speak to me like that, bas-"

"Daeron!" Daevar snapped.

"Please, listen to Daevar." Rhaena said, though she was being drowned out by the two boys who seemed ready to come to blows right there at the table.

"Finish that sentence, Daeron!" Jace shouted at his uncle.

" ENOUGH !" Daevar yelled, slamming his hands on the table and rising from his seat. “Stand down! Both of you!” Instantly, the two boys became chastened as they turned towards Daevar, seemingly shrinking in their seats. "Now there is no love lost between the two of you, and as much as I understand it, I consider it a shame. Nonetheless, you both have too much energy to be here, so the two of you will spar in the courtyard."

Daeron smiled. He had been undergoing combat training from Daevar for some time now, and knew how to fight. "With steel?" He asked. Daevar shook his head. "But-"

"You want to behave like children, you get treated like children." Daevar said. "Wooden swords only."

"Suits me." Jace replied.

"It would." Daeron growled.

"Save it for the square." Daevar said, standing up. "What are you waiting for? We're going now."

They were ready to go moments later, wearing helmets, cuirasses, gauntlets and gambesons. Daevar had insisted they be properly armoured for the fight; they may only have been using wooden swords, but he could tell from experience that getting smacked on the hand with hardwood stung. “Be honest when you call the hits. If your opponent has managed to land one, then call it out, and if I think you’re not being honest with me, I’ll call it. First to five hits wins. Salute!” He called out. Jace and Daeron tapped the swords on their helmets and took up a fighting stance. They both seemed practised, but Daeron also looked more relaxed. “Begin!”

This wasn’t as much of a mismatch as Aegon and Daevar’s spar the previous year; Jace and Daeron were far closer in skill than they were. The two of them traded some light blows, likely probing the other for weaknesses. Jace felt tempted to simply charge in with a thrust and slash, but knew that Daeron would probably be expecting a rapid attack, so he fought all of his natural instincts to stay in his stance and wait for a chance to parry. Daeron was mostly pursuing the same technique; wait for his opponent to strike hard and then parry for a counterattack.

Everyone had gone silent, watching for the slightest sign of movement from the two boys. Luke had turned to speak to Rhaena, only to see that she had left his side to stand by Daevar, nervously asking him if this was such a good idea, and him gently reassuring her that things would be fine. Luke scowled, he wasn’t exactly fond of the fact that Rhaena seemed to find any excuse to position herself at her brother’s side. He was already betrothed after all.

Daevar noticed Luke’s scowl and returned it with his own, after all, he didn’t have as high an opinion of him as he did for Jace. After all, he was the one who took Aemond’s eye without even having the nerve to apologise. How difficult could it be? How difficult can HE be…? He thought, before turning back to the fight.

Jace made his move, attempting a slash at Daeron’s head, but he made the mistake of reaching too far. Daeron knocked his blade aside and smacked Jace on the head with his own. Already realising his mistake, Jace tapped his head to indicate where it had landed. 

Seconds later, Daeron attempted his own attack trying to feint with a thrust before moving into a slash with the back edge. Jace however sidestepped the entire manoeuvre, and was able to land a strike on Daeron’s shoulder. Frustrated, Daeron called out the strike and tapped his shoulder.

This pattern continued for a while, with the two seeming evenly matched as they traded strikes and parries for what felt like an eternity to the spectators. By now, a crowd was beginning to gather; several of the castle servants had stopped to watch, and with no one ordering them to move along, they figured they had some spare time on their hands.

With the two tied at four strikes to four, and seemingly locked in a stalemate now that they had figured each other out, Daeron decided he had to do something to end the fight. Looking at Jace’s stanced, he remembered what Daevar had said to him once. The blade is not the only part of the sword…

Jace dove in for another attack. What he had not been expecting was for Daeron to duck out of the way of the strike, grab his own sword by the blade, and use the crossguard to sweep his left leg out from underneath him. Jace thudded to the ground, and seconds later, he felt Daeron’s sword whack him on the breastplate. “I win!” Daeron cheered, removing his helmet and grinning broadly. Furious, Jace stood up.

“You cheated!” He shouted. “Daevar, you saw that! He cheated!”

“Hardly. I won because I’m better than you.” Daeron replied, completely unrepentant. 

“You cheated! No real surprise from a Hightower though!” Jace yelled. Daeron growled and advanced on him, sword raised high, ready to crack Jace’s skull, only to feel his wrist be grabbed and pulled back. He looked to see Daevar had entered the ring.

“That’s enough!” Daevar demanded. “It’s sorted.” He let go of Daeron’s wrist before helping Jace get up to his feet. “Daeron won, and he won because he learnt that there is more to a sword than just the blade. At the same time, it was an underhanded move, and not one I can countenance in a duel like this. You both fought with skill worthy of warriors, but at the end of the day, you are both still acting like boys. If that is how you wish to act, then do not expect to join the ranks of the realm’s warriors anytime soon.”

Suitably chastised, Jace and Daeron mumbled apologies to each other before heading back to the armoury to remove their equipment. Upon joining Rhaenys’s side.

“You handled the situation well, Daevar,” Rhaenys said with a smile, “Keeping the two boys in line.”

Daevar sighed and dropped his head into his hands. “More alike than anyone else in this family… yet they hate each other more than Luke and Aemond.”

“I’m not sure that’s possible.” Rhaenys said, rather ruefully. “It is one of the great paradoxes of this world that the ones with the most in common will often dislike each other the most.”

Daevar sighed once again. “I’ll try to remember that, Rhaenys.”

The rivalry between Jacaerys and Daeron was not exactly a secret; though as my father is fond of saying, the fact that they could never bring themselves to work with each other is a true shame. My aunts Baela and Rhaena likewise agree that the two of them were probably the most noble of each other’s families. They both possessed skill at arms, impeccable personal honour, and have always been held in high regard by the common people.

This remains one of the greatest tragedies of the Dance. Those who should have been working together came to the most frequent blows.

Chapter Text

My parents’ wedding was not a royal wedding in the classical sense, but describing it as anything else would be pure folly. Queen Alicent, who as the records indicate had largely taken charge of the plans for the wedding, had dipped significantly into the coffers of both the Iron Throne and the Hightower to pay for the wedding, and the presence of the Lords Paramount, or at least representatives of them, had been requested.

It must have been a joyous occasion to say the least. Though, one thing we do know is that not all of the people there would have been happy at the wedding. Least of all my uncle Aemond…

128 AC

The journey to King’s Landing was tedious to say the least.  They’d been at sea for nearly a week, with Daevar growing increasingly tired of travelling by ship; there was very little to do to keep himself occupied outside of training below deck with Kermit and Daeron, and that was only if the three of them weren’t feeling too seasick. At the moment, he was currently in his cabin, fast asleep after what felt like hours of tossing and turning; the constant rocking of the ship made it quite difficult for one to sleep.

It had not felt very long since he had finally managed to  the night before that Daevar felt his rest being disturbed by a stern voice. “Wake up, My Lord. You have a wedding to attend in King’s Landing. Or have you forgotten?” Daevar opened his sleep-encrusted eyes to see Gerold Royce standing over him with his arms crossed. By his side was Julia, who had insisted on joining them to make sure everything was going to plan. Both of them were dressed in their finest attire, with the colours of House Royce incorporated one way or another. With Gerold, he wore a finely polished, ornate chestplate decorated with the runic markings of the First Men, while Julia had her dress embroidered with small buttons made of bronze, each carved with a different runic icon.

Daevar groaned, turning over in his bed. With his back facing Runestone’s Master-of-Arms, he mumbled, “Sleep now… wedding later…” as he began to drift off once more.

Julia, however, was having none of it. “I think not.” She said, marching right up to the window and pulling apart the curtains. Almost instantly, the cabin was flooded with sunlight, shining directly into Daevar’s face. He let out a yelp at the sudden flash of light, falling out of his bed and landing right onto the wooden deck. “Now get up.” Julia instructed. “It will reflect poorly on you to present yourself like that on your wedding day.”

Daevar, now on the floor yet still not quite awake, sat up and rubbed his face. “Ser Gerold… I remove you as Master-at-Arms at Runestone…” He managed to mutter out.

“I’d be more ready to heed my lord’s order when he has a Lady by his side.” Gerold replied, a small hint of amusement in his voice. “In the meantime, I strongly suggest you prepare yourself.” Having said his last piece, Gerold and Julia left the cabin, to give Daevar his privacy.

Daevar sighed, hauling himself up to his feet and disrobing. As he dressed himself with his formal clothing – consisting of a plain white tunic, a pair of brown trousers, and black cuffed boots – he couldn’t help but wonder what else had happened within the Red Keep during his absence, or if Helaena had changed much. Just as he was pulling on his tunic, he heard a knock on his cabin door. “Enter.” He said.

The door opened, allowing Kermit to enter the cabin carrying the final pieces of Daevar’s vestments. He was currently dressed in the best clothes he had, consisting of a deep blue tunic with the trout of House Tully stitched into the front, a red cloak that hung loosely off his shoulders, as well as a standard pair of trousers and finely polished boots. Attached to his cloak was a bronze talisman, carved with a series of runes, likely at Gerold’s behest to represent House Royce. It was rather astounding to see the Tully lad dressed so well so early in the morning. Most likely thanks to Gerold being present at the moment. “You look like you slept well, Lord Royce.” Kermit said, rather playfully, placing the items down as he noticed his friend’s bedraggled hair and the circles under his eyes.

“Kermit…” Daevar warned.

“‘Shut up’, I know.” Kermit muttered.

“You’re catching on.” Daevar smirked, as he began to dress himself in the more finer articles of his wardrobe. Kermit then stepped forward, helping Daevar don his cuirass. “Has it been polished?” Daevar asked, noting the slight gleam that it had been lacking a few fortnights ago.

Kermit hummed in confirmation. “Daeron stayed up late polishing it last night. He’s still getting dressed in his own cabin. Probably wants to get off this boat as soon as possible.” Once his cuirass was finally Daevar then took a chance to peer out the cabin window to see the docks were now in view.

In her chamber of the Red Keep, Helaena slept peacefully, enjoying the sensation of her silken sheets and softened pillows. “Helaena…” She heard a voice say. “Helaena… wake up…” The sudden shaking of her pillow woke Helaena from what would have been an undisturbed and uninteresting sleep; She had dreamt of nothing that night, and for once felt comforted by it.

Helaena stirred, slowly opening her eyes to see that her mother was standing beside her bed. She was already dressed in one of her finest green dresses that clung to her body tightly, leaving her shoulders exposed and with the bodice tied in a way that one could still see the slight valley of skin between her breasts. Her brown hair was immaculate, tied in a series of braids that were made into a bun on the crown of her head. Once she saw that her daughter was awake, she turned to the nearest curtain, opening it to let the light of the sun fill the room.

“Today is the day, Helaena.”

“Mhm.” Helaena replied, sitting up and stretching the sleep from her neck and shoulders with a sharp inhale.

“Your wedding day. To Daevar.” Alicent smiled at the thought. Ever since the marriage of Aegon and Nesaena, Alicent had been eagerly awaiting the day to see her second daughter be wed to the new Lord of Runestone. Daevar was in many ways, a fine prospective husband. Handsome, charming, commanding respect, and a fine warrior. “The handmaidens have already prepared a bath for you.”

Helaena entered the room, still in her shift, to see three handmaidens, who all curtsied as soon as Helaena entered. The water was still quite warm, slightly scalding her skin as Helaena removed her shift, leaving herself naked as she entered the tub. Almost immediately, the handmaidens began to empty small basins of water onto Helaena’s head, soaking her hair. Helaena inhaled deeply, pushing her hair back and out of her face, only to see another handmaiden was already offering her a bar of lye soap. Helaena took the soap with a small “thank you” as she began to scrub her body with it. Normally, it would be the handmaid's job to wash a princess, but given Helaena’s aversion to being touched, she was allowed the dignity of washing herself. She would be left alone for this part, but this time her mother had stayed by the side of the tub, paying extra attention to where her daughter had touched herself with the soap, and where she had not. Nesaena was there too at Alicent’s behest to support her sister, but she mostly sat in the corner of the room, preferring not to be seen and helping herself to wine and grapes.

“Remember, it is important that you do not miss a single spot.” Alicent reminded her. “Everything must be perfect today.”

“Yes, mother,” Helaena replied.

“Do you understand what is expected of you?” Alicent asked.

“I am to be Daevar’s wife.”

Alicent sighed. “Yes, Helaena, but what is expected of his wife?” She quizzed.

“To strengthen the crown’s ties to the Vale.”

“More than that. You are to treat his injuries when he is wounded, rule in his seat when he is occupied, and to continue the family line. Remember, your children will be of pure Targaryen blood.” And the grandchildren of the Rogue Prince, as well, she thought. As much as Alicent knew he was nothing like his father, the thought of sharing grandchildren with him frightened her to no end.

“And don’t forget, sister…” Nesaena finally said, putting her chalice down and joining her mother on the other side of the tub. “You must also allow him to take his pleasure from you. Whenever he wishes.”

Alicent gave Nesaena a disapproving look, before speaking more gently with Helaena. “It is another duty we share as wives, Helaena. But if you try… you can find some pleasure in it.”

Helaena hesitated for a minute, stopping everything at the thought of having to lay with her soon-to-be husband at his every request, before simply accepting it as the way of things. “Yes, mother.” Was all she could say.

Alicent nodded. “Now finish up. We have your dress prepared for you. And you’ll need to have your hair dried and dressed as well for your cousin’s arrival.”

Helaena nodded, continuing to wash herself. Once she was certain she had left every part of her body spotless, she stepped out of the tub and was immediately dried by two handmaidens, who then let Helaena wrap the towel around her body to keep herself decent. With that out of the way, Alicent then called for Helaena’s wedding dress to be brought forward. “Nesaena, help your sister with the dress. I must greet our guests.”

Nesaena sighed, but ultimately agreed as Alicent left the room. Meanwhile, Helaena found herself distracted by the fine craftsmanship of the dress she would wear for her wedding. “It's beautiful…” she marvelled, running her fingers along the material. “And so soft.”

Nesaena hummed in agreement, as she began to loosen the ties and began to assist her sister in getting dressed. “Indeed, sister. Mother invited ten of the finest dressmakers from the Reach to make this for you. Our cousin would have to be a blind eunuch to not be taken by you. Just be prepared for what’s to come. You’ll have your own wifely duties by the time the day is done.” Nesaena almost shuddered at the thought, not for her sister, but for the memories of her own marriage to Aegon.

It had been nearly a year ago that she gave birth to the twins: Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. It was a difficult and arduous affair, she was only fourteen afterall, even younger than her own mother was when she had Aegon. Yet throughout the whole ordeal, Aegon was nowhere to be seen, instead sleeping in his chamber, nursing the latest of his many hangovers. While her father had barely taken notice of the twins, the fact Aegon did not even have the nerve to be present for the birth of his children, instead meeting them the morning after, cut her deeply. Though she took some solace in seeing Helaena take an immediate interest in the twins, even asking to hold one of them shortly after the birth. As unpleasant as the experience was for Nesaena, it was… uplifting to see her sister interact with her children. She would make a fine mother when the time came.

As soon as he had disembarked from their ship, Daevar was already faced by the sight of banners being hung, depicting the red three headed dragon of House Targaryen over a black field, as well as the studded, runic shield of House Royce. It had been nearly two years since Aegon and Nesaena’s wedding, yet the stink of the city roasting under the hot sun felt as familiar as yesterday. It didn’t help that the sun was already starting to have its own effect on him, as he was already beginning to perspire under all his armour. The journey to the Red Keep was short, thankfully enough, though they were met almost immediately upon their entry by another boy, with the same auburn hair and blue eyes as Kermit.

“Well met, Lord Royce.” He smiled as they entered the gates.

“To you as well, Oscar.” Daevar said as Kermit walked past him to embrace his brother. Oscar Tully was two years younger than Kermit, and had been spending more time around Riverrun with their father than anything else. It was likely that he would be arranged as a squire to someone soon, and he would begin his climb up the ladder.

“Hello, brother.” Kermit smiled. “How fares father and grandfather?”

Oscar sighed and shook his head. “Grandfather is not so well these days; he rarely leaves the main keep these days. Father has taken on most of the lord’s responsibilities, as well as caring for him.”

“I thought as much.” Kermit replied. “Grandfather was never entirely there to begin with.”

“No, he was not.” Oscar said. “I  also met with Alysanne Blackwood before leaving.” He added, earning both Daevar and Kermit’s attention. “She wanted to extend her own congratulations to you, Daevar, and was sorry that she couldn’t make it to the event.”

“A pity.” Daevar replied. “I would’ve liked to see her again.”

“Did Aly say anything about me…?” Kermit coaxed, rather optimistically.

Oscar snorted. “Only that you’re a twat.”

Kermit sighed dreamily, playfully leaning against Daevar. “She’s still thinking about me, Daevar…”

Daevar tried his best to suppress his chuckle and cleared his throat. “Let’s just get a move on. If Oscar’s here, we might be running late.” The Tully brothers both nodded, as the three of them headed off in the direction of the Great Hall.

Upon entering, they saw Viserys seated on the Iron Throne, surrounded by his advisors. At present, they consisted of Otto, Jasper Wylde, and Corlys. The group seemed deep in conversation, whether about the funds needed for the wedding, or matters beyond the court, they did not know. Eventually, Viserys managed to see through a gap between his small council and raised his hand. “I have heard enough of those matters; our wedding guests have arrived.” Viserys said, rising from the Iron Throne and approaching the group. “Daevar, my boy. You’ve grown.” He said, throwing his one good arm around Daevar into a warm embrace. “Tell me, how are things in Runestone, Lord Royce?” He asked, once he pulled away.

“As good as can be, Your Grace.” Daevar replied, bowing his head.

“I am glad to hear it.” Viserys replied. “I see you’ve already prepared well.” He said, nodding approvingly at his cuirass. “It might almost catch the light in here.”

“Your son’s work, Your Grace. Daeron has been a wonderful squire.” Daevar said. He purposely neglected to tell Viserys about the tensions between Daeron and Jace, but somehow he doubted it would get the King’s interest; all he responded with was a hum. “Your Grace, may I introduce Kermit and Oscar Tully, sons of Ser Elmo.” Daevar gestured to his friends.

“Ah yes, your father said you two would be representing House Tully today.” Viserys replied. “Let me welcome you to King’s Landing.”

“A pleasure, Your Grace.” Kermit said, for once remembering to keep his niceties about him. “Our father must unfortunately care for our great grandfather and rule the Riverlands in his stead.”

“Yes, I have heard that Lord Grover is not a well man these days.” Viserys said. “No matter, we will proceed without him.” He turned back to Daevar. “Your Bride is making her final preparations as we speak, and the Steward is beginning to gather the guests for the ceremony.” He said. The three took that as their cue to ready themselves for it as Viserys headed out to find his daughter. Kermit and Oscar headed down to the floor of the Throne Room as the guests began to move in. Daevar started worrying. Was he late for the whole thing?

His worries were dispensed a moment later as the guests continued filing in; if he was late, so were they. The first row had been reserved for the Lords Paramount and their families of course, as well as the members of the Small Council. Daevar could see that Lord Cregan Stark looked distinctly out of place among the crowd; their simplicity marked them out in a way that he could see made them uncomfortable.

Having recently obtained twenty years, Cregan was already taller than most of the men present with a warrior’s physique, while also sporting locks of the darkest black, and the classic grey eyes of House Stark. There was a brief moment where he and Daevar made eye contact, with Cregan simply giving him a silent nod of respect; a gesture Daevar himself returned. It was of little doubt Cregan would make a fine warrior if war ever came to Westeros, or if the Wildlings tried to breach the Wall.

Not far from him were Kermit and Oscar, both smiling broadly at their friend, while Lady Jeyne stood beside Lady Jessamyn as always, smiling herself and having to dry her eyes with a small handkerchief. He also couldn’t help but notice a bronze necklace around her neck. He remembered Lady Jeyne wearing that quite frequently; she had told him it was a gift from his grandfather, Yorbert Royce, when he served as her regent. All these years, and she still wears it . He thought. In the row behind them, was Gerold and Julia. Julia smiled happily, both of her hands clasped in front of her, while Gerold’s smile was more reserved, yet still gave enough of an impression that for the moment, he was happy.

The last of the guests took their spots, followed by the High Septon as he approached the Iron Throne. Queen Alicent was standing next to the Iron Throne, of course, and it would be where Viserys sat after giving Helaena away. Alicent had made the decision to observe the whole thing as keenly as possible; if Daevar was as taken with Helaena as she hoped, then it might be a chance to steer him towards their side. As the High Septon began reading aloud from the Seven-Pointed Star , Alicent fought the temptation to roll her eyes. She was getting images of her own wedding to Viserys, though the man had yet to show her any real affection. As the Septon finished reading, he called for the bride to enter.

The second he laid eyes on her, Daevar felt his jaw drop slightly, with his eyes wide open in disbelief.

The dress was simple, but at the same time, there was a certain elegance in it. It was the cleanest sheen of white, of course, though also trimmed with green, and her dragon Dreamfyre, stitched onto the skirts with a pale blue. The ties at the front had been done in a bronze thread to symbolise the house she was joining, and the sleeves went almost all the way to her waist, with a Targaryen cloak hanging over her. On her head was a white hood, her mother's choice of course; they very much wanted to symbolise Helaena's purity. When Daevar got a good enough look at her face, he saw that her eyes still remained a lovely shade of lilac, and her silvery hair was combed and straightened, with part of it tied into a beautiful braid that began at the back of her ears, and went up to meet at the crown of her head. Her skin remained pale, yet seemingly smooth as silk, with virtually every feature on her slim face seemingly in the perfect place.

To many in that moment, she seemed like everything a lady should be: pure, untouched, and innocent. But to Daevar, she was a vision; almost like the Maiden had come to him in the flesh.  He had no recollection of his cousin ever looking so beautiful.

As Viserys continued to escort Helaena towards Daevar and the septon, it became increasingly obvious that it was getting more difficult for him to walk without his cane, as every step seemed to drain more of his strength. At one point, he nearly stumbled, but was saved any major embarrassment by Helaena holding onto him until he regained his footing. Viserys muttered a quiet thanks, as he finished the walk to the Septon; passing by Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jacerys, Lucerys, Baela and Rhaena on one side, and Otto, Aegon, Aemond, Nesaena and Daeron on the other, before finally taking his seat on the Iron Throne, with a small sigh of relief.

Daevar struggled to find the right words to say, but all that could come out was a soft, “H-Helaena…?”

“Daevar.” She said plainly, bowing her head slightly. “It’s good to see you again.” When she stood upright, she took a minute to take in her betrothed’s appearance.

As was typical of him as the Lord of Runestone, he wore his usual bronze cuirass, engraved with the runic charms of the First Men. But this time, it had been polished vigorously to the point of it seeming like it had been purchased straight out of the smithy, shining bright enough to catch the light, and Lamentation was still strapped to the left side of his belt. Strapped to his shoulders was a large cloak, stitched and embroidered with the shield of House Royce, surrounded by various runes that had nearly lost their meaning to time. At ten-and-six years old, Daevar stood only a fraction taller than her, with his face as cleanly shaven as his father, and his hair nearly as short as the last time she had seen him. He looked every part the high lord he was, well-postured,  well-groomed, and handsome.

Very handsome… Nesaena thought, as her gaze was mostly fixed on Daevar. She took a moment to look back at Aegon, who simply stood by her side with a bored and uninterested look on his face, looking like he just wanted everything to be over. All of sudden, Nesaena felt a pang of jealousy building up in her stomach. Nesaena then sighed and turned her attention back to the ceremony. If only I had been born second…

“You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” The Septon said.

Daevar unfastened the Targaryen cloak around Helaena’s shoulders and handed it off to Alicent, who folded it up neatly in her arms, before undoing the Royce cloak around his shoulders and placing it over Helaena’s. It was the symbology of course; she was joining House Royce now, even if she was still a Targaryen by birth. The two of them joined hands, and turned to face the Septon, with Helaena’s gaze slightly downturned, she always had a difficulty in meeting another’s gaze. Especially when they were a stranger.

“My Lords and Ladies, we stand here in the sight of Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife.” The Septon stepped forward, producing a ribbon of silk and tying it around their hands. “Let it be known that Daevar of the House Royce and Targaryen and Helaena of the House Targaryen are one heart, one flesh, one soul. Cursed be he who would tear them asunder.” Rhaena watched as tears began to pool in her eyes, the sides of her mouth curving downward. Meanwhile, Aemond continued to watch with increased intensity, unable to take his eye off of Helaena. The Septon untied the ribbon. “In the sight of the Seven, I seal this union for all eternity. Look upon each other and say the words.”

Daevar sucked in a breath and recited the words from memory. “Father. Mother. Maiden. Smith. Warrior. Crone. Stranger. I am hers and she is mine, from this day until my last day.”

Helaena spoke simultaneously. “Father. Mother. Maiden. Smith. Warrior. Crone. Stranger. I am his and he is mine, from this day until my last day.”

“With this kiss, I pledge my love.” Daevar announced. He then saw Helaena close her eyes, yet her lips remained neutral, not pursued to form a pucker. He knew that it was customary for the groom to kiss the bride squarely on the lips, but the way Helaena’s eyebrows knit together showed how truly nervous she was of this whole affair; the poor girl looked like she was almost on the verge of tears, which settled the decision for him.

He exhaled through his nose, before leaning forward and gently planted a kiss on her cheek. Helaena’s eyes opened almost immediately, clearly caught off guard by his approach as her cheeks turned a bright pink. Eventually though, she seemed to regain her composure and nodded.

A few of the guests gasped at the sight, even Otto was left at a loss for words. He had done everything according to plan — to paint Helaena as the most virtuous and pure of virgins — yet all Daevar had to show for it was a simple kiss on the cheek. He had expected a man like Daemon to be eager to deflower such a maiden; he did not count on Daevar being nothing like him. The silence was then broken by Alicent, who began to applaud, with the entire crowd following suit. 

Joined for life, Daevar thought, as he turned to face the applause. I’ll do right by her, or at least I’ll try.

Amongst the crowd, he failed to notice that the only one not clapping was Aemond.

With that, my mother and father were joined for eternity. My father kissing my mother’s cheek would cause something of a minor scandal in the weeks to come, but it was forgotten about quickly enough. My mother has always said it was an example of my father gentleness towards her; a gentleness that would be something of a recurring theme in their marriage.

With the benefit of hindsight, we can perhaps see that not all was well at this wedding. My father and uncle’s growing alienation aside, I still believe that we cannot ignore the possibility of my aunt Rhaena potentially having feelings for my father. I am tempted to dismiss it fairly readily though; she by all accounts would have found a good husband in Prince Lucerys.

Chapter Text

If I’m honest, the wedding was probably not what most people had imagined. After the ceremony was done, everyone readied themselves for the wedding feast that always followed. Gifts were presented to my mother and father from just about every family in the country, as well as King Viserys and Queen Alicent themselves.

Each wedding usually ends in the bedding ceremony. A strange tradition where the bride is lifted up by the men and the groom by the women, who remove their clothes and carry them to the bedroom, usually, resulting in them shouting ribald suggestions through the door. The sheets are inspected for blood the next morning, mainly to see if the bride has lost her maidenhead.

Of course, that’s not exactly what happened at my mother and father’s bedding . . .

With the ceremony concluded, everyone had moved into the courtyard for the feast that had been prepared. Once the pigeon pie had been served and cut by Daevar, plates piled high with everything from fish to roasted joints of meat were passed around, though the newlyweds themselves were decidedly ambivalent about the whole affair. 

The two of them had been seated at the high table of course, at the place of honour. On either side of them were the two most important people in Westeros; Viserys and Rhaenyra, with their spouses next to them. The rest of the Small Council was seated further along, while the lords themselves were on the tables below.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” Daevar asked, leaning over to the side towards Helaena.

“Mm.” Helaena nodded, before taking a nervous sip of her wine. “I’m trying to.”

Daevar returned the gesture. He couldn’t blame Helaena for any of this; this marriage had been sprung on them from almost nowhere and they’d had not much contact in the last year or so, outside of Aegon and Nesaena’s wedding, that was. “I… missed you, cousin.” He said.

Helaena was silent for a moment, leaving Daevar ill at ease. Then, he heard Helaena softly reply, “I missed you, as well.”

Daevar stood up, raising his goblet. “I would like to thank His Grace King Viserys and Her Grace Queen Alicent for organising this wonderful day.” He said, adding a smile he hoped didn;t look too fake. “And to Princess Rhaenyra for joining us on this auspicious day. And my father of course.” He said, adding the last almost as an afterthought before he sat down. Rhaenyra smiled and rose from her own seat.

“Thank you, son.” She said, though no one noticed Daevar’s hands ball into fists at that. I have one mother, and you are not her, he thought, though he stopped himself from saying anything before she resumed. “I believe I speak for everyone here when I say that we wish you and the new Lady Royce all the happiness in the world.” She made a small signal with her hands, and two men walked forward with small wooden crates. “I would like to present my gifts to both of you.” She said as the men opened the boxes to reveal what was in them.

In one box was a beautifully made dress, no doubt sewn by experienced hands and likely done with the finest silks in the world. It was made in the Targaryen colours of course; black with red trim, though the skirts at the bottom had a dragon embroidered in red. It seemed to be a fairly modest dress as well, not unlike what Rhaenyra herself would wear on a daily basis. The gift for Daevar was equally splendid; a black cotehardie with a red dragon stitched across the chest, and made in what was likely the best velvet that could be found.

Alicent was immediately set on edge by the gifts. Clearly, it was an attempt by Rhaenyra to have Helaena wear the garb of her followers. Judging by the smirk that Daemon was sending their way, she was right too.

Viserys rose, trying to steady himself on the table with his one good hand. “I believe I shall present you our gift as well, My Lord.” Viserys said, signalling forward another moan who presented the most beautifully decorated bronze chalice that Daevar had ever seen. The thing was decorated with the sigils of each of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms around the cup and had Targaryen dragons dancing over Royce studs. Helaena likewise was taken in by it, her eyes following the dragons around it. 

More gifts were brought up as well. A similar chalice was given to them by Jason Lannister, though this one was made of solid gold. Cregan Stark had brought two fine wolf pelts for both of them, which would no doubt have to be worn quite a lot in Runestone, especially as winter approached. Daevar wasn’t sure what to make of Cregan; despite being Daevar’s age, the Lord of Winterfell was already turning into a giant of a man. Kermit looked slightly intimidated as Cregan passed, gulping slightly.

Other gifts presented were less spectacular, but more heartfelt. Jeyne gifted them each a plaque with their names and the sigil of their houses carved into them in bronze, Jace presented a driftwood carving of Robar Royce, the hero of the Vale who had fought the Andal invasions, and Daeron presented his own gift as well: a bronze helmet, made in the design of the first men and with runes carved into it. Rhaenys and Corlys had informed them that their gift awaited them in the harbour for the morning when they headed to Runestone.

Daevar himself gave a small gift to Helaena, a silver ring with a curious pattern on it. “I tried to have the silversmith design it to be like one of those . . . caterpillar things that you own. Not sure if he quite understood me though.” He said.

“It’s quite alright, Daevar.” Helaena replied. The ring itself was pretty to look at, though like Daevar, she wasn;t too sure that it looked like a caterpillar. “Is that pure silver?”

“Naturally, My Lady.” Daevar replied as he took a sip of wine. “I wouldn’t take anything less.” He smiled slightly. He did have a second, more practical gift to give to her later one, but it would have to be away from the public eye; it wouldn’t exactly be a socially acceptable gift to give her in the open. He opened his mouth to speak again, but their conversation was cut short by Otto approaching their table. “I believe it is time you and your wife retired to your chamber, Lord Royce…” He said, rather bitterly. The crowd then broke into cheers, raising their drinks or simply applauding. Helaena’s expression turned uneasy, as she once again found herself the centre of everyone’s stares, feeling like she was placed on a stage without a script to recite.

Sighing, Daevar gulped down the last of his wine before standing up; Helaena soon followed, trying her best to ignore the cheers and glances of the guests. Chief among them being Aegon, who after having one drink too many, decided to make a spectacle of himself; grabbing a nearby roasted chicken and holding it high for everyone to see.

“Smile, sister! It’s time to rut!” He jeered, before unceremoniously shoving his fist into the chicken with a violent stabbing motion and an obnoxious laugh. Throughout the room, several other guests could not help but break into laughter as well, while several others – including Alicent, Aemond, and even Otto – frowned disapprovingly. All of this happening at once caused Helaena’s face to crimson, pulling up her hood in an attempt to hide her embarrassment and placing her hands over her ears.

Daevar frowned at the sight, gently ushering his wife away. He turned to face Aegon, ready to challenge him to draw his blade and fight, but saw that Kermit and Oscar were already engaging with him.

“Have you always had such a fascination with the rear ends of dead chickens?” Oscar accused, rising from his seat and firmly placing both hands on the table in front of him.

Aegon’s laughter stopped abruptly at that, pulling his hand out of the chicken and throwing it onto the table before turning to face the Tully boy. “What did you just say…?” He demanded, not even bothering to clean his dirtied hand.

Now it was Kermit’s turn to rise from his seat, positioning himself between his brother and the eldest son of King Viserys. “I believe what my brother was trying to say, my prince, is that you’re acting like a chicken fucker!” Almost instantly, the group then erupted into laughter, though instead of laughing with him, Aegon found that their laughter was directed at him. Even Daemon and Aemond were cracking a smile at the whole thing; Aegon was none too popular in King’s Landing, of course. His proclivity for public drunkenness was well-known, as well as his general attitude towards the servants

Aegon then shoved his chair back and attempted to make a run at Kermit, only to be stopped by Ser Harrold Westerling, who dragged the kicking and shouting prince back to his seat. “I won’t forget that! I won’t forget it!” Aegon shouted, angrily pointing at both the Tully lads, who paid him no mind. Instead, they turned their attention back to Daevar and Helaena, smiling and raising their glasses in a toast.

“To the newlyweds!” They cheered, as the rest of the room raised their own glasses to toast. For all his problems, Kermit stood by his friend. This was supposed to be his day, and Helaena’s, yet Aegon had attempted to make it about him. 

Otto, for his part, having noticed the whole fiasco, couldn't help but smile himself. Aegon may have been their heir to the Iron Throne, but the boy clearly did not have his cousin’s patience or skill with . . . well, much if he was honest. Still, he did notice Helaena’s discomfort at the whole affair. The girl had always had strange proclivities with her bug collection and all, but she was a sensitive soul, that much he knew. If they wanted Daevar on their side, it would not do for them to see Helaena uncomfortable. “Given the circumstances, Your Grace, perhaps we could dispense with the bedding ceremony for one evening.” He said to Viserys.

“Circumstances, Otto?” The King asked.

“We all know of Lord Royce’s ways, my love.” Alicent said, rubbing his shoulder. “If a man were to put his hands on Helaena, he would likely break their nose.”

Viserys nodded, only half-listening. His son had already caused them enough embarrassment for the night, and it likely would have been more so if Nesaena wasn’t leading him out of the room. “Yes, the bedding. It is tradition though, is it not?”

“I believe the Queen is correct, Your Grace. Lord Royce has always felt a certain affection for Helaena, and I doubt he would want another man touching her. Much like yourself and Queen Aemma.”

Alicent was stung by that, but did not let it show.

“Hmm? Yes, yes, Aemma . . . very well. I suppose we can . . .” Viserys trailed off. Alicent resisted the urge to roll his eyes; the man was going senile with every passing day, and the alcohol had likely not helped him much.

“I think we can dispense with it for one night.” Alicent said, remembering her won bedding with Viserys, as much as she wished she didn’t. The feeling of the rotting old man flopping away on top of her at night was enough of a reminder of her own bedding that she wanted to spare her daughter that. Seeing the look on her face, Rhaenyra made her way over. 

“I think Her Grace is right on this.” She said, hoping that Otto would not see through her fake smile. “Lord Royce takes after his father in terms of attitude, and I would like to spare my sweet sister the indignity; let us forgo the bedding ceremony. Father?”

“Hmm?” Viserys said, taking a moment to register what she said before waving his hand. “Yes, yes, of course. We shall dispense with the bedding for the night.”

Daevar, having overheard, smiled and nodded their way, before turning to leave the Great Hall, with Helaena waiting patiently for him in the doorway, likely not wanting to make the trip to their chamber by herself. “Sorry to keep you waiting, cousin.” He said. “Let’s leave this place. I’ve had enough for one night.”

Helaena hummed in agreement as the two walked off side-by-side, unaware that Aemond had kept his eye fixed on them as they left the Great Hall.

They spent a majority of their walk to their chamber in silence, neither having much to say. Aside from the sound of their own steps, the only thing they could hear was the celebration in the Great Hall, though that had begun to grow faint as they continued. By the time they had reached their chamber door, there was barely a sound to be heard. Daevar held the door open for Helaena to enter first, and closed the door behind him as he followed her.

They could see the room was quite spacious, illuminated by various candles scattered along the walls, and resting on various end tables and chests of drawers. It had a large, canopied bed; a well-supplied bookshelf, and a small table with two chairs on either end and silver candelabra positioned between them. The bedrame was made of fine mahogany, and the canopy was decorated with curtains of the deepest green, while the bed itself was decorated with frilled pillows and silken sheets. On the table in front of them, they saw an ornate bottle of wine and two brass chalices, clearly placed for them to indulge themselves in the event they were not encouraged enough to consummate.

The whole thing was absurd enough with the decoration that had been put in place, and ordinarily, Daevar likely would’ve walked out the second he saw what a fuss had been made over the whole thing. He might’ve this time, too, if Helaena hadn’t started removing her dress. She slipped the dress off her shoulders, allowing the sleeves to fall away slightly. 

Daevar swallowed hard, unable to take his eyes off of Helaena’s fair skin. He’d be lying to himself if he wasn’t curious on what it would be like to lay with her. After all, she looked nearly as beautiful as any great Targaryen beauty. As beautiful as Queen Rhaenys… He thought. The younger of the Conqueror’s Sister-Queens had been famed for her beauty over the world, as much as for her love of riding her dragon, Meraxes. In that moment, Helaena was nearly a spitting image, according to Daevar.

Then he saw the look on her face.

It was unsteady, unsure. There was a little bit of fear there as well, Daevar could see. She’s afraid… am I really that monstrous? He thought. He hoped not; the last thing he wanted right now was to start their marriage with her being afraid of him. They were meant to be friends; this wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want her to be cowering over him every time they saw each other.

Recalling what he knew about her childhood, it was unlikely that the girl would have experienced much physical touch over the years. Even if she wanted it that was; Alicent had told him that Helaena often recoiled when she attempted to comfort the girl. The fact that her father had never paid her much interest either would likely have something to do with it, not to mention the conventional wisdom was that she would have married Aemond, and not him. Is it him that she wants? He thought. He knew that she and Aemond had been close as children, and that likely had only gotten even deeper in the aftermath of him losing his eye. 

“I… I promise to give you many children, my husband.” Helaena said, nervously fidgeting with the bronze thread at the front of your dress, ready to undress herself further. That settled it in Daevar’s mind.

“Not tonight, you aren’t.” He said, rolling up his sleeve and pulling his knife out of its sheath.

“What are you doing…?”

“I am not my father, cousin; I am not consummating anything with you tonight.” Daevar said, as he made a small cut along his forearm, and held his arm over the bed. He then let his blood flow from the cut, dripping down and staining the once nearly spotless bedsheets.

Helaena blinked. He… won’t take me…? She thought. “But… your father–”

“If my father and Ser Otto want someone to get fucked, they can start with each other.” Daevar interrupted, before giving her a more gentle look. “I won’t have you against your will. Only when you wish it.” 

If he was honest, Daevar knew what his father would do in this situation; the man would likely have thrown Helaena across the bed and taken her as long as he could, but… no. Daevar couldn’t do that. Helaena was terrified, and he could never do something like that to her.

Helaena, for her part, merely blinked at that. She remembered her mother’s lecture about her new duties as Daevar’s wife; they had to begin now. “Then… at least let me bandage your arm?”

Daevar nodded, handing her his arm. Helaena then produced a small rag from the side table, and tied it tightly around Daevar’s forearm, stopping the flow of blood.

Once his arm was bandages, the two disrobed from their formal wear, until Helaena was in a simple shift, and all that remained of Daevar’s wardrobe was his tunic and trousers; the entire time, Daevar had his back turned, fighting every instinct that attempted to coax him into peering over his shoulder. Daevar then climbed onto the bed, and gestured the other side to his wife.

Nervously, Helaena settled in next to him, pulling the blankets all the way up to her chin, and stared up at the ceiling as she lay on her back. Daevar thought about taking her hand, but decided against it; he figured it would be best not to rush her, or make her feel uncomfortable. After a few moments of tranquillity, and neither one of them able to close their eyes, Daevar finally spoke once more.

“Thank you for putting up with today.” He said, gently. “I imagine it couldn’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t so bad…” Helaena replied, rather unconvincingly.

“Hm.” Daevar hummed in agreement, before turning over and closing his eyes. Goodnight, dear cousin.” He said, attempting to fall asleep.

Helaena stayed quiet once more, before finally answering. “Goodnight, husband.” She then closed her eyes, and drifted off herself.

I sincerely doubt this was the first or last time that not only had the bedding been skipped, but also that the bride and groom did not sleep together on their wedding night. There have likely been cases of it throughout our history, but we simply do not hear of it because of the scandal it would cause.

I suspect people would know that my parents had not done the deed that night, but that it was simply ignored in favour of keeping the peace. That was very much a characteristic of the final years of my grandfather’s reign, after all.

Chapter Text

I do not believe that Runestone felt like home to my mother for a long time after her arrival. She had spent all her life in the Red Keep, surrounded by King’s Landing, after all. The shift from the greatest city in the country to a castle in the middle of the Vale must have been a jarring one to say the least. Nonetheless, my father, uncle and Lord Kermit were determined to make her feel at home. 

I am told that the actions of Lord Kermit may have made things slightly harder in that regard, but the same cannot be said of Lady Alyssa, the daughter of Ser Gerold. Wife of Ser Joffrey Arryn, Lady Alyssa has remained close with my mother since the day they met. Perhaps it is little wonder why she served as my mother’s main handmaiden until the war began . . .

Try as they might, Runestone was not exactly a natural transition for Helaena. She knew they were trying of course, but it all seemed a little too much. The only ones who seemed to understand her properly were Daevar and Daeron, though she supposed she couldn’t truly blame Kermit Tully for not understanding her; he had never known her. No, Runestone was not King’s Landing, and finding her place was going to be difficult.

She knew who she was now of course: Helaena Royce, Lady of Runestone. Yet, it felt somehow foreign to think of herself that way. She had been raised as Helaena Targayren, a Princess of Westeros, and she was married to someone who, while he was a close friend, she couldn;t help but feel nervous around. Perhaps it was something she would learn to get use to with time; she would fulfill her duties to her family and bear sons for Daevar as her mother had told her to. And what happens if he decides to take his pleasure on me?

It was something she knew would happen eventually. On nights when her visions had kept her awake, she would hear servants commanding that her mother was to join her father in his chambers for the night. Nesaena had explained things to her in her own way of course, but Helaena had mostly elected to listen to her mother on things. Perhaps she might find some enjoyment from this, but she wasn;t sure.

Then there was Dreamfyre. Sweet, tender Dreamfyre who had joined her at Runestone and was chained up inside a hollowed-out cave with the growing Tessarion. She’ll be old enough for Daeron to ride soon. At least she had her Dreamfyre still, and she supposed she would be able to ride her more often here, open as it was. 

“Helaena?” She heard a voice ask.

“Enter.” She called, fidgeting with her hands. 

The door opened, revealing Daeron. “I just wanted to check on you. Make sure you are settling in.”

“It is an adjustment.” She said. King’s Landing was so much bigger, but . . . everything felt . . . cleaner here. There was no stench coming up from the city below anymore, and the window gazing out over the plains of the Vale proved oddly calming for her. “Has Daevar asked for me to attend him tonight?”

Daeron shook his head. “No. He mostly just wants to make sure you’re alright; he’ll be by later to ask. Right now he’s training with Kermit.” He explained. Daeron had gotten familiar to Daevar’s routine by now; most of his day involved training with the sword and lance until it came time for Daeron to go through his two hours of training with him. “He also said that Lady Alyssa will be by soon as well; she’s to be your handmaiden while you’re here.”

“I see.” Helaena replied. She’d had handmaidens in King’s Landing of course, but it had been decided they would stya behind and she would start again in Runestone. “When should she be expected?”

“Right now, as a matter of fact.” A woman said from the hallway. “Lady Alyssa Arryn, at your service, my Lady.”

Alyssa was a pretty woman, Helaena saw. Her eyes were brown like her father and brother, but her long hair was auburn; she took after her mother in that regard. Her dress was of a simple, but functional design, with silks and velvets having been eschewed for wool. Helaena herself had rarely taken off the wolf pelt that Lord Stark had gifted her at the wedding; the weather did take some getting used to.

“I’ll see you at dinner, sister.” Daeron said before leaving.

“You are to be my handmaiden then, Lady Alyssa?” Helaena asked.

“So it seems, My Lady.” Alyssa replied. “I’ll help with what duties you ask and keep your counsel when you require it. Whatever you say to me will not be repeated to anyone else.”

“That is good.”

“Are you enjoying Runestone, My Lady?”

“It is different from King’s Landing.” Helaena replied. Going from the height of power to a noble house’s castle was not a massive downstep in prestige, but the lack of familiarity with her surroundings still kept her awake at night. 

“I should imagine so. We have no major cities in the Vale apart from Gulltown.” Alyssa said. “Daevar, Willam, Kermit and I would often visit there when we were younger. As we got older, that became less possible. Willam married a Redfort, and after your betrothal to Daevar, I married Ser Joffrey.”

“Yet you are here and not with him.” Helaena pointed out. Daevar had already explained that Joffrey Arryn was the current Knight of the Gate, but she had expected Alyssa to be with him and not here.

“Joffrey is more married to his martial life than he is to me.” Alyssa replied. “I do not begrudge him that; it is who he is. Our marriage works for what we are.” She smiled, thinking back to when they had first said the vows themselves. Alyssa had known what she would be getting into; Joffrey vastly preferred the company of longswords to women and their wedding night hadn;t been the greatest in history, but they still had their fun. And I vastly prefer him to any of the other men who wished for my hand.

“How can someone be married to a life?” Helaena asked. The phrasing puzzled her slightly. 

“It’s an expression, My Lady. A manner of speaking.”

“Oh.”

Alyssa smiled. She had been told that Helaena was slightly odd, but was more than prepared for it. “But yes, I am to be  your handmaiden.” She said before being interrupted by the sound of clanging steel from the yard; her wander over to the window confirmed it was Kermit and Daevar. “May I ask what you make of him, My Lady?”

“Of who?”

“Daevar.”

“Oh. I . . . I only saw him when he came to King’s Landing, but he was always kind to me.” Helaena replied, smiling slightly as she remembered the first time they had touched their fingertips together. “He was always defensive of me whenever someone called me an idiot or a fool.”

“I can safely say that the only ones in your family I think he genuinely liked were yourself, Prince Aemond and Prince Daeron.” Alyssa explained. “I don;t believe he ever liked Aegon. His opinion on Nesaena shifted often as well, but he always spoke well of you.” She said.

Helaena nodded. She supposed that marrying Daevar had not been the worst outcome, even if she had always thought she would marry Aemond, or perhaps Cregan Stark or Kermit Tully. Perhaps Daevar really was the best choice though, and she couldn’t really deny that he was handsome. “He spoke well of you and Ser Willam too, Lady Alyssa.”

“Well, I should hope so.” Alyssa laughed. When it had first been announced that Daevar would inherit Runestone over her father, she had been taken slightly aback; the Great Council of 101 had established that a male line took precedence over a female one. Yet Gerold had been rather sanguine about it, and she and Willam had both sworn to uphold Daevar as Lord of Runestone and that had been that. “He and WIllam have their problems from time to time, but they respect each other immensely. Rumour is that he plans to appoint Willam as Captain of the Guard soon.”

“I can never be sure who’s the Captain of the Guard in King’s Landing.” Helaena said. “We have a Kingsguard, a City Watch, and too many lords and ladies to count.” Truthfully, there may be too many Captains and not enough Guardsmen. Helaena was as aware as anyone that there had been no major war in Westeros for nearly a century, and that most knights based their reputations on how many tourneys they had won, or what their status was within the house they served. To her, that did not seem like a good way of selecting men who were supposed to lead soldiers into battle.

“Well, it is much clearer here. My father is the Master-at-Arms, though he has mostly been serving as Regent for Daevar. Then we have Maester Barden and Septon Carrick. You’ll meet them all soon enough. Now, shall we get your dresses sorted?”

Their sparring sessions had slowly picked up back to where they used to be by now, but Kermit couldn't help but feel that something was distracting Daevar. His footwork was slow, and his strikes were sloppier than usual, though Kermit could make a reasonable guess as to why things were changing for his friend when he cast a glance up at the window. He’ll deny it as much as he wants, but he does have feelings for her, he thought as he brought the wooden club that substituted for his morningstar down on Daevar’s helmet, following it up by striking the Lord of Runestone’s breastplate with his shield.

“Damn it!” Daevar shouted before backing away and ripping his helmet off. “That’s the third time today I’ve lost!”

“Everyone has off days, Daevar.” Willam shrugged. “Even Aegon the Conqueror would have been killed in King’s Landing one day if it weren’t for Visenya.”

Daevar answered him with a glare before heading over to the weapons rack and stowing the training sword. There had to be some reason why he was losing his touch with swordfighting, and whatever it was, he was certain it had something to do with Helaena. He couldn’t really deny that she had gotten very pretty over the years, and it was true that Gerold had been looking for him to settle down with a wife.

He of course knew what his duty was. As Lord of Runestone, he was expected to father children to further the Royce line, but the thought of doing that with Helaena made him feel nauseous. Much as Daevar had often indulged himself before, this was different. They were married after all, so much as he did have energy to spare, he couldn;t just find some servant girl and seduce her like he used to; he had already sworn he wouldn’t dishonour Helaena like his father had done to his mother.

At the same time, he couldn;t bring himself to take Helaena to bed. She was pretty, no doubt about it, but there was still something that was holding him back. True, he had sworn to her that he would only consummate their marriage when she was ready for it, but it was proving more difficult than he thought to keep his mind off of her. He had thought sparring with Kermit would clear his head, but that hadn’t worked.

“Are you alright, Daevar?” Kermit asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Or is your better half distracting you?”

“Shut up, Kermit.” Daevar spat. “I must be the one person in the country who won’t sleep with his wife.”

“Yes, the ladies of the Vale are weeping for the missed opportunity.” Kermit teased, despite knowing that Daevar was in no mood for it. Best time to get a laugh. “Oh how they wept when they heard you had married a Targaryen Princess.” 

“Kermit . . .” Daevar warned. He wasn’t in the mood for more of Kermit’s jokes right now. Yes, much as it pained him to admit it, it had become harder and harder to view Helaena as just a friend since their marriage, but he had no intention of taking advantage of their marriage to have her. This was different to any of the girls he had been with in the past; seeing Helaena’s face on their wedding night had shown how terrified she was. Am I really that monstrous? He thought. No, my father is, and I will never be him.

“Alright, alright. I’ll keep my mouth shut about it.” Kermit said. “I spoke with Cregan Stark at the wedding, by the way. Monstrously tall, he is.”

“Indeed he is.” Daevar replied. Cregan was only four years older than them but he looked like a man in his early thirties, and the physique of a true warrior. There was a good chance that in time, he could be an even greater warrior than Joffrey; he was already gathering a reputation for when he had taken his rightful Lordship back from his uncle and thrown the man in prison. 

“First time in my life that I’ve ever actually been frightened.” 

“Are you sure that didn’t happen the first time I rang your helmet?” Daevar asked. The disparity between them in their first sparring session had been made apparent within the first few seconds or so; Kermit had attempted a strike to Daevar’s shoulder, which he parried with ease before whacking Kermit on the side of the helmet with his training sword. 

“I was fine and you know it.” Kermit snapped back. It was a lie of course; Kermit had not exactly expected to lose and lost his temper with Daevar regularly until the two of them worked on their skills properly. “Daevar . . . if your feelings on her are changing, you really should tell her.”

“My feelings haven’t changed. She’s a good friend and I hope that we’ll remain close.” Keep telling yourself that and it might even be true one day.

Kermit looked at him skeptically. The two of them had known each other for years, and he liked to think he knew Daevar better than most people. Not many would deny his new wife was very pleasing on the eyes either, and from what Kermit had heard, she was a gentle, kind soul as well, if slightly strange in some ways. “You’re lying.” He said simply. He had figured that the best way to get Daevar’s attention on this subject was to simply be forthright with it.

“I’m not lying.” Daevar replied, though he cursed himself as he knew he had said it too quickly for it to be believable. “Like I said, she’s a good friend and I hope we’ll stay close. She’ll make a fine Lady of Runestone.”

“But you want her, don’t you?” Kermit challenged. He wasn't going to let Daevar deflect his way out of this one; his friend’s attitude towards marriage not something known to him, but doubtless it would be more cynical than most considering what had happened with his parents. “Daevar, I’ve known you for a long time, and I’m not as stupid as you think.”

“Well thank the Gods for that.” Daevar snarked. 

“Daevar, you’ve seduced enough girls in front of me for me to know when you want one, and you want Helaena.” 

Daevar sighed. Kermit was right of course; Helaena had turned very attractive since they were children. It wasn’t just that she was pretty though; he found her oddness endearing, and she never had  a mean word to say about anyone. “Fine. I do. But I can’t take her to bed, Kermit. I said it wouldn't happen until she wanted it, and I meant it.”

Kermit nodded approvingly. “Then you have more control over yourself than most men do.” 

“I’ll be able to deal with it. I’m lucky I have good friends around me.” He smiled, throwing an arm around Kermit. “Besides, you’ll be able to get some attention from women now without me stealing them away.”

“Don’t bloody well remind me.” Kermit laughed, shaking his head. The two of them had chased after some of the same girls at times, but Daevar usually ended up winning. He usually said it was just a consequence of him knowing what to say, while Kermit simply insisted it was because he had his father’s looks more than anything else. 

“Still got your hopes pinned on Aly?” Daevar asked. His friend nodded.

“I actually found out a raven from her was waiting for me.” He smiled. “She said that she wants to see us again, and in particular wants to meet Helaena.” 

“I’ll be keen to introduce them.” Daevar replied. Alysanne Blackwood could be a bold personality at times though, so he wasn’t too sure how they would get along. “For now though, I think we should prepare for dinner. Gerold is likely to bite my head off if I’m late for my first dinner with my wife.”

The first days my mother spent at Runestone were no doubt uncomfortable, though Lady Alyssa did her utmost to make sure that she felt at home. Later, my mother would confess that being away from her mother and grandfather’s influence likely did her good; especially given her later actions during the war.

Lord Tully has often spoken that Daevar did look at my mother with desire in those days, but he refused to act on that desire because he wanted her to be ready before anything was attempted, and likely because he was unsure at that time if he felt anything romantic towards her. I don’t believe I’m exaggerating when I say that my father exercised more control of his feelings then than his own father ever did. 

Looking back, I think that my parents’ initial friendship had made for a firmer marriage. One has always been able to count on the other for support whenever they have needed it.

Chapter Text

My father mostly continued to prepare himself for conflict during this time. It was perhaps not the most constructive way to work his feelings out, but he was left with little other option. My mother would always say that the fact he stuck to his vow of not taking her to bed until she desired it a mark of my father’s discipline that he did not try to force her, but that may be overly charitable.

There was a practical reason for this training as well. The Vale has long had intermittent conflicts with the primitive tribes that inhabit the Mountains of the Moon. Knights of the Vale will typically blood themselves by searching out tribal settlements to attack; it helps gain them experience and knowledge of battle. My father was preparing for the first of several campaigns he would wage as the new year dawned.

129 AC

Poring over maps was perhaps not the most exciting part of preparing a campaign, but as Daevar was learning, it was probably one of the most critical parts of it, along with arranging supplies and other measures to keep a force in the field. Not glamorous, but perhaps even more crucial than a proper shield or pike wall. Maester Barden had been helping where he could of course, but most of the responsibility had fallen on him and Gerold, as was to be expected for a military campaign

This one that was being planned was only to be a small one. Daevar and Kermit were to take a force of five hundred men into the Mountains of the Moon and search out Mountain Clan settlements to attack. Kermit had thought about questioning the morality of the whole thing, but had decided that it was a little pointless. The clansmen had never shown mercy to the hamlets they had put to the torch, so why should they be showing any mercy to the clans in return?

“You think that we’ll be able to last for a moon’s turn?” Kermit asked. The plan had been to stay out there until the moon turned and they were able to march back home with objectives accomplished, but he was skeptical. He had heard stories from his father about armies simply disappearing from their inability to supply themselves.

“There’s only going to be five hundred of us, and we’ll have enough archers for hunting.” Daevar replied. He’d been working on the plan for this with Gerold for a couple of weeks now, and if that old soldier was happy with what he’d readied so far, then that was good enough for him. “My concern is more that we’ll end up outnumbered by the tribesmen.”

“Our force will be better equipped and better disciplined.” Kermit countered. “The tribesmen will be lucky if they have anything more than bronze armour on them.”

“We shouldn’t underestimate them, Kermit.”

“I know, but we are far more ready for a fight than they will be.” 

Daevar sighed. Kermit’s confidence about his men in battle was to be envied. He himself was confident of course; the tribes’ ability to stand up in a straight fight was minimal to say the least, and their arms and armour were certainly far inferior to what they had. Maybe I am just overthinking things . After all, Gerold had been to fight the tribes multiple times and he had never come away with more than a few scratches.

Of course, other preparations would be made. Supply lines would have to be kept open and equipment maintained after all, but Daevar was confident such things would work themselves out. After all, there were people in his force capable of something like that, so he would be able to focus on the fighting. Daeron was not going to accompany them this time; with Tessarion now large enough to ride, he was busy learning how to keep her under control.

As if to punctuate his thoughts, the sound of the wind drew his attention towards the sky to see the blue dragon soaring above them. His heart admittedly did miss a beat on occasion when he saw Daeron and Tessarion in the sky, but he figured that his cousin would not do anything too insane as he was learning to fly. Most of their flights so far were focused around simply trying to get from place to place without too many things going wrong. To his credit, Daeron didn’t seem to be doing much wrong, though Daevar knew he wouldn;t be the best judge of that. Speaking of cousins . . .

He could see Helaena leaving the keep to make her way towards the cave where Dreamfyre would be waiting for her. The massive blue dragon had settled in remarkably well, and Tessarion had seemed happy for the company. One change from King’s Landing, he was happy to hear from Daeron, was that Helaena and Dreamfyre got more of a chance to fly here than they did in the capital. Not to mention she looked very fetching in her riding clothes. 

He sighed. Only a fool would deny Helaena’s attractiveness, but he had made a vow to her that he would not sleep with her until she wanted to. It was torture of course, but he preferred to endure this than force her to give herself to him. He would have to start talking with her more; their dinners had been spent in silence, and though it was not unpleasant, it didn’t exactly make them comfortable either. 

“Still staring at her, eh?” Kermit nudged him. “You know what they say about absence and hearts growing fond. She might just miss you so much she’ll let you-”

“Shut up, Kermit.” Daevar growled. 

“Are you alright?” His friend asked, genuinely concerned. “Daevar, you know I don’t mean anything by it, right?”

“I know, Kermit. I know. It’s just . . . well, looking at her calms me. Even if I did want her in that way, I swore to her I wouldn't do anything unless she wanted it.”

Kermit looked his friend over for a minute. True, Daevar did have something of a reputation among girls, but he had never actually forced anyone into anything, unlike what they both suspected of his father. What he had never see however was Daevar agonising over a woman. The closest he had been to that was Alysanne, and even then, there was some sort of understanding between them; this time was different.

“There’s nothing wrong with desire, Daevar.” He said, grasping his friend’s hand. “Believe me, I know.”

“Kermit, can we just focus on planning for the campaign, please?” Daevar asked irritably. 

“Not until you tell me what’s going on here. I meant to be your friend.”

“Look, I . . . yes, she has gotten very beautiful, but like I said, I’m not going to force her.”

“So you do want her.” Kermit pointed out Daevar tried to object, but realised anything he said would sound hollow. “For what it’s worth my friend, i think her view of you might be shifting as well.”

“I very much doubt that.” Daevar said, shaking his head. He and Helaena were almost living separate lives, much as he didn’t want to. He got the feeling that she was more comfortable around Alyssa than him, which did make sense in a way given her experiences around Aegon. He just hoped that the Prince had not laid a hand on her. 

“You can't claim to know someone’s mind, Daevar. You’re not magical.” Kermit replied. 

“Never said I was.”

The approach of the two ladies interrupted their conversation. Kermit took his leave, though he was still easily within earshot of them. “Lady Alyssa, would you allow my husband and I to talk?” Helaena asked. 

“Of course. Lord Tully, I believe that we should let them talk privately.” Alyssa said. Kermit grumbled of course, but accepted. Whatever else he was, he could see that his friend needed to speak with the Targaryen girl. The two of them moved off as Daevar and Helaena turned to each other

“You’re going to war?” Helaena asked. The realm has been at peace for nearly a century. Why would he be preparing an armed host?

“Not war, Helaena. The Knights of the Vale will usually seek out the Hill Tribes in the Mountains of the Moon. Keeps them from organising too much.” Daevar replied. Helaena nodded. Had her mother and father lied to her about there being such a long peace?

“I was unaware there was still a war.”

“It’s more just about keeping them from organising. They’re ferocious fighters of course, but we have better arms and armour, and our training and discipline is superior. It shouldn’t be too much of a challenge.”

“Are you taking Daeron with you?” Helaena asked

“No; he’s learning how to fly Tessarion now. It’s better for him to learn that than come with me to fight.”

Helaena nodded. She supposed he had a point there; Targaryens were linked with their dragons after all, and Tessarion had been claimed by her brother not long after she was born. Though if she knew her brother, he was going to focus more on being flashy than actually learning the basics properly. “I could help him. Dreamfyre has been adoring the freedom she has here.”

“That’s your decision, I suppose.” Daevar replied. “I’m no expert on dragons.”

“Have you never thought of claiming one?” Helaena asked. It had been something that she had always wondered. After all, Daevar had a Targaryen father, so he was more than capable of claiming one if he wanted to. “Did you not desire to claim one?”

“It was never something that I wanted to do, I suppose.” Daevar said. “Not to mention that I lived here most of my life. I felt closer to my mother’s family than my father’s.”

Helaena smiled slightly. “I wish I had met your mother, Daevar.”

“She’d have liked you.” He replied.

“I hope she would have.” The girl smiled. She had heard quite a lot of Rhea Royce from her mother before leaving for Runestone. From what Helaena had heard, she had been more comfortable as a horse-breaker and archer than she was as a lady at court. The marriage to Daemon, she had been told, had been part of a move to double down on the Vale’s support at the Great Council of 101 for her father over Lady Rhaenys.

“We leave in a few days. I will write as much as I can.” Daevar promised. He had already resolved to do what he could to send messages back home, and now there was more of a reason to.

“I would be glad of it.” Helaena replied.

“I would be glad if you . . . joined me for a walk later. Over the hills outside the walls.” Daevar said. Perhaps it would be a chance for them to get some time alone away from the pressure of Runestone. “Lady Alyssa could prepare you for it. Hiking over the hills was something we did all the time when we were growing up.”

Helaena was a little taken aback by his offer. She had never been allowed outside the walls of the Red Keep when she was younger, though her mother had always restricted her and Nesaena’s diets for the purpose of attracting their prospective husbands. Instead, she had spent much of her time gazing out over the city wishing that she could venture out at least onto the walls. “I . . .”

“I’d be with you the whole time.”

Helaena thought for a moment. Daevar would likely be armed the whole time in case anyone tried to attack them, and they probably wouldn’t be going that far. “I . . . suppose I can try it.”

Daevar’s face lit up almost instantly. “Wonderful! Alyssa!” He called, with the brown haired woman appearing a moment later. 

“Yes?”

“Is there any chance you could help prepare helaena for a walk over the hills? We’ll take the less demanding route.”

“Of course I can. Come, my Lady.”

Some time later, Daevar and Helaena had left the walls of Runestone for the hills around the stronghold. It was relatively safe here; patrols regularly scouted through the areas and Gerold had always been proactive in ridding the surrounding country of any bandits. The Knights of the Vale came with a fearsome enough reputation to scare off the less serious ones, while the more heavily armed bandits were usually scattered after one or two skirmishes.

Helaena was mesmerised by the greenery around her. She had never been allowed to leave the Red Keep, and she had no doubt her mother would have already sent out a search party to find her if they were still in the capital. Here though, without the heat and smell of the city, she felt . . . well, calm. Everything felt much more peaceful than the capital, and she was actually able to see the world beyond her home. This place is beautiful . . .

Daevar took her hand to help her over a small gully. He was more than prepared if they did end up encountering any bandits who had slipped through the net between his cuirass and Lamentation, but he doubted they would. Helaena hadn’t been able to wear anything she’d brought with her from King’s Landing, and had been quickly changed into Alyssa’s hiking clothes; though it mostly just consisted of tight trousers under a slightly shorter and more practical dress. 

“I used to do this with Willam and Alyssa all the time when we were younger,. Gerold was usually with us.” Daevar said as she stepped over the gully. “When Kermit got here, he used to join us, then after a while it became just Kermit and I.” 

“It’s not difficult to see why.” Helaena said. Everything was just so green here. “Mother would never let me have done anything like this in King’s Landing.”

“Well, she isn’t here, Helaena.” He said as they ascended a small hill that marked the end of the flattest route through the hills. The view was nothing spectacular, but Helaena smiled widely at it nonetheless. If this was going to be her life here, then she would be very happy. 

“I do like it here.” She said quietly. 

“I’m glad to hear it.” Daevar replied. “Helaena, I .  . . I want you to know that if . . . well, you don’t mind being married to me.”

“I always thought I would marry Aemond.” She replied.

“Well . . . as I said on our wedding night, I will try to be a good husband to you.”

“Daevar, what do you see when you look at me?” She asked. Daevar had to think carefully about that; there were so many things he wanted to say that he knew he shouldn’t. He wasn;t even sure if Helaena viewed him as anything more than a friend, and he wasn;t entirely sure he would be able to handle that. Sure, he’d had his fun with other girls growing up, but this was different. 

“I . . . I see a lovely lady.” He said, touching their fingertips together. “A lady who brightens everyone’s life by being in it.”

Helaena blushed slightly. “Nesaena’s the prettier one. Everyone says so.”

“Then they’re idiots.” He replied. Helaena’s blush deepened at that. “I . . . I cannot deny that I have been seeing you differently since we married Helaena. When i saw you on our wedding day, I thought . . .” He bit his tongue to avoid saying something overdramatic, “I thought you were the most beautiful woman I had seen.”

Helaena turned away, the smile on her face growing. “You flatter a poor woman Daevar.”

“Poor?” Daevar chuckled. “You’re the daughter of the King and Queen.”

The two of them looked out over the lands of Runstone as the sun began to dip below the horizon. It was oddly peaceful, all told. Helaena closed her eyes and breathed in deeply; she had become used to the stale air of the Red Keep, or occasionally the stink floating up from the city, but here, everything was so wonderfully clear . 

“We should get back to the keep before Gerold sends a search party after us.” Daevar said. The man would no doubt start looking for them properly quite soon, and there was only so long Kermit and Alyssa would be able to stall him. 

Helaena simply nodded as they began to make their way back through the hills towards the Royces’ ancient stronghold. She hadn’t known what to think of it at first; her chambers were not as luxurious as they had been at the Red Keep and outwardly, it was clearly showing signs of its age, but it was home . 

“Well . . . I suppose I should bid you goodnight.” She said as they walked through the gates.

“Yes, I suppose so.” Daevar said. He wanted nothing more than to reach over and kiss her like his life depended on it. You swore you would not be your father, he told himself, control yourself, you pig!

Helaena smiled and began heading in the direction of the keep, Alyssa joining her. As Kermit did not fail to notice though, Davear’s eyes did not leave Helaena.

“Staring at her arse, Daevar?”

“Shut up, Kermit.”

My father and mother were not quite in love by this time, but as mother later said, their feelings were slowly beginning to develop around then. Lord Kermit has said that he caught my father frequently admiring my mother, but I’m not certain about that. Father was always perfectly chivalrous with her. Mother did say she quite enjoyed that initial trek through the hills of Runestone; it would explain why she ended up with such a love of it over the years

It would not be long after that father and Lord Kermit embarked on their campaign. It would be a short one, and only a few minor skirmishes would be fought. Father would later comment that he was never in any real danger throughout the whole campaign, though Lord Kermit has frequently played things up.

I choose to believe my father.

Chapter Text

I cannot be certain of what happened on my father’s first campaign into the Mountains of the Moon. To hear him tell it, the whole thing was but a footnote in his storied life. Perhaps that was true; not every campaign against the Hill Tribes has always ended in a sizable battle. However, to hear Lord Kermit tell it, my father’s desires were . . . getting slightly out of hand.

If there is one thing that my father unquestionably inherited from his own father, it was his desire for women. With his oath sworn to not be with any but my mother from then on though, it seems that his temper got the better of him, as he attempted to find an outlet for his emotions through fighting. 

Another torch tossed, another hut burnt, another group chased away from civilization. The campaign had been taking on a familiarity for the last few weeks. Small bands of armed tribesmen were encountered occasionally, but more often than not, they encountered small hamlets that were either inhabited or not. Both were burnt anyway, though Daevar still gave a chance for the women and children to escape.

If he was honest with himself, part of him did enjoy the chaos of combat, especially since he was now in command of it. Daevar had grown up hearing about the stories of the Vale’s gallant defenders-even if he did idolise King Robar II the most-and now, he had the chance to join their ranks on the battlefield. Assuming it can find a bloody battle, he mused. The tribes had proven skilled at simply evading him, and none of them had the heart to massacre the unarmed villagers that they had largely encountered so far.

Then there was his wife.

Helaena was still in Runestone of course, but it felt like she was following his every movement. Thinking of anything but her was a tall order; even in the few skirmishes and raids they had, all he could think about was how each action he took here was making the Vale just a bit safer for her to live in. Part of it was true, but that didn't stop the dream of her at night.

Sometimes it was the two of them and a daughter. Sometimes a son. Sometimes he saw Helaena naked. Try as he might, he did desire her, and it was getting more and more difficult to keep it under control. He had thought about taking one of the camp followers into his tent to try and relieve some of the pressure, but had decided against it; he had sworn not to take a lover, and he meant it.

Some days were harder than others of course. One thing he had learnt was that the soldiers he had taken on campaign with him frequently talked about their wives or family back home. Whenever the conversation had shifted to the topic of Helaena, he had shifted things as soon as possible. The very last thing he wanted was her on his mind right now, even though it was impossible to escape such thoughts when their families were all they talked about. Even Kermit couldn't shut up about how he now had Aly all to himself and was going to speak to Lord Willem about a betrothal soon.

Daevar had tried to busy himself with the next steps of the campaign. The small force he had was negotiating things well; even Kermit seemed to be taking the fighting seriously. Daevar would have very much liked to have had Daeron and Tessarion with them in case things went badly wrong, but the boy was still learning how to fly his dragon. Better he learn that than simply charge straight into battle; he already had a tight bond with the young dragon, and that would only increase in time.

Dragons . . . he had briefly thought about claiming one the night Aemond lost his eye, but all he could remember was that Rhaenys had told him that dragons chose their riders as much as riders chose their dragons. It had even been rumoured that the beasts were even more intelligent than men, and if  that were the case, then his uncle really was right that the idea they controlled the dragons was an illusion.

“You alright Daevar?” Kermit asked, lifting the flap of the tent. “Starting to rain out there now; everyone’s scattered back to their tents for the night.” He said as he undid his sword belt. “I’m worried about you. You seem distracted.”

“Not now, Kermit.” Daevar replied. “The last thing i want to talk about is what’s distracting me.”

“Alright, alright. I understand.” His friend replied before leaning against the map table. “If I keep coming in here every night people might get the wrong idea.”

“It’s nothing that hasn’t happened before.” Daevar replied. The two of them had been forced to isolate in the same room when they were children after they had both come down with mumps. It was the first real interaction they’d had, Daevar recalled. 

“Still, people might say that the two of us are releasing some tension together.” Kermit smirked slightly, prompting a chuckle from Daevar.

“Which means the last thing they need is you saying things like that.” He replied before looking down at the map again. “We’ll be marching back to Runestone soon; I don't imagine we’ll encounter too much opposition, and we’ve barely a week left.”

“Ser Gerold did say that they are craftier than we give them credit for.” Kermit said. Gerold was accompanying them on this campaign, but mostly staying back from everything. After all, it was Daevar’s first command, and he had to learn how to lead men sooner or later. 

“They’re just cowards who won't stand and fight because they can't.” Daevar said, waving his hand dismissively. “They’ll never beat us in a straight fight so they skulk around in the shadows.”

“Careful, Daevar.” Kermit said. He would have continued, but his friend cut him off again.

“Careful?!” Daevar shouted. “We came on this campaign to fight, and all they do is run! They’re cowards!”

Kermit sighed. “Daevar, is this really about wanting to fight? Or is there something about Helaena that’s on your mind?”

Daevar’s face darkened. “Get. Out.” 

The Tully boy needed nor further warning and left for his own tent. Daevar tried to see if he could map out the various run-ins they’d had with small bands of tribesmen here and there to try and find a stronghold, but there was no rhyme or reason to the skirmishes; they seemed to just be popping up at random. Sighing, he sat down on the cot that sat in one corner of the tent. He hadn't meant to lash out at Kermit of course, but it was true. 

It felt like he was whining a little, but he had gotten accustomed to being able to seduce a girl when he wanted to. Now, he had been containing himself since he had been betrothed, and it was taking something of a toll on him. 

Helaena entered his mind again, naked. She was beautiful, that much was beyond doubt. How much more beautiful would she look on top of him, her hips undulating as the two of them rushed towards the climax of their first time together. He could see her gasping and moaning his name as she tipped over the edge . . .

By the time Daevar realised what he had been doing with his hands, he had already finished. It wasn't something he hadn’t done before of course, but this had been really intense. 

 . . . fuck.

Aemond Targaryen fingered the eyepatch he had taken over the socket where one of his eyes used to be. In it now sat a small sapphire; standard procedure was apparently to fit a glass eye into the socket, but Aemond had instead requested a sapphire. His mother was confused at first, but had gone along with it, and to say that Aemond himself was impressed with the results it left was putting things mildly.

Once he had claimed his debt from the bastard Strong and presented it to his mother, the eyepatch would come off forever; a sign that he had conquered his enemy. Though, maybe I won’t . . . much as he had hated the addition at first, he had come to slowly appreciate how intimidating it could be to others. Several of the squires and pages had looked at him with various levels of fear in their eyes; especially when they saw he had lost none of his skill with a sword.

Oh yes, Aemond had been a decent enough swordsman for his age, but he had taken to training harder now that his eye was missing. Even as Aegon had been seen in the training yard less and less, Aemond was there more and more, sparring with everyone from young squires to knights of the Kingsguard like Rickard Thorne and Criston Cole. His standard excuse was that he needed a way to compensate for his eye missing, but the truth was deeper than that. Daevar had taken everything he had wanted from him. He had hoped to be Daevar’s page and then his squire one day; being knighted by the cousin he had idolised had always been something he’d dreamed of. Instead, the squireship had gone to Daeron. 

Then there was Helaena.

Everyone knew that Aegon would marry Nesaena; they were the two eldest, and so it was only natural when one considered their family practices. He knew that their mother was somewhat uncomfortable with it, but she had been overruled. Aemond had thought that he would be the one to end up marrying Helaena. After all, they were the other two closest in age in the family, and it would be natural for the second daughter to marry the second son. That was their way after all.

Instead, she had been snatched away from him and given to their cousin as some half-thought out peace offering to the Vale. Their wedding had felt like an exercise in humiliation to Aemond; not only had he been forced to endure everyone presenting gifts to them and wishing them a happy marriage with many children, but also the obvious ease they were at with each other. It was almost like they were taunting him.

“Still brooding there, brother?” Aegon asked. Evidently he had wandered by Aemond’s chamber on his way back from the cellars. “What’s got you down this time?”

“Precious little that you should concern yourself with, brother.” Aemond replied. He still had not entirely forgiven Aegon for the bullying he was subjected to when they were younger. It had been easier when there were people around he could talk to about it, like Daeron and Helaena, but they were both gone; taken by the cousin who had taken everything from him. 

“Oh come now, Aemond, you’re my younger brother. It’s my job to look after you.” Aegon said, sitting down opposite him. Compared to Aegon’s own chambers, Aemond’s was fairly bare. There was little to no decoration on the walls, and the only furniture in it other than the bed was a table and two chairs. Aegon helped himself to the chair opposite his brother. 

“You never bothered with it before.”

“Well, that is going to change, Aemond.” Aegon said, though the grin on his face instantly told Aemond that he was not being sincere. His brother had a way of simply making people feel uneasy by his presence. “I am going to start being a better brother to you right now.”

“Shouldn’t you be with Nesaena?” Aemond asked.

“Our dear sister is as frigid as the Lands of Always Winter.” Aegon replied. “She only gives me her cunt when she can’t figure a way out of it. Still, better than our cousin and Helaena, eh?” He laughed, smacking his hand down on the table. “Married this long and still can’t father a child. Maybe he’s not Daemon’s son after all.” He chuckled. “Still, we must get you some experience of it, brother. There is no greater pleasure in the world than spilling yourself inside a women.” 

Aemon said nothing. He was as aware as anyone else of Aegon’s love of the fairer sex; a love he had discovered when he was still fairly young, along with Daevar’s own partiality to it. The only difference was that the girls seemed willing, even eager in Daevar’s case. Aegon on the other hand, they tried to avoid at all costs.

“Come. You should experience it at least once, brother.” Aegon said. Aemond sighed; either he was going to go with Aegon that night, or he would never hear the end of it. He nodded. “Excellent! Tonight, you will finally experience what things are like when you’re around a woman, Aemond. Believe me, there is no greater pleasure”

Despite himself, Aemond shuddered slightly. Nothing that happens tonight will be positive . . .

Night on Dragonstone tended to come without much warning as far as Jace was concerned; he had become used to seeing torchlight from King’s Landing when he had lived in the Red Keep, but the adjustment had not been too difficult. Not to mention that the ancestral home of his family was always a sight to love, rich as it was with history, especially here in the Chamber of the Painted Table, where Aegon the Conqueror had sat with Rhaenys and Visenya as they planned the conquest of Westeros.

“Looking over the table again, Jace?” His mother asked. “When I saw that you were not in your chambers, I figured you would be here.”

“It’s just . . . this is where it happened, mother. Where the Conqueror made his plans to unify Westeros.” 

“I know, Jace. This place is filled with legacy.” Rhaenyra replied. What had started as a mere outpost of the Valyrian Freehold had been transformed into one of the two major seats of power in Westeros because three people had the vision to unify the country under their banner. And now it is a legacy that I have inherited.

Jace nodded. “Mother, there is . . . something that is troubling me.”

“What is it, my son?”

Jace gulped slightly. He was not blind to the way that Daemon had treated Daevar, even if the latter was exactly what Daemon would have wanted in a son-at least as far as Jace could see. He was a great fighter; far beyond any of them despite his still young age. “Daemon doesn’t like Daevar every much . . . but when I went to Runestone, I thought he was the ideal son for Daemon.”

Rhaenyra pursed her lips. She had not agreed with her husband’s treatment of Daevar for a long time, and found herself agreeing with her son. Daevar’s skill with a blade alone should’ve made Daemon take him under his wing, not to mention that the boy was almost exactly like his father with how much young maids lusted after him. “I cannot admit any certainty of it myself, Jace.”

Jace sighed. He hadn't really liked Daemon, if he was honest. The man was too focused on war to be of much use for anyone else, not to mention how he casually insulted his own son. “I wouldn't want Daemon at my side when I become King.”

“When you become King Jace, you will be able to choose the men who advise you. If you are thinking of Daevar, I can imagine no one better to stand beside you.”

Jace nodded. “Do you think that there’s any chance I could become a great warrior like Daevar?

Rhaenyra chuckled at that. Whatever Daevar’s reputation was as a warrior, he still had not seen much battle. Compared to her husband, his own legend was based entirely on what had been seen in sparring matches. “Daevar’s reputation is not something that has been forged in battle yet, Jace. Daemon has always said that war will test a man’s mettle far better than the training ground will.”

“He’s already better than me though.” Jace said bitterly. “And he’ll never let me spar with Daeron, even if I visit Runestone again.”

“Daevar has been training with the Knights of the Vale. Whatever else they may be, they are no slouches when it comes to a fight, but the fact remains that Daevar is yet to see war.”

Jace sighed. He hoped there wouldn't be another war; the realm had been at peace for ninety years, so why would they want to break that streak now. If Daemon had his way, we’d have broken the peace long ago . . .

“I want to see Runestone again.” Jace said. “Just me. If I am to rule one day, why should I not learn from one of the most powerful lords in the Vale? You always said they were almost a kingdom in and of themselves, mother.”

Rhaenyra nodded. Jace did have a point there; it would benefit him to learn more from someone close to him in age, and if he was planning on keeping Daevar as a councillor when he ascended the Iron Throne, it would be useful to build up the trust between them. “That is true. I will send a raven to Runestone. With a bit of luck, we can arrange for you to travel out there before the year is over.”

My father has always maintained that he controlled his desires as much as he could, though I suspect it was difficult for him, given what I have learned from various people. My mother has said he was never anything less than a virtuous husband, and I have certainly picked up that was the case from others.

Jacaerys was apparently considering my father to be his Hand if he ascended the throne, according to his precious few journal entries that survived Aegon’s capture of Dragonstone. Just one more thing to add to the list of reasons to despise Aegon, I suppose. Not only was the man a drunkard, a lecher, and a usurper, but he simply had no regard for the preservation of historical records. 

I suppose that last part is common though. 

Chapter Text

My father’s campaign against the tribes was over soon enough. Contrary to the stories told by Lord Kermit, he never met any serious resistance on the whole campaign. A few small raiding parties were encountered of course, but nothing much more serious than that; it was hardly the stuff of legend. All to my father’s frustration of course; he was looking for some sort of way to release his emotions, and did not find the healthiest way of doing it.

His actions towards my uncle Daeron in the immediate aftermath of return, particularly when it came to teaching him swordfighting as a lord does with his squire, do not paint him in a very good light to say the very least. He was much quicker to anger, and far more vicious. It’s disturbing when one considers that my father was four years older than my uncle.

The two swords clashed again, but there was a clear mismatch between the people wielding them. Daevar had seemingly surrendered all pretence of actually teaching his younger cousin anything and was instead focusing on using his own skills to the full extent; Daeron was simply struggling to keep his sword or shield in the way to block Daevar’s strikes. Another swing came down and Daeron shifted his sword to block it, only for Daevar to feint at the last second. “How many bloody times have I told you to keep your sword and shield together, you idiot?!” 

“Daevar, calm down-”

“I have told you to keep your sword and shield together I don’t know how many times, because this is what happens when you don’t!” He stabbed forward, the rounded point of the drill sword hitting Daeron’s breastplate and causing him to stagger back slightly. “Then this happens!” Daevar kicked Daeron in the chest, causing the boy to fall to the ground. “And once you’re down there, any chancer with a dagger will be on you in half a second!” 

“D-Daevar, I-”

He threw down his sword and shield next to Daeron. “Take them back to the armoury then clean them. I can only stomach so much fucking mediocrity in one day.” He said before storming off. Despite knowing how unmanly it looked, Daeron could feel his lip wobble and tears stinging at his eyes. What did I do wrong? He thought.

“It’s alright lad. Here.” A hand reached down to him. Daeron took it and hauled himself up, coming face to face with Kermit. “Don’t mind him, My Prince. He’s been like this before.”

“He’s never hit me before though.” Daeron said before the tears started running down his face. “He’s never been that way with me before . . “

“He’s been like this before, so I know how the cycle goes. He’ll apologise to you before nightfall.” Kermit assured him. He had a feeling he knew what was causing this, but didn’t want to say it in front of Daeron; the boy could preserve his innocence a little longer before finding out about that side of humanity. “Though I’ll speak with him before then. Ser Willam!” He called out. The Royce knight was busy drilling a few guardsmen when he heard Kermit. 

“Yes, Lord Tully?”

“Can you help Daeron a bit with his sword drills? I need to speak with our lord.” 

“Of course. Come on, My Prince, we’ll teach you how to fight.” Willam said, signalling the young prince over as Kermit headed off to find Daevar. He judged that his friend would be on the way to his chambers, where he usually was after a fight. As luck would have, he ran into him before he had ascended the stairs to his chambers.

“Taking out your frustrations on Daeron’s going to help things.” Kermit snarked. “You need to get a hold of yourself. Preferably sooner than later.”

“I know, Kermit. Believe me, I know.” Daevar replied, leaning against the wall. “It’s just . . . I don’t know. I wish I could find a way to put it into words.”

“You’re clogged, Daevar. From balls to brains.” Kermit said. “You’ve gotten so used to charming any girl in sight into bed, now you want one whom you’ve sworn not to have until she wants it.”

“Fine! You’re right, damn your eyes.” He sighed. “But what am I supposed to do? I’m not going to force Helaena into it, and I can't take a lover because that would just be an insult to my mother’s memory. Sometimes I wish I took my honour as seriously as my father does.”

“You take it more seriously than he does because you’re better than he is.” Kermit replied. There was little doubt in his mind that if Daemon were in Daevar’s position right now, he would’ve already found a girl to take into his bed regardless of how Helaena felt about it. “You’ve tried relieving yourself?”

“Of course I bloody well have.” Daevar snapped. “And what sort of person asks that?”

“I’m asking it because I’m concerned for you and Helaena if things keep going like this.” He replied coolly. If there was one thing Kermit knew, it was how to cool Daevar down when tempers were running hot. “You saw what you did out there with Daeron, and that’s just for starters.”

Daevar sighed again. “So what do you suggest?”

“I’m not the best at giving advice in this situation, Daevar. I’m not married yet. You’ll have to talk to her.”

“I was afraid that would be your advice.” Daevar said, looking at the wall but nodding. “Fine, I’ll have to before dinner tonight.”

“And apologise to Daeron.” Kermit reminded him. “You scared the poor lad half to death, and you’ll be at your age of majority soon enough. You need to start acting like a lord.”

“Like you do?” Daevar shot back. Kermit was second in line for Riverrun after his father Elmo; his great grandfather Grover had outlived his own children which had led to the two of them moving up in the line of succession.

“I won't be coming into my lordship for some time yet, but you’ll  be there in a few turns of the moon.”

Unknown to both of them, Helaena had been in the next room with Arrow, and had overheard the whole thing.

Have I failed as a wife already?

Helaena was in Daevar’s chambers waiting for him as the sun went down. Dinner had been a tense experience owing to Daevar’s abuse of Daeron earlier, but he had apologised and her brother had assured him it was water under the bridge, whatever that meant. At least her husband had been kind enough to let her keep her collection of bugs. Six legs, long and thin. 

She had received the lectures about her duty as Daevar’s wife of course. Bear him sons, help to manage his household, and as Nesaena had only been too happy to remind her, let him take his pleasure on her whenever he desired. Yet, he had not taken her to bed yet. She had been willing to accept that for a while; Daevar had a reputation as being a womaniser and may have considered marriage to be a weight on him. After all, his father had never had any respect for his first wife.

Overhearing that conversation though had changed things. He does desire me, but he will not take me, she thought. Had she done something wrong? Was this a sign that she had already failed in her duties as a wife? The thoughts had gnawed at her ever since she had heard the conversation, and she supposed that it was part time that she and Daevar talked about it. 

“I didn't expect to see you here, Helaena.” Daevar said, having finally walked into the room. 

“I overheard you and Lord Tully.” Helaena replied, running a finger in circles on her left hand. It calmed her in these sorts of situations. “You do desire me, Daevar, and I understand that I’ve not been fulfilling my wifely duties.” She stared at the floor for a moment. “S-should you . . . should you wish to t-take a lover, I would not object.”

Daevar raised her chin so they were looking into each other’s eyes. “I am not my father. I will not dishonour you the same way he dishonoured my mother.”

“Then . . . should you wish to h-have me tonight . . .” Her voice trembled. She had seen her older brother’s proclivities over the years, and had overheard the serving girls at the Red Keep speak in fear of him often enough. 

“That will not happen either.” Daevar replied. “I will not take you to bed until you’re certain you desire it.” 

Helaena nodded, tears pricking at her eyes. She had been uncertain of what Daevar’s answer would be, or even if he would just grab her and take her against the wall. His ways with girls were well-known to just about everyone in their family at this point, but this was different. This wasn’t Daevar the womaniser, this was Daevar the lord; this was someone who would never dishonour or do anything against her will. “I . . . thank you, Daevar.”

“I’m merely being a good husband, Helaena.” He said, gently sliding a thumb across her cheek. To his surprise, Helaena didn’t instantly recoil, and instead leaned into it slightly before leaning forward and gently kissing his cheek. 

She wasn’t sure what to expect when she did it. Perhaps there was a part of her who did expect him to try and take her to bed at that exact moment, but then it passed. She smiled weakly. “I  . . . hope that can give you some relief.”

Daevar smiled back. “I . . . would like to hug you, if that’s alright.” He asked. Helaena nodded and wrapped her arms around him as Daevar did the same to her. She had never really liked being touched by anyone, not even her mother. There had been exceptions of course; Daevar, Aemond and Daeron being the main ones, but this felt . . . different. She could see that something had changed since their wedding.

The two of them stayed like that for a moment before breaking apart. Helaena hadn't really noticed how muscular Daevar was; he had always worn his cuirass as part of his status as Lord of Runestone, but this was the first time she had seen him without it on. Despite the fact he was still relatively young, he was pretty well-muscled as a consequence of all of his combat training. She felt herself blushing slightly as they broke apart.

“I . . . thank you, Daevar.” She said, her smile growing brighter. 

“As I said, I am merely trying to be a good husband, Helaena.”

“I know, Daevar.” She said before a thought entered her head. “Would you like to come for a ride on Dreamfyre tomorrow? I plan to take her out over the ocean.”

“Can two people even ride on a dragon?”

“It’s been done before, or so my father says. Dreamfyre and I trust each other, which means she’ll trust you.”

Daevar had to think for a moment. He had never claimed a dragon of course, but that had never stopped him from wondering about what the world might look like from the back of one as it soared through the sky. He was jealous of the rest of his family in that sense of course; he had never had the same experience of that as they had. “Alright. Tomorrow then.”

“Tomorrow. Before breakfast.” Helaena added. She had always preferred to get her rides done in the early morning and then in the evening as well. 

“As the sun goes up?” Daevar asked, a little hopefully.

“As the sun goes up.” Helaena confirmed. “Just make sure to wear nothing that fits loosely. Father always said that loose clothes don’t lend themselves well to dragon riding.”

“Alright, I can live with that.” Daevar replied. Smiling, he and Helaena touched fingertips as she left for her chambers. As the door close behind her, Daevar sighed and leaned back into it. “Damn it all . . .” he mumbled.

Unknown to him, his wife was muttering the same thing to herself on the other side.

The next morning, the two of them met up in the cave near Runestone. The entrance was guarded by a dozen Royce knights hand-picked by Ser Gerold, due to the Dragonkeepers remaining on Dragonstone. The knights that had been picked to guard the place rotated every six hours, and were probably the best the house had to offer. All Daevar could do was offer them a nod as he entered the cave.

Tessarion was still asleep of course; Daeron had tired the young dragon out quite badly the day before, and for most of the week. Dreamfyre was wide awake though, as Helaena made sure to check that the saddle was held in place tightly enough. She and Daeron had improvised a second part of the saddle for Daevar the night before, and though it would not be nearly as secure as her own, it would hold him in place. 

Daevar however found himself distracted by Helaena. Usually she wore loose fitting dresses or something similar; she seemed most comfortable in them compared to the ones worn by her mother or sister, but this was different. She was wearing a simpler, closer fitting dress that stuck close to her body, and her legs were covered by tight trousers and boots. Much as he tried to look away, he couldn’t help but focus on how tight her pants were on her. Why do people say that Nesaena is the pretty one?

“Oh! Good morning, Daevar.” Helaena smiled as she turned around. “Daeron and I were working all night on modifying the saddle so you could climb on as well. It’s not as secure as mine, but it should keep you on there.”

“As long as I don’t fall, I’ll be happy.” Daevar replied. Much as he had always been fascinated by the idea of being up in the air, he was deathly afraid of something slipping and then him falling to his death. Not a thought he relished.

“That’s why there’s a few different ways of strapping ourselves to the saddle.” Helaena said. “Besides, Dreamfyre’s a gentle girl; she won’t knock anyone off on purpose.” She smiled, running her hand over the dragon’s brilliant blue scales. Despite everything, Daevar couldn't help but be awed by the sight of her; Dreamfyre was a truly magnificent dragon, and one that had seen most of the world, no less.

“I hope she likes me . . .” He mumbled.

“Well I like you, so she will. Nesaena used to say to me that dragons and their riders share a deep bond with each other. It explains why she adores Windfyre so much.” She said before climbing up the side of Dreamfyre and into the saddle. “Come, Daevar. She won’t eat you.”

“I’m more scared of her deciding to burn me to cinders.” He replied before following her up. His steps were unsteady, but he eventually managed to clamber in behind Helaena. 

“I trust you, so she will too.” Helaena said as she finished tying the straps around herself. “Are you tied in back there, Daevar?”

“As well as I can be.” He replied nervously. 

“If you’re still nervous, Daevar, you can . . . hold onto my hips?” She offered, blushing fiercely. Davear was slightly taken aback by the offer; while he knew that he was something of an exception to Helaena’s dislike of being touched, but he hadn't exactly expected her to say something like that. 

“I could? I-I mean . . . I could if you want me to.” He stammered. This was new for Daevar; he had never really stuttered around girls before, but this was different. Helaena was offering the chance to make the first contact apart from the kiss on the cheek the night before. 

“W-well . . . you want to s-stay on, right?” She said. “I won’t mind. I promise.”

Well, here goes nothing. He gently put his hands on Helaena’s waist and after slightly flinching, she seemed to get used to it. “Ready.”

Helaena nodded and spoke the Valyrian commands to get Dreamfyre out of the cave and into the air. She could feel Daevar’s grip on her waist tighten as they took to the skies, but strangely the feeling was quite unwelcome. She put it down to Daevar’s nervousness about flying for the first time of course, but it wasn’t something she felt a need to shy away from. I suppose I don’t mind having his hands there . . .

They flew higher, at one point breaking through a small cloud bank, leaving Daevar stunned at the synchronicity between Helaena and Dreamfyre. It seemed the dragon knew what she wanted to do before Helaena knew herself. Maybe the bond between dragon and rider was a tighter one than he had thought. Is this what he had been missing his entire life? It only seemed to make her more beautiful; up here, Helaena was in her element.

The two of them continued soaring through the clouds, smiles on both of their faces, and thoughts of the other on their minds.

Mother has said that this was the moment where she began seeing my father in a new light. Before, she had always seen him as her closest friend, but now she was starting to see him as more than just that. She never had the same level of desire as Nesaena did, considering my aunt’s proclivities, but that does not rule out an attraction to my father beginning at this stage. After all, she is fond of saying that just because she is odd, she is not immune to romance or attraction.

I am not too certain of what my father’s reaction to flying for the first time was, but I can be certain that he would have been slightly terrified at first, as we usually are when trying something new. As he has said multiple times though, he would develop a fondness for flying over time. His opposition to our family traditions with dragons could only go so far. 

Chapter Text

My mother has always said that she didn’t understand her attraction to my father fully at first. She viewed it as a concept, rather than a feeling, and may have even tried to approach it like she did with her study of insects and other small creatures. Regardless, what can be said for certain is that she was starting to see my father as more than just a friend.

What information I was able to glean from those living at Runestone at the time was that my mother frequently spoke with Ladies Julia and Alyssa about how she was feeling. She has credited the two of them with helping her to understand love as more than just a concept, but a feeling. 

It had been some time by now since they had gone for the first flight together on Dreamfyre, and they had of course been on flights several times since. For Helaena, it was wonderful; whatever Daevar’s fears regarding dragons were, he still went up with her as often as he could. Sometimes Daeron accompanied them on Tessarion, even if their flying style was far more flashy than her own. She supposed that was down to the dragons’ age though; Tessarion was the younger by far, and much smaller and more energetic than Dreamfyre. 

Yet, despite it all, she found her dreams dogged by dreams of her husband. Helaena’s dreams had never been pleasant places to be; several of them featured a one-eyed dragon fighting a bronze one, or a wolf attacking each other violently. Lately though, they had become dominated by Daevar. Most of the time, she saw them with several sons and daughters; the sons learning the art of war from Daevar and more womanly arts from her. 

It was confusing. She had of course known that not all marriages would be full of affection; her own mother and father had not been particularly close despite her mother’s constant insistence that she did indeed love him. She had known that Aegon and Nesaena’s marriage was not exactly a great one either, if Nessie’s letters were to be believed. 

Love was not something entirely unknown to her of course; she had received it from most everyone in her family, save for Aegon and their father, but this was a new form of love. Was it the sort that her sister felt for their uncle? The sort their father felt for his first wife, Queen Aemma? Is it what we are supposed to feel for our husbands?

As Nessie and Aegon’s marriage had deteriorated, she had never missed a chance to remind Helaena that her marriage to Daevar was not for any sort of benefit to her, but for the benefit of the crown. At the same time, he had been kind to her; he had let her maintain her bug collection and managed to carve out a space for Dreamfyre. And he has not taken you despite wanting to, she thought.

Helaena was not unaware of the intimate side of marriages-her mother had wanted to make sure she was prepared-but she had been warned that her pleasure was not required. It had been something that her Septas had told her; one had even said that she should simply ‘lie back and think of the Gods’ whenever he did decide to take her. Yet here they were, still unconsummated after this many moons into their marriage. She knew it was taking a toll on him of course; she had learnt of his actions on campaign and how he’d treated Daeron, but he had also sworn not to touch her until she wanted it. 

“Are you sure you do not desire him in that way?” Alyssa asked. The two of them, along with Lady Julia, had secluded themselves in Helaena’s chambers for embroidery; Helaena’s pieces invariably included one of the small creatures in her collection. This time, it was a spider. 

“I do not know, Lady Alyssa.” She answered. 

“I think the hearts of every woman in the Vale broke when you two were betrothed.” Alyssa smiled. 

“I have always been told that marriage is for the purpose of alliance or producing children.” Helaena replied, reciting what her mother had told her. “My mother told me I could find happiness in this if I tried, but . . .”

“But what, My Lady?” Julia asked. “It was much the same when Gerold and I married.”

“My nights are dogged with dreams of him, My Lady.” She admitted. “I cannot think of anyone else.”

Julie and her daughter smiled at each other. “You two have been flying on Dreamfyre often, My Lady. Do you enjoy his company?” Julia asked.

“I do.”

“And he must hold himself in position somehow, right?”

“He holds onto my waist, yes.”

“And you do not mind it?

“No, I do not.”

Mother and daughter smiled again. “My Lady, I do believe you are falling for our young lord.”

Helaena blushed heavily. He is rather handsome . . . She had always known that Daevar was good-looking, and she mostly put that down to his incessant martial training. “I . . . What do you suggest I do then?”

“Well, My Lady, I would suggest you speak with him. He is usually in his chambers after finishing his studies with Maester Barden.” Alyssa provided. Helaena nodded, and after setting down her needle and thread, began heading towards Daevar’s chambers. She knew where they were by now of course; she had spent several hours studying the layout of the castle and had almost committed it to memory. So focused was she on reaching Daevar’s chambers that she barely noticed she had brushed past Maester Barden and Runestone’s Septon, Carrick, who both merely shrugged at each other before moving on.

She knocked on his door. “Daevar? Are you in there?” She asked. No reply. She knocked again before she heard a . . . was it a moan? She wasn’t sure. He could be hurt! She thought, and rushed into the chamber to see him. “Daevar, I . . . OH GODS!”

What she had seen was not a sight for pleasant company. Daevar was naked, working himself over with his hand, and judging by the look on his face when she had walked in, he had been close to finishing as well.

“CLOSE THE DOOR!” He shouted. Helaena complied almost instantly, slamming the door shut behind her.

He was. . . it was not something that was entirely unknown to her, of course. Her mother had caught Aegon doing it more than once, or so she had overheard. Still, the fact that she had caught Daevar doing it was more than a little embarrassing. Though . . . she had also now seen him naked, and there she felt a delightful tingle in her body as the image burned itself into her brain. Try as she might, not even the Seven above could give her the strength to erase it from her memory.

There was that tingle again. 

She rushed back to her own chambers as quickly as she could.

“It’s not uncommon, you know.” Alyssa said. Unable to hold it in, Helaena had blurted out what had happened to her handmaiden the second she had returned to her chambers. To her enduring credit, Alyssa had remained fairly nonplussed by the whole thing; she’d dealt with it before. Growing up with Daevar had forced her to help rein in the boy’s more lustful side despite the servant girls all but throwing themselves at him.

“My mother has caught Aegon doing it before . . .” Helaena said, her face burning with a deep blush.

“He does it quite frequently. It’s just that he’s more restrained than Aegon.” Alyssa provided. Helaena felt her face somehow grow hotter. “Daevar got used to having servant girls mobbing him, but Gerold forbade him from indulging his lusts openly. Sometimes it was the only way he could release any tension.”

“It just seems so . . .”

“I know.” The Royce girl patted Helaena’s hand to reassure her. “But I assure you, it’s quite common for men to do it. Even some women do it.”

Helaena did want to ask another question, but by this point she knew she was sweating quite badly and would have to change her dress before dinner. The dress she chose for dinner felt a bit tighter than before. I should start hiking more. Her mother had always impressed the importance of staying desirable to her and Nesaena, which of course wasn’t helped by Helaena’s love of honeycakes. It was so much easier for their mother; she had managed to stay slender even after five children.

The atmosphere in the dining room was awkward to say the least. This had been a night designated for the two of them; Gerold and Julia were in the chambers, Alyssa was writing a letter to Ser Joffrey, and Ser Willam, Kermit and Daeron were eating with the soldiers. “Daevar.” Helaena said, instantly blushing as she entered.

“Helaena.” Daevar replied awkwardly as he pulled out her chair and the wine was poured. The food here was always simpler than King’s Landing. Her father had usually insisted on only hte best for the family, and that usually entailed roasted meats of various sorts, various desserts, and wine imported straight from the Reach or Dorne. Here, the mainstay was cod or salmon. 

They worked through the meal in silence, knives and forks scraping against plates. It was uncomfortable for Helaena; she had always had company in Kings Landing from Daeron, Aemond or her mother, and it was unlike Daevar to be so quiet. “Daevar, I . . .” She trailed off, unable to think of what to say.

“I should apologise, Helaena.” Daevar said. "What you saw was . . . that was not very husbandly of me.”

“Alyssa says a lot of men do it.” She said. “And that you did it regularly.”

Daevar blushed. “Helaena, I admit that to have a great deal of desire for you, but I am not going to take you until you ask me to.” He said, as resolutely as he could. He was slightly distracted by the tightness of Helaena’s dress. It certainly highlighted her curves in all the right places, and he could feel the impure but very pleasing images of his wife making their way into his mind.

“And that proves you are better than most men.:” Helaena said. “Especially your father, if one is to believe the rumours of him and the brothels.” 

Daevar simply grunted. “I believe them.”

The silence fell over them again, but this time it was Daevar who broke it. “Helaena, I . . . I wanted to say that even if I never share your bed, I will do what I can to keep you safe and give you a good life.” He said, gently taking her hand. “Runestone’s not King’s Landing by any stretch of the imagination, but I will do my best regardless. I want you to have a good life.” He said as sincerely as he could. “And I’ll make sure that the others do as well.”

Helaena smiled. Not a half-smile, Daevar noticed, but a genuine one. It was rare that he saw those from her, and she always lit up the whole room when she did. “You are a fine husband, Daevar. I will be a good wife, I promise.”

“You could never be anything else, Ellie.” Daevar said, sighing when he realised what he had called her.

“Ellie?”

“I’m sorry. I won’t-”

“No, no. I . . . Ellie. I quite like it.” She giggled, squeezing Daevar’s hand. “But you are the only person who can call me that.”

“I won’t object to that . . . Ellie.” Daevar replied. He made to pull his hand away, but Helaena stopped him. Instead, she pulled his hand closer to her body, with Daevar scarcely registering what was happening. Breathing heavily, Helaena took his hand and gently placed it on her breast. 

Daevar was no stranger to a woman’s body of course, but this was . . . different somehow. Could feel the soft flesh under Helaena’s dress, and could feel her breathing getting heavier and heavier. Her hand had not left his of course, but that barely mattered. If it had been any other woman, he likely would have jumped them right there and then, but he knew that this was different with Helaena; not just anyone could touch her. 

“What’s . . .” He tried to say, but the words failed him. He let his instincts do the talking instead, and gently swiped his thumb over her. Helaena gasped slightly in response. Oh . . . that felt nice, she thought. The tingle started again, and after figuring out where it was coming from, squeezed her thighs together to try and stop it, not that it helped a whole lot.

“Daevar, I . . .” She gasped again.

“Yes, Helaena?” He asked. Neither of them truly knew what they were doing. Helaena had never done anything like this before with anyone, and Daevar, while not new to this sort of thing, was trying to comprehend what was happening. He was touching the girl he had wanted. At least you can admit it now, you idiot, he thought.

Gently, Helaena moved his hand away from her, blushing heavily still. “That felt nice.” She said. Much as it did, she was afraid of what might happen if she did end up going a bit overboard this early. Someone with Daevar’s reputation could easily get a little overeager with her, and she wasn’t stupid, as she was so fond of reminding Daevar.

“Yes, it did.” He smiled as he willed himself to calm down. “Would you like to go for another hike tomorrow morning, Helaena? We can try a more difficult route this time.”

“I think I would prefer to stay with our usual route for now. But I wouldn't mind changing in a week or two..” She replied. 

“Of course.” Daevar smiled. He’d had a few routes in mind for a while, and given the fact they’d been on several already, he had little doubt that Helaena was getting more and more used to the hikes around Runestone. “A week or two it is then.”

Daeron had been warned by Criston that soldiers were not always the best company outside of battle, and he was learning that firsthand since he had agreed to eat with the Royce guard that evening. A lot of the talk went over the thirteen-year-old’s head of course, but a lot also didn’t. He had heard Aegon speak in similarly lewd terms more than once, of course. As a result, he had stuck close to Kermit for most of the night, trying to avoid any sort of close contact with the Royce soldiers. 

“Enjoying yourself, Daeron?” Kermit asked as he sipped at a cup of wine. Daeron himself had opted to have his watered down.

“There’s a lot of men here I don’t know, Lord Tully.” Daeron replied nervously. Kermit ordinarily would have made a joke, but he simply nodded instead. Being at Runestone for the first time himself eight years ago had been a little nerve-wracking around all the unfamiliar people, so it was something he knew well.

“I was like that when I first came here, My Prince.” Kermit replied. 

“How did you get over it?”

“I became friends with Daevar. And a few others around here of course.” He said, smiling at Willam and two other soldiers before noticing something. “Daeron, you see that young girl there? The one with the blonde hair?” He asked. Daeron nodded. “I daresay she’s been looing at you all night.”

Daeron blushed. “I-I’m not Daevar or you, Lord Tully. Or even Aegon.”

“I’m not saying take her to bed or anything! Gods above, Daeron.” He took a long draught from his cup. “But it would not be too scandalous for you to kiss a girl for the first time here.”

Daeron looked at the girl. She was pretty, of that there was no doubt. “Is there really no harm in it?”

“Daevar’s done far more with some of the girls around here than just kiss them, My Prince.” Kermit said before signalling the girl over. “Well, talk to her, My Prince.” Kermit smirked.

“My Lady, I-I’m Prince Daeron.” he stuttered. The girl giggled.

“My name’s Dyana, My Prince.” She replied. 

“That’s a pretty name, Dyana.”

Kermit smiled. Anya of course was not from a noble family, but probably the daughter of one of the maids around Runestone; several of them had been brought into service over the years to attend to Ladies Julia and Alyssa, and more had only arrived when Helaena had married Daevar; Dyana was probably related to the latter. Besides, there was little harm in Daeron having a bit of fun, or so he reasoned. Dyana would probably be under no illusions that they would have some grand love affair of course. He just hoped that Daeron didn’t get too involved that way either.

He downed the last of his wine and announced he was planning to turn in for the night.

It was the first real time that my mother had allowed my father to touch her in that way. Of course, they’d had all sorts of contact before, but mother has always said, it was the first real intimate contact that she’s ever had. It took a great deal of trust from her, something that father has been more than happy to remind people. It was not a kiss of course, but they were still getting closer regardless. No one could have predicted what would happen when they did go on that longer hiking route some time later, however.

I will remind everyone as well that this is not the last that the girl Dyana would be seen. She kept returning in discussions I had with others regarding incidents over the years; from most accounts, she and my uncle seemed to have been very close before she was ordered back to King’s Landing. Less happily, she was involved in two extremely horrific incidents involving Aegon and his mother. It would seem that one led to the other as far as I can see there.

Chapter Text

My mother has often said that she grew to love hiking the grounds around Runestone, but had gotten used to the simple routes she and my father would take. The idea of taking a more difficult one was something she was nervous about, but accepted as the new year drew closer to Westeros with my mother and father still yet to consummate their marriage.

My father was doubtless facing mockery regarding his masculinity at court over it, but he did not let it affect him. If he were his father, the situation would have been remarkably different, given what we know of the man. What we do know for certain is that even now, my father still had his defenders in King’s Landing and Dragonstone, chief among them being Queen Alicent and Prince Jacaerys.

King’s Landing had never truly felt like home for Alicent. Even when she used to read to King Jaehaerys in his dying days, it had never truly been home for her. Her home was the Hightower in Oldtown, where her cousin Ormund reigned since the death of her uncle. While she had her father and children, she had grown to appreciate the company of her brother Gwayne most of all lately. She had never really had any proper time with him since her marriage to Viserys and the births of her children, so she treasured the moments she did have with him, like now. 

“It does not fit to have Aegon speaking so poorly of Daevar and Helaena.” She said, shaking her head. Gwayne had paid her a visit in her chambers while her children were off elsewhere. “If Aegon is to be King, he will have to learn how to speak of others as a king does.”

“I worry deeply if he’s our next king.” Gwayne said, shaking his head. He’d never had the highest opinion of Aegon, and the boy’s endless whoring and drunkenness had only confirmed his fears. “And not just for us, but for the whole country. He’s not like Aemond, that much is certain.”

Alicent sighed. Yes, it was true Aemond had always paid more attention when learning history or philosophy and was a far better swordsman than Aegon was, but there was an anger inside him. Even if Aemond had been most ready to defend her to anyone, there was a hatred that burned inside of him that she feared would only be quenched with the death of Lucerys.

“Aemond is still the secondborn, Gwayne.” She said. “And he does not speak at all of Daevar.”

“Why are you so worried about Daevar, sister?” Gwayne asked, leaning back in his chair. “He’s but one lord, and not even a Lord Paramount at that.” He added. After all, the boy’s power ended where his lands did; he could not raise the entire army of the Vale to his side, nor could he directly appeal to the crown for protection unless an external threat was facing him. “He cannot threaten us.”

“Not directly, no.” Alicent replied. “But he has the ear of Lady Arryn and has Helaena and Daeron in his possession.” 

“You fear he’ll do something to them?”

“No, of course not.” Alicent said without hesitation. “Daevar is not his father, he has some sense of right and wrong.” He also defended Aemond when no one else did on that awful night . . .

Gwayne shrugged. He had never really met Daevar long enough to have an impression of the lad. He had heard that he was an excellent fight for his age-one of the better ones of his generation-and was apparently rather popular with the Red Keep’s servant girls, but not much else. “I don’t know him well enough to have an opinion of him. I know he’s the Rogue Prince’s son though; that’s cause enough for alarm.”

“Is it?” Alicent asked. “Daevar’s proven he’s not his father. If he were, he’d have come here the second those rumours started and gutted anyone speaking them.”

“Well then, we’re all grateful for that, I suppose.” Gwayne replied. He still had some niggling pain  from when Daemon had cheated during the tourney years ago; being dragged along the posts in the middle of the field by his horse was not what he had envisioned when he had entered the lists that day. At the time, he didn’t know why Daemon had selected him as an opponent, but now he knew that it had been away of hurting their father.

Truly, the man’s pettiness knew few bounds.

“Daevar is a good lad, Gwayne. I only wish father could see it.” Alicent said. Much as her father was usually right on most things, his prejudices towards Daevar seemed to be rooted in who the boy’s father was. It was unfair as far as she was concerned; his defence of Aemond alone that night should have been enough to convince him that Daervar was not like his father. He was the only one to speak out in his defence . . . when everyone else stayed silent, Daevar spoke.

“Father is a man set in his way, Alicent. You know that better than anyone.” Gwayne said. Their father’s ambition had few, if any limits, and Gwayne was all but certain that things would only get worse from now on. “But like I said, I don’t know enough about him.”

“Hopefully he and Helaena will visit here with Daeron soon. THen you can talk with him properly.”

“I hope so too, Alicent.” Gwayne replied as he stood up. “I should return to duty. Leading our household guard is not an easy job.”

Alicent smiled at her brother. “Go, Gwayne. I had promised I would meet with Nesaena for tea soon anyway.” She said. The two siblings embraced before Gwayne left, still fixing his swordbelt back up as he did so. Alicent had meant to meet with Nesaena earlier, if she was honest, but Gwayne’s visit had put paid to that.

She just had to hope that her daughter would not be too unforgiving about it.

Jace had never been the best swordsman, he knew that, but he was hoping that some more training would put him up to Daevar’s level. If he was going to inherit the Iron Throne, he had to learn how to fight properly. He knew getting to his half-brother’s level would take years, but he also knew he’d been neglecting his martial training for his arithmetic and history lessons. His mother had always said they were more important than simply learning how to fight, after all.

His sparring partners usually alternated between the different squires on Dragonstone; he was getting older now and had to test himself against more skilled opponents. Ser Steffon Darklyn, one of the Kingsguard knights who had been assigned to guard his mother on Dragonstone along with Ser Lorent Marbrand, had taken charge of training him as he had gotten older, mainly due to Daemon’s disinterest. Though, as he had noticed, the Rogue Prince’s disinterest didn’t translate into leaving him alone.

“You’re still making the same mistakes you usually do.” Daemon said as Jace put the drill sword away. “Perhaps I should have a word to Ser Steffon about adjusting your training regimen.”

“Ser Steffon has been training me well, Prince Daemon. Hopefully I can learn more from Lord Daevar when I travel to Runestone again.” Jace replied. Though Daemon’s face remained impassive, the little twitch at the corner of his mouth had given away his anger. 

“You hope to learn something from my son, do you?” Daemon replied. “I wish you good luck there, My Prince. He’s been more focused on his mother’s memory. I hardly expect him to know much about ruling.”

Jace suppressed his own anger. Daemon did not know what Daevar was like, truly. He still dismisses Rhea’s death as inconsequential for him. “He’s a skilled warrior for his age, Prince Daemon. Even mother says so.” He said, noting with some satisfaction that Daemon did not attempt a comeback to that. For all the venom Daemon had for his own son, he was still too afraid of saying the wrong thing when it might make its way back to Rhaenyra. Instead, the Rogue Prince merely huffed and left, with Jace’s satisfaction growing at the fact he had managed to get one over on the man.

Luke, who had observed the whole confrontation, came bounding over to his brother. “What did Daemon want?” 

“I don’t know.” Jace said, wiping his face with water from a trough. “He still doesn't like Daevar; that much is clear.”

“I don’t either. He defended Aemond that night.”

Jace remained silent at that. “I’m heading to Runestone in the new year. My first time away from here by myself.” He provided. Originally, he had wanted to do a progress of the Crownlands, but their mother had vetoed that idea. At least in Runestone, he would be around people who would not try to harm him. Apart from maybe Daeron of course, but that was a different story. “That means you’ll have to take care of mother.”

“You’re going alone?” Luke asked, his voice betraying his concern. 

“I have to grow up sometime, Luke.” Jace sighed. “I can’t remain shielded away on Dragonstone forever. The Conciliator went on progresses all the time to stay in touch with the people he ruled.” 

‘But you’re not the King yet.”

“I will be one day.” Jace replied. He wanted to be prepared for the day he ascended the Iron Throne. If all goes well, Daevar will be my Hand too. “Take care of mother when I’m gone Luke. I still don’t trust Daemon.”

Luke nodded. Daemon had been kinder to him if he was honest, but he did have in mind what the man had done in abandoning Daevar. Luke himself couldn’t imagine life without either of his parents around, so he was lucky his mother was still there, even if Daevar seemed to be exactly what Daemon would have wanted in a son. “And what about Rhaena?”

“What about here?”

“I still think she wants to be the one who married Daevar.” He said bitterly. “And you know what they’re talking about with us and who we’re marrying; you to Baela and you to Rhaena. How am I supposed to compete with Daevar?” 

“Don’t compete. Just be Luke.” Jace replied. His brother’s nervousness about the possibility of marrying Rhaena was warranted, especially given the affection she had seemingly shown towards Daevar. “She’ll grow to like you soon enough.”

Jace patted his brother on the shoulder and smiled. With a bit of luck, his trip to Runestone in the new year would go down without too many issues. If Daeron could keep his damn problems with his family under wraps; though knowing his uncles, that wouldn’t happen. 

I just hope that Daevar doesn’t let things get out of hand.

Helaena had grown to love the hiking around Runestone. In King’s Landing, she had barely been allowed out of the Red Keep, much as she had wanted to. It seemed her mother had taken what had happened with Viserra Targayren to heart; the girl had gone gallivanting off in ther city one night and ended up dead from a drunken horse ride. Helaena supposed mother had her reasons for not letting them out, but she still loved the change.

Daevar had indeed picked out a more difficult route for them this time. The first ascent had largely obscured the castle from their view, but after the third or fourth, Helaena was struggling to keep up with her husband; she put that down to his constant physical training. Still, she couldn't deny that pushing herself to keep up with him was something she liked; the freedom of being able to walk around freely in the open air was something that she really enjoyed.

“Just up here, then we can turn back.” Daevar said as they carefully stepped through a gully, still heading upwards. All Helaena knew about where they were was that they had passed the Dragoncave-as Daeron had labelled it-around an hour ago, so she hoped that Daevar had been this way before. They had set out after an early dinner to find a place Daevar said would give a stunning view of Runestone and the lands surrounding it. As they crested the last rise, he reached his hand down to help her up. Gratefully, she accepted and he helped her over the rise. She felt herself slipping slightly before Daevar caught her with a hand around her waist. “Careful, helaena. I’m not sure Daeron would ever forgive me if I dropped you.”

“You wouldn’t drop me, Daevar.” She said, smiling before looking around at the view. She gasped.

It was magnificent. The setting sun was beautiful, with songbirds chirping their tunes and not a cloud to be seen. Runestone itself stood in the middle of a small valley, surrounded by a small hamlet with people busying themselves with their chores. Above, Daeron soared on his Blue Queen, the two of them pulling all sorts of ridiculous stunts as they flipped, rolled and dived through the sky. 

“I was hoping for something that would stun you.” Daevar said. He had seen this view often enough from the heights around Runestone, and had wanted to show Helaena for some time. Now, he finally had the chance to do so. “Kermit and I used to come up here a lot with Ser Gerold when we were younger. I think they were using it as an excuse to get me out of the castle for a while.”

“Why?”

“After my mother died, I was distraught.” Daevar said quietly, though Helaena could still hear him. “Then Kermit came along. He brightened up my life.”

“He’s your closest friend, right?”

Daevar nodded. “Has been for years now.”

Helaena smiled. Friends were not something that she’d had outside her family in King’s Landing; she supposed that Aemond and Daeron came closest. Jacaerys had always been kind to her, but he was never around enough to truly be called a friend. Runestone felt like a new world to her; smaller maybe, but everyone was much closer and tight-knit than in the Red Keep. “I never really had friends in the Red Keep. Mother always kept an eye on who I spent time with.”

“Sounds like a grim life.” Daevar replied.

“It would have been even more grim if I didn’t have my mother.” Helaena said. “I am sorry for what happened to Lady Rhea, Daevar. I am, truly. And I know she would be proud of the lord you’re becoming.”

Daevar dropped his head, but nodded. “Thank you, Helaena.” He said, squeezing her hand gently. “Sometimes I come up here to think.”

“It is beautiful up here.” Helaena agreed.

Not as beautiful as you, Daevar thought. He managed to stop himself saying it, but only just. “It is . . . Hey, look. Fireflies.” He said, pointing at a small group of the luminescent insects flying around. He had tried to catch fireflies when he was younger with Kermit, but they’d forgotten to put holes in the jars, so it went about as well as one would expect.

Helaena’s smile grew wider at the sight of them. She had heard about fireflies often of course, but had never seen them in real life. They were beautiful; the way they glowed against the slowly darkening sky, as though they were torches guiding travellers to an inn. Daevar, for his part, could not focus on anything but her, and despite his efforts, the next words came tumbling out of him.

“ . . . I love you . . “

“W-what?” Helaena stuttered, turning to him. Daevar sighed, but steeled himself.

“I can’t help it, Ellie. I’ve fallen in love with you.” He said. “That’s just going to be a fact from now on. It doesn’t matter if you feel the same way about me or not.”

Helaena dropped his hand and looked at the ground. “We should go back to Runestone.”

Helaena had almost immediately gone to speak with Julia and Alyssa when they had returned. Daevar’s confession had caught her off-guard to say the least and she was searching for a way to respond to it, not made simpler by the fact that all she could think about was him. They had more or less given the same advice as they had before: talk to him and be honest. 

Kermit pointed her in Daevar’s direction; he was cleaning Lamentation near the stables. According to Kermit, that was a spot where he went when he needed time alone. Wishing she had known that sooner, she made her way over there, finding her husband on a bench next to the stables, setting down his cleaning rag.

“Daevar, I . . “

“Hello, Helaena.” Daevar said. “Look, about earlier . . . I don't regret what i said. It’s just a fact of the universe now. I’m in love with you, and that won’t change anytime soon.”

Helaena breathed deeply before speaking again. “I . . . I must confess something as well.” She said. His eyes widened. “Daever . . . I have grown fond of you.”

“You mean-”

“I cannot think of anyone but you, Daevar. You are in my dreams every night.” Her lip wobbled slightly as she spoke, unsure of her words. Daevar simply tilted her head towards him.

“I cannot think of anyone but you, Helaena.” He replied gently.

“Then . . . perhaps we should . . ."

“Only if you want to.”

“I . . . would like to kiss you.” She said softly.

“Then . . . I suppose-” He was cut off as Helaena pecked his lips, though from the face she pulled afterwards, something was wrong. Daevar could feel it too; that one peck wasn’t going to be enough.

“That didn’t feel . . .” Helaena trailed off.

“Yeah.”

“Then . . . maybe we should . . .” Again, words failed Helaena, but she let her feelings and instincts take over as she kissed him again. This was different than their first kiss though; it was far deeper, far more meaningful than a simple peck. His hands gently slid around her waist as her hands went to the back of his head, unconsciously holding each other in place. 

By the time the two of them broke apart, they were both smiling, with their foreheads resting against each other.

“I love you, Helaena.”

“And I love you, Daevar.” 

The confession of my mother and father had been a long time coming, to hear them say it. Their struggle with their personal feelings was finally put to the end with their first real kiss. The singers have always had people believe that it took place somewhere incredibly romantic, like in front of a roaring fireplace or in an orchard as the sun went down. And it most certainly did not happen how the dwarf Mushroom describes it; they absolutely did not couple at all that night, not least in the manner he describes

I much prefer the real story of their first kiss. Outside the Runestone stables as they put their complicated feelings to the side and simply acted on instinct for once. Anyone living in our kingdom today can see that it has worked out for the best.

Chapter Text

With my mother and father finally having confessed their feelings for each other, their relationship would continue to grow, even as the fissures between the Greens and the Blacks grew deeper. Rumours began to emerge at this time that they were trying to champion Daeron’s claim to the Iron Throne; all completely made up by scholars sympathetic to Rhaenyra or Aegon, of course. 

In any case, my mother and father’s blossoming marriage provided an interesting contrast to Aegon and Nesaena’s. While they grew closer, the ‘leaders’ of the Green faction became ever more distant. While by all accounts their marriage started okay, Aegon’s philandering and Nesaena’s general unpleasantness put paid to any happiness they might’ve had.

130 AC

Nesaena had been trying to calm down Jaehaerys when she heard the news that her husband had once again been found passed out in some corner of the Red Keep, drunk. To say that she was frustrated with him was to understate things dramatically; he was yet to invest any sort of time in raising their children, even if he was the one who had given them to her. 

Finally, Jaehaerys stopped crying. She set the three year old down next to his sister Jaehaera. Jaehaera was at least easier to take care of than her brother; there was no crying from her to wake Nesaena up in the morning before the sun had risen. With both of them asleep, she turned to see Aemond standing in the doorway. “Brother, it is good to see you. Come to tell me that my husband has found a way to somehow get himself drunk in the few minutes I was informed that he was already passed out?”

“No, Nesaena. I’ve come to make sure your children are alright.” Aemond replied. He had thought his sister would be trying to recover Aegon from another one of his episodes. “Aegon drinks too much.”

“A mild statement.” Nesaena scoffed. “Whenever he’s not with one of his whores, he’s drinking. Sometimes both at the same time.” She turned away from Aemond, looking at her children. Aegon and her shared a bed rarely, their mother occasionally asked for them to sleep together in order to produce more children for their line. Nesaena suspected that the main reason for it though was to brush aside Aegon’s infidelity; their mother often had a part in covering up his affairs. “Sometimes I think he’s just bitter that he can't charm girls like Daevar.”

Aemond grunted at that. Davear’s nature and popularity with girls meant there was little doubt in his mind that he was dishonouring Helaena; probably at this very moment. After all, it was doubtful that she would give up her virtue willingly for him. Father made a mistake betrothing them. “He’s never been as popular as Daevar.”

“Or as handsome. Or as skilled a warrior.” Nesaena replied. “Not to mention Daevar has actually fought in a war.”

One battle does not make a war, dear sister. Aemond wanted to say it, but discretion was the better part of valour here. Though Nesaena and Daevar hadn’t interacted much, the two had a fairly good relationship. He held his tongue instead and shifted the topic back to Aegon. “Mother has said she will talk properly with Aegon after this indiscretion.”

“That will have about as much an impact on him as any of her other talks.” Nesaena said. “Denying him my bed would only cause it to happen again. He believes himself to be living a hard life while all of this is around him.” She said, waving her hands at the sumptuously decorated walls with patterns of dragons and towers all over the room. A Seven-Pointed Star had even been painted on the roof of the children’s room at Alicent's insistence.

“He will still be king when father dies.” Aemond reminded her. 

“Seven help us when he ascends the Iron Throne. He will turn this damn place into a brothel.” Nesaena muttered. Leaving the children to their rest, she began making her way back to her own chambers, Aemond close behind. “Do you know I cannot remember the last time he showed any enthusiasm in bedding me, Aemond? At times i think I’m the one woman he despises in bed.”

Aemond had heard Aegon’s rants about Nesaena being cold towards him-the Lands of Always Winter being his favoured metaphor-but none of this erased that his brother was supposed to be a father as well. At the very least, he should be caring for his children. “I am sorry, sister. I wish I could be of help.”

“Just you being here is enough, Aemond.” She replied as they arrived at her chambers. Only one Targaryen guardsman stood outside her chamber that night; her father insisted that the Kingsguard was to guard the King and his Queen only, so that meant no Kingsguard watching over Nesaena. Still the guard was young-around her age if she was guessing correctly-and handsome enough for her. “Thank you, Aemond, I believe I shall retire now. “

“Of course, Nesaena.” Aemond said, bidding her farewell as he left. Immediately after he had, she turned to the guard and invited him in. The young man was reluctant to leave his post; his commander would tan his hide, but all it took from Nesaena was one flash of her legs and he was in. 

He wasn’t the best lover she’d had, but he made up for it in enthusiasm. And he’s still better than my husband .

Daevar was observing Daeron as he sparred with one of the other squires in Runestone. He wasn;t pulling off any advanced moves, but he was capable of holding his own against them, as was demonstrated when he flicked his opponent’s sword aside with his own and moved in, point aimed directly at the lad’s neck. “Well done, Daeron.”

Daeron beamed at that. He knew he was far better at dragonriding than he ever would be at swordfighting. Learning combat from Daevar had its upsides of course, but there was just something else about being up in the sky and pulling off all sorts of tricks and manoeuvres that not even Daemon Targaryen himself would attempt. He removed his training helmet. “Thank you, My Lord.” 

Daeron and the other squire helped each other out of their armour as Helaena and Kermit entered the courtyard, Kermit with a scrap of paper in his hands. “Thought this might interest you, Daevar.” He said, holding the paper out to his friend. “Oscar plans to visit us before my nameday. Aly’s going to be joining him.”

“Aly? Black Aly?”

“Who else, you dolt?” Kermit replied. “Remember, you’re married now so I have her to myself.”

“Yes, yes, whatever.” Daevar waved his hand dismissively as he read over the note. Oscar’s visit would clash with Jace’s no doubt, especially since Rhaenyra’s heir planned to spend a good amount of time in Runestone before heading back to his home. “So, Oscar, Aly and Jace will all be in the same place at the same time.”

“Jace and Daeron don’t like each other very much.” Helaena said wistfully. Picking up on her brother and nephew’s dislike for each other hadn't been all that difficult in King’s Landing, and from what Daeron had been saying, that persisted.

“They’ll keep themselves in line or I’ll knock their heads together, My Lady. Don’t worry about that.” Kermit said, cracking his knuckles; Helaena jammed her hands over her ears at the sound of it. She didn’t like when Kermit did that. The sound of bones cracking was one of the more unpleasant ones she had heard in her life. 

“Daeron! Finish up here and head to your studies with Maester Barden. Helaena and I need to discuss preparations for these visits.” He ordered. Daeron nodded, and turned to the other squires. With training for the day done, they were tasked with returning all the equipment to the armoury and ensuring it was all accounted for. While that was going on, Daevar and Helaena, with Kermit following behind them, made their way to the Great hall where Gerold and Alyssa were waiting. 

“I hear we’re to receive some visitors soon.” Gerold said. Daevar cast a pointed look at Kermit to say ‘we’ll discuss this later’ before turning to Gerold.

“Yes, we are. Prince Jacaerys will be spending some time here, and Oscar Tully and Alysanne Blackwood are coming to visit.” He said, causing Gerold and Julia to arch their eyebrows slightly. It hadn't been that many years ago when they had been discussion the possibility of marrying Lady Alysanne to Daevar before the King had betrothed him to Helaena.

“How are we to keep Daeron and Jace from being at each other’s throats again?” Julia asked. This time, it was Helaena that spoke. 

“If I may, My Lady, I grew up with both Daeron and Prince Jacaerys in King’s Landing. I did learn how my mother and sister would keep them in line. I may be odd, but I’m not stupid.” She said, a small smile on her face. Her mother and Rhaenyra may have fallen apart in recent years, but they still cooperated on keeping Jace and Daeron away from each other, otherwise they were bound to come to blows.

“We’ll have Septon Carrick help you. He’s good at knocking heads together when needed.” Daevar said. Carrick had been Runestone’s Septon for decades by now; the man took his work so seriously he had rejected multiple chances to join the Most Devout in Oldtown. Helaena had found his presence oddly comforting, seeing as her mother had instilled the importance of the Seven into her. 

“I think that’s a good idea.” Gerold said. “In the meantime, I’ll instruct Barden to prepare additional rooms. He’s not going to be happy about this.” He sighed, rubbing his face. Daevar grinned; usually he was the one giving Barden the bad news.

“Cheer up, Ser Gerold. Barden doesn’t bite.” 

“Oh, but he can bite your head off sometimes.” A voice said. Everyone turned to see Carrick entering the room. He was not a young man anymore; his bald head and wrinkles marked him out as being older than everyone else in Runestone, though one could have been forgiven for thinking he was older than his fifty-and-six years. 

“Septon Carrick, it’s good to see you.” Kermit said. “Though I must ask why you’re here.”

“I am part of this House’s council, Lord Tully. I have more of a right to be here than you do.” Carrick replied, though not too unkindly. The man would always be grateful for the way the boy had pulled Daevar from his melancholy after Rhea’s death. “Barden can have a short temper, but he is a good man.”

“Runestone could not function without him.” Daevar said. “I was hoping you would be able to help helaena with keeping the princes Daeron and Jacaerys peaceful while the latter is visiting. Last time he was here, we nearly had a brawl between them.”

“Not to worry My Lord, I will knock their heads together if needs be.” Carrick replied. It was easy to forget sometimes that the man had been a soldier before devoting himself to the Faith. 

“Would that not hurt them?” Helaena asked. She had heard the expression often enough, but in her experience, knokicng your head against something was a good way to give yourself a headache.

“A manner of speaking, My Lady.” Carrick replied, smiling. “I’ll make sure they keep their peace, My Lord.”

“Thank you, Carrick. I am sorry to ask, but do you know where Barden is?”

“I believe he’s writing his history of the Vale, My Lord. You know what he’s like when he gets absorbed in his work.” THe Septon said. Daevar grunted in reply. Barden had been composing a grand work of the Vale’s history that took up almost all his time away from his official duties, and when he got absorbed in it, it was difficult to pull him back.

“Then we must begin preparing.” Gerold said, resting his hands on the hilt of his sword. “We will need a Captain of the Guard first of all; our previous one left to enter the personal service of Lady Jessamyn.”

“There’s an obvious choice for that.” Kermit said. Everyone turned and looked at him. Kermit was used to speaking out of turn, but also used to getting a scolding for it afterwards. Seeing that one was not coming, he continued. “Well, Ser Willam. He’s a knight, respected by the other guardsmen, and he knows how to lead.” 

“That’s . . . almost too good from you, Kermit.” Daevar deadpanned. “I half-expected you to suggest yourself.”

“Well, if there is a chance-”

“Absolutely not.” Daevar cut him off before turning to Gerold. “Well then, I believe your son will be our next Captain of the Guard, Ser Gerold.”

“He will be honoured to hear it, My Lord.” Gerold said, a smile on his face. “When all is said and done, I believe he will be a fine Captain.”

“So do I.” Daevar replied. “Well then, it sounds like we have work to do.”

“Indeed. I’ll inform Barden posthaste.” Gerold said. “And I think it best if you inform Willam of the appointment yourself, My Lord. It would mean a lot coming from you.”

“Of course, Ser Gerold.” Daevar replied. He was about to dismiss everyone when he thought of something. “You know what? I believe we shall meet Prince Jacaerys in Gulltown, and show him the Vale’s only city.”

“I don’t think-” Gerold started before his wife cut him off.

“I believe that is a good idea.” Julia said. “If he is to rule one day, he could do with more exposure to his subjects.”

“My thinking exactly.” Daevar replied. “Well, let’s get cracking then. I have an appointment to make and we all have visitors to prepare for."

Dinner that night was far less tense or awkward for Helaena, even though the entire castle’s council was there. Carrick had led the prayer earlier, and she was startled to see the Septon tuck into a leg of roasted chicken with such abandon. Kermit was much the same, though she had come to expect that from the Tully boy. Daeron too seemed to be taking on as much food as he could, particularly of the fish he had taken a liking to. Ser Willam, chuffed with his appointment as Captain of the Guard, was working on his third goblet of wine as Barden half-seriously tried to inform him of the dangers of overindulging. Lady Alyssa was more circumspect; she was planning to leave to visit Ser Joffrey in the morning. Gerold and Julia were just smiling as they ate.

And seated next to her was her Daevar. He was pacing himself; she had noticed that he had deliberately watered down his wine to keep his wits about him. Helaena had opted to do the same; normal wine made her tired anyway, so it was a small price to pay.

“I did tell you about the time I beat Daevar, right?” Kermit said to Willam and Daeron.

“You only beat me because my sword broke!” Daevar shot back with a laugh, determined to defend his honour. 

“Minor details.” Kermit said, waving his hand. This was meant to be his story after all, and what was a good story if you told every single detail of the whole thing. “Besides, it was nice to see you be the one getting grief for not maintaining equipment for a change.”

“Because it’s usually you.” Barden deadpanned. 

“You’re a Maester, I’m the grandson of a lord. I outrank you so it’s my story that gets told.” Kermit said, though he was clearly toying with the Maester. Barden’s serious nature could sometimes get the better of him in these situations.

“Nevermind the fact that you’re not in the line of succession. A boy with a wooden sword he’s badly painted as Blackfyre sitting in his chambers-don’t act like it’s not there-cannot be lord of this place.” Barden replied. The line between seriousness and jests is a thin one with him, Daevar thought. He had known Barden all his life, and the man never missed an opportunity to deflate Kermit. Much as Daevar hated to admit it, sometimes it was necessary.

Kermit, for his part, crossed his arms and pouted, sitting back in his chair. He was the perfect image of a child who had just been told they couldn’t have anymore sweets. “ . . . it’s not badly painted.”

Everyone laughed at that, even Barden. Kermit, despite his pouting, couldn’t help but crack a smile as well. He was going to get Barden for that, probably later on he’d sneak one of Helaena’s more strange-looking bugs into the Maester’s bed, or perhaps nick one of his books from his chambers while he was sleeping. Maybe even add something strange to the history he was writing.

Helaena laughed as well. Is this what she had been missing her whole life? Dinners in King’s Landing were usually quiet affairs. There was the prayer before the meal of course, there also there might have been some chatter about the day’s events, and occasionally Nesaena might’ve complained about Aegon’s drunkenness. The sheer ease at which everyone seemed to be with each other here-to the point where they could freely make jokes without giving severe insult-was very different to King’s Landing.

Kermit stood up. “Seeing as I have been humiliated enough for one evening, I figure it only fair that I be the one to propose a toast tonight.” He turned to Helaena and smiled. “My Lady, when you first came here, I admit I was not sure what to make of you. Yet here we are now, with Daevar in love. Oh how the hearts of every maiden in the Vale must be breaking tonight.” 

Helaena blushed as Kermit continued.

“You’ve made Runestone brighter with your presence, and you’ve brought a little more light into all our lives, especially your husband’s. I thank you for that deeply, My Lady.” He raised his goblet a bit higher. “And I’m proud to call you a friend, as are we all. To Lady Helaena!”

“Lady Helaena!” Everyone repeated before drinking. Helaena had been about to when she sniffled slightly, feeling a tear escaping her eye. Kermit’s face instantly went to one of worry.

“Shit. My Lady, I didn’t mean-”

“I’m . . . I’m not upset, Lord Tully.” Helaena replied, wiping her sleeve. “It’s just . . . I . . . I’ve never had real friends before.”

My mother had been welcome at Runestone all along, you see. Her mind was still in King’s Landing though. With her marriage to my father now firmly one of love, she began seeing everyone at Runestone in a more friendly light. She would later say that getting away from King’s Landing was the best thing that ever happened to her. I’m inclined to agree; without the influence of her family, caught up as it was in political scheming, I believe she gained the confidence necessary to embrace her life with my father.

I do wonder what she thought of her eventual return to King’s Landing. To this day, she refuses to answer my questions.

Chapter Text

When Prince Jacaerys embarked on his second trip to Runestone, it would be his first long-distance flight on his dragon, Vermax. Of course, the Prince had been flying around Dragonstone, but this was the first time he had gone outside the bounds of the Blackwater. My father and mother had sent a message to Princess Rhaenyra, saying they would meet him in Gulltown.

We must remember Gulltown is the only major city of the Vale, and at the time was divided between the nominal lords in the Graftons, Isembard Arryn and the Arryns of Gulltown, and two branches of House Shett, of which the Gull Tower Shetts were sworn to House Royce. It was against this backdrop that my mother and father awaited the Prince.

One problem, Helanea was quickly finding out about Gulltown, were the roving packs of enforcers from each family in the city. Most of them seemingly paid her little attention, or were simply too afraid to attack the Lady of Runestone. What she did know was that the only reason she felt safe enough to walk the streets was if Daevar were with her. Arrangements had been made for them to stay with the Gull Tower Shetts, who resided on a small island in the middle of the harbour.

“Don’t worry, love. I’m here.” Daevar said. The half-dozen knights that were with them made her feel a bit calmer, she had to admit. “Besides, they wouldn’t dare attack a princess of House Targaryen.” He added, though his hand was resting on the hilt of Lamentation in case any of them did try anything. He eyed up one group of rough looking men, who promptly went back to their own conversation after meeting his gaze for a few seconds. 

He wasn’t a physically intimidating man, but he was still the Lord of Runestone, and his power was secondary only to Lady Jeyne’s.

After spotting two men by a rowboat in the harbour, Daevar dropped a few silvers in each of their hands to row them out. The tower, which Helaena could see more clearly now, was an imposing structure, and apart from the single tall spire that pierced upwards towards the sky, it was more of a small fort than a single tower. The walls were around the height of two men, though what got her attention most of all were the fearsome siege weapons positioned on the walls. Scorpions adorned them, focusing out at the bay, while what looked like a massive ballista was emplaced on the roof of the tower.

“Why all the weapons?” She asked Daevar as the boat was tied onto the island’s wharf.

“The Gull Tower Shetts are a key part of the city’s defence.” Daevar said as he stepped off, offering his hand to Helaena to help her. She took it gladly. “When the harbour is attacked, Gull Tower can target ships coming all around. Many a pirate fell to Gull Tower before the Conquest.” 

Helaena nodded as the gate of the fort was opened for them. Right in the centre of it was the tower, reaching up to the heavens and bristling with arrow slits and murder holes. She was reminded for a moment of how Maegor the Cruel had insisted on defences being built into the Red Keep itself to forestall attackers, but Gull Tower was far simpler in its construction and she realised that for all the pretences to being the seat of a noble house, it was a purely defensive structure. “This is the seat of a house?” She wondered out loud.

“The Gull Tower Shetts are the smaller of the two branches.” Daevar replied. “They can only call on a few hundred fighting men, and most of them are back in the city. Their guard stays here and mans the defences with the Knight of Gull Tower and his family. Speaking of which . . .”

From the oak door at the base of the tower emerged a short and stocky but powerfully built man with hair as black as coal and close set brown eyes, accompanied by a scar on his cheek and arrow-straight posture. Either the man was trying to make himself look taller than he was, or he was even more of a soldier than he looked. “Helaena, allow me to introduce you to Ser Jon Shett, Knight of Gull Tower.”

“A pleasure, Ser Jon.” Helaena said, her eyes dropping to the ground as she held out her hand. Ser Jon Shett took her hand for a moment then released it, turning to look at Daevar.

“Your wife is a beauty, My Lord.” He said in a gravelly voice. Helaena blushed at that. 

“She certainly is, Ser Jon.” Daevar replied, touching his fingertips to Helaena’s to reassure her. “We were told you had arranged rooms for us until Prince Jacaerys arrives.”

“We did, My Lord, but they are at our manse in the city.” Ser Jon explained. Daevar nodded; he was aware of the situation. Gull Tower was almost exclusively a defensive structure, and didn't exactly have much in the way of hospitality for visitors. 

“Of that, I am aware, Ser Jon. I thought it best that my wife meet with one of our vassals before settling down for the evening.” Daevar said. Helaena still avoided looking Ser Jon in the eye; it made her uncomfortable to say the least. Instead, she tried to focus on the point of the man’s stubby nose.

“Well, there’s not much else to say. We watch the harbour against any attackers so we can shoot them apart before they get close.” Ser Jon said, gesturing to the ballista and scorpions. “I’ll arrange for transport back to the mainland, My Lord. It appears the men who rowed you here have buggered off.”

“Of course, Ser Jon. Thank you.” Daevar replied.

The first thought Daevar had was that Helaena would be more comfortable staying here than in the tower. It was more like what she was used to from her life in the Red Keep and the time she’d had since moving to Runestone. The Gull Tower Shetts were not a wealthy house, he knew, but they were closely allied to Isembard Arryn as far the politics of the city went, and that alliance had paid off for them fairly well. 

The manse was smaller than many of the other ones that were owned by the wealthy men of King’s Landing, Helaena noticed. It was a three story stone building in a walled compound, with a few soldiers bearing the arms of House Shett-three golden wings on a checkered field-patrolling the ground as a handful of servants went about their business of attending to a small garden. 

The foyer of the manse was not nearly as grand as what she had gotten used to over the years, but it was still lovely. Guards stood at every corner as they were welcomed by a woman with a round face and penetrating green eyes, along with a younger girl with the same features. “Lord and Lady Royce, I am Lady Osmera Shett and this is my daughter, Genna.” The woman said, gesturing to the girl. 

“A pleasure to meet you both.” Daevar said, bowing. Helaena curtseyed, though without looking directly into the eyes of either of the women opposite. She could feel several pairs of eyes watching her every move; it was not every day a Targaryen visited here after all. She started rubbing the familiar circle pattern into her left palm to calm down

“You have honoured us with your visit, My Lord. I have been unable to prepare your rooms to the standard I would want, but-”

“I am sure they will be suitable, My Lady. This was done on short notice, from what I understand.” Daevar replied. Osmera grunted. 

“My husband left it to the last second, as usual.” She said, the signs of frustration clearly on her face. She had been at her husband to begin preparations for their arrival for some time now, but as always, he had completely neglected it until it could no longer be avoided. 

“Regardless, I am sure you have done your best, Lady Shett. We are honoured to stay here.” Daevar said as Osmera signalled for bread and salt. With the proper niceties exchanged, the two Shett women began escorting them towards their rooms on the third floor. Helaena noted, with some surprise, that she wasn't struggling for breath by the time they reached the top of the stairs. All the hiking must be doing me some good after all. 

“You two have the best rooms we could manage on short notice.” Osmera said, aware she sounded more like an innkeeper than a noble lady as she opened the door for Daevar; her daughter did the same for Helaena.

Helaena smiled slightly when she saw the room. Though the only real decoration was the Royce banner hanging from the ceiling, it was enough like her bedchamber at Runestone to feel comfortable in her surroundings. Her bed dominated one corner of the room, while there was a sumptuously decorated armchair and table sitting in the other. There was no furniture besides, but Helaena liked the simplicity. The fact that she had an unimpeded view of the ocean pleased her even more. 

“Thank you, Lady Genna.” Helaena said. The little girl smiled before leaving her to the room, though she had but a minute or two before Daevar knocked and entered. “This place is nice, Daevar.” She said. He laughed slightly.

“It has been some time since I saw the Shetts. Genna has grown considerably.” He mused. “But Lady Osmera always looks after guests of the house.” 

Helaena hummed, and reached for Daevar’s hand. Daevar took her hand in his as she looked out over the harbour. She had never heard seagulls before; they never came close enough to the Red Keep for her to hear them. The sea air was refreshing as well, unimpeded by the labours that were taking place in the city. “Why is it cleaner here than King’s Landing. I can smell the sea more.”

“Fewer people.” Daevar replied. “The Vale’s doesn't have nearly the same amount of people as the crownlands. Next to White Harbor, Gulltown’s the smallest city in the realm.” He elaborated. “Helaena, that kiss we had . . . I take it you enjoyed it?”

Helaena was slightly taken aback by his question, but managed to answer. “Yes, I did.” She said. “Mother said that I could try to find pleasure in our marriage, but I didn't expect you to be as considerate as you have been.”

‘And why not?”

“How many girls were you with before me?” She asked. “I’m not an idiot, Daevar.”

“No, I know. Truth is that I’ve never actually . . . been with a girl in that way. I’ve had my fun, yes, but that’s it. I swear on my mother’s grave.” He said. Helaena nodded. She knew how deeply he meant it if he was swearing on the grave of his mother. She liked to think that Rhea Royce would approve of their marriage, especially now they had admitted their feelings to each other.

“Then . . . I am oddly glad that we are equal in this.” She said, turning to face him. “I . . . I would like to kiss you again, Daevar.”

“Well, I won’t object.” Daevar replied as they both leaned in. Helaena intended for it to just be a single kiss, just to relieve the desire she had to kiss him. However, from the moment their lips met, she wanted another kiss. Then another, and another. Every kiss made her want another, like an itch that seemed to get worse when scratched. 

Daevar could feel himself losing control slightly. He had expected Helaena to pull away after the first kiss, but she instead stayed close and kept their mouths pressed together. He knew that his wife had no experience in this sort of thing before, so she mostly seemed to be running on instinct. It didn’t matter of course, but he could sense how unsure she was. He gently put his hands on her hips and pulled away from her, though the worried look on her face didn’t make him feel any better.

“Daevar, what’s wrong?” She asked. “Did . . . Did I do something-”

“No, Helaena, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Daevar replied, sighing. “I just don’t want you to feel like you have to do anything for my benefit.”

Helaena furrowed her brow slightly. But mother told me it was my role as a wife. Did she not please him? Was there something wrong with her? “Daevar . . . am I not the wife you wanted?” She asked. 

“Helaena, don't think like that.” Daevar said, pressing their fingertips together again. “I did not think I would marry you, but I cannot think of anyone I would prefer to have as a wife instead of you. It’s you, Ellie. It always will be.” He said before kissing her again. “It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you. I do, badly, but I’m afraid of how far I can push things.”

“Oh.” Helaena replied, blushing. It was a valid concern, she supposed. Much as she trusted Daevar, she didn’t feel ready to go to his bed just yet. “I . . . I am grateful for that, Daevar.”

“I’m merely doing what any decent husband would do, Ellie.” Daevar replied. “I need to polish the cuirass; Daeron is still at Runestone with Tessarion. I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Yes, Daevar.” Helaena nodded, kissing him one more time as he left. When the door shut, she sat down on the bed and touched her lips, smiling.

When Jace had announced that he would be flying on Vermax instead of taking a ship to the Vale, his mother had become worried. He had never flown long distance before, so perhaps it would be easier if he just flew to Cracklaw Point and then took a ship from there? Jace had insisted though; if he was going to be king one day, he needed to start learning now, and Targaryen kings had to know how to ride their dragons long distances.

The flight was exhausting. In the event, they had stopped on Cracklaw Point for a few hours so Vermax could recover before heading on. It was almost a relief that they would be meeting at Gulltown as opposed to Runestone itself. True, the distance was not far, but as they landed outside the city, Jace felt grateful to set his feet on solid ground again.

A small delegation was awaiting him at the city gates. A rotund man with a poorly-maintained beard stood in the middle, with the burning tower of House Grafton emblazoned on his tunic. Jace knew that this was Lord Grafton, but his eye was immediately drawn to the person next to him; a tall, thin man with short blonde hair who looked to be slightly younger than Daemon. On his cotehardie was effectively the Arryn sigil, but with a golden falcon instead of white. Isembard Arryn , Jace remembered. That man was the real power behind Gulltown; his coin could buy all the eyes and ears he needed in the city. Ser Jon Shett was there too, he noticed. The man was the same height as Lord Grafton, but he was significantly more impressive a figure; even if that was just to do with his deadly straight back. 

Jace straightened himself up as much as he could. The long hours bent over a table reading by candlelight hadn’t exactly done his spine any favours. 

He noticed Daevar and Helaena last, though that was partly because they were behind the other lords. What Jace didn’t know was that it had been a request of Daevar’s; this was nominally Lord Grafton’s city after all, and he had no wish to undermine the man’s authority.  

“Welcome to Gulltown, My Prince.” Lord Grafton said through his jowls. “The city is open to you for as long as you desire.”

“Alas, I have only come to meet with Lord and Lady Royce.” Jace replied. Lord Grafton’s face turned from a smile to a frown, or as much as Jace could see it on the man’s fat face. He would be lying if he said it wasn’t slightly amusing; Lord Grafton was clearly a man who’s best days were far behind him. 

“We are here, My Prince.” Daevar said from behind them. Ser Jon stepped to the side to make way for his liege lord and lady. “Welcome back to the Vale.”

“It is good to return, My Lord.” Jace said. They were both older now of course, but Daevar had the markings of a man grown by now. He was still clad in his bronze cuirass with Lamentation at his side of course, but there was an air of authority about him now; he held his head high, but not as though he were above everyone else. Helaena had changed too, though she still avoided looking directly in his eyes. She was wearing a dress that was clearly not of King’s Landing; the wool was intended to keep her warm in the colder climate.

“I believe that you may want some rest before we head to Runestone, My Prince. I’ll also have fodder sent for Vermax.” He said, referring to the young dragon. From what Daeron had told him, dragons were fairly docile if they were fed often enough. Certainly explains why Rhaenyra’s Syrax is so incredibly fat .

“I would be grateful for that, My Lord. Don’t want him hunting down a farmer’s sheep.” He laughed before switching to Valyrian and ordering Vermax to stay, though truth be told the dragon was already immensely tired from his long journey, and all he wanted was to have a juicy sheep and go to sleep.

“We’ll be glad to host you in the family manse with Lord and Lady Royce.” Ser Jon said.

“Ser Jon, the Prince cannot stay with a mere knightly house!” Lord Grafton spluttered, chins wobbling with indignation. Again, Jace had to suppress a laugh before he replied.

“My Lord, I mean no insult. Come the morning, I am certain Lord and Lady Royce intend to depart for Runestone as quickly as possible. It would be easier to leave at the same time if I were staying in the same place as them.” He supplied. He could tell Lord Grafton wanted to protest further, but evidently the man thought better of it.

“So be it then.” He replied before storming back inside the city. 

Both Isembard Arryn and Ser Jon looked with bewilderment at the retreating Lord Grafton. Yes, he was Lord of Gulltown, but no one really paid him much mind, and he had come close to ordering a Prince of Westeros-and future King-to stay at his castle? Granted, it was the usual protocol, but you couldn’t just order a Prince around.

“Well, that was bracing.” Daevar replied. “Shall we retire, everyone?”

Truth be told, much of the power in Gulltown at the time was with Isembard Arryn. Coin can make men forget their loyalties far more easily than all the exhortations in the world, and he had more than enough to pay everyone in Gulltown a Silver Stag each at least once. My father would in time become grateful for the man’s seeming obsession with coin; the entire war may have depended on Lord Isembard’s ability to finance it. 

In any event, this was to be a longer stay for Prince Jacaerys. If he was to rule one day, he though receiving lessons in it from my father would aid him. By his own admission though, my father was not an excellent lord. Still, the Prince might’ve learnt something in the months ahead; my father has always said he would have been a good king . . . if he were legitimate.

Chapter Text

Daeron and Jacaerys, surprisingly, kept from butting heads for the Prince’s first few days. Even if they would never be friends, there was an air of civility about them. Maybe they had grown up for a change. Uncle Daeron to this day insists that he and Prince Jacaerys merely avoided each other. At times when they could not, such as at meals and training, my mother does recall a tension between them. 

Of course, most things in Runestone would be upended by the arrival of Oscar Tully and of course, Alysanne Blackwood for Lord Kermit’s knighting. Lady Alysanne was known to my father and Lord Kermit as ‘Black Aly’ due to her dark hair, and it seems she had something of a connection to Lord Kermit. Whatever the truth of that particular matter, one that Maester Barden and Septon Carrick agree on is that Lady Alysanne was very much like my grandmother . . .

A week had passed since Jace’s arrival at Runestone, and already he was growing familiar with his surroundings. The only thing that had really changed from when he had last been there was Daevar and Helaena’s relationship; they seemed a lot closer than they were before. His suspicions had been confirmed the day before when he saw them kissing after he had finished his sword training for the day. Good for them, he thought. Jace only hoped his marriage would be like that one day.

Today was different though. Jace had been told that visitors were coming from Riverrun and Raventree Hall, and what had given away how different these people were was the fact that Kermit had actually made the effort to make himself look presentable. He was wearing a pourpoint in Tully colours-easily the best thing he owned-and actually made sure that his sword and dagger were both sharpened. He had shaved to, almost to the point where one forgot that he would be eight-and-ten in a day.

The household of Runestone had assembled with Daevar, Helaena, Ser Gerold, Maester Barden and Septon Carrick at the front, while Ser Willam, Kermit and the two princes stood behind them, Jace once again straightening himself up as much as possible to see who was coming in as the gates opened. Two armoured horsemen rode in bearing banners; one the Tully trout and the Blackwood weirwood tree, followed by a boy and a woman riding behind them. Jace guess the boy to be Oscar Tully, but wasn’t sure who the woman was.

“Oscar, good to see you again.” Daevar said as he hugged the boy. “Lady Alysanne, welcome to Runestone. It’s been some time.”

“Some years, My Lord, but we must make do with what we get in this world.” She replied. “Besides, I could not ignore the chance to join such . . . charming company.” She added, winking at Kermit.

Alysanne Blackwood was a tall, thin woman, with hair that tumbled into a mess of black curls that had been tied up so it didn’t whip her in the face when she was riding. She was pretty enough, Jace thought, though he didn’t fail to notice the bow and quiver of arrows slung over her back. He had heard that everyone who lived on Blackwood lands, peasant or noble, trained as an archer and tracker from birth. What he hadn’t heard was that it seemed the tradition extended to women as well from what he could see of Lady Alysanne. 

“This must be your wife.” She said, coming face-to-face with Helaena. The contrast between the two women could not have been more different, with Helaena lowering her eyes as Alysanne tried to look into them. Ordinarily the Blackwood woman might’ve taken it as an insult, but she could see that no malice was intended by her. “She’s very pretty. You’re a lucky man, My Lord.”

“I am, My Lady.” Daevar replied as Alysanne again turned her attention to Kermit. 

“Kermit Tully, as I live and breathe.” She smiled with a hint of mischief. “Last time we saw each other, you were flat on your arse trying to flee from a farmer.”

Kermit blushed. “I have grown up since then, Aly.”

Gerold rolled his eyes at that. His squire would be knighted on the morrow, and while he had managed to prove himself worthy of a knighthood with his skill in battle and proper maintenance of his equipment, he still had much to learn. Then again, you did too when you were his age, he thought. 

“Father apologises for not coming.” Oscar said to his brother. “Our great grandfather is very sick. He might be near death.”

Kermit stopped himself from saying ‘good riddance’, but only just. Grover Tully was a man well into his elderly years, who struggled to even recognise their father most days, let alone him and Oscar. When the man was lucid, there was usually a torrent of abuse about how Elmo’s father was supposed to be the heir before he had gone and gotten himself killed.

“Well, I’m honoured that father would think of me.” Kermit said. He was a bit disappointed that the man couldn;t be here, but then again, his father was Lord of Riverrun in all but name now. 

“Lord Oscar, Lady Alysanne, I would invite you to join us at dinner this evening. Most everyone you see here will be there.” Daevar said. Oscar smiled; the thought of hot food had been occupying the boy’s mind for a while after the days of travel.

“When?”

Helaena had noted that there wasn’t as much laughter in the dining hall since Jace had arrived, but figured that was due to Daevar’s desire to keep the peace between the boy and Daeron. Still, Kermit did his best to keep his spirits up, regaling his brother and Alysanne with stories about the campaign against the Hill Tribes. She noticed that Kermit and Alysanne seemed quite rapt with each other, as if they were long-lost friends meeting again. 

“Lord Kermit and Lady Alysanne seem very close.” She said to Daevar, hoping for an explanation. 

“They have been for some time.” Daevar replied, turning to his wife. “I was . . . close with her as well.”

“Was she one of your girls?” Helaena asked. Daevar sensed there was no jealousy there, just matter-of-factness.

“No.” He shook his head. “If I didn’t marry you, I was likely to marry her.” He smiled and kissed her forehead gently. “But I think marrying you was the best thing your father did for me.” 

Helaena smiled and kissed him. It wasn’t a hungry kiss, like what had become familiar to them by now, but a sweet one and full of passion. “I like kissing you.” She said. It was a startling admission for Daevar, but one that wasn;t entirely unwelcome. He wasn’t sure how the new physical side of their marriage would work with her dislike of being touched, but it seemed that she had no objections so far. 

“So I’m supposed to believe you cracked a tribesman the size of two men in the face with your morningstar?” Oscar asked his brother boredly. Much as he liked his brother, his talk was likely bluster. 

“I did!” Kermit replied. “Ask Daevar!” He shook his hand in the direction of his friend, causing Helaena to giggle.

“The man was the same size as Kermit was.” Daevar said. “We never actually had a major fight. Just scattered a few camps and sent’em running for the hills.”

Kermit groaned at his story being deflated. Can’t he let me have this one thing? He thought. It has only been the second time he had seen battle, and fighting the musclebound warriors of the Vale Hill Tribes made for a much more impressive story to girls than simply fighting a one-sided crushing of a clumsy rebellion.

“One must be brave to even go on those campaigns.” Alysanne said, smirking at Kermit. His face went beet red when he felt one of her boots trailing up his calf. Her smirk got wider as her boot went higher. Kermit struggled to keep his composure, but as ever, Alysanne knew how to make his mind run.

“Like how brave my brother was when he screeched at the sight of a mouse at Raventree Hall?” Oscar said in the same bored tone.

“I was seven!” Kermit replied indignantly, though there was a slight crack in his voice brought on by the feeling of Alysanne tracing her boot over his groin. She withdrew shortly after, much to his disappointment, though the wink from her indicated something later on.

“Speaking of Raventree Hall . . .” She began. “My father wanted his son Benjicot to squire for Kermit when he is knighted. He’s ten at the moment, and most other houses have turned us down.” She explained. Truth be told, Willem had gone to just about every house in the Riverlands, and apart from the ones who had turned him down because of other issues, several didn’t want to have an Old Gods worshipper as a squire.

“I think having a squire that early into my knighthood might not be a great idea . . .” Kermit said, though Gerold cut him off.

“Nonsense. Having a squire would teach some responsibility.” The man said. Kermit wanted to protest further, but felt it would be useless. While he was not required to take a squire with his knighting, it was the norm. Better that it was from a family he was familiar with than someone whom he had no idea of, wasn’t it?

“Alright, I’ll take him as a squire.” Kermit said. Daevar smiled. 

“Cheer up, Kermit. Squires are a blessing.” He said, casting a look at Daeron. The boy had been training almost until the moment Oscar and Alysanne had ridden through the gate. 

The rest of the dinner was eaten in relative quiet, save for some small chatter about the ceremony for Kermit’s knighting. Everyone retired to their rooms fairly quickly after that, with Helaena accompanying Daeron to his chambers so a confrontation with Jace would be avoided. She made her way to Daevar’s chambers shortly after, noticing that he had left his door ajar. She was about to knock when she saw her husband.

He had no idea she was there, but what she noticed was that his cuirass, cotehardie and tunic were all cast on the bed. She had never truly seen him like this before, and the sight of his well-defined muscles ignited something inside her. She squeezed her legs together to stop the sinful tingling she felt, but it did nothing. Swallowing, she knocked. 

Daevar whipped his head around as he walked in. “Hello, Ellie.” Daevar said. “Come to say goodnight?”

“Y-yes.” Helaena stuttered, still distracted by his torso. “A-and . . . maybe to kiss you again.” She admitted. Daevar smiled and walked up to her, his brown eyes meeting her violet ones. She gently leaned in, though as soon as she kissed him, that earlier hunger returned. She didn;t know what came over her, but she was suddenly possessed by a need to kiss him as much as she could. One kiss became another, then another and another until they were simply slanting their lips against each other. All she could tell was that they found themselves tumbling onto the bed. Daevar moved his hand between her legs, but she stopped him. 

“Helaena, did I do something wrong?” He asked, eyebrows creasing in concern. 

“I just . . . I don’t feel ready for that.” She said. “But I want to keep kissing you.”

Daevar nodded as their lips joined again. It was slower this time, but no less passionate as he gently coaxed Helaena into climbing on top of him. She was unsure about it herself, but it seemed to fit with her instincts of what to do. “What now?” She asked, breaking the kiss. Daevar didn't respond though, instead shifting to kiss her neck. Oh . . . oh Gods that feels good . . . she thought, right before he landed on a spot that instantly prompted a gasp from her and an instinctive thrust forward with her hips.

Daevar grunted. “Are you alright with this?”

“More than alright.” Helaena replied as they kissed again. Daevar seemed to like it when she rocked her hips, so she did it again, eliciting the same reaction from him. SOmething about it just felt natural as she kissed him. True, she was partly relying on him guiding her, but he had never done anything without her consent. 

Daevar for his part was trying to keep his composure. It had been a long time since he’d had any moments like this with one of the servant girls either here or in King’s Landing, so he was dangerously close to losing it already. No part of him wanted to stop though; kissing Helaena was one of the most wonderful things he had ever experienced.

Which all came to a crashing halt minutes later. 

Daevar knew it was coming, but couldn’t stop himself, even as he buried his face in Helaena’s neck, kissing it and groaning as he felt himself tumble over the edge. The momentary relief he felt was quickly beaten out by the embarrassment of the whole situation; not being with a woman for so long seemed to have had more of a toll than he realised. He planted his hands on Helaena, stopping her rocking. 

“Daevar, what’s wrong? Did I do something?” She asked, another look of concern on his face. 

“N-no, Helaena. I just . . . I should get myself a bath.” He said as Helaena shifted off of him, arching her eyebrow. 

“Shouldn’t you ask Daeron to-”

“I’ll do it myself this time.” He said before rushing to a room next to the bedchamber and closing the door. 

Helaena shrugged and headed back to her bedchamber. She would need to be ready for tomorrow.

As the day dawned, Runestone became a hive of activity as everyone rushed to prepare for Kermit’s knighting. The Sept had been especially decorated for the occasion, with Tully banners joining the Royce ones from the ceiling. Daeron once again had seen to Daevar’s cuirass, making sure it was polished till the light reflected off it before putting on his Targaryen cotehardie for the knighting ceremony. Jace and Ser Willam were much the same, though they were wearing their respective pourpoints instead of any armour. Swords were strapped at their waists, polished and cleaned.

At the central altar under the statue of the Father stood Septon Carrick, while Ser Gerold stood under the statue of the Warrior.. Off to the side stood Daevar in his cuirass, looking on with pride as his friend approached to receive his knighthood. Helaena was next to him, smiling widely as Kermit slowly walked to the Septon and Ser Gerold, dressed in a plain tunic and trousers. The cuirass of his knightly armour-forged just a few days before-had been placed beneath the statue of the Warrior, along with his sword. 

He approached Carrick, kneeling before the Septon. At Carrick’s side were seven different oils that would be used to anoint him as a knight. Immediately after he had, Carrick dipped his thumb in one of the oils and pressed it against Kermit’s head. He repeated the process another six times, drawing the seven-pointed star on his forehead and saying a prayer to each of the Gods. Once it was done, Kermit rose and turned to Gerold as Runestone’s Master-at-Arms drew his sword. “Kneel, Kermit of the House Tully.”

Kermit obeyed as Ser Gerold began. “In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the innocent.” 

Each was punctuated by a tap of the flat of his sword on Kermit’s shoulders, as was custom. 

“Arise, Ser Kermit of House Tully, knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Kermit rose, and picked up his cuirass. The breastplate had been beautifully decorated, with a leaping trout across the middle, while the rest of the cuirass had been patterned in scales, with the Tully colours of silver, red and blue decorating the armour in lines across the plates. The sword, which he strapped to his waist after affixing the breastplate, had the pommel likewise decorated with a leaping trout. 

I’m a knight now , he thought. This was what he had been working towards his whole life, and as he turned around, he was met with cheers by the other knights for the Royce guard, with even Ser Willam and Maester Barden smiling with approval. Daevar and Helaena were clapping as well, happy to see that Kermit had managed to obtain his knighthood. Whatever else he was, nothing could take it away from him now. 

“To the Great Hall, everyone!” Daevar called. “Let’s celebrate!”

The Great Hall at Runestone would be filled with celebrations that night, some a bit over the top. To the surprise of everyone, it was Oscar who ended up over-indulging in wine, along with even Maester Barden, who ended up having to be taken to his chambers after drinking too much. 

What no one managed to spot were the looks shared by Kermit and Alysanne.

Lord Kermit’s knighting was a day of celebration for everyone involved. There had been a time where Ser Gerold had threatened to never knight Kermit, though my father cannot remember when the threat was made. 

The rumours that he and Lady Alysanne lost their virtues to each other is likely false, and I would treat anyone who claims a love story between them with skepticism. Perhaps most damning of all to this is the fact that Lord Kermit enjoys a fine marriage to this day with five children, only one less than my family. Though i must say, this remains two less than the amount of children my uncle Daeron has. 

In any event, the knighthood was something that Lord Kermit would carry into the war. He says that this gave him much comfort during the darkest days of the war.

Chapter Text

Around two months would pass after Kermit’s knighthood before my mother and father’s relationship would escalate, though I have no desire to know exactly what those escalations entailed. What I do know is that they apparently began seeking more and more time alone together; by this time, the fact that my mother was not yet pregnant was seen as a mark on my father’s abilities as a man.

What I do know is that their relationship did undergo a dramatic escalation as Prince Jacaerys began preparing for his return to Dragonstone. With his visit nearly over, things were slowly returning to normal. The Prince by most accounts developed something of a respect for my father over the duration of this visit, particularly as he seemed to take his future lessons in leadership from my father . . .

The day was approaching close when Daevar and Jace managed to return to Runestone, having spent most of the day riding between various small hamlets and villages to speak with people and render judgements. Jace had not failed to notice the respect the people seemed to have for Daevar; he was a well-liked lord, though he did have to wonder how much of that was based on their affection for Daevar’s mother. 

As the gates of Runestone opened for them, Daevar turned to Jace. The younger boy was clearly tired, but still seemed to have the energy to keep going. “Do you know what the most dangerous words in the world are, Jace?” He asked. Jace arched an eyebrow. Had Daevar been building to this question all day? It was likely connected to everything they had done that day. 

“I . . . I cannot say.” Jace said as they rode through. He peered upwards to see the trapdoors above them that would be used to drop boiling water on attackers during a siege. “Daemon always said there are many dangerous things that could be said.”

“Mostly whatever threatens his reputation.” Daevar deadpanned. “The most dangerous words in the world are ‘what have the people in that castle done for us lately?’” He explained. It was a lesson he had learnt from Ser Gerold some time ago, and had informed his rule ever since. “If the smallfolk start asking that, you have a problem. We’re outnumbered by them by quite a lot.”

Jace nodded before dismounting his horse. He had left Vermax behind to allow the dragon to rest after a particularly long flight the day before, and in preparation for their departure for Dragonstone in just over two days. After all, in his experience, dragons tended to get grumpy if they didn’t get their rest. “So we just need to keep them distracted from their problems?”

Daevar patted his horse’s neck after he dismounted. “That will work for a time, but even the most dull-witted man will see through things eventually. Remember Jace, the palace is not safe if the cottage is not happy. The mark of a good ruler is being able to keep both happy.”

“How do you do it?” Jace said, leading their horses towards the stables. Daeron was waiting there of course, and he and Jace locked eyes almost immediately. Maybe there wasn't hatred in their eyes anymore, but there was still an instant dislike. 

“I don’t do it on my own.” Daevar said, shooting a warning look in Daeron’s direction. Much as his training was coming along well, the boy still had a lot to learn in keeping his temper under control. “I have my council around me that I rely on. Barden and Ser Gerold are always with me when I’m making judgements here in Runestone.” Daevar explained. He had learnt from a young age that having intelligent advisors around was even more important to a lord than an ability to fight. “I’m sure you have a lot to think about.”

“I do.” Jace nodded before turning to leave. He knew that he was being dismissed, but he didn't really mind. Daeron was Daevar’s squire after all, despite how much Jace wished it were otherwise. He could feel his uncle’s eyes boring into the back of his head as he walked away, and allowed a small smirk to himself.

“What’s the problem, Daeron?” Daevar asked, closing the horses in their stables. “Jace will rule one day; it’s important he learns from as many different people as he can.”

“He wants to be your squire.” Daeron blurted. “He wants to take my place.” 

“Jace is a fine lad, but you’re my squire.” Daevar smiled. The fact that Daeron even felt a need to worry about that showed that he would try to improve himself in his training. “You’re the one I asked to serve me four years ago, and you’ve proven yourself a fine squire. With time, you’ll make an excellent knight.” 

Daeron beamed at the praise. He had only finished sparring with the other squires earlier in the day, and like most young teenage boys, eagerly lapped up the praise offered by his mentor. “Thank you, Daevar.” He smiled, making one last check on the horses. The Stableboys usually saw to the fodder and bedding for them, but there was never any harm in making sure they’d done their job properly. “Oh! Before I forget, Helaena wanted to see you in her chambers when you got back. She didn’t say what for.”

Daevar cocked a head to the side. “Is something wrong?”

“No." Daeron replied, shaking his head. "At least, not that she said. She just wanted you to go to her chambers as soon as you got back.”

Daevar nodded. If his wife was asking hi to go to her, then he would. He made his way through the castle and towards the upper floors, where the rooms of the ruling couple were located. He was invited in after knocking to see Helaena looking out the window, before she turned around and smiled as he walked in. She approached him and kissed him gently as he shut the door behind him. 

“Welcome back, Daevar.”

Helaena’s own day had been a busy one. As soon as she had woken, she had been informed that Daevar was taking Jace out to see the people living in the villages of the Runestone demesne. It was not an uncommon thing; lords would go out among the people to render judgements and meet with the local leaders that they would have to deal with from time to time, and he had said that it was best for Jace to get some personal experience. 

She had spent most of the day afterwards among her bugs. It had been a pleasant discovery of hers to learn that one of the links in Barden’s chain-electrum-signified that he had studied natural philosophy at the Citadel, and so had an interest in her collection as well. Much of the morning had been spent cataloguing the various creatures in her collection, from the millipedes to the spiders. Best of all, he had assured her that here was no nefarious purpose to it; simply the expansion of knowledge.

Lady Alyssa had returned from visiting Ser Joffrey as well, and had almost instantly slotted back into the handmaiden role for Helaena. It was just as well, because she did need her handmaiden’s advice. “Lady Alyssa, I must ask you something about Daevar.”

“Well, I’ll answer to the best of my ability, My Lady.” Alyssa replied, repairing a sleeve on one of Helaena’s dresses. It had caught on a nail the day before and she had been lucky to escape a cut on the arm. 

“It’s . . . about Daevar.” She said. “I think I desire him in . . . sinful ways.”

“What’s so sinful about a woman desiring her husband?” Alyssa asked, setting down the needle and thread. She’d had some bad experiences with sewing when she didn't focus on what she was doing. 

“Mother always said that my desire was irrelevant.” Helaena said, her voice breaking slightly. “It’s my task to provide Daevar with children. Beyond that, my wishes are irrelevant.”

Alyssa’s brow furrowed. She knew it was a woman’s duty to bear children and all-she was still yet to bear one for Joffrey but that was not for lack of trying-but there was something strained in Helaena’s voice. As if she was trying to convince herself that what she was saying was something she knew to be true but was fighting it. “My mother always said that a man should look after his wife and attend to her as well. So did my father.”

“You weren;t raised in King’s Landing.” Helaena said bluntly. The capital was mired in the politics of marriage constantly, right down to the supposed ones that would be happening with Daevar’s sisters to her nephews. Nesaena’s marriage to Aegon was a perfect example of that; judging from her letters, their marriage was slowly disintegrating. 

“You are right, of course.” Alyssa replied. “But sometimes the truth does change.”

“How can the truth change?” Helaena asked. The truth was the truth; it didn’t matter what else came up. The truth remained  a constant and that was that; nothing more needed to be said. 

“What is true in King’s Landing is not always true everywhere else.”

“That doesn’t make sense.” 

“I’m trying to say that King’s Landing is always caught in one power struggle or another, My Lady.” Alyssa said. “The Vale has not seen a major one in some time; the Arryns are our rulers. Gulltown is the exception of course but it’s mostly for influence within the city. And lest we forget, our current ruler is Lady Jeyne, and Daevar’s mother once ruled Runestone.”

Maybe everything I grew up in isn’t an absolute, Helaena thought. She had been given all the same lessons Nesaena and their mother had about marriage of course. Bear your husband’s children, help manage his household, ally your family with his, and always be ready to fulfil his needs when required. Yet, Daevar had never actually demanded that of her; every step in their marriage had been done with her consenting to it.

“Let’s look at this another way, My Lady.” Alyssa said. “Do you find yourself wanting Daevar’s touch?”

Helaena sighed. “Yes.”

“And as he ever touched you when you have asked him not to?"

“No.”

“Then, My Lady, you should not feel any shame in wanting him that way.” Alyssa smiled. “If we are to fulfil our husbands’ desires, why should we not fulfil our own at the same time?”

“Because it’s irrelevant.”

“An unhappy marriage leaves everyone worse off, My Lady. Look at Lady Rhea and Prince Daemon’s if you don’t believe me.” She reached over and rubbed Helaena’s shoulder. “My Lady, if you do desire Daevar in that way, talk to him. I assure you, it will make for a far happier marriage than if you simply try to deny it.”

Helaena supposed it was the least that she could do. Talking with Daevar would perhaps help erase many of the concerns she felt, and would help with that side of their marriage as well. After all, her mother had also said that she could find pleasure in their bed one day. “I suppose I could . . .”

“It’s the best advice I could give right now, My Lady. Both as your handmaiden and as a woman.” Alyssa smiled again. Watching Helaena fall in love with Daevar had been a joy to witness, even with her frequent absences from Runestone. The letters she had received from her mother served as a story of the marriage in and of themselves.

“When he gets back?”

“That would be best. Straight away. Believe me, it is for the best. And communicating desires with your husband might have other benefits too.” She smirked. Helaena blushed. Much as her mind was screaming at her that such thoughts were not ones a lady should be thinking, she couldn’t prevent them from entering her mind completely. Especially the lines of muscle on his torso, or his handsome face.

Her blush went deeper. 

By the time she and Alyssa had finished embroidery for the day, Daevar and Jace had returned. Helaena had intended to wait for him in the courtyard, but she decided to wait in his room after thinking more on what Alysanne had said. If she wanted her husband, she figured that she had to lean into it. 

She kissed him deeply, as she had done a hundred times before, yet there was something more to it this time. Again, neither of them stopped. They continued kissing, ending up on Daevar’s bed in a disorganised mess with their hands roaming each others’ bodies. The fall onto the bed itself prompted a laugh from both of them.

“That was quite the welcome.” Daevar said, not that he had any objections. His wife was beautiful and he loved kissing her, but he knew that it was more than the affairs he’d had with servant girls in the past. Helaena knew how much he missed his mother, how much he’d desperately wanted a family of his own. Here, he might have the start of one.

“I just thought you’d wanted to see me after the day you’d been out riding.” She said, running a hand through his hair. It had gotten longer. Not nearly to the extent of what she suspected Aemond’s hair looked like now, but it was long enough that Daevar would likely have it cut in the coming days. “I like your hair long.” She said.

“It’s not practical under a helmet though.” He replied, causing her to laugh slightly. He was so different from the rest of her family; that thought never would’ve entered even Daeron’s head. 

“I still like it.” She said, twirling a few strands of it around her finger. “I . . . spoke with Lady Alyssa today.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been . . . having thoughts about you, Daevar.” She said, blushing deeply. Admitting this to Daevar was not something she had entertained before, but she knew that containing them forever wasn’t possible. 

“Thoughts?” Daevar’s brow furrowed. 

“Yes. Dreams.” Her blush grew deeper. “A-and you’re never wearing t-too many clothes.” 

Daevar could feel his cheeks go pink at that. “I’ve had similar thoughts about you, Helaena.” He said, a hand cupping her jaw as he ran his thumb over her cheek. “I love you . . . and I think of anyone better to be Lady Royce.”

Helaena kissed him again. “I . . . I w-want to try some of the things you did with those girls you used to be with.” She said, now breaking out into a slight sweat because of how fiercely she was blushing. The thoughts of sin were pushed from her mind as she tried desperately to commit to what she was saying. 

“Only if you want to . . .” He trailed off. She pressed a hand to his chest.

“One heart, one flesh, one soul. I am yours and you are mine, Daevar.” She said reciting the vows that they had sworn in the Red Keep on their wedding day. “I love you, and I want no man but you to know me in that way.”

Daevar kissed her, his hand slowly drifting onto her thigh. After not hearing any protest, he moved his hand between her legs, only for her to stop his movements. Immediately, Daevar pulled his hand back. “I’m so sorry, Helaena. I shouldn’t have-”

“I’m just . . . be gentle, please.” She said. Daevar nodded.

“Do you want me to try something, Helaena?”

“I was always taught it was the woman’s job to please her husband.” She said. At least, that had been what the Septas taught her. She was there to fulfil her husband’s desires, and hers were secondary, if they existed at all.

“Forget about that. I want to pleasure you.” He said, kissing her again. She nodded once, and Daevar’s hand slid under the skirts of her dress and trailed up her thigh. Helaena’s breath hitched as his hand drew closer to where she needed him, then she felt the contact. 

She gasped as she felt his fingers on her, gently teasing her, arousing her. Her jaw was hanging open at this point as she tried to focus on anything apart from the feeling of having Daevar’s hand between her legs. “Do you want me to keep going Helaena?” He asked. All she could muster was a nod, then she let out another gasp as she felt one of his fingers slide into her.

Oh . . . Oh Gods that feels amazing . . . she thought as Daevar pleasured her. Was this the sort of thing that Alyssa had been talking about when desiring her husband? If it was, Helaena could imagine nothing sweeter than this, at least until Daevar began kissing her neck while he continued to work her over with his fingers. 

She found it impossible to focus on anything. Her jaw was still hanging open, but her eyes were wide open as well, not that they were actually concentrating on anything, that was. Helaena had never felt her mind be truly scrambled before, but what Daevar was doing to her right now felt impossibly good, and had left her unable to think of anything but the pleasure.

Daevar himself was hard at this point, but did his best to focus on giving his wife pleasure. He instead settled for burying his face in her neck and kissing as much as he could. If he could make her feel as good as he hoped, then perhaps she would be more comfortable with this side of their marriage. Ultimately, it wasn't much longer until he felt the telltale tightening around his fingers. He pulled back from her neck as was confronted by the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

Helaena was a vision to him. Her eyes were closed now, though her mouth was still open. He smiled and pressed his thumb against that spot that seemed to always bring pleasure to the servant girls he had been with, and Helaena was no exception. As soon as she felt his thumb, she gasped and clenched her jaw as the tension inside her shattered.

“Oh . . .oh Daevar . . .” She said as she tipped over the edge. “Oh Gods . . . that . . . that was . . .”

“I learnt it when I was younger.” Daevar said, hoping that she would let the topic lie.

“I . . . hope that there will be more of that.” She said shyly. If this was what Alyssa had talked about, then she definitely wanted more of it.

Daevar kissed her. “As my wife wishes.”

I adamantly refuse to discuss the intimate side of my parents’ relationship. 

Chapter Text

With Jacaerys’ departure from Runestone occurring shortly after that, a sort of routine began to develop for my parents. They would meet with their council and hold court in the morning, before my father would go off for training in the afternoon while my mother tended to her embroidery; she was even learning from Lady Alyssa how to sew her own dresses by this stage. She still wears the same cotton she wore back then, sourced from the Vale.

One of the things that must be remembered is that my parents were frequent guests at the Eyrie during this time. Lady Jeyne and my father maintained a close friendship for most of their shared life, though one must admit that Lady Jeyne’s greatest friendship was that of Lady Jessamyn Redfort’s. Rumours persist about the nature of their friendship of course, but they can safely be dismissed.

The Eyrie was not known for warm mornings, even during summer, Jeyne mused. This far up, they would be lucky to get much warmth of anything. Still, the security the place provided was enviable, even if she did feel a bit like one of those ridiculous villains in the stories she read as a child; high up in a mountaintop fortress lording over those below. 

She looked over at the other side of the bed to see the familiar form of Jessamyn across from her. Her dark hair was splayed out over the pillow after the events of the night before, though Jeyne noticed she was still to dress herself. She smiled; whenever things felt like they were about to collapse, she could always depend on Jessamyn to be right beside her, as she had been since they were children. 

“Staring at me again, Jeyne?” She asked teasingly. “It’s very rude of you.” 

“Not staring, Jessamyn. Admiring.” Jeyne corrected, pressing a kiss to Jessamyn’s cheek. When precisely she had grown fond of her friend in that way she could not say; only that she was overjoyed that her feelings were returned. It had been some years since then of course; they both had lines on their faces now, and Jeyne herself had a few grey hairs that came from the stresses of ruling.

Jeyne stood up and found the dress that had been carelessly tossed aside the night before when the two of them had barged in. “We must stop doing this. If you are caught in here . . .”

“It’s been nearly twenty years, my love.” Jessamyn replied, sitting up in the bed as she pulled up the covers over her breasts. 

“And it is still precarious.” Jeyne reminded her. “I doubt that any of the lords I rule over would understand.” She added. Jessamyn looked down. Both of them knew that if their relationship was ever revealed to the wider world, it would bring a calamity down on both of them. But can it be so wrong after all this time?

It was a question that Jeyne had often asked herself over the years; ever since she and Jessamyn had first kissed in an alcove in the dead of late night all that time ago. It was a good thing Yorbert hadn’t found them, or Rhea for that matter, otherwise Jessamyn likely would’ve been sent away for ‘corrupting’ Jeyne. Much as Jeyne had liked Rhea Royce, the woman could be fiercely traditional at times. 

“We need not worry about that, Jeyne.” Jessamyn smiled, climbing out of the bed to dress herself. “Those Lords out there supported you when Arnold revolted. What happened to him by the way?”

“Threw him in a Sky Cell and attainted him. He’s no longer a knight nor my heir.” Jeyne replied. She had been left with a predicament when it came to selecting her next heir, but her choice was clear enough to her now, even if she was not ready to state it publicly. Better to keep the lords on their toes for now, though many of them would probably guess who her choice was.

“You’ve a look in your eye, Jeyne.” Jessamyn said. “So tell me, who will succeed my lovely Lady as Defender of the Vale?”

Jeyne blushed at the compliment. “Well, the only real choice is Joffrey, even if our relation is distant. He’s brave, an excellent warrior, and married to Lady Alyssa.”

“Excellent warrior is one term for it; he was knighted so young.” Jessamyn exclaimed. “He will be a fine Lord of the Eyrie. I doubt many other lords will want to cross him, even Eldric.”

Jeyne grunted. Eldric Arryn surfaced at the Eyrie only rarely since his father’s failed rebellion, and even then he did not stay for long. She supposed he figured that the Eyrie was not a safe place for him at the moment, much to her frustration. She would’ve liked to have Arnold and his son in the same place where she could keep an eye on them. “I should’ve arrested Eldric when I had the chance.”

“I did tell you to.” Jessamyn replied, tying her bodice. “You should’ve taken a far harder line with Arnold after he first rebelled.” She continued. Jeyne had insisted on keeping Arnold as heir despite his first rebellion, mainly due to a lack of certainty about her own position as Lady of the Eyrie; it had been the first time the two of them had fought badly. Now, things had obviously changed.

“The ink is dry on that, Jessamyn. We must look to the future.” Jeyne said, finally able to put her shoes on. 

“Indeed we must, my love.” Jessamyn replied. “Speaking of the future, Lord and Lady Royce will be honouring us with a visit today, will they not?”

“Indeed they will. Only for a few nights; Daevar takes his duties seriously.”

“Almost as seriously as you do, Jeyne.” Jessamyn said, wrapping her arms around her beloved from behind. “I would tell you not to work yourself to the bone, but I know I’d be fighting a losing battle there.”

“Indeed you would.” Jeyne laughed. Not for the first time since their relationship had begun, she felt immensely grateful for Jessamyn’s company. It didn’t seem to matter what storms engulfed her; her beloved Redfort woman would always be at her side to help her weather them. “I love you, Jessamyn.”

“And I love you, Jeyne.”

Helaena and Daevar were escorted up to the Eyrie quickly after passing through the Bloody Gate. A troop of Arryn knights had met them almost immediately to escort them up, and the gates at Stone, Sone, and Sky had all been opened in preparation. What for, neither of them could say, but Jeyne never requested the presence of her vassal lords without good reason. As soon as they arrived, they were ushered into the Great Hall, where Helaena found herself mesmerised by the place. 

The building was simple compared to Maegor’s Holdfast, yet it was elegant at the same time. She recalled that the Eyrie was the smallest of the great castles, but even so, it was magnificent. “What’s that in the middle, Daevar?” She asked, pointing to the raised stone circle in the middle of the hall. 

“That Helaena, is the Moon Door.” Daevar said. “See the line in the middle? It opens up. The Arryns used to use it to execute people, though Lady Jeyne has never used it.”

“Though I have been sorely tempted to.” Jeyne said as she entered the hall, Jessamyn at her side. “The Moon Door was installed here as a tool of fear. Recalcitrant lords would be shown it fully opened. The prospect of falling from such heights tended to quell dissent.”

“Daevar said you never used it though.” Helaena pointed out. Surely they wouldn;t lie to her, right?

“No, I don’t. I find it better to lock them in the Sky Cells.”

“Sky Cells?”

“They’re prison cells, but open to the wind, and this high up, if they’re not careful . . .” Jessamyn said, trailing off. “It’s where Arnold is imprisoned at the moment.”

“How’s his mind?” Daevar asked. Even in Runestone, word had reached them that Arnold was beginning to be known as The Mad Heir.

“No one pays him any mind anymore.” Jeyne assured him, though not without a hint of a smile. “But shall we get to business? Much as I would love to to chat, I did not invite you hare for that reason.”

“Of course, Lady Jeyne.” Daevar said, taking Helaena’s hand. Jeyne did not fail to notice that. Rhea would be proud of him .

“There’s actually two matters I was hoping to discuss. The first being that of my succession.” Jeyne said. While Jessamyn had firmed up her desire to name Joffrey as heir, she would have to see how her lords would tolerate such an exercise of power. In the past, the King’s of Mountain and Vale had tried to override the wishes of their most powerful vassals, and it had never ended well. “Arnold cannot remain heir.”

“On that, we are agreed, My Lady.” Daevar said. “But who else is there? Ser Eldric might not have committed treason, but-”

“Ser Eldric was never in discussion for it; neither was Isembard.” Jeyne replied. She would never allow that damnable banker to infest her family’s seat with his presence. 

“Then the only Arryn left is Ser Joffrey.” Helaena said, cottoning on to Jeyne’s plan. It was logical after all; Jeyne had no children of her own., and Joffrey was not just a proven warrior, but a man of good loyalty to her as well. She supposed Eldric may have been a choice as well, but his loyalty was uncertain. 

“Lady Helaena is correct.” Jeyne replied. “Joffrey would be my heir, but I do not publicly intend to name him as such for a while. Not everyone in the Vale will be happy at such an exercise of power.”

“Lady Jeyne, you have already crushed two rebellions against your authority.” Daevar reminded her. “I was there for the second.”

“And I am grateful for your service to me, Lord Royce, but there are still those who are determined to not let me rule in peace.” Jeyne replied. She had known from her early childhood that being a woman and ruling the Vale would not be easy, even if she had seen off attempts to overthrow her. “I must know that Joffrey will have his supporters when the time comes.”

“He will have my sword if needed, My Lady.” Daevar replied without hesitation. 

“I’m glad to hear it.” Jeyne replied. Seeing Daevar and Helaena now made her fell old, she had to admit. Daevar was ingrained in her mind as a thin young boy, yet now here he was as a powerfully built man, if not physically intimidating like Gunthor Royce was. Helaena too had grown into a beautiful woman, especially if the thicker dresses she had grown accustomed to wearing hid away her figure.

There was little doubt in Jeyne’s mind that Rhea would approve of them.

“What is the other matter you wanted to discuss, My Lady?” Daevar asked.

“It is with regards to celebrations late in the year. As always, a tourney will be held to celebrate the unification of the Vale. House Royce has only sent representatives in past years; am I to assume you will be competing in the tourney?” She asked. Of course, she already knew what Daevar’s answer would be.

“Yes, My Lady. Someone has to show the rest of the Vale how to fight, after all.” He replied. Jeyne and Jessmayn both laughed.

“Ser Corwyn might have a challenger this year.” Jessamyn remarked. 

“We shall see.” Jeyne replied. “I want to discuss both of these affairs more over dinner. Jessmayn, can you show them to their chambers?”

“Yes, My Lady. We’ve had two chambers prepared-”

“That won't be necessary.” Helaena said. “I . . . I will stay with my husband.” She squeezed his hand as she said it, prompting smiled from both Jeyne and Jessamyn.

“Very well. Follow me, My Lord and Lady.”

The fact that it had been Helaena who had asked for the single chamber was surprising to Daevar. If anything, he assumed that she would’ve been more reluctant to be close with others considering her nature. That she seemed so at home with him filled his heart with love for her; this woman was his wife, and he was a lucky man to have her.

The room had been prepared well; with the windows looking out over the mountains that surrounded the Eyrie, making not just for spectacular viewing but also a nigh-impregnable natural fortress to any would-be attackers. Not for nothing had the Vale’s submission only been forced during the Conquest by a dragon landing in the courtyard. 

Daevar undid his sword belt, letting Lamentation rest against the wall in her scabbard. “Why did you say that separate chambers were not needed. Why?”

Helaena turned to him. Even without the sword hanging from his hip, he still cut the image of a soldier; ironic when she considered that he didn’t even have a knighthood. Her question troubled her though; did he wish to be away from her “Did you wish for separate chambers, Daevar? I’m sure Lady Jeyne-”

“No, love. I was merely asking.” Daevar said.

Helaena smiled. “To answer your question, it was because I prefer having you around me.” She said. She doubted that her hikes through the mountains of Runestone would have been possible without Daevar, even if she was getting more comfortable around Kermit and the others. 

“We’ve not shared the same bed since our wedding night.” Daevar commented. 

“I would like for us to share one for the rest of our marriage.” She replied, a faint blush on her face. Daevar smiled and kissed her gently, his hands cupping her face. Helaena giggled as he pulled away. “I like kissing you.” She said. “My handsome husband.”

“And I feel the same way, my beautiful wife.” Daevar replied before Helaena kissed him. They were familiar with each other by now, but that didn’t mean there was no thrill for them; the stirrings Helaena felt between her legs put any thought of that to rest. She blushed as they pulled back. 

“I love you.” She said, before resting her head against his chest. 

“I love you too.” Daevar replied, kissing her forehead. “And everyone at Runestone does as well. Not as I do of course, but . . .”

“I know, Daevar.” She said. “Actually, speaking of Runestone, you remember that thing you did with your fingers?”

Daevar nodded. “Very well.”

“I . . . w-wanted to try and give you the same pleasure you gave me.” She stuttered. It was entirely new territory for her; while her teachings had always been to fulfil her husband’s desires, that was all she had been told, and she didn’t feel comfortable coupling fully with him yet. That didn't mean she couldn't bring him any pleasure though, right?

“Helaena, I am not going to force you to do anything.” Daevar said, looking into her eyes. “You shouldn’t feel like you have to return it as a favour to me.”

“But . . . what if I want to do it?” She asked. Something about the innocence of the question stirred Daevar slightly, but he did his best to fight it down. Helaena leaned forward and kissed him gently, though she didn’t pull away this time, instead reaching out with her tongue. This time, it was Daevar who pulled back.

“Helaena, what are you-”

“Lady Alyssa told me.” She blushed. “She told me that men like it when you use your tongue to kiss them.”

“Well, I’m not objecting, but could you try to follow my lead?” He asked. Helaena nodded before kissing him again and this time, it felt a bit more natural as his tongue reach out to her. The kiss ignited some primal desire in Helaena, but she had made her choice for now. This time, she was going to pleasure her husband, and hopefully make him feel the same way she did when he used his fingers on her.

The two of them frantically removed his cuirass before eventually ending up on the bed, with Helaena straddling Daevar as they kissed. Acting on instinct again, Helaena moved her hips against Daevar, and this time, was able to pick out him getting harder and harder. She began kissing his neck, remembering how good it had felt for her, and judging by the sounds he was making, it felt good for him too.

“S-should I just . . .”

“Your hand, Helaena.” Daevar said gently through the haze that was enveloping him. He took her hand and gently guided it to his cock. She began rubbing him over his trousers, prompting a choked moan to escape from him. 

“Am I doing this right?” Helaena asked, still slightly nervous.

“Y-yeah.” Daevar managed to say. “Please, Helena . . . I need to feel your hand . . .”

The sound of him feeling no needy for her only fanned the flames inside her. She tugged down his trousers and grasped him directly; the sudden gasp coming from Daevar telling her all she needed to know. “Now just . . . move my hand up and down, right?”

Daevar nodded as Helaena started moving her hand on him. Of course, servant girls had done this to him before, but knowing that the one woman he had truly wanted around since his mother made him feel even more wild about it. Helaena’s movements were uncertain of course, but that didn’t make it any less exciting. “Am I doing this right?” She asked. 

“Yes.” Daevar groaned. He could feel his climax approaching despite his best efforts to hold off longer. He hadn't had a girl touch him like this in a long time, and it was Helaena who was bringing him this pleasure. The whole thing was making him lose control faster than he realised. He thrust into her hand and for a moment, Helaena was worried that something was wrong with Daevar, but the sight of his face immediately told her otherwise.

“A-are you going to-”

Daevar nodded, his eyes close rightly. “I am.” he grunted. “I’m . . . Helaena!” He moaned her name as he reached his climax, thrusting up into her hand as he finished. Helaena stopped her movements, a little stunned at the sight of the seed that Daevar had spilled. She had never seen it before, and she would be lying if the sight didn’t repulse her a little. The look on Daevar’s face however made it all worthwhile. 

“I-I should find a rag or something to . . .” She blushed, holding up the hand she had finished her husband with.

“There should be a cloth in there.” He said, pointing to the bedside table. Helaena took the hand that was clean, opened one of the drawers in the table and saw that Daevar weas right; there was indeed a cloth in there. 

“You’ve done this before.” She stated without any offence. “By yourself, or with one of your girls?”

“Both.” Daevar admitted, turning his head to look at her. “But from now on, I don't want anyone doing that to me but you.” He said as she cleaned her hand off. “I don't want anyone knowing me in that way but you.”

Helaena just smiled as she set to cleaning him up.

I am not certain what happened on the visit to the Eyrie this time, and am not sure if I wish to know. Nonetheless, preparations began being made for my father to fight in the tourney to celebrate the Vale’s unification under the Arryns.

I have always wondered what my father thought of this, considering how proud he is of his Royce heritage and that it was a Royce King who led the First Men against Ser Artys Arryn and his Andals, but there has never been any visible displeasure over it from him.

Chapter Text

My mother and father began turning into a more visible ruling couple around this time. With the concerns of the past now firmly cast aside, they embraced the more intimate side of their marriage. As always, I will not discuss such details here; I have no desire to become another Coryanne Wylde, and this is not another Caution For Young Girls. 

What I can say is that it did not impede their duties in any way. My father would continue rule of RUnestone in the fair but just manner that is his hallmark, and my mother continued expanding Barden’s library on her little creatures. One thing that did come through in this time however was my mother’s  care for children, and the beginning of her patronage of the arts. To this day, she maintains several motherhouses and artistic projects out of her own personal treasury.

Helaena had heard all sorts of things growing up from her sister, particularly as Nesaena and Aegon’s marriage had soured. She had even overheard her saying that she pitied Daevar for marrying Helaena; it was one of the few times Aegon had vocally agreed with her. Aemond had been there for her of course, but the comments did get to her from time to time. It had even left her thinking that maybe this marriage would end up like her parents; she saw the distance between her mother and father.

Now, she realised that nothing was further from the truth.

Here, with her and Daevar lying side by side on the bed, lips attached to each others, she was sure there could be nothing better than being in his arms. Apart from kissing him, that was. SHe loved to kiss him; it gave her a stirring she had never felt before with anything else in her life. Even when he used his fingers to make her peak, the closeness that she just got from kissing him made her feel not just safe, but loved in a way she wasn;t sure would be possible for her. 

“I could stay kissing you all day.” Helaena said. It was still early morning in Runestone and they wouldn't be required for another hour or so, but in here, it felt like nothing could touch them. Like it was their own world where the politics and swords couldn;t get to them. 

“Then nothing would get done.” Daevar replied, brushing a strand of her behind her ear. “But I cannot say it would be unwelcome.” He added, kissing her again.

“Your hair’s longer than before our visit to Lady Jeyne.” Helaena said as they broke apart, twirling a strand of it around her finger. 

“Kermit suggested I try growing it out, seeing as every other Targaryen does.” He replied. “I’m not so sure about it myself.”

“Neither am I.” Helaena replied. “I prefer you with short hair anyway.” She smiled before kissing him once more. The short hair was more familiar to her, and it made her feel like she really was with someone who was far from the politics of King’s Landing. Not to mention that she liked running her hands through his shorter hair. “Maybe I can try cutting it?” She asked. She had done so with Alyssa a few days ago.

“We’ll see.” Daevar replied. “For now, much as I hate to say it, we should get moving. You had an appointment with Septon Carrick, right?”

Helaena nodded as Daevar climbed out of the bed. “We’re going to start discussions on building a motherhouse just outside the walls.” She said before sitting up. “THere are a lot of unloved children, Daevar. The least we can do is make life more comfortable for them. Give them a place to live.”

Daevar nodded. He remembered his own upbringing without a mother and a father who had abandoned him; in many ways, he was as good as an orphan himself, even if Carrick might not agree with him on that. He did have an easier life than most orphans in the world; he knew that much. “You’re not thinking of adopting one of them, are you?”

“Gods, no.” Helaena replied. “No, I think that if I were to have children . . .” She trailed off before looking at him. "I’d rather have them with you."

Daevar smiled. He had initially not thought of having children one day; it had always seemed to far way, even with Gerold’s exhortations that he would have to further the Royce line one day and ensure an heir to Runestone. It had always been his assumption that he would have a child with his wife one day, and all the better if it was with Helaena. “As would I, Ellie.” He said. “But I won’t force you to bear a child until you’re ready.”

“I’m grateful for that, my love.” Helaena beamed. Yes, if she wanted children they would be with Daevar, but she wasn’t quite ready just yet. Grabbing a dress, she disappeared behind dressing screen just as Daevar finished putting on his cotehardie, and instantly grabbing his attention. Helaena may not fit with what the Maesters described as bring a classic Targaryen beauty, but she was stunning nonetheless, and he could feel his cock stir at the sight of her slipping into the dress behind the screen. “Are you okay, Daevar? You’ve gone quiet.”

“Erm . . . yes, I’m . . . I’m okay, love.”

“Alright then.” She said as she finished sliding into the dress. It was a bit tighter this time; evidently her penchant for honeycakes was having some sort of effect on her, though she didn't fail to notice that her leg muscles were more prominent now.. “I’ll have to see about making my dresses a little bigger.” She said, smoothing out the dress as she stepped out from behind the screen.

Daevar’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. The dress highlighted Helaena’s curves in all the right places, and for a moment he was close to losing control, but managed to talk himself down from it. Only when she is ready, and not a moment earlier.

Carrick had enlisted the help of an architect from King’s Landing for the design of the orphanage near Runestone. The whole thing was to be funded by Helaena personally, which he was immensely grateful for. “Your kind funding of this venture does you honour, My Lady.” The old man said as he, Helaena and the architect discussed the architect’s design drawings in Daevar’s study; the lord himself was in the Guard barracks to see to weapons drills.

“I was fortunate enough to have a mother and father. Many are not.” She said simply. It seemed the right thing to do; one of the lessons she had been taught was that a noble was expected to look after the people under their rule. If she could help just a few children to have a roof over their heads and full bellies, then it would be worth it. “How many children could live here?”

“Around seventy, My Lady.” The architect replied. He was an older man; almost Carrick’s age, yet it did not seem to dampen the enthusiasm for his work, especially considering the way he was moving around the table. “It won’t be overly decorative-we are working with limited funds, even with your support-but it will house them in relative comfort.”

“And we have a Septa and other retainers set to manage the place.” Carrick said. He’d invested considerable time in preaching to the people of Runestone in his younger days, and was pleased to finally see his work come to fruition. “I would do it myself, but I’ve been assigned to Runestone by the Citadel.”

“Do not worry yourself over it, Septon Carrick. I’m sure the arrangements made will be sufficient.” Helaena said, looking over the drawing again. They didn't make much sense to here, with all the careful drawn lines and measurements, but she got the general design of the place. It was to have two floors, square in construction and built mainly from wood. Windows dotted the walls on all sides, and a small courtyard was in the middle. “I hope that visits from myself and my husband would be welcome.”

“Of course, My Lady. Without you, we would not have the funds to build the place.” Carrick replied, before gesturing to the architect. “We’ve had these plans for some time, but your patronage has allowed us to expand the design. Originally, we were able to fit no more than thirty.”

“And would there be room to expand it further?”

“I can't be certain, My Lady.” The architect replied. “I might be able to add additional structures in the future, but I believe we should continue with the current design.”

Helaena nodded. She did get the sense that the architect was simplifying the explanations, but she didn’t mind that too much; architecture, she knew, took many years to learn properly and more still to build any sort of reputation in the area. She had faith that Carrick had selected the right man for the job. 

“When is construction supposed to begin? And when would you suppose it would end?” She asked. One thing she knew for certain was that projects like this could take years to finish, assuming they were able to start in the first place. She had learnt from Maester Barden that many construction projects never began for one reason or another, usually from a lack of funding. 

“I’ve already sent word to merchants to purchase supplies and will soon ask your husband to begin the land clearing. With luck, we can begin construction within the moon’s turn and then complete it by the end of the year.” The architect said.

“That quickly?” Helaena asked. 

“That quickly.” Carrick confirmed. “As I said, we’ve had designs for this place ready for some time; we’ve merely been waiting for funding for it. The Mother smiles on you for your generosity.”

Helaena smiled, accepting Carrick’s praise. If she could help just a few children, she would be happy. Just a few . . . Seven please let me just save a few from a bad life, she thought. She knew that it would be the Septa and her assistant who would be the ones raising them of course, but Helaena would visit whenever she could. “I do not do this out of my faith, Septon. I do it to help the children who cannot help themselves.”

“My wife has a good heart.” Daevar said, leaning against the doorway to the study. He’d finished his supervision of the drills a short time ago, and had resolved to see what Helaena had been planning in here. “This is the orphanage you approached Ser Gerold about when he was regent, right, Carrick?”

The Septon nodded. “Yes, My Lord. Ser Gerold always said the coin could not be found to pay for its construction, but Lady Helaena has offered to fund it herself with her own purse.”

“She has a very good heart, Septon. I am not surprised.” Daevar replied. He had already guessed that it would be something like this. “I assume you’ll be wanting permission to clear the land, architect?”

“Yes, My Lord. We plan to begin construction as soon as possible and be ready to start housing children there by the end of the year.”

Daevar nodded silently, looking at the draw-ups of the plans in front of him. Architecture was something that had never quite clicked with him, but it didn’t matter; Ser Gerold had always said that if you didn't understand something, find an advisor who did. “I hope you are aware that we won’t be able to pay for everything there, Maester. Paying for construction is one thing, but . . .”

“We are aware, My Lord. The Faith will bear the brunt of the cost for the orphanage. Lady Helaena has offered a small stipend as well.” Carrick explained. Daevar arched an eyebrow and looked at Helaena.

“Do you intend to pour your entire purse into this, Helaena? Your dowry was sizable, but it won;t cover this forever.” Daevar asked, slightly concerned. The dowry given to Helaena by her father was an immense sum of Gold Dragons, and as much as Daevar could exercise his rights to use the coin himself, it was Helaena’s as far he was concerned. “If things go wrong, that coin is your protection.”

“Daevar, you said it was mine to spend. I wish to help children live their lives. Is that objectionable?” She asked. There was no challenge of course; it was an honest question. Daevar shook his head.

“Merely expressing a concern, love.”

“The cost is mine this time, Daevar.”

“The heaviest cost is in the construction of the place.” Carrick said. “It was why Ser Gerold rejected the plans in the first place. As I said, the Faith can bear the cost of keeping the place in good order. The Lady’s stipend after construction would go to a small fund to care for the children in difficult times.”

Daevar nodded. “Very well. Septon Carrick, the council is meeting son; please go to the Great Hall. Architect, you have the approval to clear the land you need. Begin at once.”

Both men nodded in reply and left, the architect gathering up his plan drawings as he did so. Helaena turned to Daevar and sighed gently. “Thank your for not rejecting the idea, Daevar.”

“Helaena, I never could. I was raised by my mother’s cousin, remember?” He said. Helaena of course knew that he was barely more than an orphan himself, even if most of the world would not acknowledge him as one. “I’m merely concerned about how much you’re putting into this.”

"Daevar, if we can make the life of one of these children worth living, that alone justifies any expense.” She said resolutely. There would be no swaying her from this course, Daevar could see that much. 

“I agree.” He nodded. “Now, we should head to the Great Hall. Please don’t let me suffer the council alone.”

“I could never!” Helaena laughed, taking her husband’s arm as they made their way to the hall.

Kermit had been charged with supervising the squires while Daevar was in his council meeting, and the only real notable thing about them today, apart from Daeron’s increasing skill with a sword, was his own newly-arrived squire, Benjicot Blackwood. He was taller than most boys his age. He was only twelve, yet he was taller than Daeron, a full two years older than he was, and with dark hair and brown eyes that were the telltale signs of his family. Such was the boy who had been fathered by Willem Blackwood as the heir to Raventree Hall, and who seemed to have an even more burning hatred for the Brackens than the rest of his family did. Kermit mostly put that down to the exuberance of youth, but whatever Ben’s faults were, he was a fierce combatant.

It was part of the reason he had decided to pit him against Daeron. He wanted to get an idea of Ben’s skill with a sword, and so far, the boy was letting him down a little. For all of his enthusiasm, Daeron had him outmatched for skill. No real surprise when he has Daevar training him, Kermit thought. The Targaryen boy parried one of Ben’s typically heavy strikes before sidestepping and hitting him on the back with his sword.

“Alright, that’s enough!” Kermit called. “Daeron, you know what to do after training.”

“Clean and maintain my armour, Ser Kermit.” Daeron said in the affirmative before heading off to the armourry to see to it. Kermit approached the downcast Ben, who had removed his helmet by now. The boy was slim of course, but that was the case with nearly all Blackwoods, Kermit remembered.

“Don’t look so down, Ben.” Kermit said. “Daeron’s been trained by Daevar for the last few years. He’s just about the best squire here.”

“I should’ve been able to do better than that though,. He whipped me!” Ben replied. He knew that he would likely be pitted against some squire to gauge his skill, but he hadn't expected to be fighting the best of them all.

“That’s why you’re here, Ben.” Kermit said. “I’ll make you into a proper knight. Or as much of one as I can.”

“Knights don't exist for the Old Gods.” Ben reminded him. The Blackwoods were the only house south of the Neck to still keep to the Old Gods, which of course was another thing that contributed to their ongoing rivalry with the Brackens. Even when talking about the heavy cavalry that most houses in the North had, the Blackwoods had very little; most of their soldiers were archers.

“Then as close to a knight as I can get you. You like the fight, Ben, but there is more to fighting than liking it. I don’t mind bashing a few Tribesmen’s skulls every now and then, but it won't do me any good to to simply like it.” Kermit said. He supposed he would’ve knelt down to the boy’s height, but Ben was almost as tall as he was. “But now we have the starting point for your training. By the time you go back to Raventree Hall, I’ll make sure you’re the best fighter they have.”

Ben beamed.

It was past midday when Daeron had finally finished cleaning his armour. The mud of the training yard was worse than usual, and Ben’s enthusiastic fighting had left mud splattered all over the breastplate. It was still training armour of course, but Daeron knew the time was coming when he would be able to start using full armour, especially if he kept progressing at the rate Daevar said he was. 

As he exited the armoury, the squires had largely moved off, likely to tend to the horses with the stableboys or to maintain their own equipment; Ben and Ser Kermit had moved off to one section of the courtyard to practice some basic moves, though Ben seemed to be picking on some of the skills that Daeron had shows in the sparring session. He would’ve headed over to join them, but found his attention drawn to the girl smiling at him from around the side of the armoury.

Dyana.

It hadn't been that long since Kermit had told him to speak with Dyana, and since then, Daeron couldn't get enough of her. He knew that they could never be together of course, but there was nothing wrong in simply letting go every now and then, right? 

Dyana winked at him and disappeared around the corner. Daeron followed her around and as soon as he found her, pinned her against the wall and kissed her hard. “I’ve been missing you all day.” He said as he kissed her neck.

“I missed you too.” Dyana replied through her smile as their hips began grinding together. Her mother had warned her to never get involved with a nobleman, let alone a Targaryen Prince, but the thought of Prince Daeron was just too tempting. Besides, he seemed to like her well enough. 

Daeron lifted one of her legs and curved it around him, pressing their cores closer together. Both of them stifled their moans at that, though Daeron couldn't pull his lips away from her neck. Eventually, Dyana pulled him away and kissed him again. “I love kissing your neck.” He said in a slight protest.

“Mmm . . . I think I like this more.” She replied, leaning to kiss his neck as one of her hands went into his trousers . . .

We do often think of Prince Daeron as chivalrous to a fault. After all, that is what all the songs and other histories say of him, right? Well, I am sad to dispel the illusion, but he seems to have fallen prey to the lusts that all men feel. Not that he ever took it out on others like his brothers did. While he has a good marriage and several children today, my father often reminds me that his youngest cousin also had his own dalliance with a servant girl named Dyana. 

She would be sent back to King's Landing by Lady Alyssa; I suspect out of fear Daeron would end up fatheirng a bastard on her. Records say that she assisted Princess Nesaena with the royal children for a time, but she seemingly disappears from the records just before the war. 

The orphanage would begin construction soon after; with my mother’s support, the architect wasted little time in getting in workers to build it. To this day, my mother says that this orphanage is her greatest achievement. It’s still there today, if you care to visit. 

Chapter Text

As the year drew to a close, my mother and father rarely spent much time apart, unless she was taking Dreamfyre for a ride around Runestone. Of course, the tourney to celebrate the Arryns’ unification of the Vale was about to take place as well. 

I have heard many stories of what happened there that day. The Vale has never been like the Reach or the Westerlands with their endless pageantry. The Knights of the Vale are renowned for their skill in battle, not for the state of their armour, as my father is fond of saying.

Their journey to the Gates of the Moon as the year closed was celebrated by Ladies Jeyne and Jessamyn, and to the surprise of no one, my father would enter the lists at the tourney. Of course, what happened that day is well known to all who have heard the singers tell of it, and for once, they didn't have to embellish it.

It was at the Gates of the Moon that the tourney was being held, as was the norm for any tourneys that were nominally being held at the Eyrie. They had been through the Gates of the Moon on their way to the Eyrie more than once, but the difference between the two places could not have stunned Helaena more. Whereas the Eyrie was small, but magnificent in design and spectacle, the Gates of the Moon seemed to strictly fill a defensive purpose. It was a stout keep, with square towers that reminded her of some illustrations of old Valyrian forts; the moat only seemed to add to that.

Ordinarily, there would be none here except the small garrison and their commander, but things had changed with the arrival of the tourney. Lords and knights from all over the Vale were present, with all their retainers too, of course. Magnificent pavilions had been erected by each of them; some flying banners that Helaena had never seen before. To her, it seemed like the entire chivalry of the Vale had assembled here outside the Gates of the Moon for this tourney.

“What if the Hill Tribes attack?” Helaena said as she exited her carriage, assisted by Daevar. She had decided to wrap a Royce cloak over her dress today as a sign of support for her husband. 

“I doubt even they are foolhardy enough to attack this many knights and lords at once.” Daevar replied. From what he had learnt during his last campaign, the Tribesmen were reckless, but not stupidly so. They knew what mounted knights could do to them, and such a massive assembly of knights in one place was likely to be deterrent enough.

“Not to worry, My Lady. We’ll make sure you stay safe.” Kermit said, dismounting his horse.

“Daeron, our tent should be around here somewhere. Are you able to find it for us?” Daevar asked. He knew his squire and wife were disappointed at having to leave their dragons behind at Runestone, but it was necessary; there was simply no room for them here. Having dragons loose wouldn't exactly endear them to the rest of the Vale’s nobility either.

Daeron raced off to find the tent for House Royce as Helaena took another look around them. They were outside the front of the Gates of the Moon, if she had to guess. The sight of the falcon banner fluttering from the walls of the gatehouse gave her an odd feeling of familiarity; she had always seen dragon banners flying from the Red Keep, after all. Of course, the brutally simple style of the castle was intimidating; so much of what she could see had been designed for simply fending off attacks

“Not exactly the friendliest sight in the world, is it?” Kermit said. “The Arryns use it as their seat in winter.”

“It actually was their seat until the Eyrie was built by Roland I.” Daevar supplied. ‘He wanted to demolish the place and start over, but saw the value in the place for keeping the Hill Tribes at bay.”

“Thus, the Eyrie.” Helaena observed. She did have to admit, the Vale did have an interesting and intricate history. Oh, she had heard the stories of the Conquest and the Kings that fought it hundreds of times, but Westeros existed long before the Targaryens had ruled it, and the Vale especially had a rich history. Small wonder Daevar likes this place so much.

Looking up, she could see two women atop the gatehouse, looking down at them. Jeyne Arryn and Jessamyn Redfort, as always. 

She had seen tourneys when she was younger in King’s Landing of course. Her father had arranged them frequently for namedays, celebrations and oftentimes simply when he felt like it. She had always loved seeing the knights and lords on parade before the jousts, though she never could stand the sight of jousting herself. The sounds of the fighting were too much for her, and she had never usually stayed that long at them

“Over here, Daevar!” Daeron shouted, indicating a pavilion that had the Royce banner flying from the top of it. Kermit led them over there; everything inside was relatively simple. There were a few tables and chairs inside, but it was generally assumed that they would have brought most of their supplies with them.

“Daeron, get my arms and armour unpacked and in here. Lady Jeyne will likely end up declaring the tourney open within a few hours.” He said. Daeron nodded and brushed past Helaena on his way to the wagon with their supplies. “nervous , love?” Daevar asked her.

“For you, yes.” She replied. “I have seen the aftermath of jousts, and they are not pretty sights.” She added, remembering the sight of blood on the ground after a particularly brutal one between a knight from the Reach and another from the Stormlands. “And you’ve never been in one before.”

“But I’m not uneducated in it.” Daevar replied. “I’ve been trained since I was a boy.”

“So has everyone else out there.” She pointed out.

“We’ll manage, love.” Daevar said. Daeron’s re-entry, along with that of a few other servants, coincided with the blaring of trumpets announcing the opening of the tourney. All the knights and lord there would be required to present themselves for entry.

“Shall I get your armour on, My Lord?” Daeron asked, resigned to there being no break.

Helaena had been given a place with the other noble ladies with Jeyne and Jessamyn, and did her best to keep her eyes focused on the action. The sound of the wood and metal clashing was not a pleasant sound, and the sight of men hitting the ground after being being smashed in the chest by a lance. She had to cover her sears on occasion to keep out the sounds of the horses when the sustained the occasional injury as well.

“Not a fan of the jousts, My Lady?” Jeyne asked.

“I’ve never liked them.” Helaena replied. “They’re so . . . pointlessly violent.” She added.

“They are a useful way for our knights and lords to practice their skills though.” Jeyne said. Helaena covering her ears at the sound of crunching bones as a knight of House Waynwood was unhorsed by Lord Belmore. 

The tourney proceeded throughout the rest of the day. After a time, it became apparent that the final was going to come down to two Daevar and Ser Corwyn Corbray, who were easily the two best horsemen in the lists. Daevar unhorsed Lords Templeton and Coldwater and Ser Jon Shett on his way to the final, while Ser Corwyn notably unhorsed Kermit, though he put up a decent fight, all told.

More and more banners were taken down as competitors were eliminated until only the studded bronze of House Royce and the three red ravens of House Corbray remained. The fact that Ser Joffrey was not present robbed the tourney of a certain victor, but none seemed to mind.

“Careful Daevar. Ser Corwyn’s the best out there.” Daeron said as Daevar mounted his horse. 

“I’m aware, Daeron.” Daevar replied as Daeron handed him his lance. “Still, I would be more nervous if I were facing Ser Joffrey.”

“I would be as well.” Daeron replied. He was a little upset that there was no squires’ melee, but that was to be expected. This was nowhere near as big as some of the tourneys he had seen in King’s Landing, after all. 

At the other end of the lists, Ser Corwyn had taken his lance and shield from his own squire and the two made their way to the middle for their salute. The two exchanged a nod to each other when they met before turning to Lady Jeyne. “Ser Corwyn, Lord Daevar, you two have both proven yourself to be excellent riders and lancers today, but there can only be one champion. May the best man win.”

Daevar leaned his lance forward to Helaena. “My love, I’m certain I can win this with your favour.” He tipped the end of his lance towards the blushing Helaena in invitation. Helaena undid the bronze ribbon that was tied around her wrist, and tied it around Daevar’s lance. She knew this part of course; it had always been impressed on her that she should grant her favour to her husband. 

Favour granted and ribbon tied, Daevar rode back to his end of the lists and closed his helmet, waiting for the inevitable trumpet blare that signalled the charge. It came a moment later, and he kicked his heels into the horse’s flanks. His lance was aimed squarely at Ser Corwyn’s chest, but he knew that the man had a habit of putting his shield down at the last second; it was a trap he’d used multiple times already that day. 

Their lances clashed. Daevar had prepared himself for the crunch and force of the hit, and as predicted, Ser Corwyn had lowered his shield at the last second, taking the impact from Daevar’s strike on there, though Daevar had managed to move his shield in the way of Ser Corwyn’s lance as well. The clash knocked the strength from Daevar’s arm and for a moment, the momentum of the impact looked like it might knock him off, but he managed to recover by the time he reached the end of the list. 

He was handed another lance and turned around, the trumpet blaring to signal a second charge. Again, their lances clashed, and again both of them managed to stay on their horses. By the end of the third pass, the fatigue was beginning to show for them. Corwyn had been forced to abandon his usual trick with the shield, and Daevar’s own arm felt like it was going to fall off. 

They came around for a fourth pass, and Daevar knew that this would be the last one. Neither of them wanted this to last into a fifth one, even if the crowd was loving it. He grabbed up a lance and they began charging at each other. Deciding he had to try something, Daevar straightened his lance slightly at the last second.

It worked.

His lance crashed against Ser Corwyn’s breastplate, while the knight’s own lance clanged harmlessly against Daevar’s shield. The force of the impact from the splintering lance sent Corwyn careening from his saddle, hitting the ground with an almighty crash. As Daevar wheeled around, he thought for a terrifying moment he had killed, or at least done significant damage to Ser Corwyn. A squire ran over to see if the man was alright. Fortunately Ser Corwyn, with a hand, was able to stand up. 

“My Lords and Ladies, your victor!” Ser Corwyn called out, lifting the faceplate on his helmet and gesturing towards Daevar. Two of Jeyne’s Ladies-in-Waiting approached him, handing him a crown of roses. This was another tradition; the winner of the tourney had the right to crown a woman as Queen of Love and Beauty, and the roses the crown was made of were beautiful; blue petals fading into white at the centre.

Perfect .

As soon as the crown had been handed to him, he rode towards where Helaena was sitting. Helaena herself had leapt out of her seat clapping as Daevar had won, and now approached him. Daevar smiled. “My beloved wife, as the most beautiful woman here, I crown you Queen of Love and Beauty.” 

He reached out and settled the crown of roses on her head to the cheers of a roaring crowd. 

A feast had been set up for everyone in the great hall afterwards. Thankfully, the Gates of the Moon was a far larger castle than the Eyrie was, and the hundred or so knights and lords who had come were easily accommodated within the hall. The seat of honour was, as expected, occupied by Lady Jeyne, though Daevar and Helaena were seated to one side of her and Jessamyn on the other. Ser Corwyn was with them too, even if he was well into his third cup of wine right now. 

“You’re still wearing it.” Daevar said to Helaena. She adjusted the crown of roses slightly on her head.

“Do you . . . do you think I should take it off?” She asked.

“No, no. I think it makes you look even more beautiful than normal.” He said, kissing her cheek. The rest of the feast was mostly them making idle conversation with the others that were present until Jeyne announced the end of it, though some knights and lords had already returned to their tents by then.

“As the champion of the tourney you’re entitled to a room here in the keep.” Jeyne said, turning to Daevar. His first instinct was to turn it down of course, but he decided against it. Helaena would welcome the chance to sleep in a proper bed after the long journey they’d made from Runestone, and it would offer a chance for some private time together.

“You are most gracious, Lady Jeyne. Thank you.” Daevar replied before an Arryn guardsman led him and Helaena up to the room. It was not as well-decorated as some of the others that they had stayed in, but it was welcome nonetheless.

“That was very nice of Lady Jeyne.” Helaena said, smiling widely.

“It was.” Daevar said, taking Helaena’s hands in his as the door was closed behind them. “I’ll keep your favour with me whenever i can, Ellie. I love you.”

“And I’ll always treasure this crown, Daevar.” Helaena replied, kissing him deeply. Daevar’s hands, as usual, drifted to her waist as hers moved to cup his cheeks, though this time they didn't stay there for long. Helaena had something else on her mind completely.

She wanted him. 

Oh, she had always known that her husband was handsome, but the intimate side of their relationship was something that she was growing to like. The more time she spent discovering that side of their relationship though, the more she wanted of it. She pulled back to kiss his neck gently, undoing the straps on his cuirass as she did so. 

The bronze armour fell to the floor, though he was still in his cotehardie. Fortunately, Daevar seemed to understand her intent and removed his own clothes. Soon enough, he was standing before her in just his trousers, as she pulled off his tunic. She pulled back from kissing him to admire him for just a moment. The years of training had been very kind to his body, and she had to take a moment to run her hand over his torso. She could hear Daevar hiss as her hand ran over his muscles admiringly.

“You are a very handsome man, my husband,” She said before turning around and draping his tunic over a chair. Then came the moment of truth; she slid her dress down past her shoulders and let it fall away, followed by her smallclothes, until she was standing naked before him. Daevar was stunned for a moment; Helaena was beautiful of course, but he had never seen her without at least her smallclothes on before. 

Now she was standing here before him, lit by nothing but candles, naked as the day. His eyes trailed over her body, and he had to suppress an animalistic need to have her at that instant, though he could feel himself grow even harder at the sight. Wasting no time, Daevar immediately removed his boots, though he had not ime to take off his trousers before Helaena kissed him hard. 

Daevar instinctively backed up until he was sitting on the bed. Helaena straddled him, grinding herself against him as they kissed again. Both of them let out gasps and moans as they began chasing their highs, though Helaena wanted more than just to feel him; she needed him. She took Daevar’s hands and lifted them to her breasts as she set about removing his trousers, leaving them both naked.

“Helaena, are . . . are you sure?” Daevar asked.

Helaena kissed him. “Make me yours, so I can make you mine.”

Daevar leaned up and kissed her hard. “I’ve never done this before . . .” He admitted. He knew how it was done of course, but had never actually had a girl before, truth be told. 

“I’m glad that we’re equal in this then.” She said. She had known that Daevar would have to show some things to her given that she was completely new to this side of them, but she didn't mind. Daevar moved his hands to her hips and looked up at her. 

“Ready?”

Helaena nodded. Her mother had told her that there was a good chance it would hurt the first time he penetrated her, as she had put it, but that it may come good eventually. Her mother was about the pain, of course, and for a moment she had to press a hand down on Daevar’s chest to stop him from moving for a moment. “Just . . . give me a . . .”

“Helaena? Are you okay?” Daevar asked, the pained look on her face distracting him from the sensation of being inside her for the first time. Helaena nodded, taking a cue from the last time they had been in a similar situation and began rolling her hips as the pain faded. 

Both of them were caught in another world for a moment. Neither of them had felt anything like this before, and both of them had the momentary thought of why anyone would do anything but this with their lover for the rest of their lives. Helaena tried to lean down to kiss him, but she ended up throwing her head back in a gasp.

Daevar was putting his hands anywhere he could on Helaena’s body now that their hips were moving together. Her own hips, her stomach, her breasts, anywhere he could. True, the intimate side of their relationship had been building to this, but she had never been fully naked to him before. The feeling of being inside her was just about the greatest thing he had ever felt. He began meeting the roll of her hips, thrusting up into her, and was rewarded with a sharp gasp from Helaena. 

Of course, Daevar’s self-control was not really there though, and he lost it only a few minutes later, groaning Helaena’s name as he reached his climax and spilled into her. Helaena could feel it of course. “Did you finish?” She asked matter-of-factly. Any other time, Daevar might’ve been embarrassed, but he couldn't bring himself to feel embarrassed over this. 

He nodded in response. “Yeah, but I’m fine . . . I can go again. Keep going, Ellie.” He said, using his hands to roll her hips on him until she began doing it herself again. By now, her ands were roaming all over his torso; up and down the muscles of his stomach and chest, and to his shoulders as well. I could run my hands over his body forever .

Helaena could sense that familiar feeling for her. She had felt it when Daevar’s fingers had been inside of her, and knew it well by now. All she wanted to do was chase it, and her movements sped up until her hips became a blur. The coil in her belly was building up strongly; she could feel her release getting closer . . .

And then it happened.

The coil in her belly shattered. Helaena threw her head back and gasped Daevar’s name. It wasn’t nearly as loud as he’d been when he had finished, but she was still feeling the same sort of bliss he had. She kept moving though, wanting to feel him finish inside her again, which he did with a strangled cry of her name minutes later.

Spent, Helaena collapsed next to him. “That was . . .”

“Yeah, I know.” Daevar replied.

“That was the most incredible thing I’ve ever felt.” She said before leaning over to kiss him again. “I hope we will do that more often.”

“Whenever you wish it. “ There was another kissed before she smiled widely. 

“I think our children would be beautiful, Daevar.”

“You mean-”

“Yes, Daevar. I want a child with you. I want a family with you.”

My mother and father have said that this is when they decided they wanted a family. I think that my mother had already made the decision herself, but simply needed another push to get her there. 

That is all I am prepared to discuss of that night. My mother has a tendency to overshare at times.

Chapter Text

I wish I could say that nothing happened from here to the Dance, but that would be a falsity. 

What must be remembered is that the Hill Tribes have persisted to this day, and remain a threat in the Vale when one is not around a fortified castle. It was much the same then. The presence of such an array of knights and lords had kept them at bay during the tourney, but they would not stay away forever. 

In particular, they would make their presence known when my mother and father were returning to Runestone. I’d wager my father wished that Dreamfyre or Tessarion were on hand . . .

The three of them had been invited to eat with Lady Jeyne that morning to celebrate Daevar’s victory at the tourney the previous day. It was decidedly less sumptuous than the feat the night before; not that Helaena minded. There were still honeycakes with blackberries there after all, and she made sure to take two of them along with a rasher of bacon before filling her cup with tea and sweetening it with honey.

“Always for the sweetest thing. Lady Helaena?” Jeyne asked as she took her own tea. Helaena’s preference for sweet things had not gone unnoticed by anyone, it seemed. Helaena just smiled. 

“I do believe our lady has a glow to her this morning, Jeyne.” Jessamyn said, a mischievous smile on her face. 

“Daevar . . . claimed my maidenhead last night, my Lady.” Helaena replied, blushing heavily. “It was wonderful.” 

The old her might’ve felt some shame in admitting that, but there was none of that this time around. She had given herself to Daevar, and felt nothing but pleasure. Was that what she had been told was so sinful by the Septas growing up? How wrong they were about that. How could anything that felt so wonderful be so sinful?

“There we are.” Jeyne replied. “I know that it would not have been easy to give up something so important, so well done for working up the courage to do it.”

Helaena’s blush grew deeper. If she was honest, the whole thing had made her nervous. She had wanted him, yes, but that didn;t erase any awkwardness in her head, and she had to fall back on instinct. Thankfully, Daevar had never forced anything on her, and had taken the lead when she’d wanted him to. “I do not want to feel that with anyone but him.”

“Rest assured, if I know Daevar, I believe he is much the same regarding you.” Jeyne replied. “Come to think of it, where is our young lord?”

“He promised Daeron that the two of them would train this morning.” Helaena replied. She would’ve preferred to have her husband and cousin with her as she walked through the unfamiliar castle, but being here with Jeyne and Jessamyn was still comforting. 

“Your brother could hardly have a better teacher.” Jessamyn replied. 

“Is that so, Lady Jessamyn?” A voice said. The three women turned to see Daevar and Daeron enter the hall, their faces still shining with sweat from the training. They had woken up before dawn to get sparring with the sword done before Daevar had finally gotten Daeron to wiled a lance from horseback for the first time. Though he had missed each of the targets, Daeron’s horsemanship was developing well; Daevar knew that skill with a lance was something that would take some time to build up.

Helaena leapt from her seat and rushed over to them, kissing Daevar deeply. Daevar cupped her face as they kissed, though they both pulled away before either of them could get really excited. That would have to wait until they returned to Runestone. “How did the training go, my love?”

“It went well, all told. Daeron is developing into a fine swordsman.” Daevar said, ruffling his squire’s hair.

“I missed every target with the lance though.” Daeron said, looking at the ground. He had been hoping to hit at least one of them.

“You'll improve soon enough.” Daevar replied. “Aiming a lance is a lot harder than it looks; I had to train for nearly a year before I got everything right.”

Daeron nodded glumly as the three sat down. His mood improved slightly when he piled his plate with bacon and duck eggs, though Daevar had to warn him not to overload too much. 

‘When do you plan on returning to Runestone, My Lord?’ Jessamyn asked.

“As soon as we’re done here.” Daevar replied. He wanted to make an early departure to minimise the time they would have to camp out on the road with the Hill Tribes lurking around. There was a reason travellers rarely moved through the Vale without an escort, after all. “Daeron wanted to stay longer to see Ser Joffrey when he came to see you, but-”

“I understand why we can’t, Daevar.” Daeron said, his mouth full of eggs.

“Daeron, swallow your food before talking.” Helaena chided Daeron, though there was a hint of a laugh. For all that is good and noble about him, Daeron is still lacking badly in table manners. 

Daeron swallowed. “You sound like Mother.” He grumbled. 

“Have you considered children?” Jeyne asked.

“We have.” Helaena said, squeezing Daevar’s hand gently. “And we’ll be talking about it properly when we get back home.”

Home.

Once upon a time her home had been the Red Keep, or at least it had been her physical home. All she could remember of the place was Aegon’s constant dismissiveness of her and tension-filled dinners when everyone was present. True, her mother would leave her to her bugs, and Aemond and Daeron did their best to be caring brothers, but that was about all she had. 

Runestone felt like a real home. She was closer to nature, closer to people.. True, it had made her nervous at first; the idea of leaving the familiar environment of her chambers at the Red Keep was not an inviting one to her. Still, she had accepted it then as simply part of her lot in life, and what she had found in Runestone and the Vale was more than just a second home. She felt more like a Lady of the Vale than she did a Targaryen Princess these days.

“I hope you do have children.” Jeyne smiled. “If they are anything like you two, they shall be a force to be reckoned with indeed!”

“And I’ll be an uncle thrice over!” Daeron added. Everyone laughed at that.

“You will always be welcome here or at the Eyrie. All three of you, as well as Ser Kermit.” Jeyne said, eyes sparkling at Daevar and Helaena. He had come a long way from being the skinny little boy she remembered, that was for sure. 

The departure from the Gates of the Moon hadn't taken long after that. Kermit, predictably enough, had left all the packing and organising to the last second, and had nearly forgotten his dagger as well. The whole thing had necessitated a thorough search of the campsite before the dagger was recovered.

“Father would have my hide if I let something else happen to it.” Kermit had remarked as he and Daevar mounted their horses. 

“Kermit, this is getting serious. You can’t keep behaving like you don't have a care in the world. You have a squire now, remember?” Daevar replied. “Think of the example you’re setting Ben.”

“Oh, he’ll sort it out.” Kermit said, waving a hand. “Besides, I’ve been training him. Father will see that when we go to see him.”

“I hope so, Kermit. I’m not sure how much more your father will turn a blind eye”

“Blind eye?” Helaena asked as she was climbing into the wheelhouse. “Has your father lost an eye, Ser Kemit? Like Aemond?”

“No, My Lady. It’s-”

“A manner of speaking.” Helaena finished before closing the door to the wheelhouse. With a signal from Daevar, the column left the Gates of the Moon, bound for Runestone. Daevar and Kermit rode out the front of the column with their squires close behind; the escort had mostly arranged themselves around the wheelhouse.

It was cooler than what they were expecting, even if there was not a cloud in the sky. Daeron’s eyes scanned the landscape; he wished he had Tessarion right now. He’d heard stories of the Hill Tribes over the years, and he had little desire to confront them without his Blue Queen. Hopefully she wasn't giving Ser Gerold and Ser Willam too much trouble. 

They were barely an hour down the road and with slight rises on both sides when Daevar raised his hand to call a halt. “We’re being followed.”

“We are?” Kermit asked. He hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary. What was Daevar playing at?

“We are.” Daevar confirmed, his hand going to Lamentation’s hilt. He would’ve ordered the escort to take up defensive positions, but he ran out of time quickly.

Growing up, Daevar had always disregarded slings as weapons. When even the meanest peasant had access to a bow, why would you use a sling? Besides, all you could hurl at an enemy with a sling was a stone. Needless to say, that little illusion was dispelled quickly.

The first of the heavy lead stones crashed into the face of one of the Royce knights; he went down quickly. The others made to draw their swords, but a thrown spear knocked a horse to the ground, sending its rider with it. It was an ambush, and Daevar had walked straight into it. It was a cleverly designed one; spears were being thrown at the horses to bring them down whole slingers attacked the riders.

Daevar was struck in the breastplate by one of the stones. The dent in the bronze was immediately apparent. Quickly, he drew Lamentation just as the Tribesmen charged. They were not as disciplined as mounted knights of course, but the advantage of the mounts was rapidly disappearing as another party attacked from the other side of the road, hurling spearing ans sling-stones at them before charging in. 

Daevar charged at two of the Tribesmen, Valyrian steel flashing in the air. One of them was crushed under the weight of the horse’s charge, while the other was caught on the edge of the edge of the blade. He had been wheeling around to charge again when he saw two tribesmen run towards the door of the wheelhouse. Judging by the difficulty they were having opening it, Helaena had had the presence of mind to lock it and close the shutters. Good.

He wheeled his horse around to attack them, but was pulled from his horse by another Tribesman. The man likely would’ve taken off Daevar’s head with his hand axe if it wasn't for Daeron shoving a sword through the man’s head. “Daeron, are you alright?”

“Helaena, now!” Daeron shouted, before rushing off to help Ben. Daevar nodded, drawing his dagger in his left hand and charging towards the two Tribesmen attacking the wheelhouse, who had given up trying to bash down the door and were now hacking at it with their iron axes. Pitiful tools in a fight , Daevar thought, though his confidence was ripped away from him seconds later as one of them managed to sink their axe into the door.

Daevar reached them and parried the man’s blow with his dagger before stabbing him through the chest with Lamentation. Another Tribesman rushed at him; Daevar took the blow on his dagger again but the man kicked him to the ground. Daevar managed to roll out the way just as the axe was brought down. He quickly grabbed up his dagger, leapt to his feet and stabbed the man in the throat.

While he had been occupied though, the door had finally been broken down. Helaena backed herself against the farthest corner of the wheelhouse, trying in vain to kick the Tribesman away. “DAEVAR! HELP ME!” She screamed over and over as the Tribesman managed to grab her ankle. He was unlike any man Helaena had seen before, with horrifically shaggy hair and an unkempt beard, and a wild look in his eyes. She screamed for her husband again, and then she felt the Tribesman’s grip on her slacken.

She looked up and through her terrified tears and saw that Daevar had stabbed the man in the throat. Though, when she looked in her husband’s eyes, she did not see the friendly brown ones that had given her so much comfort, but instead saw a rage in them. Unconsciously, she backed up again.

Daevar picked up Lamentation and ran it through another Tribesman. “Fucking savages . . . KILL THEM ALL!”

What was left of the part-Daevar, Kermit, Daeron, Ben and a handful of knights-formed into a circle around the wheelhouse as the Tribesmen closed in. Daevar slashed open the throat of another attacker before smashing another one in the face with Lamentation’s pommel. “KILL THE FUCKING SAVAGES!” He shouted as he shoved his dagger through the throat of another Tribesman. 

More of them came down to attack, but were halted by the sound of thundering hooves. Kermit was the first to see it; a troop of Arryn knights, armed and ready for battle, had appeared with Ser Joffrey at the head. All of them had swords drawn. 

“Charge! Scatter this rabble!” Ser Joffrey ordered. The Arryn knights charged into the fray, swords flashing in the afternoon sun. The Tribesmen, panicked at the sight of the charging horsemen, fled. Ser Joffrey himself managed to only cut down two before the rest of the attack party fled into the surrounding forest. “Are you alright, Daevar?”

“You took your bloody time.” Daevar replied curtly. “Escort us back to the Gates of the Moon. Now.”

Jeyne sat in silence as she received the report from Daevar. The Hill Tribes of course hadn’t tried anything while all the knights and lords were present for the tourney, but the fact was that they had been raiding more frequently these days. A direct attack on one of her vassals however was much more serious than the average raid on a merchant wagon. 

“They are getting bolder, it seems.” Jeyne mused. Something must be done about them.

“We’ve had more fights near the Bloody Gate.” Joffrey admitted. “Nothing that we can't handle, but the increase in skirmishes is alarming.”

“They’re a lot more cunning than they seem.” Jeyne said, looking at Daevar. His cuirass showed the marks of battle, and it was a miracle he hadn’t been hit in the head. There was a dark look in his eyes as well; even if she didn;t give him permission to lead an attack against the Hill Tribes, she knew he would go anyway. “But a direct attack on a Lord of the Vale cannot go unanswered.”

“I agree.” Joffrey said. “With your permission, My Lady, I can lead a counter-raid tomorrow with two hundred men.” 

Jeyne shook her head. “No, we have to teach them a lesson. You said their attacks have been increasing. I had other parties report ambushed as well. If we don’t retaliate in force now, we’ll be facing this problem for years.” She turned to Daevar. “House Royce can muster three thousand men, yes?”

Daevar nodded. “Correct, My Lady. With additional swords from the Shetts and Coldwaters, we can muster close to four thousand. It would take time to gather that force though.”

“We do not have time. Are you prepared to lead a major campaign against them, Daevar?”

“They tried to kill my wife, My Lady. I owe them a debt.” Daevar almost growled.

“In that case, I charge you to bring the fight to the Hill Tribes. You will take your three thousand men. I will have Ser Joffrey join you with his two hundred men.” She ordered, though she was hoping Daevar would suggest what she badly wanted to. Thankfully, he did.

“And I will have Daeron and Tessarion join us as well. The Hill Tribes won't be able to fight a dragon.” He said. Jeyne nodded. Joffrey let out a slight sigh of relief knowing they would have a dragon on their side. Undisciplined and poorly armed the Hill Tribes may’ve been, but they were savage fighters who knew no mercy to their enemies.

“How soon can you get to Runestone and gather your host?” Joffrey asked.

“Leaving tomorrow with a small escort and at a trot, I can make it the day after and issue the muster order the same day. I’d be ready to march in less than a week.” Daevar supplied. “We’ll pick up you and your men from here and then go after the bastards.”

“Very good.” Jeyne replied. “And you may be assured, Daevar; Helaena will have my hospitality until you return.”

“Thank you.” Daevar said. It was too dangerous for Helaena to travel right now, so staying here was really the only option that they had. 

That night, Helaena held Daevar close as they lay in bed. He had told her about the plans that were in place, and despite her worries, she knew she wouldn't be able to talk him out of it. At least she would be among friendly faces here with Jeyne and Jessamyn. “You’ll come back to me, right?” Helaena asked.

“I will do my best, but I’ve been in battle before Helaena. They’re chaotic at the best of times.” He turned and kissed her. “But you have my word, I will do whatever I can to come back.”

The next morning, Helaena woke to an empty bed. Daevar had evidently left before the dawn; a note on the bedside table explained that he hadn’t wanted to wake Helaena. She felt a small wet patch on the bed as she set the note down and instinctively stood up. The wet patch was red.

My moon’s blood . . .

She sighed. I hope Daevar and I can have children one day . . .

My mother was disappointed that she had not fallen pregnant, but seeing as there are now six of us that she has given birth too, I would think that she is a bit tired of birthing children by this point. 

In any event, this was to be my father’s first real armed campaign. The previous ones he had waged were little more than raids. This was a full-fledged expedition designed to punish the Hill Tribes for their actions; an attempt to break their power in the Vale for the time. 

The muster order was dispatched as soon as my father returned to Runestone. As promised, less than a week later, he marched.

Chapter Text

With the Royce army assembled within a week, my father marched into the heart of the Hill Tribes’ territory in the Mountains of the Moon. We cannot be sure which tribe the attackers belonged to, but he has always maintained that is of no real consequence. I cannot be certain I agree with that, but pushing him on it is a good way to annoy him.

This time, my father did not have much difficulty goading the Tribesmen into a battle, though it did take several turns of the moon. Maybe they sensed that winter was closing in; the weather had already gotten cooler. Whether it was that or something else, they were out and ready for a fight this time. Lord Kermit says that to this day, the only battle that truly frightened him was this one.

This campaign against the Hill Tribes proceeded much the same as the last one. A series of raids on villages to draw them out, and it was working better. Daevar’s forces had fought off multiple raiding parties from the Tribes, but a campaign of attrition worked in the Tribes’ favour, not his. They were fighting on their own ground; he and his men were fighting in territory unsuited to the mounted combat the Knights of the Vale excelled at. A week into the campaign, it had settled into a game of cat and mouse, with Daevar trying to present a target somewhere.

Daevar had made the decision early to build three camps that night; two smaller ones to act as warning positions outside of the main one. The plan had been to draw the Tribesmen into an attack and then move to counterattack them, but they were proving frustratingly craft opponents, and the rain wasn’t helping matters.

“Still nothing from the outer camps?” he asked as Kermit and Ser Joffrey entered the tent. He had messengers present at all the camps, but there was the possibility that something had slipped through the net. Ser Willam just shook his head.

“Ser Willam hasn’t sent word from his, and neither has Ser Jon.” Joffrey replied. “You don't think we’re being a bit optimistic with this strategy? Savages they might be, but the Hill Tribes are cunning opponents, and we are fighting in land they know well.”

“They’ll slip up eventually.” Daevar replied. “They’re hitting us in small groups, but sooner or later they have to come at us in force.” He added. It was a hope more than anything else, but one with more than a little reasoning behind it. The more they kept striking the Tribesmen’s camps, the sooner they would have to come out and fight.

“I hope you’re right, Daevar.” Joffrey replied. He was having his own doubts about the whole campaign, but mainly that they were leaving too much to chance, especially with the fact that Daeron and Tessarion were being held back from the main force. They were meant to be the final part of the trap; the last piece of the puzzle that was to be thrown in to seal the end of the coming battle. 

“I believe I am.” Daevar said. “They’ll attack one of our outer camps, and word will get back here. We’ll form up and counterattack to draw them in, then Daeron and Tessarion will come down and attack. They’ll be hit from both above and on the ground.” 

“You don’t think you’re making a mistake by holding them back?” Kermit asked, a look of slight concern on his face. “They’re the best weapon we have. Wouldn't it make more sense to have them ready early?”

“And risk the Tribesmen melting away into the forest again?” Daevar shook his head. “No. If they see Tessarion flying above, they’ll just avoid us. The whole point of this is to draw them into a fight.”

Kermit sighed. He wasn’t one to doubt Daevar, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that something would go wrong. Was he being too confident in holding back Daeron and Tessarion? On the other hand, do we even need a dragon to see them off? He thought. They were far better armed and armoured than the Tribesmen were, as well as having better training and discipline. There was little denying the fact that if they managed to draw the Tribesmen into an open fight, they would hold the advantage.

“I hope you’re right about this, Daevar.” Joffrey said. If he was wrong, they could be walking into a trap that would easily destroy their force. Though he didn’t know the Hill Tribes well, he could make a vague guess that the ones killed in the battle would be the lucky ones if they lost. What fate awaited the captured, he didn’t want to know.

“I think I am. Like I said, we can draw them in and-”

A messenger burst into the tent. He was red-faced, having obviously ridden hard, but what got Daevar’s attention was the wound on the man’s cheek. It was either from a sling-rock or the man had managed to escape an axe blow with nothing more than a minor wound. Which was luckier, he could not say. “My Lord! Ser Willam sent me. The Tribesmen are attacking his camp in force!”

Daevar looked at Kermit and Joffrey. “Then the fight has begun. Soldier, ride to Ser Jon’s camp and have him move to support Ser Willam. Kermit, Joffrey, get the men formed up and marching. We don’t have long.”

They had attacked early in the morning before most of them were armed and ready, assaulting the edges of the clearing that they had made camp in. Willam had ordered his outposts to stand his ground while the rest of his men formed up for the fight. He had no cavalry; what horse they had was back with Daevar. He ordered his men to form a square, pikes bristling from the edges while archers rained arrows down on the attackers from behind.

The pike square, when backed up by archers, was a powerful defensive formation. The Tribesmen struggled to even get close enough to wield their axes with any sort of potency as the pikes had the advantage of reach over them. However powerful it was though, it was not invincible; something that the Tribesmen’s slingers were more than happy to point out with their own attacks.

More men fell to the sling-rocks as Willam continually had to reorganise his square to prevent any gaps opening up, but it was not something he could keep up forever. Against a different enemy, he would be expecting them to attack in waves, but the Tribesmen gave him no respite. They knew they outnumbered him, and if they kept pressing they would break open the square eventually. 

“Hold the line, lads! Our Lord will be here soon!” Willem shouted. The pikeman in front of him fell to a sling-rock and a Tribesman was charging into the gap. Thinking quickly, Willem rushed forward with his sword drawn, and stabbed the Tribesman in the chest. He kicked the man’s body free before sheathing his sword and picking up the dropped pike, thrusting it through the stomach of another Tribesman before moving back into the formation.

Another roar. More Tribesmen charge, some of them holding an axe in both hands. They crashed into the wall of pikes, abandoning any semblance of self-preservation. How could they hope to win against such recklessness? 

The sound of a horn put paid to his concerns. 

He turned to see Ser Joffrey and Ser Jon advancing on both of his flanks with infantry. Mostly pikemen and archers of course, but a few halberdiers were among their number as well. They were steadily driving forward too, with archers attacking from behind the lines of infantry. Daunted by the sight of the reinforcements, the Tribesmen began to cautiously move back.

“Ser Kermit! Good of you to show up!” Willam said, a little testily.

“I always arrive precisely when I mean to, Ser Willam!” Kermit shouted back. Commands were shouted, and the three men formed their infantry into a single line just as the Tribesmen charged again. Curtains of arrows rained down on the attackers as they smashed into the pikes again and again. Some dived under the pikes to slash at the legs of the Royce soldiers, but found that their iron axes had little effect on armoured graves. 

“Where’s Daevar?!” Willam shouted. 

“He and Ser Joffrey are going to hit the flanks with the cavalry!” Kermit replied. “We just need to pin these cunts in place until they charge.”

And it was working. This was how pikes were meant to be used; defensive weapons to blunt an enemy attack. Against the Tribesmen, they wrought a terrible toll, though that was as much down to their lack of self-preservation instincts as it was to the pikes or Royce soldiers. 

“Here they come!” Ser Jon shouted.

Daevar and Joffrey had manoeuvred their five hundred or so knights and mounted men-at-arms through the woodland around the battlefield completely unseen. Against any other enemy it could not have been pulled off, but the lure of a huge fight with thousands of Royce infantry had proved too tempting for the Tribesmen. There was no doubt they outnumbered the Royce troops, but their lack of armour and poor discipline was working against them.

“Seems that Kermit’s done his job.” Daevar said. With the Tribesmen drawn into the fight against the infantry, the cavalry had a clear charge at the Tribesemen’s rear. It was a cavalry commander’s dream come true. 

“And Ser Jon and Ser Willam.” Joffrey reminded him. “Still, it’s only half done. You’re certain that Daeron will come?” He asked. A rider had been sent to alert Daeron and Tessarion of the battle, and the hope was that they would hit the Tribesmen before the cavalry charge. Any later and they would not have the decisive effect that Daevar wanted on the battle. 

“They’ll come. Daeron’s been itching for a fight for a while; he won’t pass this up.” Daevar replied. As if on cue, a roar announced the presence of a dragon and her rider. Frantic looks above the sky yielded no result, for Daeron and Tessarion were flying low; only just above the trees. Now, they made their presence known.

“Tessarion, Dracarys!” Daeron shouted as he and his Blue Queen popped up from behind the treeline. Tessarion shot a brilliant blue flame from her jaw as she flew up the line of attacking Tribesmen. 

The effect was devastating. The Tribesmen had never seen a dragon before, and the sight of so many burning comrades caused many to simply freeze in fear, and many more to simply run. The sight of the burning men was not one that Daevar would forget anytime soon though; the screams and the bodies on fire burned themselves into his memory. The smell of burnt flesh filled his nostrils. It sickened him with how much it smelled like roasting aurochs at a feast.

“Daevar? Daevar!” Joffrey said, shaking his shoulder. “Should we commence the attack?”

“I . . . yes, Ser Joffrey.” Daevar said. Joffrey handed him a lance as he put his helmet on. “Let’s finish them off, lads!” He shouted before setting his lance at the enemy. This was no tourney lance either; this was eight feet of ash wood tipped with a hardened steel point that would knock a knight off his horse. The effect on the unarmoured Tribesmen would be devastating. “We Remember!” He shouted the Royce words and with a cheer, the knights followed him into the charge. 

The effect was instantaneous. Having already been strafed by a dragon, many of the Tribesmen’s nerves were fraying, and went completely at the sight of the hundreds of charging horses. More of them ran. Those who didn’t receive lances through the chest or head for their trouble. Daevar himself felt his lance bury itself in the chest of one Tribal axeman before he let it go, drawing Lamentation.

The Valyrian steel glinted in the afternoon sun as he brought it down on another Tribesman, then stabbed another when he got too close. He slashed one across the face when he felt his horse crumple underneath him. He dropped Lamentation as he hit the ground, the shock of the impact knocking the blade from his hand.

A great hairy man who must have been well beyond the height of any other man let out a roar as he wrenched a greataxe from the neck of Daevar’s horse. Daevar cursed himself as he remembered the golden rule of fighting from horseback: never stop, or you become an easy target. He drew his dagger quickly, but had barely any time to wonder how useful it would be before the man swung the greataxe down. Daevar rolled aside, picking up an iron axe belonging to a dead Tribesman. His only hope of defeating this man lay in his ability to avoid any attacks and counterattack where he could, though that would probably prove difficult. 

The man swung again, and Daevar ducked to the left, slashing with his dagger. The blade bit deep into the man’s arm, but Daevar wondered if he actually felt it; the man seemed made with battle-lust. He’d heard of this before; some Tribesmen entered such a state that they could be terrifying opponents, especially with the savage greataxe that this one had. The man swung again, and Davear dodged again, though this time he managed to sink his own axe into the man’s shoulder. The man roared and backhanded him; the force of the blow knocking Daevar to the ground. 

Daevar rolled out of the way of the greataxe, and saw his window as soon as the man had finished his swing. Bolting to his feet, he stabbed the dagger into the base of the man’s skull, feeling him go limp almost immediately. It was a rather anticlimactic end to the fight, but he knew that was preferable. Best to end a fight quickly; the longer it goes, the more tired you get, had been the lesson Ser Corwyn gave him.

Just as quickly as he got up, he was knocked back down. The sight of the dead champion had enraged a handful of the Tribesmen. As Daevar prepared to roll out of the way of the axe blow, his attacker was swatted aside. Daevar turned to look around, and saw that Tessarion had landed in the middle of the battlefield to attack the Tribesman with her claws. She let out a short jet of flame over Daevar’s that put an end to the man. One Tribesman tried to thrust a spear up towards her rider, but Daeron was ready with his sword out. He slashed the Tribesman across the chest before dismounting and rushing towards Daevar. Another attacker tried to charge Daeron, but the Prince parried the axe blow and stabbed the man through the chest before picking up another sword. 

“You spend more time on your back than Coryanne Wylde did!” Daeron said, helping Daevar up and handing him the sword he had gathered up. If I keep losing Lamentation on the battlefield, Ser Gerold will never forgive me.

“What’s the situation then?” Daevar said, signalling for the infantry line to advance. 

“Well, we’ve broken them completely. There’s nothing left of their force.” Daeron replied. “You were right about them not being able to stand in a straight fight.” 

“Of course I was.” Daevar said as the other commanders caught up to him. Joffrey dismounted his horse, sword bloody. 

“Should we pursue, Daevar?” He asked. “We still have Tessarion after all.”

“Leave them be, Ser Joffrey.” Daevar replied. “They’ve seen our power today, and they’ll not dare attack us again now that they know we’ve a dragon. You’re owed much credit for today, Daeron, and not just for winning the battle; you saved my life as well.”

“My Lord is most kind, but the victory belongs to Tessarion.” Daeron replied, running a hand along her scales. The dragon warbled happily; a dramatic departure from the fearsome beast that they had seen just minutes ago. Daevar picked up the champion’s greataxe; it would make a fine trophy for Runestone.

“Ser Jon, Ser Willam, see to the mopping up here. The Rest of us will head to the Gates of the Moon and report to Lady Jeyne.”

As soon as word of the campaign beginning months ago had reached Lady Jeyne, she had ordered Helaena to be sheltered at the Eyrie, far from any potential attacks. Helaena had protested at first, wanting to remain where her husband could find her, but she’d relented in the end to Jeyne’s wish for her safety. 

As soon as the victors of the battle had reached the Gates of the Moon, she had sent a raven to King’s Landing informing them of the victory. Much as Daevar had wanted to ascend to the Eyrie that night, Kermit had talked him out of it. The slope would be too treacherous once the sun went down. They made plans to ascend in the morning as soon as they could, but they were interrupted soon after they woke up.

“What is it, My Lady?” Daevar asked, momentarily forgetting his courtesies as he, Kermit, Joffrey, Daeron and Ben met with Lady Jeyne in the Great Hall.

“Our raven received a reply. The King wants all of you in King’s Landing as soon as possible. He wants to hear your account of the victory in person.” She explained, ready for Daevar’s inevitable reaction.

“As soon as possible?” Daevar asked.

“Yes. As I said, he wants to hear your report and congratulate you in person.” She said, her face turning into one of concern as she put a hand on Daevar’s shoulder. The boy- no, he is a man now -was plainly downcast that he wouldn’t be able to see his wife before leaving for King’s Landing. She couldn’t really blame him; she would want to see Jessamyn in the same situation. “I promise you, Daevar, Helaena will be waiting for your return at Runestone. I will send a large escort with her, but I don’t expect much trouble on the road thanks to your victory.”

Daevar sighed. “Alright, fine. We’ll leave right away.”

My father has always been distinctly grumpy whenever he has recalled this. I suspect it’s because he simply wanted to be with my mother again, but as my brother Aemon is fond of saying, “When the king commands, you obey”.

And so, my father, accompanied by Lord Kermit, Lord Joffrey, Lord Benjicot and Prince Daeron made their way to King’s Landing. None of them could be certain of what was about to transpire there of course, but there would be two incidents there that would, as so many other things would, have consequences for the war to come.

Chapter Text

My father was not enthusiastic to return to the capital after so long, but when one is instructed to do so by the king, it cannot be refused. Much as he was unenthusiastic to face the family he had married into again, it would be unavoidable. Neither Lord Kermit or Uncle Daeron describe the moment with any sort of fondness either, save for my father’s knighting.

Yes, my father was not a knight at this time. He had always wanted to win his spurs in battle, and he had been adjudged worthy. Not just by anyone though. What happened on that fateful day would have deep consequences for the future. 

My father was to be knighted by the King himself, with no less a blade than Blackfyre.

Daevar’s arrival to the capital this time was greeted with substantially less fanfare. It wasn’t that he despised the capital, but he wanted to see Helaena more than anything else in the world; the length of the campaign and then the voyage here had taken almost everything out of him. He just wanted to see her face again, and if he had to get through this damn meeting to get back to her faster, so be it.

Daeron had flown a day ahead of them of course. Daevar figured it was best the boy meet with his family before the rest of them did; at the very least it might make them a bit softer towards them. At the very least, it would give him time with his sister and brothers before-as Daevar suspected-everything ended up going sideways. At the very least, he had Kermit and Joffrey by his side, as well as Ben. 

“No blaring trumpets for the war heroes then.” Kermit observed as they disembarked from the ship; Ben bearing a large wooden box. All that was awaiting them was a small guard of Targaryen soldiers to escort them to the Red Keep. He supposed that was mainly down to not wanting much of a fuss made, though he was disabused of that notion the moment they stepped into the Throne Room. The entire royal court was there. Viserys sat atop the Iron Throne, crown on his head and Blackfyre in his hand; to his side stood Alicent, Aegon, Aemond and Nesaena, all wearing different shades of green.

The cleanliness of the royals made for a contrast with their entry. Daevar, Joffrey, Kermit and Ben had next to no time to actually clean anything with the haste their departure had been arranged, and it showed. Their armour was scratched and dented; their gambesons dirty with mud and dirt still. Some members of the court looked at them with obvious distaste, though Criston Cole and Harrold Westerling, standing next to the Iron Throne, had hints of smiles on their faces. Soldiers recognise soldiers.

“Welcome to King’s Landing, Lord Royce.” Viserys said. He had lost a frightening amount of weight, and looked to be having trouble seeing out of one of his eyes. “It has been some time, my boy.”

“Indeed it has, Your Grace.” Daevar replied, signalling Ben to bring forward the box. Daevar opened it, and hefted a massive iron greataxe out of it. The court members gasped; it was the crudest weapon they had ever seen, and yet there was little doubt that it would be able to easily cleave a man in two. 

‘What is the meaning of this?” Alicent said, a hint of disapproval in her voice. 

“This axe belonged to a champion of the Hill Tribes. The very one that we crushed in battle.” He said, showing it to the whole court. “Add it to the Throne.” He added, throwing the axe to the floor in front of Viserys. 

“You broke them for good?” Viserys asked.

“The Hill Tribes are tenacious, Your Grace.” Joffrey replied. “It is unlikely they will simply fade away after one defeat, but their power has been broken for a generation at least. The credit for that is your nephew’s.”

“Ser Joffrey speaks too kindly.” Daevar said. “Your son saved me in battle, Your Grace, and it Was Sers Willam, Joffrey, Kermit and Jon Shett who led the men into battle.”

“He speaks modestly, father.” Daeron said, finally emerging from the crowd. “It was his plan we were following. He slew the champion himself in single combat. Once that man died, their forces were all but broken.”

“Prince Daeron has the right of it.” Kermit added. “It was Lord Daevar’s plan we followed, and it was he who killed their champion.”

“Is this true?” Viserys asked.

“I . . . did fight him, Your Grace.”

“And did you defeat him?”

“ . . . Yes. He still nearly killed me though.”

“And yet you stand here before me while his body lies on a battlefield.” Viserys stood, albeit with great difficulty. He shifted his weight to Blackfyre before rising to his feet, lifting the sword into his hand. Walking seemed difficult for him, but he managed it nonetheless. My body may be failing me, but my mind is still good. “Kneel, My Lord.” He commanded. Daevar did so, looking down. Then he felt the sword of kings tapped against his shoulders. “In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the mother, I charge you to defend the innocent.” He withdrew Blackfyre from Daevar’s shoulders, planting the tip on the ground to balance himself. “Arise, Ser Daevar, Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Daevar stood. He had been offered a knighthood the day he turned ten-and-eight, but had turned it down. Without a squireship to anyone, the normal avenue to knighthood for him had been cut off, and he had determined to win it only in battle. Now, he had been knighted by the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, with a blade no less than Blackfyre, the Sword of Kings. “You honour me, Your Grace.”

“We will celebrate tonight then!” Viserys declared.

“I apologise Your Grace, but I will not be able to stay for it. I must return to my lands.” Daevar said. Viserys looked perturbed for a moment before smiling and nodding.

“Yes, of course My Lord. In that event, it shall be in your honour instead, and in the honour of your loyal warriors.” He said, smiling at Joffrey, Kermit, Ben and Daeron in turn. 

Daevar returned the smile as the four of them retired into the crowd while Daeron went to stand beside his family. There was gossip around them of course; most of it about the battle with the Tribesmen and Daevar’s slaying of the champion. Of course, Daeron got his fair share of admirers too, and he would’ve blushed with all the attention if his own wasn’t grabbed by the most stunning woman he had ever seen approaching the Iron Throne.

When Viserys had called the next petitioner, it was not expected that it would be from a woman, nor from a woman of such beauty.. She was tall, graceful, and dark skinned with a mane of curly black hair that tumbled down to her waist. Her dress was of orange silk, and though it was more modest than what Daeron had been led to believe about the Martells, it still highlighted her slim figure and long legs. She moved with a grace that was clearly gained with years of lessons, and in a way that got men’s attention easily.

Daeron barely heard what she said to his father. Minutes must have passed when his mother tapped his shoulder. “Daeron? Daeron?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes mother?”

“Your father said you’d be delighted to escort Princess Aliandra to the chambers reserved for dignitaries.” His mother said. 

“Oh, um . . . yes, of course.”

Aliandra Martell was not a woman accustomed to being caught off-guard. She had been trained all her life as the next sovereign of Dorne, the last independent region of Westeros. Dorne had resisted the Conquest successfully; the only part of Westeros to do so. Aegon and his sisters had attacked again and again to bring Dorne to heel, and again and again they had been defeated. 

Her father had been training her from birth to rule from Sunspear after his passing, and with the state of his health, it would not be long. When he had told her he was sending her to King’s Landing to meet with King Viserys, she had protested. Why should Dorne’s next sovereign debase herself by meeting with the King? Her father had overruled her of course, and told her that it was nothing more than a goodwill mission.

Resigned, she had read as much as she could about the Targaryen rule of Westeros as she could. She would not be caught off-guard by these dragon-riders and sister-fuckers. She had been warned about what things would be like by almost everyone, and had prepared herself thusly. What she hadn't been prepared for was the sight of the most handsome boy that she had ever seen standing to the left of Prince Aemond (she recognised that one by the missing eye).

He was superb. His silver hair was cut shorter than his brothers, though he still had the countenance of a warrior, from his scratched and dented armour to the sword at his waist. It only enhanced his good looks. Aliandra had never had a thing for dangerous men, and there was something dark in the eyes of his brothers, but his seemed warm and inviting.

She could hear herself speaking to the King, but the words were coming out without her thinking; she had practiced her script enough on the voyage here. Just as well too, given that she was still distracted by the boy whom she gathered was Prince Daeron. She heard the King say the required words to her as well before he turned to his wife. Her name is Alicent of House Hightower, Aliandra reminded herself, finally snapping from her trance.

“Prince Daeron would be delighted to escort you to the chambers reserved for dignitaries.” The Queen said. Everyone stood waiting for Daeron’s response, but Aliandra got a very feminine sense of satisfaction when she noted that he was staring straight at her and barely seemed to have acknowledged what his mother had said. Eventually, he was corrected and moved towards her, leading her out of the Throne Room.

“It uh . . . must be . . . daunting for you here, Princess.” Daeron said, still partly distracted as they exited into the hall.

“It’s . . . grander than Sunspear.” She replied, not trusting herself to say anything else without making a fool of herself. 

“This way, Princess.” He said, leading her on, and affording the Princess of Dorne a view at his lovely backside. Her brothers might have called it wrong, but by her estimation, she was only a year than Prince Daeron. She supposed most girls her age would be looking at Prince Aemond, but Daeron seemed friendlier than his older brother. 

“Show me the way, My Prince.”

Aemond hadn't been sure how to take the whole thing when they had all been called to the Throne Room for Daevar’s knighting. It hadn't been spur of the moment by any means; his mother and father had both openly said the plans to him from the start. What got to Aemond the most though was how Daevar almost instantly announced the fact that he would be returning to Runestone, without bothering to stay for the celebration Aemond’s father had offered.

Truthfully though, it was mostly his mother who had planned the celebration, as well as Aemond himself. When his mother asked a favour of him, he did it without question. She was the one person who had shown him nothing but kindness all his life. Daevar, Helaena and Daeron had been much the same; Daevar had even defended him to Viserys the night his eye was cut out knowing that it could mean death. 

Then they had all betrayed him.

First, Daeron had taken away his chance of being a squire. The original plan had been for him to be sent to Oldtown with their mother’s cousin Ormund, but then Daevar had made his offer and their father had overruled their mother. Why had Daevar chosen Daeron over him? Was it because Daeron was younger? 

Then he had married Helaena. Aemond had always heard their mother say that Helaena would be married to him, then at the last second, it was decided that Daevar would instead, and she’d not raised a word of protest against it. Did she preferred Daevar after all? Maybe he was being unfair about it; that was their father’s fault more than anything. Maybe he would be able to find out what Daevar’s motivations were if he could convince him to stay. 

He caught up with Daevar in the corridor outside the Throne Room after asking his mother if he could be excused. He was easy to spot of course, wearing the bronze armour that he so loved. “Daevar, may we talk?” He asked. Daevar signalled to Ser Kermit and Ser Joffrey to give them some space.

“What is it, Aemond?” He asked. Even his smile annoyed Aemond.

“I just wanted to ask why you were leaving.” He asked. “We arranged a celebration just for you.”

“I’m returning to my wife, Aemond.” Daevar said. “I’ve not seen her in over three months.”

Aemond gritted his teeth. “I’ve not seen you in years . . .” He managed to say. Did Daevar really value him so little? As if it couldn;t be any clearer, you fool! He thought. He was only pretending to care for you.

“I’ll be back one day, Aemond.” Daevar said, still smiling as he reached to pat Aemond’s shoulder. “At the moment, putting everything else aside, I still have duties to attend to at Runestone; making sure my soldiers settle back into their old tasks.”

“And Helaena of course . . .” Aemond growled, though Daevar either didn't pick it up or simply ignored it.

“And Helaena. I miss her, Aemond. You’ll understand when you marry one day.” he said before leaving, though he remained blissfully unaware of how deeply his words had cut. 

It was another week before they were back in Runestone, though they were welcomed by just about everyone there. Even Maester Barden seemed happy to see Kermit return alive and unharmed. The sight of Tessarion overhead likewise brought a cheer for their new hero, whom had been christened by Ser Willam as ‘Daeron the Daring’. Daeron would have been embarrassed by it, but the moniker had spread so far that it was pointless getting embarrassed by now.

As soon as they entered the Great Hall, Helaena hugged him tightly. The fact that he hadn't been able to so much as bathe in months didn’t seem to dissuade her as she pulled back from the hug to kiss him. “I missed you.” She mumbled against his lips. “So much, Daevar.”

“I missed you too, Ellie.” Daevar said before kissing her back. Behind them, Ben was turning up his nose at all the affection. Was this what men older than him spent all their free time thinking about instead of glory and honour in battle?

“You’ll really like that in a few years, Ben.” Kermit laughed to his squire.

“No I won’t.” Ben said, crossing his arms as Kermit faked a cough.

“We’re here too, My Lady.”

“Of course, Ser Kermit.” Helaena said, kissing Kermit and Ben on the cheeks. “I’ve had food prepared for you. Knowing the way you eat though, Ser Kermit, it will not be nearly enough.”

“I’ll be happy with what’s there, My Lady.” Kermit grinned.

“You two go and bring in Daeron; he’ll be wanting to eat too.” Daevar said. Kermit nodded and with a pull on the collar of Ben’s pourpoint, the two left the Great Hall to find Daeron. Finally alone, Daevar kissed Helaena again. “I think I would prefer a bath before anything else, and a shave. My good looks won't be as dashing without either.”

“I think you look handsome no matter what, Daevar.” Helaena smiled, her hands interlocking behind Daevar’s neck as his own hands went to her waist. “But I’ll have one prepared for you in any case.”

Daevar smiled and kissed her. “I’d like that.”

“Would you like me to join you as well?”

Daevar’s face lit up. “Very much so.” He said. Helaena giggled and kissed him once more. 

When the bath was prepared, they shared it, though cleaning quickly became secondary to wanting each other. They had missed each other, and expressed that longing as most couples did. Helaena had wanted to feel the same feeling she had when Daevar had taken her maidenhead, and wasted little time in climbing on him and taking his cock inside her.

When the two of them fell over the edge, it was accompanied by an unusually loud groan from Daevar. Whatever she did whenever he was inside her, he seemed to like it. As she rested her head on his shoulder while they rode out the waves of their orgasms, Daevar held her close. “Helaena . . . did you mean what you said at the Gates of the Moon? That you want to have children with me?”

“Yes Daevar.” She replied without hesitation. “I want to give you children. I want a family with you.”

It was settled from that point onward. My parents would spend most of the next year trying to have a child, which would eventually be me of course. My brothers and sisters have always pressed me for answers on questions about the war, but the truth is that I was a babe for much of it.

I’ve not managed to uncover what the reaction on Dragonstone to my father’s success against the Hill Tribes was. I hope that my grandfather was proud of him; it has frustrated my entire family to no end that despite my father being everything he could’ve wanted in a son, Daemon could not get over the fact that his mother was Rhea Royce.

Chapter Text

My mother and father settled into their roles as the Lord and Lady of Runestone as tensions continued to rise between the Greens and Blacks. They were far removed from the conflicts of the court, and I’m tempted to say that Uncle Daeron was grateful to be removed from it as well. 

Lord Kermit returned to Riverrun for part of the year of course; the time had come for him to learn the lands he would rule one day. History has recorded that the people of the RIverlands at this time may actually have feared the ascension of Lord Kermit. After all, he was far from the heroic figure that he is today.

131 AL

Helaena panted as she rolled off of Daevar. It might be indecent of her to say, but she had come to crave the closeness that came whenever they coupled. And when she reached her peak . . . it felt like she was falling into another world. Daevar always took the time to make sure she finished as well, which she guessed was not something a lot of men in Westeros would. She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “That was amazing, Daevar.”

“Every time with you is amazing.” He said as she rested her head on his shoulder. He knew by now that whenever he laid with Helaena, there was something intangible that made it so much more satisfying. From the gentle kisses right up until they both fell over the edge, they were baring their souls to each other.

“I just hope I’m with child this time.” Helaena said. “We’ve been coupling a lot . . “

“Helaena, it’s not about just children.” He said, looking into her violet eyes. “Your mother said that was the only purpose of humping, right?”

Helaena sighed. “Yes. She said my primary purpose was to give you children. You know that, Daevar.”

“Well, she was wrong.” He replied, kissing her gently. “It should be a pleasure for both the man and the woman.”

“I do admit that I enjoy it.” She said, tracing circles on his chest. “But I am serious, Daevar. I want a child with you, but . . .” She trailed off, unable to say it. Am I barren? She wondered. The thought had entered her head before, but she’d been unable to dismiss it entirely. Nesaena had told her that it was inevitable when her oddness had become apparent to the rest of the family. 

“But what, love?” Daevar asked, bringing her out of her thoughts.

“Nothing, Daevar.” Helaena smiled before kissing him again.

“Good, because I’ve been wanting to try something.” He said before sliding down the bed. Helaena, perplexed, stayed put, watching Daevar in fascination as he moved down. 

“W-what are you doing?”

“Relax, Ellie. I’ve been wanting to try this for a while and if it doesn't feel good for you, I’ll stop.” He said. Reluctantly, Helaena nodded and laid back before feeling Daevar’s lip on her thigh, dangerously close to her cunt. She wanted to ask what he was doing, but having his lips on her skin was making it difficult for her to think right now. 

She was about to ask what he was doing again when she felt his mouth between her legs. She breathed in sharply, her hand instinctively going to his head. Whatever he was doing, she didn't want him to stop. She could feel his fingers digging into her thighs as her back arched further off the bed, which Daevar took as a sign that he was doing something right. He had always wondered what it would be like to kiss Helaena down there, and it seemed that she liked it.

Helaena, for her part, was trying to keep her eyes from rolling back. Feeling Daevar’s tongue on her, pressing at her, bringing her closer and closer to her peak was nothing short of amazing. Then she felt his tongue push inside of her. Helaena was not given over to loud moaning, but the sounds she made were music to Daevar’s ears nonetheless. “Daevar . . .” She gasped as he smiled against her skin. 

If only we could stay like this, he thought as he worked his tongue over her cunt, using the gasps and soft moans coming from his wife as an indicator that he was doing things right. He pressed his tongue against one spot, and Helaena couldn't take it anymore. Her back arched one final time and Daever felt her grip his hair almost painfully. What he couldn’t see is that Helaena’s eyes had rolled back as she finished; the pleasure of what she had just experienced washed over her completely. 

It took a good few seconds for her to come back to her sense. “What . . . what in the Gods’ name was that . . .” She said, though she wasn't sure if it was to herself or to Daevar. He took it as the latter. 

“I just wanted to kiss you there.” He said, before wiping his mouth and kissing her; she blushed and kissed him back.

“I hope that there will be more of that in our marriage.”

“If my lady wishes it.” Daevar replied. 

Riverrun

The seat of House Tully was not something Ben had ever seen before, and he found himself mesmerised by it. True, it was not as large as some of the other castles he had read about in books; he knew that Winterfell and Casterly Rock were far larger than Riverrun, yet he somehow doubted that either of those castles was as impressive as this one. Kermit certainly had not been exaggerating when he said that the ingenuity of the Tullys was best found in their castle.

Two sides of the castle were facing a river; the Tumblestone to the north and the Red Fork to the south. The only way to effectively attack the castle would be by marching over the massive ditch on the western side, but even then, sluicegates could be opened to flood the ditch and turn it into a moat, effectively making it impossible to attack. Not for nothing had Ben’s father said that the best way to defeat an enemy was to simply block them from their objectives.

Unless they were Brackens of course. Then you had to kill as many of them as possible.

The drawbridge was lowered and they were invited in, though there was little fanfare to it all. The Tully Guard was smaller than the other great houses, mainly because of the natural defences of Riverrun. Though, given that Ser Elmo and Kermit’s brother Oscar were waiting for them, Kermit could guess that something was about to happen. 

“Father! Brother!” Kermit said as they rode through the gate. The drawbridge was pulled up behind them. “Good to see you both! Though I had hoped to see a bit more of a welcome party.” he added as he dismounted his horse. His father remained unamused, fixing his eldest son with an icy glare. 

“Into the Great Hall. Oscar, take Ben to his chambers.” Elmo ordered. Kermit gulped as he followed his father into the Great Hall. The place was bare, save for the High Seat of the house . . . and the portraits of their founder Axell Tully, and of the first Lord Paramount of the Riverlands Edmyn Tully. Both men were long dead by now, but their legacy was not something that could be escaped in the Riverlands; not with the influence they’d had on the family. Kermit tried to shake the weight of that legacy from his mind as his father led him to the private audience chamber above the Great Hall. 

“I’d been expecting a more solid welcome home, father. I have fought in a battle, you know.” Kermit said, though he winced slightly as his brain caught up with what he’d said. Had he gone too far?

“I am aware you’ve fought in battle, Kermit. You’ve won your spurs, but there is more to knighthood than fighting. Have you been training Ben?” Elmo asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Of course I have!” Kermit replied defensively. 

“Good. Now, did you steal from a farmer on the way here?” He asked pointedly.

“I paid for what I took!”

“After you were caught.” Elmo reminded him. “Kermit, you cannot keep going like this. Ser Gerold has reported that you’re still flouting your guard duties, then there was the fight with prince Aegon at Lord and Lady Royce’s wedding, and now this.” Elmo shook his head. Have I failed in raising my son? “What do you have to say for all of this?”

“That I haven’t been flouting my duties as much as I used to, that Prince Aegon started the fight, and that I paid the farmer.”

“This is serious, Kermit!” Elmo snapped. “You are second in line for Riverrun, which means you are also second in line to rule the Riverlands, and yet, you can't seem to act like a Lord!” He thundered. Kermit shrank from him. His father had never been given to displays of anger, but he had perhaps been pushed too far this time. 

“I’ve not been trying to escape punishment for those.” Kermit replied, trying to stand firm. “I’ve accepted whatever Ser Gerold and now Ser Willam has punished me with. And it was Oscar who called the Prince a chicken fucker.” 

Elmo tried to contain his smile at that. Despite himself, he couldn't help but find that funny. “Kermit, as I said, this is serious. I spoke to our council yesterday; they are worried for the day that you ascend to your titles.” He said. “Maester Alyn and Septon Orys both question your readiness to assume the lordship, and even some of our knights are nervous at the prospect. Alyn even assumes he would have to do most of the governing once you do.”

Kermit swallowed. Had he really come off that badly to people? Yes, he did like to have his fun, but surely no one could object to that? “What  . . . is to be the remedy to this, father?”

“A simple one.” Elmo replied. “You will shape up or be sent to the Wall. Do I make myself clear?”

That was unexpected. The Wall? Only murderers, thieves and rapers were sent there, and whatever his flaws, Kermit was not a criminal; that much he knew. “I’m not a criminal, father.”

“No, but it is within my rights as acting Lord of Riverrun.” Elmo said. He knew he was right here as well; Kermit had the potential to take House Tully to greatness. He still had youth on his side and had an established battle record, but he was also routinely indulging in the privileges of his rank too much.

“I . ..  I understand, father.” Kermit said, dropping his head. He wasn’t escaping this without submitting to his father. 

“I hope you do, Kermit, because the future of our house could rest on you.”

Kermit nodded. “Now, how is great grandfather?

“Is there a reason I can’t get pregnant, Maester Barden?” Helaena asked. It was already several months into the year and despite the fact that she had Daevar were laying with each other frequently, his seed never seemed to take root. Out of desperation, she had decided to go and see Barden while Daevar was out on a hunt. His study was small, but with a sizable bookshelf against one wall, and a table with quill, inkwell and paper next to a window; Barden had always said he preferred looking out over the fields around Runestone than a wall.

“Alas, most of the mysteries of pregnancy are beyond us at the moment.” Barden replied. “It may be a simple case of it not being the right time; the body works in mysterious ways.” He looked out the window briefly. “I wish there was a simple solution., Lady Helaena, I really do, but the only answer I can give is that what works for one woman might not work for you.”

Helaena nodded before burying her face in her hands. She knew Barden was being honest, but it didn’t make the words sting any less. How can I call myself a wife if I cannot even carry a child?! She thought. Much as Daevar had always said that laying together was meant to be a pleasure, she had known that one of her roles was to further the Royce line, and her body had seemingly rebelled against it. “I have prayed to the Seven night and day. Carrick has assured me that this is not punishment for my sins-”

“I doubt he would ever say otherwise.” Barden replied. Much as the men of science and of the Faith were often at odds, he couldn't help but have an admiration for the man who had repeatedly rejected chances to join the Most Devout to stay in Runestone. “My Lady, I have seen this play out with Lady Julia before. She and Ser Gerold tried for over a year before Ser Willam was born. It will happen, I assure you.”

“But . . . what if it doesn’t Maester?”

Barden sighed. “It will, My Lady. I assure you, it will.”

‘What if I’m barren?” She mumbled. She had found herself thinking it more and more often lately. It had been a thought she’d dismissed at first; her mother had given birth to five children and Nesaena had Jaehaerys and Jaehaera, supposedly with another soon coming, there was no question as to their fertility. However, the possibility that she was barren was something that she couldn’t dismiss anymore. If she was barren, then she had failed at the most important thing for a wife to do.

“My Lady, you’re not yet twenty.” Barden said, his voice softening. “You’re still young; you still have many years before you are beyond childbirth. It will happen; of that I am certain.”

“How can you be so certain of something you have no definite answer to?” She asked. 

“Probability, My Lady. You are still so young. It will happen one day, and I will be there to guide you when it does.” He smiled slightly. The girl had been a welcome addition to Runestone when she arrived; she made Daevar smile more than even Kermit did. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to our lord; don't doubt it for a moment. You’ve made him a proper man, My Lady.”

“I just hope I can bear his children, Maester.”

“You will. As I said, you’re still young. You have time on your side. Children will come, Lady Helaena.” 

“Thank you, Maester.” Helaena said. She was feeling a little better after what Barden had said. Maybe he was right; she was still young and had a long time yet before was beyond her birthing years as Nesaena had put it. Maybe I should write to her; she deserves congratulations on her latest pregnancy. “I’ll be talking with you again soon regarding this.”

“My door’s always open, My Lady. I am sworn to the service of the Lord and Lady of Runestone.” Barden smiled as Helaena curtseyed and left. The walk to her and Daevar’s chambers was not a long one, and she settled in one of the chairs to begin writing her letter. 

I still think that Lord Elmo’s threat to have Lord Kermit sent to the Wall was simply bluster; there is simply no way that he would send his eldest son and the second in line for Riverrun to the Wall, especially when part of the reason he was still serving with the Royce Guard was because of his desire to have Kermit learn more of the world.

We often forget that while a man may be mocked for not putting a child into his wife, the wife herself is the subject of much social scorn. It was less pronounced for my mother than for others, given her close friendship with Lady Jeyne, but regardless, was not particularly welcomed.

Chapter Text

Namedays are times of celebration and moving forward. For my father, every nameday since his mother’s death has taken on a special significance; never in all the time since I was born has he missed the chance to light a candle for his mother on his nameday, whether it be in Runestone or King’s Landing. 

The return of Ser Kermit on the day my father turned ten-and-nine was celebration enough, but then we also had Ser Joffrey present to represent Lady Jeyne, and messages sent from King’s Landing and Dragonstone. It was not going to be nearly as grand an affair as the tourney Lady Jeyne had held, but it would be a big one nonetheless.

Daevar woke up slowly that morning; he felt that with it being his nameday, he was entitled to sleeping in a little, but with the light poking through the curtains, it would be impossible to sleep any longer. His eyes opened to reveal Helaena sitting in a chair with her embroidery hoop, still in her shift and smiling at him. “Good morning, Daevar.” She smiled before standing to draw back the curtains.

“Good morning, Ellie.” He said groggily. “You didn’t wake me.” He added, more out of surprise than anything else of course; the extra sleep was very much appreciated.

“You looked so peaceful.” She smiled, turning to face him as she pulled the curtains back. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“Well, thank you love.” He replied before swinging his feet onto the cold stone floor. Much as he would’ve liked to have stayed in the warmth, he had a job he needed to do before anything else that day. Quickly, he dressed himself in tunic, doublet and trousers with his cuirass fastened over the top and Lamentation affixed at his waist, while Helaena did the same with a simple dress of a dull blue and white that had been gifted to her by Lady Jeyne. “I want you to join me there, love.”

“Are you sure, Daevar?” She asked. Daevar nodded, taking her hand.

“I’d like for you to be there. It’s always been a private moment for me, but . . . I would like you there with me.”

Helaena smiled. “Then I shall join you.”

Daevar took a candle from one of the drawers on the bedside table and led her out of the keep and into the crypt of Runestone. The darkness instantly made Helanea feel off, even with the glow from the torches. She got the sense she was being watched by generations of Royce lords, and the legendary Bronze Kings who had once ruled. “You will soar on bronze wings . . .” She mumbled, though if Daevar had heard her, he didn’t reply as he took a torch from its place on the wall.

Eventually, the two of them stopped in front of the statue of Lady Rhea. Helaena could see the resemblance to her goodmother in the stone; the masons that had been selected for this task evidently took their work seriously. The Royces may not have been of the Old Gods anymore, but they still held proudly to the traditions of the First Men.

“Hello, mother.” Daevar said, holding the torch close to the statue. “Helaena’s here . . . I love her, mother. I never thought I could, but . . .” He squeezed Helaena’s hand and smiled. “I do. We’re trying for a child.” He turned briefly to Helaena. “You probably think I’m mad, talking to a statue.”

Helaena shook her head. “No. She meant a lot to you, Daevar.” She said, gazing up at the face of the statue. “But what if we don’t have children Daevar? What . . . what if I’m barren?”

“Helaena, neither of us are twenty as of yet.” He tried to reassure her. “You will have children, of that I’m certain.” 

“But what if you’re wrong.” She asked, her eyes beginning to glisten with tears. “What if I can’t give you children?”

“You’ll go mad thinking like that.” He said, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. “We will have children. How does six sound?” He asked, grinning. Despite herself, Helaena let out a burst of laughter.

“Six children? Daevar, I shudder to think what that would do to my body.”

“Nothing that could ever make you less appealing to me, love.” He assured her before handing the torch to her. Fishing the candle out of his pocket, he placed it in front of the statue before taking out a flint and steel. Striking the two, he eventually managed to light the candle, the light glow emanating outwards. “May the Seven watch over you, mother.” He mumbled quietly before taking the torch from Helaena and leading them out into the courtyard.

“I feel ill at ease down there.” Helaena blurted out. “It feels morbid.” 

“I know, love.” Daevar replied. “But it’s still an important part of our tradition. Every head of House Royce is there, going back centuries.”

Helaena hummed as the castle gates opened to reveal Kermit and Daevar riding through. Evidently the two had returned for the nameday celebrations; she just hoped that it wouldn’t impact the plans she, Julia and Alyssa made.

“Hello, Daevar!” Kermit exclaimed as he dismounted his horse and walked up to hug his friend. “It’s good to see you again.”

“You as well, Kermit.” Daevar smiled. Kermit and Ben made sure to say their greetings to Helaena too. Despite everything, she had missed him deeply, and his ability to find the humour in everything or make her laugh. Even if he did get to be more trouble than he was worth at times, there was also the effect he had on Daevar; he made her husband happier. I must get the story out of Maester Barden sometime.

“We’re here for your nameday, My Lord.” Ben replied. “I even brought a gift from House Blackwood!”

“I’d be very excited to see it later, Ben.” Daevar smiled. “I assumed you brought nothing, Kermit?”

“I brought myself; isn’t that gift enough?” He asked with a laugh. 

“I suppose.” Daevar said. “Well then, we should get started on breakfast then. Not too heavy though; I suspect something’s been planned for later in the Great Hall.”

Something had indeed been prepared. The Great Hall had been converted into a massive dining room, with multiple long tables running the length of the hall and even more Royce banners hanging from the ceiling than usual. It seemed that everyone of note in the lands around Runestone had been invited; Daevar could see everyone from knights to prominent landowners, as well as visitors like Ser Corwyn, who was no doubt there to represent his brother.

At the far end of the hall was the high table, set for the Lord and Lady of Runestone. The first to stand up were Kermit and Ben, swiftly followed by Ser Gerold and Lady Julia, along with Ser Willem, his wife Monira Redfort, and Lady Alyssa. Ser Joffrey was nowhere to be seen, but that was to be expected. The other attendees followed suit as Daevar and Helaena made their way towards the high table, hands intertwined.

“Who planned all this?” He asked Helaena.

“ . . . Myself and Ladies Alyssa and Julia.” She admitted, feeling her cheeks heat up. “I’ve also arranged for food to be given to the poor as well. They deserve a little celebration; as much as we can give.”

“The leftovers, right?” He asked. Helaena shook her head. 

“I had the castle bakery working all night. Most of the homes on our land are having fresh bread distributed to them today.” She said. “I want to try something a bit more regular on that. Free bread to the poor, maybe?”

“Something we should consider.” He said as they reached their seats. There, with all the notables of Runestone watching, Daevar kissed Helaena. The Targaryen woman blushed deeply; the attention was not exactly something she desired. Working the public had always been Nesaena’s strength. “I thank my wife and Ladies Julia and Alyssa for planning this. I was not expecting a large celebration, but I suppose there is a first time for everything.” He smiled. “All of you have lived in Runestone or on the lands around it for many years; many of you longer than I have lived. Many of you will remember my mother, Lady Rhea, very well.”

There were a few angry murmurs at that. They had not yet forgotten what had happened that fateful day she had died, and many of them still held Daemon as a murderer.

“I know the Seven have taken her into their care, and I know that she is looking down on us with pride.” He smiled. “So thank you all for being here. It’s days like this I am reminded why our words are ‘We Remember!’”

“We Remember!” The guests shouted. Some of them punctuated it with a raised fist; others with downing their goblets. 

Food was served shortly after. Everything from pies filled with carrots and bacon and mushrooms, to mutton chops with honey and cloves to roasted pork and potatoes. Daevar paced himself as much as he could; stuffing himself with food had never gone well for him in the past. It was something of a minor miracle that he and Kermit had managed to keep fit with everything they had stuffed their faces with in younger years.

“The cooks outdid themselves.” Helaena remarked. She was trying to pace herself as well. Rich meals weren’t that common in Runestone. Close to the sea as they were, their diet mainly consisted of fish, so the meat was a nice change. “I hope you’re having a good day, my love.”

“I am, Ellie.” Daevar replied, squeezing her hand briefly before returning to his meal. As for Kermit, his friend actually seemed to be holding back on the wine, which was unusual for him. Maybe the time back in Riverrun had actually done him some favours when it came to his behaviour. One could only hope that it was permanent

Daevar refilled his and Helaena’s goblet with the flagon in front of them. It wasn’t the best wine he’d ever had, but it tasted better with his wife next to him. “I think that’ll probably be it for me.”

“Me too.” Helaena said. “I don’t want to end up like Aegon.” 

“Nor I.” He smiled.

“Do you wish to couple later, husband?” She asked. The blunt question took Daevar a bit by shock, and there were more than a few awkward stares from the others at the high table. Even Kermit seemed to have heard them, and he politely covered Ben’s ears.

“I . . . I think . . .”

“Did she just . . “ Willem trailed off.

“I think she did.” Kermit added.

“She said that out loud.” Willem said before a scolding from Alyssa brought them both back to their better senses.

“Oh! I just wanted to be with my husband tonight is all.” Helaena said. She and Alyssa shared a smile.

If she and Daevar were alone tonight, then with luck, they would conceive the child they had been desperately hoping for.

“You should at least write a letter.” Rhaenyra reminded Daemon. He was poring over the Painted Table again “He is your son, after all. The children have all sent one.”

Daemon grunted. “The boy likely wishes he won’t get one from me.” He replied. He knew that Jace, Baela and Rhaena had all sent one. Even Rhaenyra had, and there was little doubt the Hightower whore had sent one as well. It was her half-witted daughter that Daevar had married after all. 

“You must send him one Daemon. You cannot erase him from existence.” Rhaenyra sighed. “I understand that the fact he does not yet have a child may further harm your opinion of him.”

“Why would it?” Daemon asked, arching an eyebrow. He had suffered insults behind his back for years before impregnating the bronze bitch. “It cannot be expected of him to father a child immediately, and neither of them have twenty years yet. They will have children in time.” he added. It was certainly true that the inability of Daevar to father a child on Helaena was somewhat unusual, but it would happen with time.

“I mean . . . it is unusual.” Rhaenyra said, caught a little off-guard by what her husband had said. 

“But not unheard of.” Daemon replied. “This mocking of people for not having children is juvenile at best. They are still young.” 

“Would you please write something?” Rhaenyra asked, shifting the subject back. “He might not have the best opinion of you, but I’m certain he would love to hear from you.” Was she certain? No, not really. She was aware of Daevar’s ambivalence towards his father; there was the abandonment and effective disownment that had poisoned their relationship from when Daevar was still young, as well as the persistent rumour that he had been involved in the death of Lady Rhea Royce. Some things never died, no matter how many times they had been put to rest. Her own father had seen the truth and rejected Ser Gerold Royce’s baseless accusation of Daemon murdering Lady Rhea, and that should have ended the matter. It likely would have too, if not for Lady Arryn’s interference.

“He doesn't wish to hear from me, Rhaenyra.” Daemon said. It was a fact he knew for certain at this point, judging from the contempt Daevar had shown him during their last time together. “I’ll write something, but I don’t expect him to read it.”

Rhaenyra breathed a sigh of relief. “Your conscience would not have allowed you to rest if you didn’t.” She replied. “All you would have to do is simply write a congratulations.”

“Thank you for steering me onto the correct course, Rhaenyra.” Daemon said. Maybe she was right and this would be a chance to break the ice with Daevar. More likely though it would go ignored like all the other messages he had sent over the years.

“Of course, my husband.” She smiled. Well, Daemon had made a commitment now, and he would have to go through with it. He kissed her gently before heading to his study. Hopefully he could get this done before the sun rose up, unlike last time.

How can I write to a son I disowned so publicly? He thought. Fortune pisses on me.

Daevar entered their bedchambers first, unclasping his cuirass and setting it on the ground as he sat on the bed. It had been a long day indeed, with an impromptu melee between Ser Corwyn and Ser Willem having been set up. Helaena had gone somewhere with Lady Alyssa, but she would be here soon, he hoped. He removed his doublet and boots as well before laying back.

“Daevar? Are you in there?” He heard Helaena ask.

“Yes, Ellie.” He said with a happy sigh. “What a day . . .”

“It doesn’t have to end yet . . .'' She said, entering the chamber. Daevar’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

She was wearing her wedding dress. 

It still fit her of course, even if it was a bit tighter than what it had been on the day they had married. She was still a vision in that beautifully made white dress, and Daevar once again was filled with the same thought that he’d had on their wedding: she looked like the Maiden made real. “Your wedding dress . . .” He said, sitting up.

“You didn't get to undress me on our wedding night . . .” She said. “Would you like to now?”

Daevar gulped. He had wanted to on their wedding night, but the look on Helaena’s face back then was very different to now. She wasn’t a girl anymore; she was a woman, and here she stood before him in the same dress they had sworn their vows in. He stood and walked to her, and Helaena felt that familiar tingle when she saw the look in his eyes. “Yes, I think I would.” He answered. She leaned forward and kissed him gently. 

“The dress is tied at my back.” She whispered. Daevar moved around and began untying the dress, letting the sleeves slip past her shoulders and exposing her back. She’s so beautiful , he thought before leaning in to whisper in her ear. 

“May I kiss you?” He asked. She nodded, and he began kissing her neck as the dress began to pool around her waist. She took one of his hands and lifted it to her breast as his other hand dug into the skin of her stomach. Helaena tilted her neck, giving him more to kiss and letting out a gasp as he latched onto the sensitive spot under her ear.

He turned her around as he finished unlacing her dress, letting it fall to the floor and leaving her naked before him. He let Helaena undress him, removing his tunic and trousers as he took her hand and led her to the bed. 

She climbed on top and sank down onto him, gasping as he entered her. Daevar’s hands went to her hips as she began rolling her hips back and forth on him. Helaena kept her hands on Daevar’s well-defined chest to steady her movements, but he also seemed to like the way she shifted them every now and then. 

Daevar leaned up to kiss her, their lips melding together with the sort of practiced ease that could only come with understanding what the other liked. Her hands held his head in place as they kissed, and briefly she stopped grinding on him until he encouraged her again, moving her hips with his hands until she got the message. He laid back, reaching with his hands for her breasts and causing Helaena to gasp. She sped up.

Daevar by now was thrusting up into her, meeting her downward grinds and pushing them bit closer to the edge. Helaena was at the point where she was so close that she was chasing her peak, and she sped up even more to try and tip over the edge. An upwards thrust from Daevar finally did her in; she threw her head back and gasped his name, and before long she felt the warmth of his seed explode into her. She was in such ecstasy from reaching her own peak that she had not even registered Daevar’s long moan of her name.

Daevar had few greater joys in this life than the familiar feeling of spilling into his wife, but there was something about this time that felt different. Perhaps this will give us a child this time? He wondered as they rode through the aftermath of their orgasms. Helaena rolled off of him, panting as she did so. 

“I love you, Ellie.” Daevar said, turning to face her. Helaena, still slick with sweat, kissed him gently. 

“I love you as well, Daevar.” She wrapped an arm around him and laid her head against his chest, thinking a silent prayer that this time his seed had taken root inside her. 

As she slept, Helaena’s dreams of the bronze thread tying the green and black together faded, replaced by intense visions of the bronze thread breaking free from the others before all three were burned in fire.

Of course, we can now look back on my father’s nameday with ease and say this might be the point where we started to see the total disintegration of the peace, but I would disagree with that, unless we want to blame the events of that day, which on their own cannot have led to the Dance.

What neither my mother or father knew that night was that this time, my mother was indeed pregnant. 

Chapter Text

I suppose everyone’s story begins the same way. We all come into the world kicking and screaming, scrabbling for any sort of warmth we can find. Some, like my mother, get it only from one of their parents while others like my father get it from no one. I and my siblings have been fortunate enough to get it from both.

As for our stories, they all begin, as I said, in more or less the same way. This is how my story began . . .

“You are certain of this, Maester?” Helaena asked. She had been feeling dizzy lately and her breasts had been feeling tender. She had thought that something was wrong with her to start with, but Barden seemed to have an alternative diagnosis. 

She was pregnant.

Helaena wasn't certain at first, as sure as she was that she was barren, but Barden seemed confident about this. “I am certain, My Lady. I’ve seen the same symptoms with Lady Rhea when she was carrying our Lord, and with Ladies Julia and Alyssa.” He replied. “You are with child, Lady Helaena. I am certain of it.”

Helaena’s head dropped into her hands and she started sobbing. I’m not barren after all . . . she thought. All that worry, all the concern had been for nothing. She was carrying her child inside of her; as her mother had once carried her and her siblings. Barden on the other hand, looked concerned. “My Lady, I can give you Moon Tea if you want to-”

“No!” Helaena snapped through her tears. “I mean . . . no. These are tears of happiness, Barden.” She smiled widely. Barden smiled in return; he knew how much the fact she hadn't had any children yet had weighed on her, and with luck, she would be able to have many more as well.

“I am glad, My Lady.” He replied. “Now, there are a few things that you will have to do in order to ensure a stable pregnancy. You may feel odd cravings at odd hours, and you may sleep or need to use the privy more than usual. I would strongly advise you refrain from drinking wine; even watered-down.”

Helaena nodded. Her mother had described pregnancy to her and Nesaena more than once as they grew up, and she was already aware of most of the stuff that went with it, but it was good to hear Barden reconfirm it. “I don’t drink that much anyway. I’ll be happy to stick to water.” 

“Very well. I’ll be sure to check up on you regularly as well.” Barden said. He had done the same thing with Rhea when she was pregnant with Daevar, as well as Julia and Alyssa for their children. He supposed it was poetic in a way; he had been there for Daevar’s birth, and now would be here for the birth of Daevar’s children. 

“I’ll be sure to return here as well.” Helaena said before turning to leave. She was going to have a child. Daevar’s child. Her child. After all the worry that she had been barren, she was carrying their child. She rushed back to their chambers to wipe away the tears from her face; it wouldn’t do to give Daevar the news after she had been crying. He would likely think something was wrong about it.

She opened the drawer on the bedside table and took out a handkerchief, wiping her face. Much as she wanted to spring and tell Daevar, he was likely busy with his duties in the Great Hall; an important meeting with Lord Redfort had been schedule for today, and her bursting in to announce her pregnancy likely would not go over brilliantly. 

Instead, she closed her eyes and laid down on the bed. She had the same vivid dreams again, except this time they sent a chill through her.

It was a battle. A fierce one, as a black, green and bronze dragon duelled each other fiercely. The green and black dragon were tearing each other to shreds, while the bronze dragon roared at them in distress, before giving up and attacking both of them to end the fight. Blood flew everywhere, and before long the dragons were letting out distinctly human cries. 

Then they started spraying fire at each other. The screams louder until all the dragons were roasting alive. 

She woke with a start, feeling a sheen of sweat on her face. The sun was just above the horizon. Have I really been asleep that long? She wondered, reaching for the handkerchief and wiping her face again before she heard the door open. Immediately, she leapt off the bed and ran to Daevar, trapping him in a tight hug.

“Is everything alright, Ellie?” He asked, stroking her hair softly. She nodded before kissing him. 

“I would like to go to the Godswood Daevar. Would you join me?”

The Godswood at Runestone was larger than most houses south of the neck, save for House Blackwood. Daevar had put it down to the Royces taking their First Man ancestry extremely seriously, though Barden had come up with another theory that the Godswood had been there first and Runestone had simply been built around it.  

Helaena had propped herself against the Heart Tree of the Godswood, with Daevar’s head lying in her lap. He entwined their hands as he looked up at her. “You are so beautiful, Helaena.”

Helaena blushed. “And you’re very handsome.” She said, running a hand through his hair. He had cut it short again; it was easier to wear a helmet that way. It made him look distinctly like the paintings of their grandfather Baelon. Does that make me like his wife Alyssa? She wondered. “I wish we could spend more time just like this.”

“I do too, love. Duties wait for no man though.” He replied, kissing her hand. Helaena hummed in response. 

“Daevar . . . there is something else I should tell you.”

“Why? Is something wrong?” He asked, arching an eyebrow.

“I . . . I’m pregnant, Daevar.” 

Daevar sat up in astonishment. Had he heard that right? “You . . . you’re sure?” He asked. Helaena nodded. 

“Maester Barden says I meet the signs, and I missed my moon’s blood as well.” She smiled. Daevar laid back down though he wasn't quite finished. He tilted his head and pressed kiss to her stomach, where a child-their child-was growing inside of her. Helaena was a little puzzled at first why he was doing it, though she realised after a second it was a simple gesture of affection.

“I love you, Ellie . . . and I love the little one inside you.” He smiled. “Our child.”

“If it’s a girl, I already know the name.” Helaena said. She had thought it would take her a long time to think up a name for their child, but seeing as it was their daughter, the name had come to her pretty quickly. Her husband would hopefully appreciate it; she half-expected him to refuse the whole thing straightaway.

“Oh?” Daevar asked, though he had an idea of what she would suggest.

“ . . . Rhea. For your mother.” She answered. It was a nervous answer, and she was unsure what his reaction would be. Unexpectedly, Daevar leaned up and kissed her deeply. 

“It’s perfect.” Daevar smiled. “My mother would be honoured that we name a daughter after her.”

Helaena let out a small sigh of relief. Part of her had expected Daevar to immediately say no and suggest something else, but perhaps this would be a way to keep a piece of his mother around. Even if she was gone, her memory would live on in their daughter. “You can name them if it’s a son.”

Daevar arched his eyebrows in thought before arriving at a decision. “Baelon. For your brother who never got to live.” He would’ve added it was for their grandfather as well, but he had heard Helaena speak of her brother who died when she was younger. Doubtless she had heard the story from her father, and maybe this would be a way to keep his memory alive as well.

“Baelon, then.” Helaena agreed. “I love you, Daevar . . . and I can't wait to have this child with you.” And many more , she thought. He had made it clear from the moment they married that he would never force her to do anything, but she wanted to have his children. She had seen it when her dreams had been more peaceful; the two of them and six children running around Runestone, Daevar training the boys in swordsmanship while the girls and Helaena watched them.

Some dreams were clearer than others.

“We must announce this to the rest of the household.” Daevar said, breaking her train of thought.

“I know, my love, but . . . can we stay like this a little longer?”

Daevar nodded. “Of course we can, Ellie.” He said, settling his head back into her lap.

Neither of them saw that they were being observed by a rat.

The reveal to the rest of the household the next morning sparked off celebrations around Runestone. Lady Julia had ordered a cake prepared in celebration, though that was ruined when Arrow barged his way into the kitchen and scoffed down half the cake in about thirty seconds. Davear had Kermit had chased the dog through most of the keep afterwards, but he ended up sheltering himself with Helaena instead. 

Giving up on their revenge trip with Arrow, the two friends elected instead to head into the cellar with Willam to celebrate, leaving Daeron to find his own amusement. With Dyana having gone to King’s Landing at Lady Alyssa’s order, and his mind frequently filled with thoughts of that beautiful Dornish Princess, he was starting to realise that he needed to get himself under control.

Which is why he found himself with Ben Blackwood. The young heir to Raventree Hall was four years younger than he was, being a mere eleven years, but still felt something of a kindred spirit towards him. Even if his hatred for Brackens sometimes lost control, like now.

“Jerrel Bracken challenged my father to a duel!” The boy insisted. “He was asking for what he got.”

“Wasn't it technically a violation of guest right though?” Daeron asked.

“We weren’t the hosts; it’s only a violation if the host commits the crime.” The boy said. The two of them were in the dining hall of Runestone, having each been given huge helpings of potatoes and iced milk sweetened with honey to keep them busy. “Besides, he got off easy.”

“Didn’t your father kill him?” Daeron asked, arching an eyebrow. 

“I said he got off easy.” Ben insisted. The feud between the Brackens and the Blackwoods had been going on for years, and it was their fault, as far as Ben was concerned. “It would have been far worse if I were there.”

Daeron shook his head, laughing nervously. For all of his youth, Ben could be somewhat frightening sometimes with how eager he was to kill Brackens. “Well, I’m going to see Helaena.” He announced Ben nodded, saying a brief goodbye before heading off to find the other squires.

Daeron found Helaena in her chambers, smiling and looking out the window. “Hello, sister.”

“Daeron!” She ran over and hugged him tightly. “It’s a wonderful day, Daeron. I’m to have a child!”

“The whole castle knows, Helaena.” Daeron replied, hugging her back. “I wanted to congratulate you in person.”

“Oh, Daeron.” She smiled, hugging him again. “You’re to be an uncle again!”

And I’ll actually know this one from birth . Much as he did love Jaehaerys, Jaehaera and Maelor, he did not know them well. Yes, they were still family, but much like Aemond, Aegon and Nesaena, felt increasingly like strangers. “I’m excited for the day that happens, Helaena.”

“As am I.” She smiled, finally withdrawing from the tight hug. “I will not lie and say it has all been easy since I came here . . . but having my brother at my side helped much.”

Daeron smiled, bowing his head. “I was glad to have you here, sister. Daevar can be a demanding Lord at times.”

“Can he?” She asked. “He’s never demanded anything of me.”

“Because you’re his wife, Helaena. He would never demand anything of you.” Daeron provided.

“Oh.” Helaena replied, turning to look out the window again. “I’ve told Daevar to let you know when the birth is occurring. I figure you would want to meet your next niece or nephew as soon as possible.”

“I would very much like that, Helaena, but I think Daevar would want to know first.”

“He will. I know he will.”

Bronze thread thickens, green and black grow thinner . . .

Nine months later

132 AL

The white raven had arrived that morning, announcing the change of the seasons. Autumn was gone, replaced by winter, which immediately resulted in a meeting of the castle’s council with the exception of Helaena and Barden. Gathered in the Great Hall, the topic of food distribution during the winter had become paramount. It was not the most interesting topic Daevar had ever come across, but a vital one nonetheless.

“Surely we can provide adequate food for our people?” Daevar questioned. His lack of understanding of farming was showing.

“We have enough grain stored for three years.” Gerold replied. “If this winter lasts longer, then way have problems.”

“We can order the farmers to increase production.” Carrick suggested. “It may be a tall order on such short notice, but I think we should take advantage of the time we have.”

Willam nodded in agreement, his now longer dark hair flopping around. “Carrick has the right of it. It may have adverse effects on our farmland in the short term, but we may have to trade that for food security if we want to be safe.”

“Do it.” Daevar ordered. “I think-”

They were interrupted by the door being shoved open. Kermit had burst into the hall, his sword nowhere to be seen. Judging from his panting and red face, he had been sprinting from where he had come from. “Daevar . . . Helaena . . .you . . .” He tried to say, but the need for air kept cutting him off.

“Spit it out, Kermit!” Daevar shouted.

“The babe’s coming.” Kermit replied. 

That was all Daevar needed. He took off at a full sprint, charging through the halls of Runestone to get to Helaena as fast as he could. He wouldn’t miss the birth of his child, not for anything in the world. Even in his good physical state though, he was relying mostly on adrenaline to keep his speed up.

After bounding up flights of stairs two at a time and shoving his way past guardsmen, he forced his way into their chambers just as Helaena let out a final scream, followed shortly by the cries of a babe. Barden handed the newborn to one of the midwives, who quickly wrapped the babe in blankets before handing them to Helaena. “It’s a girl, m’lady.” The woman said as Helaena took the girl- her daughter -in her arms. It was only when Daevar moved around to her side that she noticed her husband. 

“Do you see her, Daevar?” She said, never taking her eyes off the girl. “Our daughter . . .” She bit back a sob. “Our Rhea.”

“Welcome to the world, Rhea Royce.” Daevar said. Rhea was still crying, though Helaena seemed to know what to do almost instantly. Daevar turned to Barden. “Maester, get the rest of the council in here, now.”

Barden hurried to the Great Hall and returned minutes later with everyone, even Kermit. Most of them tried to peer over Helaena at Rhea, but Julia made sure that their gazes were kept polite. “Everyone . . . this is Rhea Royce.” Helaena said, holding the baby out slightly. 

“Rhea?” Gerold asked, his eyes flicking between the young couple.

“It was Helaena’s decision, Ser Gerold.” Daevar said. “She wanted to name the child after mother if it were daughter.” 

Gerold, despite himself, could feel a few tears rolling down his cheek at that. Even now, with his beard as grey as it was and his eyes as tired as they were, he had never forgotten that his cousin’s justice had been denied. Now, Rhea had a new life in her grandchild. He felt Julia wipe the tears away as she had so often done after Rhea’s death.

Daevar meanwhile, turned to Kermit and Carrick. “My friends, I have a vital task for you.” he said. The two of them straightened their backs, awaiting his command. “Ring out the bells. Until the sun dips below the horizon, ring them out! And send riders out to our people to tell them that they may take the rest of the day to be with their families and celebrate!”

The two men smiled. “Gladly, My Lord.” Kermit said before he and Carrick left.

And so it was  that the bells of the castle rang all through the day and celebrations were held all night on the day that Rhea Royce came into the world.

My sister who is now a Septa has always said that me coming into the world at the turn of winter was a sign from the Gods, but then again, she says that about almost everything. Much as my sister is a kind woman, she can sometimes sound a little strange to those of us not as invested in the Faith.

But yes, this is how I came into the world. Named for my grandmother who was so brutally murdered by my grandfather. I suppose it was a way of giving her a second life in the eyes of Ser Gerold, but my mother and father have said that it was a way to honour her. I have apparently inherited her penchant for sharp words.

Of course, the revelation that I am unable to hear would soon spring onto my parents unexpectedly. They have refused to discuss the time they did find out with me, but I cannot imagine it was easy for them, particularly my mother.

Maybe I will go into it another time.

Chapter Text

The Driftmark succession became the talk of the realm at this point. Lord Corlys had been wounded trying to defend the gains that my grandfather had made in the Stepstones. For the longest time now, it had been assumed that the succession would pass to one of Rhaenyra’s children, but the question of their legitimacy was still in the air. With King Viserys’s health having declined dramatically, it would be the Hand of the King, Ser Otto Hightower, who would end adjudicating Ser Vaemond Velaryon’s challenge. 

My mother and father had been called there by Queen Alicent. It is likely that the Queen was under the illusion that my mother and father would support their side 

Nesaena was woken rather rudely by her mother shaking her awake. Judging from the look on her mother’s face, she had already spoken to Aegon that morning and he had done something horrid as usual. She swatted her mother’s hands from her and sat up in the bed, naked as her nameday. Her previous night’s bedmate-a knight from some house she wasn’t particularly interested in- was still asleep beside her, at least until her mother slapped him.

“You, get out before I have you sent to the Wall!” She shouted. The knight quickly dressed himself and scurried out, eager to avoid the Queen’s further wrath. Alicent rounded on her daughter, face still full of rage. “As for you, Nesaena, you know better than that! You’ve jeopardised not just his life but your own! Aegon would be within his rights to have you exiled!”

“When he’s not inside a whore.” Nesaena muttered. “Just because you never got to fuck the person you wanted to-”

Alicent cut her off with a hard slap. “And you will stay silent when I am speaking.” She growled. “Daevar, Helaena and Daeron will be here soon. You are to welcome them personally.”

“Must I?” Nesaena asked, rolling her eyes. The last people she wanted to see right now were her idiot sister and her husband. Oh, and her brother, ‘Daeron the Daring’. Gods, who came up with that? He sounds like a character from one of those storybooks Helaena loved . Still, at least she would see Daevar, she supposed.

“Yes, you must.” Alicent replied. “I arranged it as soon as I sent the raven calling them here. So get up and get dressed before I send all of your bedmates to the Wall!”

Nesaena scoffed. Her bedmates were there to fill her physical needs and nothing more; the idea that they could have anything emotional was a delusion, much like the belief her marriage to Aegon could be anything but happy. Our marriage has been cursed from the start . She climbed out of the bed, picked up the shift that had been dropped on the floor and walked over to the dress she had tossed on the bedside table. She began dressing herself quickly, and for once, her mother didn’t criticise her. “It was your choice to welcome them here.” 

“And I have other matters I must attend to in the meantime.” Alicent replied. Poor Dyana . . . Daeron will not take this well. “You will understand one day when you are Queen, Nesaena. Our task is not an easy one, but we must bear it.”

Another scoff from Nesaena. She thought about calling in one of the handmaids to help with her hair, but decided that she would wear it down today. A quick brush-through would have to suffice until she could be more properly prepared for tomorrow. Besides, she figured she would be at the same standard as her sister anyway. “Who else will be there with me?”

“Ser Rickard Thorne will be joining you to escort them back.” Alicent provided. “And you are to be polite, Nesaena. Act like it’s one of your charity efforts.”

Nesaena nodded. “Where are they at the moment?”

“Ah . . . ah . . . Daevar . . .” Helaena gasped as her back arched and her eyes rolled back. It had been Daevar’s suggestion that they try releasing some of the tension about visiting the capital, and it had devolved into Daevar’s head between her thighs. Not that she minded of course; she trusted him completely, and the things he did with his tongue pushed her to another world.

Daevar pulled back, wiped his mouth and grinned at her. “I could spend all day between your thighs.” He said, pulling down her skirts before kissing her gently.

“Then nothing would ever get done.” Helaena smiled.

“A small price to pay to hear your lovely gasps.” He replied. Helaena blushed at that. Somehow, her husband always knew exactly what to say to make her melt, even in the tight confines of a wooden ship that had bobbed along the waves. She had chosen to be with her husband for their voyage there, and Daeron had left with the dragons not long after them to time their entrance. 

“Oi! You two! We’re docking now!” They heard Kermit shout. It had been decided that he would join them as a guard and Ben would accompany him. Helaena scooped up Rhea from her makeshift crib in the next room as Daevar fastened his cuirass, and in no time at all, they were descending the gangplank from the ship’s upper deck. Nesaena and Ser Rickard were waiting for them on the docks. 

“Sister! It’s good to see you!” Helaena exclaimed. She wanted to hurry down the gangplank and hug Nesaena, but didn’t want to disturb Rhea’s sleep. 

“You too, Helaena.” Nesaena said, though she wasn’t smiling as she said it. The difference between the two women could not have been starker; Helaena had adopted the dull blue wool and cotton so popular in the Vale for her dress, while Nesaena stood resplendent in a rich green gown. 

“Princess Nesaena, I am cheered to see you again.” Daevar replied with an easy smile. “This is our daughter, Rhea.” He said, gesturing towards the babe in Helaena’s arms.

“Yes, Rhea. Named after your mother?”

“It was your lovely sister’s idea.” Daevar said, kissing Helaena’s cheek. “Well, let’s go then. Mustn’t keep the family waiting.”

“No, we mustn’t.” Nesaena nodded, as politely as she could manage before leading them to a small wheelhouse that barely fit the three of them, as cramped as it was. Still, Daevar couldn’t complain. Much as he had wanted to ride up to the Red Keep, there were no horses available, and it would give him more time with Helaena and Rhea. “We had heard of Rhea’s birth. I would’ve taken Windfyre myself to give congratulations, but the people of King’s Landing wait on no man. Or woman, for that matter.”

“I think the return raven was congratulations enough.” Daevar replied. 

“I agree with Davear.” Helaena said. “We were very thankful to receive your raven though, sister. Did you get mine?”

“Congratulations for Maelor, yes I did, thank you.” Nesaena replied in a clipped tone. She was perfectly happy to ride back to the Red Keep in silence. Thankfully, even her stupid sister seemed to get the message and spent the time rocking Rhea in her arms.

The three of them exited the wheelhouse to see something happening in one corner of the Red Keep’s courtyard. Looking more closely, Daevar and Helaena could see two figures sparring, one of them undoubtedly being Criston Cole. The other looked familiar, but they were uncertain, so they joined with the rest of the crown to observe.

The blonde figure and Cole were sparring without helmets and only minimal protective gear. Cole’s flail was made of wood at least, though that would still end up causing damage if it connected. Still, the swordsman proved adept enough to deflect Criston’s blows with his shield, and then his sword after the shield splintered.

The eyepatch revealed who he was.

Aemond.

Aemond parried Criston’s final blow before levelling the blade of the drill sword at the knight’s neck. “Well fought, My Prince. Keep that up, you’ll be winning tourneys in no time.”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys.” Aemond replied. “Nephews, have you come to train?” He asked, Looking over at Jace and Luke, who had managed to slip into the crowd without Daevar noticing. “Or maybe my cousin has?” He turned his head, his one eye boring straight into Daevar’s. “Would you care for a duel, Lord Royce?”

“I must get my wife and daughter settled, Aemond. Perhaps another time."

“Perhaps you are scared?” Aemond shot back. “Not quite the warrior you were made out be, perhaps?”

That stopped Daevar. Aermond was effectively calling him a coward, and that couldn’t stand, not in front of a crowd this size. Not to mention that Jace and Luke were there; his reputation would take even more of hit if they reported that he didn’t meet Aemond’s challenge. 

“Have you seen battle, My Prince?” Kermit asked, determined to defend his friend’s honour. “My Lord has. Against a rebellion and the Hill Tribes of the Vale. Got knighted by your own father with Blackfyre, you might recall.” 

“Kermit . . .” Daevar said, trying to warn his friend off boasting about him, but it was too late. Sighing, he turned to Aemond “Fine. Let’s fight.”

“Daevar, we were supposed to meet with my mother.” Helaena said. “I said you would be there.”

“I will be once I finish this, Ellie.”

“But-”

“I won’t be long.” He promised. “Kermit, Ben, escort her up to our chambers.” 

Helaena wanted to argue more, but sighed in defeat. She knew that her husband was never going to let a charge of cowardice-even a veiled one-go unanswered.

“Fine. Just don’t get hurt.” Helaena said before kissing him gently and heading inside the Red Keep with Kermit and Ben at her side. Daevar undid his sword belt and handed it to Jace before selecting a drill sword and dagger from the weapon rack as Ser Criston handed Aemond a new shield. Both of the fighters assumed their stances, waiting for the signal.

“Begin!” Criston called out. 

Daevar and Aemond began circling each other, blades at the ready. It was Aemond who made the first attack; a thrust at Daevar’s legs. There was no strength behind it though, and Daevar sidestepped without much effort. Aemond struck again seconds later, aiming a cut at one of Daevar’s arms, only for him to sidestep it again. “Scared, cousin?” Aemond taunted, holding his shield at an angle.

“Not scared, Aemond. Observing.” Daevar replied. He struck forward with a thrust, probing Aemond’s defences. The One-Eye responded swiftly, taking the blow on his shield and striking out with his own sword; the strike was so well timed that Daevar barely had time to deflect it with his dagger. He’s faster than I thought. I can’t make that mistake again. He backed away, but not before throwing a spoiling attack; a quick thrust forward disrupted Aemond’s counterattack.

“Trying to get away from the fight, coward?” Aemond challenged. This time, Daevar didn’t respond. “Perhaps you’re doubting yourself.” He continued. Again, Daevar let it wash over him. The sword would do his talking, and this time, he had more of an idea of his opponent. Aemond relied on speed, so Daevar would have to either be faster or hit harder, neither of which seemed particularly inviting. His chance seemed to be opening the gap between Aemond’s sword and shield, but Aemond was holding his discipline very well; the way he held the sword behind his shield kept his opponent guessing where the next strike was coming.

Aemond swung in a downward cut. Daevar took the blow on his dagger and thrust his sword at Aemond’s face, but the One-Eye managed to raise his shield just in time. The sword thunked against the wood of the shield, forcing Aemond back. 

Now Daevar had his number. Aemond might be quick, but he was behaving too predictably, too in line with the lessons he had learnt but never tested in battle. He advanced, aiming the dagger at Aemond’s head. Aemond swung his sword around to parry, but a dagger is much more manoueverable than a sword. Daevar pulled the thrust at the last second and now he had his gap. Quickly, he knocked Aemond’s shield aside with the sword and stepped in close, levelling the dagger at his opponent’s neck.

The fight was over, and it was clear who had won. 

“Good spar, cousin.” Daevar said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must get to my wife. I did promise her I would be there.” He said before storing his weapons back on the rack and taking Lamentation and his sword belt from Jace, tying it around his waist and heading inside.

Humiliated, Aemond was left clenching his fists as the crowd dispersed.

“She is a beautiful child.” Alicent smiled. She had ordered tea be brought to her and Helaena while they waited for Daevar to finish his spar with Aemond. Rhea slept in a small crib that had been made up for her in one corner of the room while the two women made small talk. “She may grow to be as kind as her mother one day.”

“And as noble as her father, one can hope.” Helaena smiled. “Daevar’s been a most attentive husband and father. Better than his own father.”

“That may be damning with faint praise.” Alicent laughed slightly. It was good to see her daughter again, even if Daevar were not present with her. She set her cup down before looking at her daughter. “Helaena, there are tensions at court. If Rhaenyra ascends the Iron Throne, then . . . I fear for the safety of your sister and brothers.”

Helaena froze. “Rhaenyra wouldn’t . . .”

“No. No, she wouldn’t. Prince Daemon though . . .” Alicent let that hang in the air. It was the most persuasive argument she had, given Daevar’s poor relationship with his father. “Well, you know the sort of man he is from your husband. So, I have a proposal for you.” She leaned forward, a small smile on her face. “Rhea will be betrothed to Maelor and she will be a handmaiden to Jaehaera when she is old enough. Your firstborn son will be squire to Jaehaerys and be betrothed to his and Jaehaera’s first daughter.” 

Helaena blinked, trying to register what her mother had just said. “You . . . you are offering this to us?”

“If your husband will put his banner at our disposal. House Royce commands some of the most fearsome soldiers in Westeros; the realm has not seen a major war since the days of Maegor and thus, soldiers with battle experience are extremely valuable.”

Helaena tried to think what Daevar would do. He would probably order her out , she told herself. She couldn't quite bring herself to do the same to her mother. But she could still get the message across. “My daughter is not yet three moons old and you would turn her into a tool of your rivalry with Rhaenyra?” Helaena asked. Alicent sensed the mood had changed. 

“I only meant-”

“Rhea will be betrothed only when Daevar and I agree to it, mother. And for your sake, I will not repeat anything you just said to my husband, though I would suggest you leave.”

Alicent sighed, but knew that she had lost this. She rose, turned and left, all with the practiced grace of a lady of the court, though she did bump into Rhaenyra on the way out. She held the door for Rhaenyra before heading off down the hallway. “Sweet sister, it is good to see you again!” Rhaenyra said, hugging Helaena tightly. “My, you have turned into quite the woman, haven't you? Lord Royce must barely be able to keep his hands off of you.”

“He is quite a lusty man, sister.” Helaena said, blushing. Rhaenyra walked over to the crib, eyeing the sleeping Rhea. 

“If Rhea possesses a modicum of her father’s nobility and her mother’s sweetness, she will grow to be a formidable young lady indeed.” Rhaenyra smiled before turning back to Helaena. “Sister, you are aware that our father named me heir, yes?”

“Yes, I am, but-”

“I fear your grandfather has been undermining that to seat Aegon in my place.” The princess said. 

“Grandfather? No, he and father are friends. He would never do that.”

“I believe he would. He pushed you and Lord Royce marrying to secure House Royce’s banners in the event of war.” Rhaenyra said, trying to mix truth and lies. 

“Mother just offered to betroth Rhea to Maelor for my husband’s army . . .” Helaena blurted out, cursing herself as soon as she had done so.

“Then you see, Helaena. I may be able to counter that, though.” She smiled. “Jace and Baela will be betrothed soon. They will have children in time. Rhea can be betrothed to their firstborn son, and succeed Baela as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Your son will be Jace’s squire, and positions can be arranged for your other children as well. All that I require of you and your husband is a public declaration of loyalty”

Helaena, for once, was filled with rage. She had just had this exact conversation with her mother, and evidently both of them failed to understand precisely what they were asking of her. “You dare ask me this?”

“Sister-”

“Rhea is not yet old enough to walk, and you have the gall to ask me to betroth her to a child that does not exist?!” She shouted. It was new for Helaena; she had never shouted before, and the catharsis was real. “For your sake, I won’t tell my husband what you have tried to do here. Stay away from my daughter.”

Chastened, Rhaenyra offered a simply curtsey before leaving. Helaena sat down, head in hands, until the door opened again to reveal her husband. He seemed to still be sweating from his spar with Aemond. “What’s wrong, Ellie?” He asked, untying his sword belt and cuirass before setting them down.

“I think my mother and sister are determined to bring us to war.” Helaena said. “Runestone is so much simpler.” She sighed.

“I know, love.” He said, taking her hand and helping her stand. “This will all be over tomorrow. Then we can head home and return to our lives.” He leaned in and kissed her. “And perhaps make another child.”

Helaena giggled at that. “Daevar, you’re insatiable!” She laughed, slapping his chest. 

“I can’t help it if my wife is so beautiful.” He said, before kissing her neck. He hung his lips there for a while before nipping at the skin under her ear and Helaena lost all rational thought. Daevar’s arms wrapped around her as her own fell to the side, utterly taken by Daevar’s lips on that spot that always pushed her to the brink of insanity. 

“D-Daevar . . .” She gasped as he licked her neck before nipping at her again. She tilted her head to the side unconsciously, giving him more room to kiss. He nipped at the skin once more before soothing it with his tongue, causing another gasp to escape from Helaena.

What neither of them noticed is that the door hadn’t been completely closed, and from the shadows, a jealous figure observed them . . .

My father has always maintained that this is the day he realised that Prince Aemond was dead, replaced by Aemond One-Eye. I’m not sure why he couldn’t see it earlier, though in all likelihood it’s because he wasn’t in King’s Landing regularly enough. Aemond’s descent into madness is well-chronicled elsewhere, but I may go into it at a different time.

Regardless, my mother would soon learn how dangerous a man Aemond was . . .

Chapter Text

The confrontation over Driftmark was one that would be the ultimate catalyst for the Dance. By this time, my father was still convinced a peace could be found between the Greens and Blacks. In his hubris, he failed to see that neither side could afford to be the first to lower the proverbial sword for fear that the other may strike.

Of course, that was not the only thing that served to alienate them. My uncle Aemond would commit an unforgivable act that destroyed all kinship between him and my parents and uncle Daeron. 

This is getting nowhere , Daevar thought. The entire court had gathered to hear the petitions for the Driftmark succession, with the different factions neatly divided up, though they had hit an impasse already. Nominally, Luke was the heir of course, but that was being challenged by Ser Vaemond, no doubt on the grounds that Luke was too young and had never led men into battle, yet the real reason was apparent to everyone. It was a blatant challenge to the legitimacy of Rhaenyra’s children. 

“What do you know of Valyrian blood, Princess?” Vaemond said to Rhaenyra. Evidently Daevar had tuned out the talking. “I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still would not recognise it. This is about the survival of my house, not yours.”

Yes, I’m sure that’s all it is, Daevar thought. He was seeing his chance to gain Driftmark and was doing it. He let Vaemond finish his spiel before deciding to step in. “Forgive me for this, Helaena.” He said before stepping forward. “My Lord Hand, Ser Vaemond, Princess Rhaenyra, forgive my interruption, but I may have an alternate solution.”

Otto frowned. This was not part of the plan, but he did not have the authority to deny a noble lord his voice at court, especially one that was married to his granddaughter. “Very well. Speak your piece, Lord Royce.”

Daevar cleared his throat, suddenly conscious that the eyes of everyone in the throne room were on him. He straightened his back and shoulders as much as he could, projecting as much confidence as he could without looking too ridiculous. It had been a long time since he was here, but he couldn’t exactly back down. “My Lord Hand, the question before us is a matter of succession. The eldest child of the King is the recognised heir.” He cast a look over at Rhaenyra. “It is therefore not unreasonable to assume that the successor could be the eldest grandchild of Lord Corlys?” He turned to look at Baela. “Laena Velaryon was the eldest child of Lord Corlys, and Lady Baela is the oldest grandchild. True, she lived in Pentos most of her life, but who here can say they have the same experience?”

There was a general mumbling of agreement from the various courtiers. Otto kept a stony look on his face as Daevar continued. “True, she may be inexperienced in war, but that is all the more reason to have advisors around her who know war.”

“And you would be one of them.” Vaemond said, narrowing his eyes. Rhaenyra remained impassive; Daevar’s plan seemed outwardly reasonable, but it was still a challenge to the legitimacy of her children.

“No, Ser Vaemond.” Daevar replied. “I am Lord of Runestone and have duties to attend to there, but I am far from the only person who has seen war.” He turned, making a dramatic show of hammering his hand on his bronze breastplate. “On my honour as Royce, on my honour as a knight, Baela would make a fine ruling Lady.” He smiled at his sister. “In the Vale we are led by Lady Jeyne Arryn, who has already faced down two rebellions and the Hill Tribes. I see some of Lady Jeyne’s steel in my sister.”

“I don’t believe any man here could doubt the honour of a Royce, Your Grace.” Kermit added.

Vaemond and Rhaenyra were both taken aback. They had expected Daevar to fall into a trap and take a side, but the problem was that his argument was a reasonable middle ground. They had both been caught flat-footed, and had no time to formulate a response. The course of the day would be decided by who spoke first, and it was Vaemond who collected himself first.

“Perhaps-”

He was cut off by the doors to the throne room opening to reveal a truly haggard Viserys. It was the first time Daevar had seen him proprly since the knighting, and he looked even worse. He couldn;t walk without the aid of a walking stick, and half of his face was covered in a golden mask. “King Viserys of House Targaryen!” Announced Ser Harrold Westerling. “The First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!”

Viserys staggered to the throne, with great difficulty. Ser Otto, reluctantly, stepped down, though he did have to be helped to the Iron Throne by his brother in the end. In a moment of magnanimity that Daevar didn’t think his father capable of, he placed the crown back on Viserys’s head. Viserys called on Rhaenys to speak on the matter. 

“It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son, Lucerys. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him.” She gave an apologetic smile to Daevar, who was clenching his fists. He didn;t even hear the rest of what Rhaenys had said; his attempt at peace had just been smashed to pieces by the one member of the Targaryen family who had always been on his side.

Vaemond wasn;t going to accept it though. “You may run your house as you se fit . . . but you will not decide the future of mine.” He said. He knew that his life was forfeit the moment Viserys entered the room, but that would not be the end of it. If I’m going down, princess, I’m taking you with me . “Mer house survived the Doom and a thousand other calamities, and Gods be damnd, I will not see it ended by this . . .” He cut himself off, unsure if he was going to go through with it. Part of him still thought that this whole matter warranted at least some decorum, but this woman had violated every precept of the society they lived in. Not to mention it might take the Rogue Prince down a peg or two as well. “Her children . . . ARE BASTARDS!” He shouted. “And she . . . is . . . a whore.”

Viserys stood up, drawing his dagger. “I will have your tongue out for that.” He growled.

What happened next happened so fast Daevar didn't register it. Daemon whipped out Dark Sister and sliced Vaemond’s head in half from behind with such a casual ease that it stunned everyone in the room. Looks of shock and disgust were all over, though Kermit, Ben and Daeron stepped forward, hands on their swords as Daevar rushed to Helaena’s side; she had her hands jammed over her ears.

“He can keep his tongue.” Daemon said as he and Daevar locked eyes. Daemon saw nothing but hatred in the boy’s eyes, and he could his hand drifting to Lamentation at his hip. For a moment, it looked as though the two of them might come to blows before the situation was resolved by Viserys simply collapsing back on the Iron Throne. Daevar turned to Helaena.

“Go to our chambers and stay there. Kermit, Ben, Daeron, make sure she gets there and keep her safe. I love you, Ellie.” He kissed her cheek gently before sending them on their way as the Throne Room began to empty. No one had any appetite to be around Vaemond’s body. 

Daevar, however, wasn’t done. “You could’ve challenged him to a trial by combat.” He called out to his father. Daemon stopped and turned. “It would’ve been cleaner.”

“His life was forfeit when he challenged Rhaenyra.” Daemon replied. “You should know that.” He added, more as a warning than anything.

“Do you know what Lady Jeyne says about killing someone when they’re speaking?”

“Watch your tongue, boy . . .”

“She says it only proves that you’re afraid of what they’ll say.” 

Daemon gripped the hilt of Dark Sister tightly. His killing of Vaemond had been all but sanctioned by Viserys, but any action he took against Daevar would doubtless incur his brother’s wrath. “Have care how you speak, Daevar. You may find your status does not protect you.” He released his grip on Dark Sister. “I will spare you any consequences.”

“You never have before.” Daevar muttered before storming past him. “You don’t remember calling me a half-breed at four in front of the entire court of the Vale, do you?” Daevar challenged, though it was mainly rhetorical. “Do not presume to command me ever again.” 

He marched out, leaving Daemon on his own.

“Ungrateful cur.”

Aemond had been filled with a silent rage after what he had witnessed earlier, but had no chance to respond to it. Was his dear sister that in thrall to Daevar? He would’ve sworn she wasn’t and yet here they were, never leaving the other’s side. And what he had seen in their chambers . . . it made him sick to his stomach. It was even worse seeing her smile proudly at him white he prattled on to the court and betrayed them once again for his own ambitions.

His intention to confront the Lord of Runestone was why he was marching toward Daevar and Helaena’s chambers right now, but when the door was opened, all he saw was his sister. She was fixing her hair, of course; he had likely just missed Daevar by seconds, if not minutes. “Aemond!” Helaena said happily, hugging him as he entered the room. “I missed you more than Aegon or Nesaena.”

“And I missed you, sister.” He said, hugging her back. “You and Daevar seem well-matched.”

Helaena blushed. Daevar had already left to introduce Rhea to his sisters, but not before kissing her silly. Her hair was still a mess, and he’d left her with a desire so burning hot she was tempted to simply run and find him so she could have him. “He’s wonderful, Aemond. He’s everything that I could want in a husband.” 

How wonderful can he be? He thought. He wanted to say it, but he bit his tongue. There was nothing to be gained by inserting that. “And you have a daughter.”

“Rhea, yes. She’s the light of my life, Aemond.” She turned to face the window for a moment. “Life at Runestone’s treated me well.”

“And what of us?” Aemond said. “You could have stayed here in King’s Landing with us.” He added. Helaena turned around, puzzled.

“But our father said I was to marry Daevar. To hear Lady Arryn say it, that had been their plan all along.” She said. Aemond scoffed. The only reason their father had agreed to the marriage is because he was that weak-willed.

“You should have stayed here with us.” He said. “With our mother and I. This was your home first.”

Helaena smiled gently. “Runestone is my home now, Aemond.”

“Helaena . . . I love you.” Aemond said. “I’d look after Rhea as if she were my own; Seven knows I have to do that with Aegon not being a father to his own children.”

“Aemond . . .” Her smile turned sad. “You flatter me, but my heart is Daevar’s.”

“We should have married, Helaena.” Aemond said, taking a step towards her. “It is our way to marry brother to sister.”

“Aemond, I was married to Daevar. I have a child with him and hope to have more.” She looked down, then back up. “Brother, I am flattered, but I am with Daevar.”

“We could’ve been the same . . .” He took another step. Helaena began to back up slightly.

“Aemond, Daevar is my husband. I love him.” 

“You could’ve been mine . . .” He took another step; Helaena was now back against the bedside table. “ You should have been mine!”

He lunged forward and kissed her, but it wasn’t like the sweet kisses Daevar left on her. It was forceful, aggressive and hard, not helped by the hand that dug into her waist as he pushed himself on her. The table cut cruelly into her back, and she could feel tears stinging at her eyes. She started slapping him. Weakly on the shoulder at first, then a harder one on the face. 

That caused him to pull back. Helaena turned to face the table and frantically pulled Daevar’s dagger from its sheath, before turning and facing her assailant. Her sweet brother was gone, replaced by the monster who had tried to force himself on her. He had tried to close on her again before he saw the dagger levelled at his face. “STAY AWAY FROM ME!” She shouted. 

The demure lady was gone, replaced with a fierce woman. 

“Helaena-”

“I am the Lady of Runestone!” She shouted, advancing on him this time, dagger still held on him. “Wife to Lord Daevar Royce! The second most powerful woman in the Vale! Touch me again, and it will be war! NOW GET OUT!”

Aemond tried to recover himself, but the sheer sight of his wouldn’t-harm-a-fly sister holding a dagger on him had shocked him into blind obedience. He left the room in a hurry, conscious that Daevar could be on him at any moment. 

Helaena meanwhile, dropped the dagger. She barely registered it clattering on the floor as she touched her fingers to her lips. They’ve . . . I’ve been violated . . .

She ran out the room in tears, shouting for her husband.

Daevar’s first instinct when he heard of what had happened was not what anyone expected. Kermit expected him to charge off after Aemond and beat him to a pulp at a minimum, and thought it far more likely he’d run Lamentation through Aemond’s other eye. Instead, his first instinct was to be around Helaena. She had come to them in tears and struggling to breathe, and he had taken her into his arms and let her cry into his shoulder. 

They were still expected to attend a dinner that night of course, and Daevar knew that there would be no exceptions, seeing as it was Viserys who wanted them there. He had decided to take charge of Helaena’s preparations himself; after what Aemond had done, he didn’t trust anyone else to do it. One of the problems he had found was boiling the water to the level Helaena liked for her bath; he had never actually prepared his own once in his whole life.  I must get better at this, he thought.

It was in one of the rooms that had been set aside for them; their bedchamber would likely be uncomfortable for her. He poured the last of the water into the tub, let it cool for a few minutes, then turned to Helaena. His wife was in one corner of the room, legs drawn up to her chest and arms wrapped around them as she stared straight ahead. “Helaena? It’s time.” He gently coaxed her up and let her undress. “I hope I boiled the water right; I’ve never done this before so it might be a bit off.”

Helaena remained silent as she climbed into the bath and started scooping the hot water over her arms. She rubbed her lips with the water as well; she needed to get the feeling of Aemond off of her. I must get clean. I have to get his stink off of me. I must get clean. I must get clean. I must-

“Ellie?” She heard Daevar say.

“F-forgive me, Daevar. It’s just . . .” Despite the hot water, she found herself shuddering. Daevar gently rested a hand on her shoulder. 

“He won’t come near you again. I swear it.” 

She started sobbing quietly. Daevar wanted to just hug her close, but that was likely to do more harm than good right now. He kept his hand on her shoulder and felt her lean into it. “I’m not clean-”

“Don’t say that.” He interrupted. “I love you Ellie, no matter what.”

“There was something in his eye, Daevar . . .” She said before turning to look at her husband. His warm brown eyes reminded her that this was not one of her brothers that she was talking to. “He . . . he’s not my brother anymore, is he?”

It was not a question Daevar had a ready answer to. Was Aemond Targaryen truly gone? He’d been a kind boy, if a bit shy and perhaps having a simmering rage under the surface, but this was different. Daevar wanted to say that Aemond Targaryen had died the night he had lost his eye, and was replaced by Aemond One-Eye, but held his tongue for now. “I don’t know, Helaena.”

“He can't get in here, can he?” She asked in a panicked voice.

“Kermit and Ben are standing guard outside, and Daeron’s gone off to talk with Aemond.” Daevar said. Hopefully beating his brother senseless . 

“Don’t leave me alone with him tonight, Daevar. Please.” She grabbed his hand with both of hers, looking up at him.

“I won’t, Ellie.” He leaned in and pressed their foreheads together. “I love you.”

Any kinship between my father and uncle was shattered with that. Make no mistake, Aemond had attempted to take my mother for himself, and had only been thwarted by my mother finding a dagger. It’s small wonder that the Red Keep held poor memories for her for years; she still refuses to go into the chambers they occupied on their visit without my father or brothers accompanying her.

Chapter Text

The first reaction of my father, as has been previously noted, was not what anyone expected of him. He wanted to ensure my mother was looked after and protected, which I think says a lot about the man my father is.  As for my uncle Daeron . . . well, his reaction was decidedly less sedate. Perhaps it’s no real surprise that he is referred to as ‘the Daring’.

Still, the largest story my father mentions of that night was the last dinner the family shared together. It was Viserys’ final attempt at peace, and thus, would be my father’s last attempt at it as well. However, if there is one thing that my father constantly underestimated throughout this time, it was how much the rivalry between the Greens and Blacks had been passed onto their children . . .

Daeron stormed into Aemond’s chambers as soon as he had heard what happened. It seemed that his assessment of his brothers had hit the mark, more or less. Had neither of them inherited any morality at all? He still needed to pay a visit to Aegon over what he had done to Dyana, but that would come later. Aemond had tried to force himself on Helaena, and he had to answer for it.

He had been prepared to take a warhammer to the door’s hinges to get into Aemond’s chambers, but that was unnecessary since Aemond had left them open. As soon as he marched in, he saw his brother casually sitting at at table, flagon of wine sitting in the open, and an impassive look on his face. A red mark still adorned his right cheek, where Helaena had slapped him. Good.  

He snatched the wine goblet from Aemond’s hand and threw the sweet liquid in his face. “Hello to you too, brother.” Aemond said, wiping his face with the sleeve of his doublet. “The Vale suits you.”

“Shut up.” Daeron snarled. “Helaena. What did you do to her?!”

“I did nothing.” Aemond replied calmly, snatching the goblet back from Daeron and refilling it. “Helaena is not like Nesaena, Daeron. She jumps at shadows.” He took a long drink from the goblet, still eyeing off his brother.

“You’re a bad liar, Aemond.” Daeron replied. He wouldn’t be able to forget the look in Helaena’s eyes when he had seen her, nor the tears still running down her face or her endless attempts at wiping her lips to get out the stain Aemond had left on her. 

“I merely kissed her, if you must know.” Aemond replied. He wondered how far his brother was going to go; he had heard the mutterings around the Red Keep that he had acquired the moniker of ‘the Daring’. How he had managed that, Aemond would never know; his brother was no demon with a blade after all. 

He set down the goblet and stood up. Even though Aemond was only the second son, he towered over his other siblings, and even their mother. He was hoping that Daeron would back off, but instead he simply stared defiantly, a deep rage obviously in his eyes. “If you touch her again . . .”

“You’ll do what?” Aemond asked. “Go on, Daeron the Daring. Tell me-”

Daeron cut him off with an almighty punch straight at his face. Aemond was surprised; the power behind the punch was far beyond what Daeron should have been capable of at his age, and the effects were apparent almost immediately. There was a flash of blinding pain; Aemond brought his fingers to his nose. They came away bloody. 

“You broke my nose, you cunt!”

“It’ll be more than just your nose that gets broken if you go near Helaena again.” Daeron growled. 

Aemond had to admit he was mildly impressed. Daeron had been a skinny little boy when he’d gone off as Daevar’s squire, with a tiny dragon to match him. Now, he was a hardened warrior, almost to the extent that their cousin was. At least, that was the image he was projecting anyway. Beneath the rage, Aemond could see that there was a fear in his brother’s eyes, no matter how much he tried to hide it. Daeron had never had to hide his emotions in Runestone like Aemond had to in King’s Landing, and he was failing to hide the hint of fear he felt now.

“I don’t know what you think I’ve done, Daeron, but I could have you punished for that.” Aemond snarled.

“You could try brother, but I don’t think it would go the way you think it would.” Daeron replied. “Now, should I punch you again or did you understand me the first time?”

They stood there for a long time, staring each other down before Aemond turned away from him. First Daevar takes Daeron. Then he takes Helaena. Then he turns them both against us. Will he never be satisfied with how much he has ruined my life? OUR lives?

Daeron took that as his cue to leave. “I meant what I said, brother. Come near Helaena again, and there will be consequences.”

Aemond was briefly amused by the threat. Much like Daevar, Daeron seemed to have a flair for the dramatic. After hearing the door close behind him, he slammed his fist down on the table. By what right did Daeron presume to command him!? And the nose too . . . he would have to get that fixed before the dinner tonight. 

Wait . . . the dinner. The perfect chance to bring the snot-nosed bastards Strong and Daevar down a peg. 

Daevar, Helaena and Daeron had arrived late to the dinner, with Helanea clinging to her husband’s arm as they entered. Daeron noticed, with some disappointment, that Aemond’s nose had at least partly healed, even if it was bandaged up. It seemed his brother’s tolerance for pain was even higher than he thought. Still, their arrival seemed to prompt Aegon to cease harassing Baela and return to his own seat. The symbolism was almost too much to bear when Alicent told them that the three of them would be seated between Aegon and Jace. 

Tensions were high almost from the start, and the glares that Aemond and Daevar exchanged made even Daemon uncomfortable. For all of the animosity he and Daevar had, it was strange seeing the boy with such visceral hatred in his eyes. It’s too late for us now, Daemon thought. The only thing that disturbed him more was the murderous look Daeron was giving Aegon. 

Things calmed slightly when his brother entered though. Viserys Targaryen had never been a great warrior, and had indeed let himself go a bit over the last few years, btu there was little doubt as to his royal bearing. Even with his clearly failing health, it was clear who was still the king. “How good it is . . . to see you all together.” he said as he sat. “Prayer before we benign?” He asked, turning to Alicent. The Queen took the lead in the prayer, and it seemed that wherever anyone’s sympathies were, they showed at least some respect. Well, except Daemon, who was thoroughly bored by the whole affair.

“This is a night for celebration. My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses.” He then turned to Daevar and Helaena, smiling as much as he could. “A toast to the princes and their betrothed.” Viserys said. Everyone drank. “And to Prince Lucerys, the future Lord of the Tides.” Again, everyone drank. “And to my granddaughter, Rhea Royce . . . may she be as wise and noble as her mother and father.”

“Hear, hear.” Came the surprising exclamation from Daemon. Viserys stood up, though not without a great deal of difficulty. 

“It both gladdens my heart, and fills me with sorrow to see the faces around this table . . . the faces most dear to me in all the world . . . yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” He struggled to say, his eyes looking over everyone at the table. He was no fool. He had seen how his family was on the verge of breaking apart, and was of half a mind to blame it on someone, but in the end, he found only himself. If only Baelon had lived . . .  

He untied his mask, setting it down on the table. Helaena gasped. She knew her father must not have been well to be waring the mask in the first place, but it was nothing like she had ever seen. Half of his face was simply rotted away, almost. His right eye was gone, as was a good part of his jaw and cheek had been eaten away as well. She grasped her husband’s hand. Daeron was unable to stop his eyes widening in alarm. Part of him wanted to leap over the table and hug his father.

“My own face is no longer a handsome one . . . if indeed it ever was.” He said with a small chuckle that quickly turned into a brief cough. “Tonight, I wish for you to see me as I am. Not just a king. But your father . . . your brother . . . your husband . . . your uncle . . . your grandsire. Who may not, it seems, walk for much longer among you.” 

He’s nearly dead . . . he wants peace before he passes, Daevar thought. We best to our part too.

Viserys continued. “The crown cannot stand strong if the house of the dragon is divided . . . so set aside your differences. If not for the sake of the crown, then for the sake of this old man, who loves you all so dearly.” He begged before sitting back down. It was Rhaenyra who broke the ice first, thanking Alicent for standing by Viserys and caring for him. Alicent followed, toasting to Rhaenyra’s succession and her future as queen. Seeing his uncle turn to him, Daevar was the next to stand. 

“I would like to toast to Jace and Luke, and offer my sincere congratulations to their betrothals. They will make fine husbands. Though, I will attach a note of caution . . . I am very loyal to my sisters. To Jace and Luke.” He said, taking a drink from his goblet before sitting down. Nesaena did her best to hold in a scoff and failed, prompting a glare from her mother.

“Our brother’s like a silly guard dog.” Baela said, causing a short laugh from everyone. Aegon, making a show of walking over to Baela, quickly made it die down. 

“I regret the disappointment you are about to suffer” He said to Baela, refilling his own goblet from the flagon near his niece. “Should you ever wish to be properly satisfied, my door is always open.” 

“I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena.” Helaena said, standing up impulsively. She was deeply conscious of all the eyes on her and briefly considered sitting back down, but the squeeze from Daevar’s hand reassured her. “They’re to be married soon.” She glanced down at her husband and smiled. “It’s wonderful. You learn much about yourself, and your husband. I hope your marriage is as happy as ours.”

Further toasts were made, including a surprising one from Otto, though the reluctance was clear on his face. He praised Daemon as the greatest warrior in the realm, and the man who had put the fear of the Gods into the Triarchy. Daemon half-thought about remaining seated, but he would never hear the end of it from Rhaenyra if he did. He stood up with his own goblet. “I would . . . like to thank Ser Otto for his many years of loyal service to my brother. The realm could not have survived and prospered without you.” He turned. “And to my son . . . whatever our differences have been, I agree with my brother. They must be set aside. Your sisters want you in their lives; I feel this would be best also. And with your mother, I believe this can be accomplished.” He said, a hand on Rhaenyra’s shoulder as he sat down.

If anyone paid attention, they would see Daevar's reaction to that. His hands balled into fists at the implication Rhaenyra could be his mother, his knuckles going white. As far as he was concerned, he already had a mother; one who had been killed when Daemon decided she was too much trouble to be kept alive anymore. Part of him was tempted to grab the cutting knife next to him and throw it into the table in front of Daemon. It wouldn't be difficult; he had learnt knife throwing from Robb Rivers, the Bastard of Raventree Hall.

As it was, he felt Helaena take his hand, which immediately broke his train of thought. He leaned over and kissed her cheek gently before she rested her head on his shoulder as Viserys called for music. They were interrupted by Jace. “I beg your pardon, Lord Royce. I wanted to ask if I may dance with Lady Helaena.”

Daevar had been planning to ask Helaena to dance himself, but there was little harm in allowing her to dance with Jace, and seeing where the boy’s eyes were darting, he understood. “The decision is my wife’s, my Prince. The women of the Vale are an independent lot, going by our liege lady.”

Helaena looked anxious for a moment, afraid to be leaving Daevar’s side with Aemond in the room. “I’ll be right by your side, Ellie.” Daevar said. “My Prince, I would ask permission to dance with your betrothed as well. She is my sister, after all.”

“I see no reason to say no.” Jace replied before offering his hand to Helaena. “If you would be so kind, My Lady.” 

Helaena was still nervous, but the thought that Daevar would be near her was reassuring. She took Jace’s hand and let him lead her over to the open space behind the table, where the two commenced a Dragon Dance. Daevar looked over with some jealousy as he offered his hand to Baela; he had never actually been able to perfect the Dragon Dance. Thankfully, Baela was an understanding partner, and she moved in time to the music with him.

“For all your professions of being a terrible dancer, you’re actually not bad.” Baela replied. “Even if Valyrian dancing is a bit beyond you.”

“I grew up in the Vale; I learnt my dancing from Ser Gerold’s wife, Lady Julia. And occasionally when we visited Gulltown.” He added. They barely noticed Viserys having to leave the room for his attendance by the Maester.

The night seemed to be going well, contrary to all belief, but as always, something had to come along and ruin it. Sometimes, it was something simple, and this time it was as simple as a suckling pig and a misplaced laugh. From the moment it had been set on the table, Aemond had gotten a murderous look on his face and it was only compounded by Luke's failure to entirely suppress his laughter at the memory of the Pink Dread incident. Aemond was never one to suffer fools gladly, and this time was no exception. The little bastard will get his . . . He thought, slamming his fist down on the table as he stood, holding his cup. "Final tribute. To the health of my nephews . . . Jace . . . Luke . . . and Joffrey. Each of them handsome . . . wise . . ." He let the silence hang in the air. " . . . strong."

"Aemond, don't." Daevar said, trying to caution him. He had been hoping that there was still a twinge of affection for him in Aemond’s heart, but the sound of his cousin's voice simply enraged Aemond. This was the cousin who had taken everything away from him, and seeing Daeron fed his anger more. There was the life he could've had if his cousin wasn't the prick he was! This was on him!

“Come, let us drain our cups to these three . . . strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again.” Jace challenged, though Aemond wasn’t too perturbed by it. Everyone knew who the better fighter of the two of them was.

“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment.” Aemond said innocently. “Do you not think yourself strong?”

Jace marched up to Aemond and slugged him across the face, though the older boy simply shrugged off the punch as if it were nothing. Jace had realised his mistake only too late, and Aemond shoved him into the ground. Luke tried to intervene, but he found his head pushed against the table by Aegon. Nesaena laughed at the chaos, raising her goblet.

Daevar leapt into action, wrenching Aegon off of Luke as Aemond was pulled aside by Alicent. “Why would you say such a thing before all these people?”

“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family mother, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.” Aemond replied, walking back over when he saw Jace standing up to make another run at him, only to find his path blocked by Daemon. He saw that his uncle was armed, but figured he might be able to rush past, seeing as the man was over fifty now and undoubtedly slower. Daevar then stepped in between them, ready to draw Lamentation.

Go on . . . give me a reason . . . Daevar thought. Aemond knew when he was outgunned, and backed off; for now at least. Daevar turned. “Do not presume that was a favour to you, father.” He said before taking Helaena’s hand and leading her and Daeron out.

“Where are we going, Daevar?”

“Anywhere but here.”

That dinner was likely the final chance for any sort of peace between the Greens and Blacks. The failure for them to grasp it may simply be down to the older generation being willing to let go, but having passed too much of the enmity onto their children. This would be a charitable explanation of course; Otto Hightower already had plans in motion. 

I still believe my father failed to understand the situation fully. The fact that he still believed peace was possible at this point does not exactly speak volumes to his ability to read people at this time. 

Chapter Text

Viserys’ death was the catalyst for the war. Some say that it started later with the death of Prince Lucerys, or with my grandfather’s capture of Harrenhal, but my parents and uncle have always maintained it started here. I would be inclined to trust my uncle’s judgement here; my father had asked him to remain in King’s Landing to try and talk down the possibility of war.

Unfortunately, it would seem that Otto Hightower had anticipated this measure. My uncle would remain locked in his chambers under house arrest for the entire day.

The news had come to Alicent in the early hours of the morning, not that she’d actually gotten any sleep. Viserys’ last words to her meant that he had wanted Aegon to be king, right? That made him the king, by the laws of the land. Even the Valyrian law that the Targaryens followed gave the leader of the house the right to name their heir. Dressing quickly, she had issued a summons for the entire Small Council to meet without delay. 

Her father had cautioned her not to trust anyone, even Daeron, as ridiculous as it was. Daeron is my son. He will fight for his brother. Thinking otherwise was ludicrous; even if he was Daevar’s squire, he wasn’t Daevar’s family. Here though, as the Council gathered, she knew she wouldn’t trust any of them.

“What is it that could not wait an hour?” Tyland Lannister asked, chuckling. “Has Dorne invaded?”

“The King is dead.” Otto replied. Despite everything, there was a sadness in his voice. He had liked Viserys; difficult as things were, the man had only tried to do the right thing by his family. Otto could sympathise with that. “We grieve for Viserys the Peaceful. Our sovereign and friend. And yet, with his dying breath, he proclaimed Aegon as his successor. “

There was a silent assent around the table, and Alicent did not like it. Something has been happening without me . It was Tyland who broke the silence, though a little hesitantly. “Then we can proceed with assurance that he supports our plans.”

What?

“Yes. We will need to remove the captains of the City Watch that remain loyal to Daemon.” Otto said, finally taking his seat. “What of the treasury, Lord Lannister?”

“It’s in hand. I’ll order a third dispatched to Casterly Rock and another third to Oldtown immediately.” Tyland replied. This was all moving too fast for Alicent. They’d been plotting all this time to install Aegon as King, and had never spoken to her about it? Lyman Beesbury attempted an interruption, only for Tyland and Jasper Wylde to snap back responses. 

“I am six-and-seventy.” Beesbury proclaimed, standing up. ”I knew Viserys longer than anyone at this table, and I cannot believe he said this alone on his deathbed with only the boy’s mother present!” He exclaimed. Judging from the guilty look on Alicent’s face, he knew he was right, too. “He named Rhaenyra heir and did not change his mind in twenty years! This is theft! It is treason! And he was well last night, by all accounts. Which of you can swear that he died of his own accord?” He asked, casting a glare at Alicent. It was too much for Criston, who forced Beesbury back into his seat. He did it with far too much force though, and the old man’s skull slammed on the table, cracking and splitting. He died instantly.

Things passed in a blur for Alicent. Within seconds of Beesbury dying, they were already discussing the need for alliances with Storm’s End. There was only one thing on her mind though. “What of Rhaenyra?”

“The former heir cannot be allowed to remain free and draw support to her claim.” Her father replied.

“You plan to imprison them?” Alicent scoffed. Was he serious? Does he truly think this?! . “She will not bend the knee. She cannot. Daemon too. You know this.” She said, more in a pleading voice than anything else. I do not want to see her on the battlefield with my sons . 

Her father remained silent, and she felt the bile rising in her throat as the realisation hit her. “You plan to kill them.” She said. “And all here accede to it.”

“A living successor invites war, Your Grace.” Grand Maester Orwyle said. 

“It is unsavoury, yes, but the King would not wish-” Her father started. Alicent bolted to her feet, cutting him off.

“The king would not wish for the murder of his daughter!” She snapped. She had never had the chance to let out the anger she had felt towards her father for starting this situation. Now was her chance. “He loved her. You will not deny this.”

“And yet-”

“One more word and I’ll have you sent to the Wall!” She snapped again, though it was Tyland Lannister who deflated her bravado. She had always admired Tyland in a way; he was the more sensible of the Lannister brothers.

“What is your suggestion then, Your Grace?” He asked. Alicent had no answer. A war must not happen. Rhaenyra cannot die. She cannot . . .

Ser Harrold Westerling, disgusted with them, removed his cloak and set it down on the table. He was not going to swear allegiance to Aegon, and until there was a king, he had no place there. It was a simple matter as to who would replace him of course, seeing as Criston was in the room. Regardless, everyone settled on the need to find Aegon as rapidly as possible. Though Otto’s final order took Alicent aback.

“See that Prince Daeron is confined to his chambers.”

Daeron had intended to meet with Aegon as soon as he had woken up that morning, but had woken up to find the door to his chambers locked from the outside. His suspicion that something had happened was confirmed by the sound of shouting and soldiers’ boots thumping down the corridor outside. Had someone died? His father hadn’t exactly been in a good way at the dinner, but Grand Maester Orwyle had said that he would likely hold on for a while yet.

When his mother entered, he didn't approach her. “Mother, what’s happening?” He asked, a look of concern on his face at his mother’s obvious distress. 

“Daeron . . . your father is dead.”

His whole world crashed. 

“He’s . . .”

“He passed away during the night.” Alicent said. 

“I . . . I see.” Daeron replied before sitting on the bed and dropping his head into his hands. Tears flowed freely from his eyes. Viserys might not have been the best father to him, but he was still his father nonetheless. “How . . . how did it happen?”

“It was in his sleep. It’s believe his disease finally took him. Orwyle was wrong about how long he had left.” She answered. “But he was your father, and loved you dearly.”

“I’d be surprised if he did.” Said another voice. Nesaena had followed her mother after leaving Jaehaerys, Jaehaera and Maelor in the hands of one of her handmaidens. “His priority was Rhaenyra and that damn model Valyria he had. Not us.” She snapped as she entered the room, making sure to shut the door behind her. “The search parties have been sent out for Aegon.” 

“For Aegon?” Daeron asked through his tears. “Why?”

“He is the King.” Nesaena said. Finally, after all the suffering she had endured with her marriage to him, she would finally reap the rewards. Queen Nesaena . . . it sounds wonderful . After bearing all of his children and having his disgusting seed in her, it would all come to fruition. 

“But . . . father named Rhaenyra heir.” Daeron replied. Nesaena frowned, her eyes flashing with anger.

“I knew you would lose faith. That’s why grandfather had you locked in here.” She replied. “Aegon is King under all the laws of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“It would mean war.”

“Not if Rhaenyra’s smart.” Nesaena replied. “I’ll notify you when he returns, mother.” She added before leaving. 

“Mother, you can't do this. Rhaenyra can't accept losing the crown.” He urged. Daevar had told him as much when he had been instructed to stay here. He was here to talk Aegon down from making a mistake, but there was little he could do from here when the door was locked. “I need to speak to Aegon.”

“You’ll speak with him at the coronation.” Alicent said. “There, you will stand alongside him as his brother and a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Daeron was silent. Was this what his mother had been building towards? A usurpation of Rhaenyra? It wasn’t like it was unexpected, and Nesaena had been right when she said that Aegon would be king under the law. That is the Andal law, but Valyrian leaders did appoint their successors . . . no, not after what they’ve done.

“After what Aegon and Aemond have done?” He asked. “I know what Aegon did to Dyana, mother. I cared for her and then . . . then there was what Aemond did to Helaena. He tried to rape her, Mother!”

“Aemond will face his judgment in time.” Alicent replied. It was more an attempt at tamping down the situation than anything else. “But you must swear your allegiance to Aegon publicly. The people adore you, Daeron. You’re Daeron the Daring, hero of the battle with the Hill Tribes of the Vale.” Her eyebrows creased. I cannot lose another son . “Please, Daeron . . . if not for Aegon, then for me.”

Daeron went silent again. Alicent sighed; by now she knew she wasn't getting an answer out of him. “Very well, my son. I’ll come and speak with you when Aegon is found.” She said before leaving. Daeron sighed, collapsing back on the bed. 

I have to get to Runestone. 

Rhaenys had been caught off guard by just about everything that had happened. No sooner had she woken up that she was informed by two guardsmen that she was confined to her chambers. It was a house arrest, plain and simple, and it was not something that they had the authority to do. The second she heard the door open and saw Alicent enter, she demanded answers. “I will do you the considerable kindness of assuming there is good reason for my treatment this morning.” She said.

“I apologise for the lack of ceremony.” Alicent replied. Rhaenys didn't have to think long to  guess about what was disturbing her.

“Viserys?” She asked. Alicent’s silence gave her the answer she needed. “And you are usurping the throne.” I should have guessed . . . Otto Hightower is too ambitious for his own good. It was a turn of events she should have seen coming, and she mentally berated herself for not seeing it. 

“It was his dying wish. You may choose to believe it or not; it is of no consequence. Aegon will be King. I have to ask for your support.” Alicent said. Rhaenys scoffed. Is that what this woman truly wanted?

“Well, I must credit you for your boldness.” 

“House Velaryon has long allied itself with Rhaenyra and what has it gotten you?” Alicent asked. “Your daughter, dead in Pentos. Your son, cuckolded and likely dead. Rhaenyra’s sons, passed off as your grandchildren.” Alicent sighed. “Even your husband has abandoned you. Gone for six years to fight a desperate battle and returning grievously, if not mortally wounded.”

“The word of my house is not fickle.” Rhaenys replied, but she had to admit that Alicent had a point there. Rhaenyra had been taking the House Velaryon for granted, and had flouted them at every opportunity. But Rhaenyra was named the heir. I cannot violate Viserys’ wishes. She stormed away from Alicent, intending for that to be the end of it, but the stubborn Queen would not hear it

“Lady Rhaenys, I loved my husband, but I must speak the truth we both know. You should have been Queen.” Alicent said, taking Rhaenys’ hands

That was a shock. “I had not thought to hear those words from you.” Rhaenys replied. It appeared that for all Daemon despised Alicent, the woman was no fool. Indeed, she was not one to leave an opening unexploited; she was far more adept at the game than Rhaenyra was, that was for sure. 

“Viserys would have been content to spend his days as a country lord, hunting and studying his histories, but here we are. We do not rule, but we guide the men who do . . . gently, towards peace.” Alicent said. Rhaenys tore her hands away.

“And I suppose it’s in the name of peace you’ve kept me here?” She asked. “And what of my dragon? And what of Daevar?” I hope the boy is alright . . .

“If we are overmatched, Rhaenyra will be tempted to strike us and war will ensue. As for Daevar . . . he has left Daeron here and gone to Dragonstone. It’s of my father’s opinion that Daeron’s loyalty is suspect.”

An ally! Rhaenys thought. She had known that Daeron had gotten close to Daevar in the years he had been a squire, but if his own family was imprisoning him then that might help her figure a way out of here. “You are wiser than I believed you to be, Alicent Hightower.”

“A true queen counts the costs to her people.” Alicent replied. She was already having terrifying images in her head of dragons bathing the skies in fire as armies clashed below. It would be the most devastating war that the country had known, and yet the eagerness of her father and his allies seemed to pay no attention to that. 

“And yet, you still toil in the service of men.” Rhaenys said. The fact that she said it was Otto’s opinion that Daeron could not be trusted had given her hand away. “Your father . . . your husband . . . your sons . . . you desire not to be free, but to make a window in the wall of your prison . . . have you never imagined yourself on the Iron Throne?”

The silence and Alicent’s hasty exit told her all she needed to know, but that didn't solve her problem. She needed to find a way out of this place, and if she could make a temporary ally of Prince Daeron, all the better.

Night had fallen by the time that Aegon was brought back to the Red Keep. He had spent the entire day trying to avoid one search party or the other until his location had been given up, and now he had been secured within the walls of his childhood home. He still had the freedom to roam of course, though it was on the condition that he remain under guard and with Nesaena at all times. If they were to be the ruling couple, they had to be seen together.

Which is why it amused him to see her frustrated that he was in Daeron’s chambers. Nesaena had never hidden her contempt for the youngest in their family, though Aegon suspected that was for reasons she didn’t want known.

“I should dash your head against the wall for what you did to Dyana.” Daeron snarled.

“It was just a bit of fun, Daeron.” Aegon replied. He could almost hear Nesaena rolling her eyes as she stood at the back of the room.

“‘A bit of fun’?! You’ve destroyed her, Aegon!”

“Don’t pretend you cared about her for more than the pleasure she gave you at Runestone, Daeron.” Nesaena snapped. “I’ll be blunt. Swear your allegiance to Aegon or remain here.”

Daeron ignored her. “Aegon, you said to me earlier that you did not want to be King. That is why you tried to flee, no?” He asked. “Daevar suggested an idea. He’ll suggest the same to Rhaenyra.”

“And what would that be?” Aegon arched an eyebrow. He was still in a bit of a haze from all the alcohol he had drunk that day, but it was starting to wear off. The pain in his head was something he had gotten used to by now.

“A Great Council.” Daeron said. “It was how Father ascended the throne over Rhaenys. Agree to submit to the judgment of a Great Council and publicly declare that you have no interest. They’ll have to elect Rhaenyra.”

The idea was enticing, Aegon had to admit. And it would be a way to get back at the rest of his family for how they had treated him over the years. “How would that even work?”

“Send a raven to Dragonstone with everything that you want to say.”

“And do you really think they’ll accept that?” Nesaena scoffed. 

“Nesaena-” Aegon started, only to be taken aback when his sister cut him off.

“No! I have not endured being married to you and carrying three of your children to be cast aside because you want to play the coward!” She snapped. “And I will not leave my children to the mercies of Daemon.” 

“Daevar will guarantee their safety-” Daeron started.

“Daevar’s a shit.” Nesaena replied. “And I will not suffer the humiliation or the risk to my children, Aegon.” She growled. “If you don’t take the Iron Throne, I’ll make sure the way is clear for someone with no such qualms.” She left as soon as she’d finished, instructing Ser Rickard to stay with Aegon and make sure he didn’t escape.

“Aegon, I can’t forgive you for Dyana, but if you do this, you can prevent disaster.” Daeron pleaded. Maybe he and Aegon had never been close, but there was no chance that Aegon wanted to risk a war right?

“If . . . if Daevar can get Rhaenyra to agree to it . . .”

“He says our sister’s not unreasonable.” Daeron shrugged. “If anyone can get through to her, it’s him.”

“If he can get her to agree to it, then I’ll agree to it.” Aegon said. What Nesaena had said was nothing less than a direct threat to kill him if he didn’t go through with the dawn coronation, so what loyalty did he owe her?

“He will.”

Of course, we know now that my uncle’s faith was misplaced. There was still a chance for peace at this point, but it was slipping away quickly. My father was not a politician nor a diplomat when a skilled one was desperately needed to negotiate between the Greens and Blacks. 

My mother however, has always maintained that Alicent and Rhaenyra were the victims of circumstance. It seems she does have a point; my research has indicated that Alicent and Rhaenyra were either the witting or unwitting tools of men whose own ambitions had never been fulfilled.

Chapter Text

With all the pieces in place, the Greens could finally make their move to sweep the Iron Throne out from underneath Rhaenyra. It would be done publicly of course; Aegon would be crowned anointed by the High Septon with seven oils, crowned with the Valyrian Steel crown of Aegon the Conqueror, and wield Blackfyre, the Sword of Kings, before thousands.

Such a public crowning would do much for Aegon’s legitimacy. Any hope at a negotiated peace between the two sides was gone by now, not that my father noticed it. He still hoped that they could make one final push and avoid complete catastrophe. 

It appeared that Lady Rhaenys was the only one able to see things clearly.

Not much to her surprise, Rhaenys had been confined to her chambers for the entire day. A futile effort to get some sleep as night fell likewise went badly, unable as she was to shake the voice in her head that was shouting at her to do something . This was high treason no matter what definition was used, but the fact that Prince Daeron had likely been confined as well had likely complicated matters. If I can just get to him we can-

Her train of thought was cut off by the sound of a shout from outside her chambers. The door opened, revealing one of the Cargyll twins from the Kingsguard. He held out a cloak towards her. “With me, Princess. I cannot let this treachery stand.”

Rhaenys stood. “How can I trust you, Ser Arryk?”

“I’m Erryk, Princess. There’s a half dozen Hightower guards on their way right now. We have to go.” He handed her the cloak, expecting her to follow him. Much as trust was in short supply right now, Rhaenys knew she didn’t have much of a choice. The longer she stayed here, the more impotent she would be. 

“What of Prince Daeron? Has he taken part in this treachery?” She asked, taking the cloak.

“No, Princess. He’s been confined to his chambers as well.”

“Daevar would never forgive me for leaving him here.” Rhaenys replied. It would be difficult, but she was certain they could do it. 

“There’s no time, Princess. We have to go now!” He said, taking her hand and leading her out as quickly and quietly as he could. In times like these, he was grateful that he had read through the layout of the Red Keep regularly. Much as Maegor had tried to destroy all plans of the Red Keep, either some had survived or Jaehaerys I had mapped most of them out again. In no time at all, they were out of the Red Keep. 

The view of the city was stunning of course. Any other time, she would’ve wanted to stay up here.

“Where are we?” She asked.

“South of King’s Way.” Erryk replied. “The Blackwater’s this way.” He added, leading them down into the city. Rhaenys was a little confused that the knight was still wearing his Kingsguard armour. Maybe he was hoping the armour would intimidate people into not asking any questions, but it certainly made them look conspicuous, even with the cloaks covering her silver hair. 

The trip down to the city was fraught, but Erryk seemed to know what the Goldcloaks’ patrol patterns were, and they seemed to thin out the further they got from the castle. Even so, they moved cautiously. Erryk doused his torch, conscious that a lit torch wandering the streets so early in the morning would inevitably invite attention. Even so, they were moving so painfully slowly that the sun had risen before they were even partway into the city. “I’m not leaving without Meleys.” She said.

“They’ll be expecting you at the Dragonpit. Just-”

“Keep moving!” Shouted someone.

“Go on, move!” Shouted another. There was a crowd beginning to gather in the streets, being marshalled by the City Watch. Erryk tried to lead them down another one of the city’s winding streets, but there were Watchmen there as well. Some were mounted, while others pushed people along on foot. The sheer force of the crowd coming from so many directions forced them apart, and they became separated by the throng. 

Rhaenys was pulled along the streets by the weight of the crowd. Trying to push against it was futile, but perhaps finding out where they were being herded to would help. Looking up and seeing that she was being herded towards the Dragonpit, she smiled. She would be able to get to Meleys after all.

“Have the decency to look grateful.” Alicent said to Aegon. The boy had been brooding since they had been bundled into the wheelhouse for the trip to the Dragonpit, and it was frustrating her. After all they had done, and he would still insist on being this way? “In less than an hour, you will be king.”

“And it’s something my father never wanted.” Aegon replied. His head was pounding still, but he was no fool. “He had twenty years to change the succession and never did.” 

“He changed his mind.”

Aegon laughed at that. There was no way his father, who was either busy dying or playing with his stupid model set of Valyria, would even consider passing the succession to him over Rhaenyra. “He never did because he didn’t like me.” He said. “If you had to pick a king from our family, why couldn’t it have been Daeron?”

“Daeron will be at the ceremony, and so will Aemond and Nesaena.” She replied. “And it was you he named as his heir with his final breath.” She sighed. “Your grandfather will try to impress upon you that Rhaenyra and children are to be put to the sword. You must reject this counsel; we cannot rule through cruelty or madness. She is still your sister-”

“Do you love me?” He asked. He found it difficult to believe that either of his parents did growing up. His father had never made any time for him, and his mother was more focused on her own situation-admittedly a terrible one-and Aemond to even speak with him. 

“You imbecile.” Alicent replied. Well, it wasn't the answer he wanted, but it was the closest he would get. The sound of a dragon overhead gave away what he suspected was Nesaena’s entrance; only she would make such a dramatic entrance. It was something that she had a talent for, he supposed. She would have been an excellent actress.

He was immediately taken out by a troop of Goldcloaks and rushed to a side entrance to the Dragonpit. The massive cheer that went up had to be for Nesaena and Windfyre of course. He had half expected her to simply be waiting for him, but that was put to bed when she arrived at the entrance.

“Where’s Windfyre?” He asked.

“In the caverns below the pit.” She said, rolling her eyes. “How stupid are you?”

“Stupid enough that I’m here with you instead of across the Narrow Sea.” He shot back. “Do you even care about this?”

“I have not suffered you all my life to get nothing for it.” She snarled. 

He refrained from asking if she even cared about him; the answer had been made obvious to him years ago. One sister who hates me, and another that’s a half-wit. Why did he have to be cursed with such bad luck? 

Nesaena grabbed his hand as they entered the Dragonpit, holding them both up for the crowd of thousands to see. The troop of Watchmen had forced a channel in the crowd, their swords raised as the two of them approached the central platform where Aemond was waiting with their mother, grandfather and Criston Cole. 

“Where’s Daeron?” Aegon asked quietly. 

“We think he escaped.” Nesaena replied. The prospect of her youngest brother being loose in the world didn't exactly fill her with confidence about the future, but that was an aside. She would be Queen, as had been decreed by their father.

“It is your great fortune to witness this!” Otto called out. “A new day for our city . . . a new day for our realm . . . a new king to lead us!”

Reaching the platform, their mother pressed a kiss to both of their foreheads before Otto gestured for them to kneel. Septon Eustace would be anointing Aegon with the oils and consecrating as King in the eyes of the Gods. Nesaena could barely focus on the whole thing; she would finally be getting her reward for suffering Aegon all these years! 

“May the Warrior give him courage.” Eustace began, dipping his thumb in a bowl of water and running it across Aegon’s forehead. “May the Smith give strength to his sword and shield.” Another swipe of the thumb. “May the father defend him in his need, and may the Crone lift her shining lamp and guide him to wisdom.”

Aegon would not know the meaning of wisdom, Nesaena thought as Eustace did the same for her. It was then that she saw it. The magnificent Valyrian Steel crown that had been worn by Aegon the Conqueror, master-crafted and with seven rubies secured onto it. Eustace handed it to Criston, who raised it over Aegon. “The crown of the Conqueror, passed down through generations.” He announced, lowering it onto Aegon’s head. Alicent then approached Nesaena with a beautiful crown of her own; the very one Alicent had worn on the day she had wedded Viserys. It was crafted in gold, with pearls on the end of each of the dozens of points at the front, with a slender gold band securing it at the back. She lowered it onto Nesaena’s head, then kissed both of her cheeks.

“My Queen.” She said, before stepping back.

“Let the Seven bear witness!” Cole called out. “Aegon Targaryen is the true heir to the Iron Throne!”

There was a silence as Aegon and Nesaena stood as the Goldcloaks watched for any shouts of defiance, but there were none. After all, it was law that the male line inherited.

“All hail His Grace, Aegon, of the House Targaryen!” Eustace exclaimed. “The Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!” He turned to Nesaena. “And his wife Nesaena, of the House Targaryen! The First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lady of the Seven Kingdoms!”

Silence.

“Aegon the King!” Cole shouted.

That set off the crowd. The light applause rippled and cascaded, becoming louder and louder as it reached the end of the Dragonpit. Thousands of people cheered and applauded; the accession of a new king was always to be welcome. Uncertain, Aegon looked out over the crowd cheering. 

“Aegon the King!”

“Long live King Aegon!”

Handed the sword Blackfyre by Cole, Aegon took his chance almost immediately. Drawing it from the scabbard, the ancient Targaryen blade, was raised by the namesake of Aegon the Conqueror before thousands of people. 

Aegon smiled to himself as he raised the sword. They’re cheering for me . . . for me! It was not something he had expected to say the least, but it was something that was more than welcome. Even Nesaena was smiling.

“Long live the King!”

Earlier that day

Daeron had only slept fitfully during the night, unable to shake off the thought of what would happen in the morning. With Aegon recovered, they would undoubtedly crown him, and Rhaenyra couldn’t allow that. Even if she was tempted to make peace, Daemon would push her into war; he had heard enough horror stories from Daevar to judge the man.

His mother entered his chambers just before the sun rose, holding a cloak. He’d half-expected her to end up begging him to join them. “Is there no way I can get you to join us, Daeron?”

She doesn’t know about Aemond and Helaena, he thought. If she did, she would not have asked the question. “If you want me to swear allegiance publicly, I can’t. I could be putting Helaena or Daevar in danger.”

Alicent smiled sadly, a few tears escaping her eyes. “You always were a bold one, Daeron.”

“The Royce soldiers called me ‘Daeron the Daring’ for a reason, mother.”

Alicent nodded. “Your grandfather ordered you confined here.”

Daeron sighed. He suspected as much; his mother would never have the heart to order her children confined and Aemond was too consumed by rage all the time to even think of issuing rational commands to people. Nesaena could order it as well, but she was likely too busy preparing for her coronation. After all, it had been the one reason she married Aegon, or so she said. “So I’m to remain here until grandfather deems me trustworthy?”

“That was his plan, yes.” Alicent said before taking one of his hands. “But I will not allow that. The coronation will be happening soon. When it does, make for the caverns under the Dragonpit, then take Tessarion and go.”

Daeron was stunned. Was she telling him to escape with his dragon? That would almost certainly be noticed by everyone. “Mother-”

“Daeron, you do not know your grandfather or his allies like I do. You will never be safe as long as you remain here.” She said desperately. She couldn’t see her father ordering Daeron’s death, but it would be disturbingly easy for Larys to arrange his death in some gruesome way, whether of his own volition or not. “You must leave and tell Daevar to stay out if war comes. Promise me, Daeron.”

Daeron swallowed. “I promise, mother.”

“Good.” She said as the sun began to peek over the horizon. It lit her son up in an almost angelic glow, and it would’ve made a wonderful painting. “I must go. I will leave your doors unlocked and dismiss your guards. Wait a short while then head straight for the Dragonpit. If anyone stops you, tell them you are on your way to join us.” She leaned in and kissed his forehead, handing him the cloak. “Good luck, Daeron. I love you.”

“I love you too, mother.” He managed to say before she left. He waited for what he figured was about half an hour, then tried the door. Indeed, it was unlocked. He opened it and peered into the corridor, not seeing any guards. He rushed back into his room and grabbed up his sword belt before hurrying through the corridor. The lack of guards was astounding, but quite apart from any further orders his mother might’ve given, it was likely that only a minimal guard that been placed on the Red Keep with the coronation happening in the Dragonpit.

Daeron rode his luck further. He exited the Red Keep and made a beeline for the Dragonpit. Projecting arrogance had never been a strong point of his, but it was something he could do on his way there. He stood as stall as he could, back straight and eyes front. Again, luck was on his side as none of the Watchmen gave him a second look.

Held up briefly by the crowd, he managed to sneak his way into the caverns below the Dragonpit. He managed to sneak past the sleeping Sunfyre to his Blue Queen, who was asleep in one corner of the cavern. “Tessarion! Tessarion, Vēzot! ” He commanded. Tessarion woke up and warbled slightly. She was a little crank that her sleep had been disturbed, but the distress of her rider focused her mind.

“We have to leave, girl.” He said, unchaining her as quickly as he could before he heard Tessarion growl at another entrant into the cavern. Daeron turned, hand on his sword. “Rhaenys?”

“Daeron?”

“Why are you here?”

“Trying to escape. Why are you here?”

“Trying to escape.” 

Rhaenys moved over to help him unchain Tessarion. “Why are you helping me?” He asked. It wasn’t like they were on the same side. Though, maybe they were just this once; they had both been imprisoned after all.

“If Daevar is right about you, you’d do the same for me.” Rhaenys said as Tessarion’s last chain was unfastened. “Besides, Daevar would never forgive me for leaving you here.” That done, she moved over to Meleys, who herself was startin to wake up. After ordering Tessarion to stay, he helped Rhaenys strike off the chains from Meleys, setting her free.

“We have to move. Sunfyre’s apparently a heavy sleeper but Windfyre and Vhagar are both out there.” Daeron said. 

“I’m half-tempted to break through into the pit.” Rhaenys said.

“To what end? You’d only leave hundreds of dead for nothing but a show of force.” He reasoned. “Don’t be the one who starts this war, Rhaenys. Give Daevar time to talk to Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenys sighed. It had been a rash idea from the moment she had it; that much she had known. Besides, Daeron was right. There was no point in leaving hundreds of people dead for no reason other than a fleeting sense of satisfaction, especially when there was still a possibility that war might be averted with some careful diplomacy. 

“Where will you go, Daeron?”

“Runestone. Helaena has already returned there with Dreamfyre and Rhea.” He turned to her, a determined look on his face. “It’s my home, Rhaenys. More than this place ever has been.” He mounted Tessarion. “ Sōvēs. ” He commanded. The cavern where the dragons resided had a large passageway that lead out over the city, and that was where Tessarion headed now. True to form, she flew instead of running, skimming close to the ground. Daeron pressed himself tightly against her in his saddle, trying to avoid having his head taken off.

They eventually emerged from one of the exits, the city below them. Another time and he might’ve stopped to take in the view, but that wasn’t something he could do right now. “Runestone, Tessarion.” He ordered. The dragon began flying north. 

Looking back, he could see Meleys and Rhaenys had made their escape as well, flying towards Dragonstone.

Please find something to stop all this Daevar.

The fact that Daeron had managed to escape the city was nothing short of a miracle, though I think that my grandmother may’ve had a hand in his escape, truth be told. Not many people would’ve had the authority to dismiss the guards outside his chambers, and she was one of them.

Again, I think my father’s judgement in the weeks and days leading up to the war’s outbreak was less than wonderful. He still believed peace could be achieved; it was naive at best and hopelessly optimistic at worst. Regardless, he wasn't giving up on avoiding it just yet.

Chapter Text

My father had elected to go Dragonstone with the Princess Rhaenyra. By this time, Syrax had been too fat to fly, so it made sense for her to come by ship, and the short distances meant they had arrived by mid-morning, just as Rhaenys and Daeron were effecting their escape from King’s Landing.

What happened over the next few hours would end up bringing the country to war over an iron chair. Strangely enough, my father maintains that he may have indeed been able to talk them out of war if he had just been given more time. Though I would contend this notion; war was inevitable at this point from what I can see.

Dragonstone

Jace had taken Luke out to train on the beach behind the castle on Dragonstone earlier that morning, and it wasn't going as well as he had been expected. Luke was not a brilliant swordsman and was still young, but he wasn’t even meeting Jace’s standards. A few hard swings, and his younger brother’s defences were already failing. It wasn’t like Luke was even trying to parry him; he was simply holding his blade out and hoping for the best. It had the inevitable result when Jace knocked the sword from Luke’s hand and then swung his blade into Luke’s stomach. “What was that?!” He said, grabbing Luke by his doublet as the boy fell to the ground.

“I’m sorry!” Luke replied.

“You might go easier on your brother, My Prince.” Ser Steffon Darklyn, who had been observing the sparring match, said. “That way he might more easily learn what you are trying to teach.”

Jace looked down in shame. Truthfully, it had been more an attempt to release tension from the dinner with the Greens than to try and teach Luke anything. “I’m sorry, Luke.” He said, helping his brother up. “We’ll go and get Daevar to spar with us; he knows more than I do.”

“I don’t think he likes me very much.” Luke said. 

“We’ll make him like both of us.” Jace grinned. 

“Your Lady Mother needs to see you.” Rhaenys called out from one of the passageways that led back to the castle. “Both of you.”

Well, they both knew better than to defy their mother’s wishes. Handing the training swords to Ser Steffon, the two of them rushed into the passageway and hurried upstairs to their mother’s chambers. She wasn;t in a good way, and both Jace and Luke both knew it had something to do with her pregnancy. “Mother?” Jace asked as they entered. 

“Fuck . . .” Rhaenyra groaned in pain, steadying herself against one of the pillars. “Your grandsire, King Viserys has passed.” 

The words were like a dagger at Luke. He had never been close to his grandfather, but knew that the man had always felt affection for them. “Viserys?!” He exclaimed. Jace was more circumspect, silently working over calculations in his head. He was almost able to guess what his mother would say next before she had said it.

“The Greens have repudiated the succession and claimed the Iron Throne.” She managed to say through her pain. “Aegon has been crowned King.”

“And what is to be done about it?” Jace asked. 

“Nothing yet.” Rhaenyra replied. The last thing that needed now was rash action.

“And where’s Daemon?” Jace asked, clenching his fists. He had never trusted the man. Yes, he was a fighter who would defend them, but if he was already preparing to attack . . .

“I don’t know.” Rhaenyra said through gritted teeth, mostly of pain but also slight anger at her husband likely acting without her word. “Gone to madness. Gone to plot his war.”

His war. She made that distinction, Jace thought. It was an important one to make too; his mother had no desire to spark a war between King’s Landing and Dragonstone. “Alright, leave Daemon with me. Luke, make sure Baela and Rhaena are well.” He said before leaving. Affirming to his mother that nothing would be done without her order, he marched to the Chamber of the Painted Table, and could very clearly hear Daemon issuing orders.

“I’ll fly to the Riverlands myself and affirm Lord Tully’s support.”

“You will do no such thing.” Jace said, entering the Chamber. “My mother has decreed that no action will be taken while she’s abed.” He continued, suddenly very conscious of everyone’s eyes being on him.

“It’s good you’re here, young Prince.” Daemon said, not even casting an eye at him. “You’re needed to patrol the skies on Vermax.”

“Did you not hear what I said?” Jace challenged, straightening his back. If he had to exert his authority he would, but when Daemon gave another command to Lord Celtigar, it became clear who had the authority. That done, Daemon turned to Jace.

“Come with me. I’ll show you the meaning of true loyalty.” He said.

Well, Jace was uncertain if he could define true loyalty as threatening two knights of the Kingsguard with a dragon; both Daevar and his mother had taught him that dictated loyalty was unstable at best. It was only after that he learnt that his mother’s child had been stillborn; a girl named Visenya. 

Rhaenyra felt different now, especially with her father’s crown on her head when she entered the Chamber of the Painted Table. By right, she was the heir to the Iron Throne, yet the Greens had usurped her. These moments would be critical; any missteps now would be paid for a thousandfold in the weeks and months ahead. It will be a war of quills then. Let’s hope it stays that way.

The situation regarding their army was not a positive one, as Daemon reminded her. Yes, they had allegiance of a few of the Crownlands houses, but they alone would not win a war. Combined, the Crownlands could muster twenty-five thousand men, but they would likely be divided between her and Aegon.

“My mother was an Arryn.” She said. “The Vale will not turn its cloak against its own kin.”

“That may be irrelevant.” Jace said. “Lady Jeyne holds no love for anyone here, and Lord Daevar isn’t exactly friendly towards us either.” He looked at his mother. “If we can win him over, we win over the Vale.

“Very astute.” Maester Gerardys said. “I think that winning over Lord Royce would also help in the Riverlands; we are all aware of his exceptionally close friendship with Ser Kermit Tully.”

“Lord Grover is fickle and unlikely to listen to the whims of his great grandson. He will need to be convinced of the strength of our position.” Rhaenyra said, conscious that both Jace and Gerardys had good points regarding Daevar. 

“I will treat with him myself.” Daemon replied.

“What of the Starks and Baratheons?”

“There has never lived a Stark who has broken his oath. As goes House Stark, so will the North.” Celtigar said. 

“Then we shall only have to remind Lord Borros Baratheon of his father’s promises.” Rhaenyra said. This list of diplomatic targets grows longer with every sentence . “What of Driftmark?” She asked, turning to Rhaenys.

“My husband sails for Dragonstone, but the Velaryon fleet is his yoke. He decides where they sail.” She said, trying to head off Daemon. Much as she knew Rhaneyra needed their support, she couldn’t very much countenance what she suspected Daemon had done to his own son. 

“We pray for the Sea Snake’s return to health, and for his support and yours. There’s not a port on the Narrow Sea that would dare turn against him.” Rhaenyra said with a smile, though she was only partially confident of that. The Triarchy would no doubt seek a chance to strike back against him and Daemon. She turned back to the table. “What of our enemies?”

“We have no friends among the Lannisters.” Daemon said. “Tyland has served the Hand too long to turn against him, and Otto Hightower needs the Lannister fleet.” 

“Then we have no hope of allies beyond the Golden Tooth.” Rhaenyra stated. The allegiance of the Greyjoys was likewise fickle at best; they were mostly concerned with their ability to raid and reave the coastline. As far as the Reach, there was no hope of support there; Lord Ormund Hightower would march for his uncle, and the Tyrells likely would too.

“Forgive me for my bluntness, Your Grace, but talk of men is moot.” Celtigar said. “Your cause has a power not seen since the days of Old Valyria . . . dragons.”

“Which the Greens have too.” Rhaenyra replied.

“They have three.” Daemon said. “We have Syrax, Caraxes and Meleyes. Your sons have Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes. Balea has Moondancer.

“None of our dragons have seen battle.” Rhaenyra replied.

“There’s also the Bronzes’ dragons if we antagonise them.” Jace said. “Helaena has Dreamfyre and Daeron has Tessarion. Out of everyone in the world, only two living riders have been to battle. One of them is here with us-” He gestured at Daemon “-and the other is Daeron. You’ve not seen him fly; I have. Let me assure you, he knows what he’s doing.”

“More than that.” Rhaenys added. “He and Tessarion have an unusually close bond, and she stands up well to extreme manoeuvres.”

“There are also still unclaimed dragons.” Daemon countered. “Seasmoke still resides on Driftmark, and Vermithor and Silverwing dwell in the Dragonmont, still riderless. THere are wild dragons too.”

“And who will ride them?” Rhaenyra asked. Daemon didn’t answer, instead moving around the table.

“We will need a place to gather. A toehold large enough to house a sizable host.” he said, placing an icon down. “Harrenhal. We can cut off the west, surround King’s Landing with Dragons and mount every fucking green head on spikes before the moon turns.”

It was then of course that Ser Erryk, who had so dutifully delivered her father;s crown to her, informed her that a ship had been sighted, no doubt sent from King’s Landing. She turned back to Daemon. “I must speak with Lord Royce before they get here.”

Daevar had taken up residence in one of the chambers that overlooked the Dragonmont, the home of the dragons. He and Rhaenyra had arrived around an hour ago and he had already spoken to her on the voyage over. She had made it clear; war was not something she wanted, but she would have to defend her claim if the need arose. 

He figured that it was the most he was going to get from her, so had left it at that. He would have been content to leave it at that before he heard the sounds of soldiers moving up and down the halls. He swore he had heard Kyra screaming his name, but his attempts to force his way out were foiled by the locked door. He had thought about trying to smash the lock open with Lamentation, but decided against it. Valyrian steel was tough, but not invincible.

So he had remained shut up in his chambers all day, waiting for someone to walk in. When they eventually did, he was surprised to see that it was Rhaenyra and not Daemon. He had figure that his father would want the first word with him after everything, especially considering he was now effectively a prisoner. 

“I’m sorry for your treatment, Lord Royce. It was not at my command.” Rhaenyra said. Daevar sighed; she had no reason to lie to him about this, and he already guessed that it was his father. 

“I can guess who did give the command though.” He replied, standing up. The sun was getting low outside. “You want my support, I would wager.”

“You would win that wager.” Rhaenyra confessed. “The Greens have usurped the throne and crowned Aegon. Your father is ready to go to war. With dragons.”

The two hits at once floored Daevar. He had thought that Daeron would be able to stave off this kind of escalation, but with hindsight, trusting the avoidance of war to him alone was foolish. He and likewise never doubted that his father would be the first to draw the sword, but with dragons as well? No, his father wasn’t that mad, surely? “And what’s your position?” He asked, trying to keep his composure.

“Daemon thinks it can be done quickly.”

“Rhaenyra, a war like this will not be over quickly.” Daevar said. “Dragons cannot take and hold ground; only soldiers can do that.” He sighed. “Moreover, a war of dragons will kill hundreds of thousands of people if the carnage is minimal, and I assure you, it will not be.”

“So what do you propose then?”

“A Great Council.” Daevar said. “I would speak in your favour, so would my father, Lady Jeyne, Lord Stark, maybe the Tullys as well.”

“We both know what way a Great Council would rule, Daevar.” Rhaenyra sighed. THey had faced this before, during the Great Council of 101, when it had been decided that her father would inherit over Rhaenys. 

“But this time you are the nominated heir.” Daevar replied. “And I would speak for you before anyone else. You are the rightful heir, as your father said.”

Rhaenyra went silent. The last thing she wanted was war, but a Great Council would rule against her in all likelihood. Then again, it wasn’t like Rhaenys had two war heroes to speak in her favour, nor was she the designated heir , she thought. Those two things could be critical in winning one. “I . . . I cannot strike my banners, Daevar. If the Greens attack-”

“Ser Gerold always said that we should be prepared for war but never start one.” Daevar said. “I don’t begrudge you taking measures to defend yourself; a shrewd ruler always takes precautions.”

Rhaenyra smiled. “You are a charmer, My Lord.”

“So my wife has said.” He grinned. “Just . . . don’t let my father overrule you. You are Queen. You hold the titles. You hold the power, not him.”

Rhaenyra nodded. It was easy to forget that sometimes, especially with Daemon being as experienced a warrior as he was. “Indeed. Very well, I will do what I can to prevent war’s outbreak.”

Rhaenys had been gripped by an uneasiness ever since the meeting in the Chamber. Making preparations for war was prudent, but signs of aggression would be taken poorly by the Greens at such a critical juncture. A call for dragonriders especially would be taken badly; that was little short of an outright declaration of war. It was why she had walked into Baela and Rhaena’s chambers; the girls had secluded themselves there after the council of war.

“I’ve come because I need your assistance.” Rhaenys admitted. “I fear for your brother’s safety the longer he’s here.”

The girls were stunned. There was no way he would act against Rhaenyra; he had too much of the Vale’s loyalty within him to even consider it. “Her Grace wouldn’t do anything.” Rhaena said.

“Neither would Father.” Baela added.

“But every second he is here makes him less inclined towards us. He was effectively put under house arrest here, after all.” Rhaenys argued. It was not dissimilar to the way she had been treated in King’s Landing before she and Daeron had managed to escape. I hope he is back at Runestone now. 

“So what do you plan to do?” Baela asked.

“When my husband arrives, I will ask him to prepare a ship to take Daevar to Gulltown. From there, he can take horse for Runestone and raise his banners for Rhaenyra.”

“What if he doesn’t?” Rhaena asked.

“Rhaenyra will let him go.” Rhaenys replied. “She has more to gain by having him support her from the Vale than staying here. He’ll ask for a guarantee of Daeron’s safety, but I will be surprised if the boy has any loyalty to his own family left.”

“Daeron would be a threat to Rhaenyra as long as he lives.” Baela said. “He’s our uncle’s son.”

“True,” Rhaenys responded, “But that can be resolved by Daeron renouncing his claim-already a thin one-in exchange for a guarantee of his safety if he does not take arms against Rhaenyra.”

The sisters looked at each other. It wasn’t full of the conviction they’d expected from Rhaenys, and they doubted that Daeron would actually accept it. After all, there was a reason he’d been called ‘the Daring’ by the Royce soldiers. “Daeron wouldn’t side with us. He and Jace hate each other.” Baela said.

“Daevar would be able to talk him into staying neutral though.” Rhaenys replied, with a bit more certainty this time.

“Are you sure?” Rhaena asked.

“Yes.” Rhaenys nodded. “Daeron was treated very poorly by his own family in King’s Landing when they usurped the throne. His loyalty to them is not solid, not after that.”

Baela sighed. It was a gamble, no doubt, but one that had the potential to remove one of the only two riders with battle experience. Not to mention that Daeron had been learning warfare from Daevar and the other Knights of the Vale, who had been the only warriors that had actually been on campaign since the days of Maegor.

“I don’t want to go against Rhaenyra.” Rhaena said. “What if she doesn’t let him go?”

“We can make an appeal to her, as sisters.” Baela said to her. “Once the ship is gone, we can appeal to her.”

Father has always said that Lady Rhaenys played a key role in his escape from Dragonstone, but that he also suspects his sisters played a role. Ladies Baela and Rhaena have remained silent on the part they played, but I imagine it mainly had to do with clearing father’s escape route.

At this time, Rhaenyra was still hesitant to declare war; Maester Gerardys makes this very clear in his account. There was still time to avoid it, even if the hardliners in both camps were angling for it. Had the next incident gone differently, I might be writing about my father’s victories for Rhaenyra.

Alas, that is not the situation we find ourselves in.

Chapter Text

The next events happened quickly, from my understanding, especially with Corlys Velaryon finally recovering his wounds. Though he was well advanced in age by this point in his life, he could still fight.

Over it all was my father, still nominally under house arrest but otherwise given relative freedom of movement. I must admit my surprise that his initial ‘imprisonment’ seems to have been rather comfortable.

That was all to change with the murder of Lucerys Velaryon at the hands of Aemond Targaryen. 

Daevar supposed he couldn’t complain about the conditions he was held under. He still got decent food and kept himself as fit as he could; it wouldn’t do for him to return home out of shape. He would never hear the end of it from Kermit if he did, after all. Apart from that, Rhaena had delivered him a few books the night before, mostly at the request of Rhaenyra. The Targaryen histories weren’t nearly as interesting to him as the Vale’s but they kept him entertained. He was lying on the bed, flicking a page just as the door opened to reveal his father.

“Father. Come to see if I’m still alive?” Daevar asked, not turning his attention from the book.

“The Sea Snake has returned. Rhaenyra has a plan now too. We control the Stepstones and are moving a blockade into place in the Gullet, with Meleys supporting it.” Daemon said, resting his hands on his sword. “You’ll have one chance to swear your allegiance now or be imprisoned.”

“Allegiance to whom?” Daevar asked. “You’ll say Rhaenyra, of course, but she’s not the one trying to force the war out of you two, is she?” He set down the book. “Father, she is behaving as a monarch should. And besides, she’s not demanded my allegiance yet, but she will have it once I know that she’ll take a diplomatic approach to ending this.”

“It will come to war, Daevar.” Daemon said softly. From the way Aemond acted at the dinner, he doubted Alicent’s second son would even permit there to be peace. “Treachery must be punished.”

“I will swear my allegiance right now if you can guarantee the safety of Daeron.” Daevar said. “Rhaenys said to me last night that he escaped King’s Landing as well. Guarantee me his safety right now and I’ll swear allegiance right now.”

“You don’t get to make demands of me, boy.” Daemon growled, approaching his son menacingly. Daevar stood up, a hand on his dagger. “You swear allegiance to your mother or you’re guilty of treason.”

“She is NOT my mother!” Daevar shouted, loosening the dagger in its scabbard. Daemon did the same with his own. Much as Daevar could sound like a brat at times, the boy was a decent swordsman, at least. “My mother is Rhea Royce, and she would still be here if you hadn’t killed her!”

“I’ve already warned you to watch your tongue, boy-”

“You can’t even admit to it.” Daevar said, shaking his head. “We’re done here.”

Daemon wanted to grab the boy by his shoulder and force him to obey, but that would likely just anger Rhaenyra even more. Besides, he had to get moving if he wanted to make Harrenhal and then Riverrun in good time. “I had hoped to make you see sense, my wayward son. Rhaenyra lost her mother-”

“There’s a difference in what we went through and you know it.” Daevar said, turning away from his father. Daemon sighed and left. One day the boy would overstep, and then he would face the consequences.

Luke was beyond nervous at being chosen as the envoy to head to Storm’s End. The Baratheons were a proud house, to say the least. He just hoped they wouldn’t be offended by a mere Prince showing up instead of his mother herself. Still, with Jace headed northwards and the others planning the war that was supposedly coming, there was little choice but to send him.

Storm’s End lived up to its name in the end; the weather was so poor that he was barely able to steer Arrax into the courtyard. He managed to land, but as soon as he dismounted, he saw her. 

Vhagar. 

The largest dragon known to the world, and that meant her rider was here. He had never really seen her up close before, and the mere sight of her nearly made him remount Arrax and make for Dragonstone. He couldn’t though. He knew he couldn’t; his mother was counting on him to bring the Baratheon banner to her side, and walking away from here empty-handed was not an option. He approached the soldiers guarding the doors to the single massive tower that was the only real structure the place had apart from its walls; the tower was large enough to house everything a castle would need.

“I am Prince Lucerys Velaryon.” He said. “I bring a message to Lord Borros from the Queen.”

One of the soldiers nodded to his comrades, and they turned to escort Luke inside the Round Hall. This seems prepared . . . he thought. The whole thing was too neat for him to be unexpected. 

His suspicions were proven right when he entered. Though the soldier announced him, Luke’s attention was on Aemond. His uncle had been speaking to one of the Baratheon daughters-he recalled that Rhaenys had told him Lord Borros had four-and knew instantly it could mean no good. He already had an inkling of what had happened.

The sound of thunder brought him back to his senses. “Lord Borros . . .” He began, “I bring a message from my mother, the Queen.”

Borros, seated bolt upright in his throne, regarded him coolly. “Yet earlier this day, I received an envoy from the King.” He said. Luke looked over to see Aemond smirking at him before Lord Borros began again. “Which is it? The House of the Dragon does not seem to know who rules it.” He laughed. “What’s your mother’s message?”

Luke retrieved the scroll from his leather pouch and handed it to one of the soldiers. To the misfortune of Luke, Lord Borros did not know how to read. Waiting for the Maester to arrive began to fray at Luke’s nerves. Aemond looked more menacing than ever in his longcoat, hands clasped behind his back, standing calmly and waiting for what he believed was the inevitable answer. Luke gripped his sword hilt, something Aemond did not fail to notice.

I am the blood of the dragon. I will show no fear; it is the mind-killer , Luke reminded himself. He could not afford to show weakness now.

“‘Remind me of my father’s oath?’” Lord Borros said, leaning forward. “King Aegon at least came with an offer: my swords and banners for a marriage pact.” He continued, confirming Luke’s suspicions as to why Aemond was here. “If I do as your mother bids . . . which of my daughters will you wed, boy?” He demanded.

“My Lord . . . I am not free to marry. I am already betrothed.” Luke replied. He couldn’t stop himself looking at Aemond again; the smirk had turned from a mocking one into a triumphant one. 

“So . . . you come with empty hands.” Borros said. “Go home, pup. And tell your mother that Storm’s End is not some dog she can whistle up to set against her foes.”

Lucerys turned to leave, though he was halted by Aemond calling to him. “A moment, Lord Strong.” He said. All of Luke’s nervousness was gone; if Aemond was going to question his legitimacy here, then he would have to respond. “Did you really think that you could fly about the realm, trying to steal my brother’s throne at no cost?”

“I am not here to fight you. I came as a messenger, not a warrior.” Luke replied, trying to keep his cool.

“A fight would be little challenge.” Aemond said. “No, I want you to put out your eye.” He said, removing the patch he wore over his left eye; the eye that Luke had taken from him. Luke was horrified by the sight of the sapphire embedded in Aemond’s socket. Either that meant the wound had never fully healed, or he had pulled away the skin flap and inserted it. He looked like one of the monsters in the stories his mother had told him when he was little; like something spawned from the Seven Hells themselves. 

“One will serve, as payment for mine. I plan to make a gift of it to my mother.” Aemond continued, pulling out his dagger and tossing it towards Luke. It clattered to the floor halfway between them. “I would not blind you.”

Luke gulped. “No.”

“Then you are craven as well as traitor.” Aemond said, marching forward. Luke began to back up, hands once again going to his sword as Aemond approached. “GIVE ME YOUR EYE OR I WILL TAKE IT, BASTARD!” He snatched up the dagger and closed in.

“NOT IN MY HALL!” Lord Borros roared. Aemond stopped; even he didn’t want to risk making an enemy of the Baratheons here. “The boy came as an envoy. I will not have bloodshed beneath my roof.” He continued. “Take Prince Lucerys back to his dragon. Now .”

The thunderstorm that had started when he was inside the Round Hall had grown more intense, and quickly, Luke mounted Arrax and took off, wishing that his cloak had a hood.. The lightning strikes had illuminated the sky and revealed that Vhagar was no longer on the ground, which only meant one thing. Any thought he had of finding cover in the storm was rapidly thrown aside when he heard Vhagar roaring. 

Above the clouds. Get above the clouds , he reminded himself. Arrax was smaller than Vhagar and more agile; once they broke through the clouds, they would be in the clear. The thought of that however was dashed when Vhagar revealed herself, diving straight for him. Arrax rolled out of the way, and Luke threw her into all sorts of twists and turns to evade their predator. He’s going to kill me! He’s going to kill me!

Luke took Arrax into a dive, skirting the water below them and speeding into a crevice. He had some temporary cover down here, given that Vhagar was too big. This was his way home! He couldn’t see through the rain and darkness all that well, but if he could stay in this crevice until the storm lifted, he would be free!

Unfortunately, neither he nor Aemond had listened to Viserys’ warnings about their control over dragons being an illusion.

Arrax was panicked by Vhagar’s pursuit, and did the only thing she knew how to do: retaliate. She spat fire at Vhagar’s face, which only served to turn the old dragon into a deep rage. Arrax raced for the clouds, knowing that there would be clear sky above them. Luke Looked back frantically. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! 

Then they broke through.

The open sky gave them the security they longed for. True, the air was thin, but that was of little consequence. He would have to tell his mother about-

The last thing Lucerys Velaryon ever saw was Vhagar’s open jaw.

When Rhaenyra had heard what happened, it felt like her world had crashed. Her son, murdered by that filthy one-eyed cunt! They would feel her wrath now. Every one of them would die. There was no holding back anymore; the Greens had started this war, and she was going to end it. First, she needed to see to the half-breed currently being held in his chambers. Opening the door, she found him staring out a window before turning to face her.

“Rhaenyra, has something-” Daevar started.

“You will address me as ‘Your Grace’.” Rhaenyra snarled. “Luke is dead. Murdered by your friend, Aemond.”

“Aemond has not been my friend in some time.” Daevar replied. “Rhaenyra, I’m sorry for Luke-”

“Address me as ‘Your Grace’, or I will have your tongue cut out.” She threatened. “I will have your allegiance by sun-up. Otherwise you will be considered my enemy.”

“Rhae . . .Your Grace,” Daevar corrected himself. “I need to have assurances that Helaena and Daeron will not be harmed.”

“You do not make demands of me, half-breed.” Rhaenyra spat. “I will have my crown or your head. And your squire’s head too, if I must.”

“We’ve done nothing!”

“Quite right. You have done nothing.” Her eyes narrowed. “”You said you would give me your allegiance. Aegon’s brother has stopped any chance of a Great Council from happening. It will be war. Do I have your oath or not?”

“Your Grace-”

“Do I have your oath or not, yes or no?”

Daevar had to be careful here. One wrong move and Rhaenyra could order him executed. “I need to know that my wife and daughter will be safe. They’re not combatants; never have been.”

Rhaenyra sighed. Daevar was right of course; her sweet sister had never been asked to be born into such a treasonous family. “Helaena and Rhea will not be harmed. But Daeron . . .”

“Daeron fled his own family!” Daevar shouted. “He had no part in this!”

“He is also their brother.” She replied. “So long as he is alive, others will rally around him. You will hand him to me.”

“I can't do that.” Daevar replied instantly. “Would you hand over Jace to me if you were in my position?”

Rhaenyra scoffed. Now he was asking questions based on things that would never have happened; Daevar was so far down the line of succession that he was below even Baela and Rhaena. “So I have your answer then. No?” She asked. Daevar was silent. Accepting Rhaenyra’s demands would put Daeron in danger, and that couldn’t happen. Rhaenyra spoke after a few moments. “So be it then. You will face judgment for treason on the morrow. Until then, you will remain confined here.” She said before turning and leaving.

Daevar wanted to scream and shout. All his efforts to try and stop everything from disintegrating had failed. Now Aegon and Rhaenyra would go to war, and both sides would have dragons. All wars end with a victor and vanquished, he thought, the only difference this time is how many will die before we reach the end.

Daevar was unable to sleep that night, even as he lay in the bed. Visions of horrifying battles had filled his head, along with thousands of civilians burning in dragonfire. Was this all his fault? He had taken it upon himself to prevent war breaking out, and now here they were, with Aegon and Rhaenyra raising their banners for war. Aegon already had his sigil; a gold version of the three-headed dragon on a black background. Rhaenyra was yet to have hers.

How will she have me executed? He thought. Beheading, most likely. If she were feeling particularly cruel, it might be a hanging or worse. Luke’s murder had altered her mind, so Gods only knew what she had planned for him. 

The door opened. “Oh, get on with it you son of a whore.” He muttered before seeing the bemused face of Rhaenys Targaryen lean through the doorway, torch in hand.

“Is that any way to speak to a relative?” She asked. Daevar leapt out of the bed.

“What’s happening, Rhaenys?”

“You’re escaping. Your safety here isn’t guaranteed; the longer you stay, the more dangerous it becomes.” She said before gesturing with the torch to hurry on. Daevar grabbed up his sword belt and Lamentation on the way out. He had wanted to grab the bronze cuirass, but there was no time; soldiers could be on them at any second. 

“How am I escaping?” He asked as they emerged into the corridor. The guards on his door had seemingly been dismissed. 

“There’s a longboat waiting for you at the beach. From there, my husband has a ship waiting to take you to Gulltown; you can take horse from there to Runestone..” She replied. 

“Where are the guards?”

“Your father ordered the guards outside your room withdrawn; don’t ask me why.” She replied. That instantly put him on guard, as did the sight of one of his sisters with a torch waiting at the corner. “Rhaena, good to see you. Baela’s waiting?”

“Just a bit further on, before you head into the caves.” Rhaena said. “Farewell, brother.” She said, turning to Daevar. He hugged her tightly before he and Rhaenys continued on their way. Baela was indeed waiting at the caves that led down to the beach, and handed Daevar her torch before hugging him.

“I’m on my own from here, I take it?” he asked.

“There are no guards between here and the beach.” Baela said. “I made sure of it.”

“Just follow the passageway and you’ll be there in five minutes.” Rhaenys said. “I’ve never been much for cloak-and-dagger work, but . . .”

“Come with me.” Daevar blurted out. “The three of you. This isn’t our war.”

“It is, Daevar.” Baela said. “Jace is my betrothed, and I don’t intend to hide after this treason.”

“I cannot go either.” Rhaenys said, looking him straight in the eye. Daevar did not look much like his father, but with his longer hair now, he was much more the image of the man. At least he had never inherited his father’s penchant for violence. “It’s about to become our war; my husband has declared for Rhaenyra.”

“Then . . . this is where we part ways.” He said.

Rhaenys nodded. “Both of my children are gone, Daevar . . . but you’ve felt like a son to me, Daevar. Now go, and become the Targaryen I know you to be.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, and just like that, they were gone. Daevar would’ve lingered, but his instincts took over and he rushed down the passageway before emerging onto the beach. I can see the Dragonmont , he thought. There were riderless dragons in there . . . Vermithor among them. 

Vermithor was the second-largest dragon in existence after Vhagar. The damage he could do in the hands of someone was enormous, and doubtless the Blacks intended to call for riders. No, Vermithor could not be allowed to fall into the hands of any random rider. He was capable of taking the lives of untold thousands of people, and trusting such power to some chancer trying their luck was not going to end well.

Fuck . . . Seven, protect me .

The Dragonmont was not exactly a welcoming place. Effectively a volcano the place was still searing with heat as Daevar walked into it, searching for the massive dragon within. He found himself thanking the Gods he hadn’t brought the cuirass with him, or he was certain he would be roasted. 

It was a veritable maze though. Without any idea of which passage to turn down, he was effectively lost. Not that he meant to be of course, but without having seen even a basic map of the place, he was lost and stumbling through the darkness with naught but a torch to light his way. He knew there was at least one other dragon in here besides Vermithor, so he had to keep an eye out. 

A loud roar sounded through the passages, and he gripped the hilt of Lamentation. Idiot, he thought, what’s a sword going to do against a dragon? Willing himself to be calm, he let go of the hilt and made his way further into the Dragonmont, following the sound of the roar. Eventually, he stumbled into a large chamber and saw him.

Vermithor.

The massive dragon only showed his head to glow in the light of Daevar’s torch, but it was enough to terrify Daevar. Vermithor’s head alone was bigger than Daevar was, and the way the torchlight glinted off of his bronze scales didn’t help matters. Daevar had never claimed a dragon of course, and had no clue as to how it was supposed to go. Either he would end up mounting Vermithor’s saddle, or get roasted. Please don’t let Rhea grow up without a father , he quietly prayed. 

Vermithor bared his teeth; one of them would be as tall as Daevar was. Gulping, he tried to wrack his brain for any Valyrian he knew. How did that damn lullaby go again? He cursed. Rhaenys had taught it to him as a child, and now he searched his memory for it. I hope I’ve got this right . . . 

“ Drakari pykiros
Tīkummo jemiros
Yn lantyz bartossa
Saelot vāedis

Hen ñuhā elēnī:
Perzyssy vestretis
Se gēlȳn irūdaks
Ānogrose

Perzyro udrȳssi
Ezīmptos laehossi
Hārossa letagon
Aōt vāedan

Hae mērot gierūli:
Se hāros bartossi
Prūmȳsa sōvīli
Gevī dāerī”

It sounded right to him, and evidently to Vermithor as well. The dragon closed his jaw, seemingly curious now. Well, it was an improvement to say the least; Vermithor didn’t seem to think he looked as tasty as before. Falling back on instinct, Daevar went back to what he had learnt when breaking a horse: gain his target’s trust. He reached out with his hand, still trying to remember what little Valyrian he knew. “ Dohaerās Vermithor.” He said, not quite in a shout, but loud enough that it echoed throughout the cavern.

He turned his head away, afraid Vermithor might bite off his arm . . . then he felt it. The scaly skin of the dragon as Vermithor nudged his hand. Daevar released a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding in and opened his eyes to the sight. A dragon had decided to accept his trust over roasting him, and that was as good a result as any. 

He slowly made his way around to the back of Vermithor and spied the enormous dragon’s saddle. It would be a bit of a climb, but he had climbed harsher cliffs in the Vale. Setting the torch down, he clambered up Vermithor’s side and into the saddle. The principle of strapping himself in was fairly simple, and he didn’t exactly fancy falling off mid-flight. Looking over Vermithor’s neck, it seemed instinctual what to say once he remembered the Valyrian for ‘fly’.

“Runestone, Vermithor. Sōvēs.”

The enormous dragon growled his obedience and began moving his wings. Daevar hunched down as Vermithor seemingly crouched, then took flight. Unable to see, Daevar kept himself low in the saddle until they burst from the heat of the Dragonmont into the cool night air. 

The Bronze Fury, for the first time since the great king Jaehaerys, had a rider.

My father at this point was not committed to fighting the war. His intention was to use Vermithor, Dreamfyre and Tessarion as a means to ensure the Vale’s neutrality. Regardless, his claiming of Vermithor would end up sparking a whisper campaign in the Riverlands, one that I strongly suspect had Larys Strong’s fingerprints over it.

What my father didn’t know at the time was that both Rhaenyra and Aegon took this as a declaration of war.

Chapter Text

With war now a fact, Aegon and Rhaenyra scrambled to alert their allies. Ravens were sent to all corners of the realm, but the Blacks had one decisive advantage: dragons. A dragon is faster than a raven, after all. It was thus that while ravens were dispatched to Oldtown and Storm’s End with orders to rally their forces, Jacaerys Velaryon and Daemon Targaryen had gone on their own missions; Jacaerys to the Vale and then the North, and Daemon to Riverrun.

All the while, my father carefully planned his next move.

The Eyrie

Jace had been expecting a warmer welcome than this from Lady Jeyne when he arrived that night. His grandmother was an Arryn after all. While he had his doubts about being able to bring Lady Jeyne to his mother’s side, at the very least he had expected to be received in private, not before her entire court. He was eerily aware of the Moon Door in the middle of the Great Hall, but steeled himself. “My Lady, the Greens, led by King Aegon, have usurped the Iron Throne. My mother, Queen Rhaenyra, is the rightful heir, as decreed by her father, King Viserys. You are called now to remember your oath.”

“My oath?!” Jeyne shouted as she stood up, unable to contain her rage. “Yes, I swore an oath, and we do not take those lightly . . . but your mother has done little to repay my faith.”

“Your mother married Daemon Targaryen, a man who has committed innumerable sins against the people of the Vale.” Jessamyn said, eager to support her lover. “Lady Jeyne’s loyalty to your mother has hardly been repaid by that marriage to a man who murdered Lady Rhea, disowned a boy of four after having his claim rejected, remarried before the mourning period passed, and then beat one of our highest-ranking lords.”

Jace gulped. “Daemon’s guilt was never-”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” Jeyne growled through her teeth before collecting herself. “Oaths cut both ways, my Prince.” She regarded the Prince coolly; the boy was new to the diplomatic world and it was unlikely he had been taught all the niceties of it. “Quite apart from the Vale’s many grievances with Prince Daemon, do you know what I fear, Prince Jacaerys?” 

Jace was silent for a moment. He hadn’t prepared for this, and wracked his mind to try and think of something before he was laughed out of the Eyrie. “Armies, My Lady?”

“I do not fear armies, My Prince. It was a dragon that forced our submission during the Conquest.” Jeyne replied. The story had been told to people often enough. “If you are asking me to call my banners and declare for your mother, you must have a plan to deal with the two dragons currently in residence at Runestone.”

Jace was silent. He had counted on Daeron siding with his mother and brothers. His returning to Runestone was unexpected to say the least; evidently he had reasons for remaining loyal to Daevar that ran deeper than his brothers. Was there a plan in process at Runestone to crown Daeron king as a challenge to Aegon and Rhaenyra? The Vale had the manpower to back such a claim, that was certain. 45,000 men, Daemon said, assuming they are fully mobilised . “I . . . My Lady, only one of those dragons is bred for war-”

“I would not stake my family’s future on that, my Prince. A dragon is a dragon, and it can be used for what purpose their rider deems fit.”

If only you knew. “So you will not support us then?”

“Will your mother set aside her marriage to Daemon?” Jessamyn shot back. 

“If she does not, then there is nothing more to discuss.” Jeyne added.

Jace was furious. He wanted to lash out and label Jeyne an oathbreaker in front of the entire court. It would be an easy matter to bring Vermax up here and bring them all to heel . . . but that was uncertain. Even if he managed it, a dictated peace was an unstable one. Not to mention he had no guarantee that the Lords of the Vale would follow an oath made under threat of being torched by a dragon.

He turned on his heel and left as Jeyne called an end to business for the day. As he left the Eyrie and made to head down the Giant’s Lance to where Vermax was waiting, he was intercepted. “Such a shame to walk away empty-handed after all this trouble.” His interceptor said. The man was dressed in the armour of the Arryns, tall and proud, with a crop of dark blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. “Ser Eldric Arryn, My Prince.”

“Please to make your acquaintance, Ser Eldric.” Jace replied warily. He knew of Eldric’s father Arthur, and his rebellions against Lady Jeyne. Granted, Ser Eldric had warned everyone of his father’s second rebellion, but that was a long time past.

“As I am yours, My Prince.” Eldric said, bowing. “That woman-rather, that harpy-has spurned you, I see.”

“I cannot say I blame her.” Jace said, turning to look at the doors of the Eyrie. 

“I would be remiss in my duties if I let you fly away without anything.” Eldric said, draping a hand over Jace’s shoulder and leading him away from the entrance; away from others. “I can make sure you leave with something.”

“What are you saying, Ser Eldric?” Jace asked. Did all people have to be so cryptic when asking for something?

“Give me a week and I can put twelve thousand swords at your command.” Eldric said. “I have been quietly building an alliance for some time, and now have a chance to strike.”

“Twelve thousand . . .” Jace said. It was a sizable host, to be sure, and if Eldric could come up with the numbers, it might be enough to be able to bring the Vale into the fold. Only there was no way someone like Eldric Arryn would do this from the good of his heart. “What is it you want in return.”

“A simple acknowledgement of the rightful succession of the Vale.” Eldric said. “If I can put these men under your mother’s banner, I want recognition of my father as Lord of the Eyrie and Defender of the Vale. Of course, he is currently imprisoned and his mind is not what it was, so that would be accompanied by naming me Lord Protector.”

Jace sighed. The idea of cutting a deal with Eldric Arryn of all people was not something he was eager to do; he had heard all sorts of stories about the man from Daevar. His father’s reputation as a remorseless rebel gave him pause too, but . . . damn it all, he has the right of it, Jace thought. There was no way he could leave the Vale without something to show for it. “You just want recognition and nothing else.”

“Yes, of course.” Eldric replied. For now.

“Can you guarantee those swords?”

“Indeed I can.”

Jace sighed. “Fine. We have an accord. I’ll have my brother Luke come to support your forces; he and Arrax should be able to match Daeron and Tessarion.”

“Wonderful. I look forward to your mother’s recognition. In the meantime, i will send word to my allies.”

You had best hold up your end of the deal, or I will kill you myself, Jace thought.

Runestone

It was a bumpy flight to say the least. Daevar had only ridden on the back of Dreamfyre when Helaena was flying her, but now he was the one in control. Or at least, that was the theory; his uncle had always said that dragons were beasts with minds of their own, and he was thus far more inclined to side with his uncle.

Vermithor had not exactly flown in a straight line to Runestone, throwing in occasional jerks of movement in what was seemingly an effort to make sure that Daevar was still paying attention. The attempts Daevar had made at course correcting were seemingly ignored by the dragon, anf for a terrifying moment, he thought they would end up in the Eyrie’s courtyard. Much to his relief, they landed outside the walls of Runestone in the early hours of the morning, with two mesmerised guards standing out the front gate. Daevar marched up to them. “Find my wife and squire and bring them down here. Now!” He ordered. The guard hesitated for a moment, but the sight of the giant dragon proved more persuasive than anything Daevar could’ve said. He shouted for the gate to be opened and rushed inside.

“Fuck me, is that you and a fucking dragon?!” Kermit said. He had been rotating off guard duty outside the armoury when they’d heard the by now familiar wings and roar. “You actually fucking claimed one?!” He exclaimed, hugging Daevar tightly

“It was either that or leave the second-largest dragon alive to some chancer wanting to try his luck.” Daevar said, breaking apart from his friend. “All the damage he could cause in the hands of someone without good intent is what made me claim him.” He added. And he didn't roast me alive, so I consider that a good start .

The guard returned a few minutes later with Helaena and Daeron, though both of them had hastily thrown on what clothes they could find and could feel the bit from the cold early morning air. Their eyes widened at the sight of Vermithor; he was at least twice the size of Dreamfyre and three or four times the size of Tessarion. “You . . . you claimed one?” Daeron said, hardly believing it himself.

“Like I said to Kermit, I couldn’t risk the damage he would cause in the wrong hands.” He said as Helaena took his hand, her eyes still firmly fixed on Vermithor. He looked eerily similar to the dragon in her dreams; the one who had attacked the black and green dragon after shrieking in alarm when they attacked each other. 

“You’re a rider now.” She said quietly, turning to face him. “Daevar, I . . . will he even fit in the cave?”

“I doubt it. But I’m uneasy about leaving around to fly about.” Daevar said, gazing into Vermithor’s eyes. 

“Vermithor’s apparently well-behaved as far as dragons go.” Daeron said. “That’s what father always said to me. He always said Vermithor took after the Conciliator in more ways than one.”

The commotion had woken up most of the castle by this point, and though many of them had grown used to the sight of dragons now, they were still in awe of Vermithor’s size. Thankfully, the giant dragon didn’t seem to mind too much; he had been fed by Daemon before they left and these humans seemed not to bother him too much.

“What’s he even supposed to eat?” Alyssa asked, seeing the beast. She somehow doubted even Joffrey would be able to fight it. “And I don’t want some witty remark.”

“Those are all I have.” Kermit replied. “Try to stay calm, Ben.” He said to his squire. The boy merely nodded, eyes wide and jaw hanging open at the sight of the great bronze monster.

“Meat.” Daeron said. “But it has to be roasted by themselves; they won’t eat it unless they’ve cooked it with their own flames.”

“Picky eaters . . .” Kermit joked. 

“And . . . he’ll obey me?” Daevar wondered out loud.

“They only obey commands in Valyrian.” Helaena said. “You know some, right?”

“Some, yes. I wouldn;t be here if not.” He muttered. “Erm . . . what’s the Valyrian for ‘calm’?” He asked sheepishly. He knew some Valyrian, but some words had always been too difficult for him to remember. Or pronounce correctly for that matter. Helaena just smiled. 

“Lykirī.” She said. Daevar turned and repeated the command to Vermithor before asking Helaena what to say if he wanted him to stay outside the cave. Helaena again translated for him, and he said it in Valyrian to Vermithor, who actually seemed to grunt before settling down next to the cave. “You will soar on bronze wings.” She said to Daevar, tightening the grip on his hand. 

“I already have.” Daevar replied, though there was a look in Helaena’s eyes that told him this wasn’t over. There would be a long night ahead to make sure Vermithor was calm in his new surroundings.

Riverrun, some days later

Harrenhal had always been an imposing castle. Built by Harren the Black, it likely would’ve stopped any conventional army. When the Conqueror came though, Balerion the Black Dread had burned Harrenhal, cooking the defenders in their armour. It was said to be a monument to Targaryen power, but Daemon simply thought the reason it had been left in its state was because the cost was too high to rebuild it. 

He had taken the castle easily enough with around a thousand Rivermen loyal to Rhaenyra; House Strong had not actually rallied any fighting men as of yet. Technically, they had betrayed House Tully by taking part in the assault, but that was of little consequence. The Tullys were the weakest of the Great Houses after all, and owed their status and influence to the Targaryens. He had sent a raven to Riverrun demanding that a party be sent to meet with him, but the reply had been a terse demand for him to come to Riverrun.

And so, he landed Caraxes outside the walls of Riverrun before the drawbridge lowered to allow him in. The sight of Tully soldiers training with spear and sword in the courtyard was not an intimidating one, but it had been designed to send a message, as Daemon well knew. He was only invited into the Great Hall after a delay of course; he was familiar with these games. 

Waiting for him in the Great Hall were a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties with auburn hair and a hard look on his face, as well as a boy who looked younger around Jace’s age. “Whom do I have the honour of addressing?” Daemon asked.

“Ser Elmo Tully, Lord Regent of Riverrun and my son, Oscar.” The man said. “You’re here to demand our swords for Rhaenyra.”

Short and to the point. I like it. “You’re very intuitive, Ser Elmo.” Daemon smiled. “But I thought I was to address Lord Grover.”

“My grandfather is indisposed and quite unwell, as he is most days.” Elmo replied. “You demand our swords for Rhaenyra, yes?” He asked again. The man was insistent, Daemon had to give him that. Nothing less than a straight answer would satisfy this man; Daemon had deal with these sorts of men before.

“Yes, I have. To remind you of the oath that was sworn.”

“I swore no such oath.” Elmo shot back. “And my grandfather has been carrying on about Aegon being the rightful sovereign.”

“Your grandfather swore an oath to Rhaenyra Targaryen. Aegon has usurped the Iron Throne.” Daemon said. “This is not a complicated situation.”

“It is in fact, a very complicated situation.” Elmo replied. “My eldest son Kermit is currently serving with the Royce Guard. If I were to declare for Rhaenyra, then I cannot guarantee his safety, especially with three dragons now in residence there.”

“Three?” That caught Daemon off-guard. By his count, there were only Tessarion and Dreamfyre at Runestone. Either Ser Elmo was bluffing or Daevar had escaped and claimed a dragon in the process. “What do you mean three?”

“I mean that Vermithor has found a new rider; Kermit sent a raven saying so.” Elmo held up a strip of paper to indicate the message. “Now Kermit may not be the greatest knight in the world, but he is no liar.”

“It will be treason if you do not support us, Ser Elmo.” Daemon said, recovering himself as best he could. “Treason will be punished.”

“Would you go to war in my situation?” Elmo replied. Daemon opened his mouth to respond, but no words would come out. It was difficult to reply to what Elmo had said because it was so reasonable; he couldn't be expected to fight while his eldest son and heir was with a potentially hostile force. None of it was helped by Daevar being married to one of Alicent’s daughters and having one of her sons as his squire. Damn that fucking boy and his fucking conscience. Fortune pisses on me.

“If my brother’s not safe, we can’t march.” Oscar said, careful to support his father.

“Your war does not concern House Tully, my prince.” Elmo said, a bit less forcefully. “It is a dynastic war within your family that we have no interest in fighting; you’ll get the same answer from the Blackwoods seeing as Lord Willem’s heir is my son’s squire. The swords of Riverrun will remain at Riverrun.”

Daemon knew he could bring the man to heel with one attack from Caraxes, but much like the situation he had faced before Lady Jeyne over a decade and a half ago, a violent solution would likely cause more problems. At the very least, it would make other prospective allies more reluctant to back Rhaenyra.

Daemon let go of his grip on Dark Sister’s hilt; he hadn’t even realised he was ready to draw it. “Fine. Have it your way. But when this is over, treason will be punished with the fury of a thousand suns.”

“I am the only thing stopping this house from marching for Aegon.” Elmo replied coldly. “This audience is at an end.”

For now, Daemon thought as he marched out of Riverrun. He did briefly consider once more attacking the castle, but wrote it off again. Instead, he mounted Caraxes and turned for Harrenhal, where he was informed that Ravens were going out to the other Riverlands houses. One had also arrived from King’s Landing, though not officially. He smiled when he read it. Everything was in place. 

He had a raven prepared for Dragonstone, with a simple message written on it.

An eye for an eye, a son for a son. Lucerys shall be avenged.

History should record that Prince Jacaerys’ alliance with Ser Eldric was not one reached with ease; given Ser Eldric’s slippery nature, I cannot imagine a man like Prince Jacaerys was happy to ally with him, given what my mother and father have told me. Even Uncle Daeron, for all his dislike of Jacaerys, has said that he does not believe that such an alliance was formed willingly.

My father would not actually ride Vermithor into battle for some time, which many have described as being somewhat pointless; I would be inclined to agree, but one must understand my father’s thinking. He had not grown up a Targaryen, and had likely only heard stories of the devastation that Dragons had wrought upon the world. 

Chapter Text

What I am about to describe to you was the most horrific incident of the war, and one of the worst crimes committed during it. It is certainly not the only crime committed during the war, but is almost unique in how horrific it is. There was no reason for it. There was no purpose to it. It was simple cruelty, and I would strongly suggest that anyone rationalising it is not entirely sane.

There is never any reason to murder a child. 

King's Landing

Nesaena smiled as she handed out bread to the people reaching for it. She had come down into the city with a small escort to distribute food to the people of King’s Landing, and it seemed to be having the desired effect, particularly as she’d brought Jaehaerys and Jaehaera with her. No one could be angry at a pair of six year olds. She saw her son pass a chunk of bread to another boy; his tattered clothes contrasted with the fine doublet that Jaehaerys was wearing.

“Mama, why are we doing this?” He asked for what must have been the hundredth time today. Nesaena smiled and ruffled his hair.

“Not everyone is fortunate enough to be born a Prince or Princess, Jaehaerys. We must look after our subjects.” She said. And ensure that we are seen in a positive light as well . Her grandfather had stressed on her the importance of winning the people over to their side, and Nesaena had never done anything to antagonise anyone, unlike Aegon or Aemond. As it was, her brother-husband had held a feast the night before to celebrate Aemond’s killing of Luke. It would be neccessary to lessen people’s anger over it. 

“Alright, mama.” Jaehaerys smiled. Jaehaera meanwhile remained impassive as she handed some bread to Nesaena, who handed it to a woman with a babe at her breast. Jaehaera had never displayed many emotions since she was born, and that had been something that Nesaena initially despaired at. 

“Will we see Maelor soon?” She asked out of nowhere. Nesaena smiled at her daughter.

“Yes, Jaehaera, we will see Maelor soon. He’s sleeping right now.” She smiled and turned to the crowd. “This bread is given to you by my husband, King Aegon. We will not allow the people of this city to starve despite the threats of the Black Queen!” She proclaimed. “Your King and Queen will never see the people of this city suffer under the misrule of her and her mad husband!”

“Aegon! Long live King Aegon!” Shouted some of the crowd. Others shouted her name. Good; the people of the city would soon be on their side permanently. 

“We have not flown to confront our enemies on dragonback because the safety of our people will always be paramount.” She continued as the last of the food was passed out. “You may be assured, you will always be safe and happy under the watchful eye of your King and Queen.”

“Whore!” A shout came from the crowd. It was only one voice, and Nesaena was able to pick out who it had come from almost immediately. He was an older man, with greying, unkempt hair and roughspun clothes, and frightfully thin, but he spat defiance. “Your brother’s a kinslayer! Your king is false!”

“You challenge the succession, ser?” Nesaena asked, her eyes narrowing at the man. 

“Rhaenyra is Queen!”

We shall see about that. “Ser Rickard, seize this man.”

Ser Rickard Thorne nodded his head and waded through the crowd with two men of the City Watch, seizing the man by his shoulders and dragging him before Nesaena. Jaehaerys’ eyes widened at the display; Mama had said that this was going to be fun, but this man was shouting bad things at them.

“Do you see these people, ser?” She asked. “They recognise the true sovereign, yet you insist on spouting treason.” She leaned in closely to whisper in the man’s ear. “And labelling me a whore in front of my children is something that I cannot forgive.” She drew back, turning to address the crowd again. “You see, everyone? This man declares me whore and usurper, in front of my children no less.” She locked eyes with the mother in the crowd. “As your Queen, I shall never allow such vile lies to be spoken freely. Ser Rickard . . . take him to the Black Cells."

She shut out the man’s pleading for mercy before repeating the message to the crowd. Treason would never go unpunished so long as she and Aegon reigned. There were cheers of course. A  handful of boos and some silence, but that was to be expected. After all, the city was not completely supportive of Aegon; his stupidity over the years had turned many common people against him.

"What will happen to that man, Mama?” Jaehaerys asked as they climbed into the wheelhouse to be taken back to the Red Keep.

“He will learn what it means to tell lies to people, Jaehaerys.” She replied before turning to Jaehaera. “Are you excited to see your younger brother?”

Jaehaera nodded, but there was no smile from her. Nesaena held in a sigh and smiled instead. “Once we’ve got him, we’ll get some fresh honeycakes from the kitchen for you. How does that sound?”

This time, her daughter managed a half-smile, but that was enough to make Nesaena’s whole day. Jaehaerys meanwhile could barely contain his excitement; he clearly had a taste for the sweet treat.

Bellies full of honeycakes, Jaehaera and Jaehaerys suddenly became more cooperative. It was just as well too, considering that Maelor had woken up by the time they returned. The little boy was the constant focus of attention from her older son. He will be a better brother than Daeron has been , she thought. Her mother had doubtless helped Daeron fly away, and she would answer for it in time. Once she had convinced Aegon to go to war, that was. The idiot was still hoping for a Great Council.

With the sun going down, Jaehaerys asked to see their grandmother. The poor boy was too kind for the world; the morning Daeron fled he just asked when he was coming back. Nesaena had little wish to see her mother, but she couldn’t deny her children. With Maelor in her arms, she took the three of them towards her mother’s chamber, but . . . something was wrong. The City Watchmen who were supposed to be guarding the halls to the chambers were nowhere to be seen. 

“Mother?” Nesaena called out. “Mother, are you here?” She called out again, setting Maelor down.  

Still no response.

“Is grandmama sick?” Jaehaera asked. 

“She’s fine, Jaehaera.” Nesaena replied, though she wasn’t sure of that herself; her mother had never been the picture of complete stability. She pushed open the door to her mother’s chambers, and was alarmed to find that no one was there. No . . . mother would have told someone if she wasn’t here . “Come, children. We’ll see your grandmother another time.”

No sooner had she started for the door again than she felt a knife at her throat. “Scream and you all die.” A man rasped. “You know why we’re here?” 

She barely had time to respond before a second assailant-a weedy, thin man- seized Maelor by the head. Jaeaherys tried to rush to his brother’s aid, but the man kicked him aside before putting his knife to Maelor’s throat. “They know why we’re ‘ere, Blood. Let’s get on with it.” 

“I’s in charge here Cheese, not you.” The man holding the knife at Nesaena’s throat said. She could feel the hard muscles of a soldier on him; though she couldn't see the man’s face, she knew he was more muscled than his companion. “We’re here because your one-eyed brother killed Prince Lucerys. And we’s got a pretty penny for this, too.” He growled. Nesaena tried to pull her head away, but felt the knife dig into her skin. “Move again and all of you die.

“P-please, my children-” She sobbed, feeling tears for in her eyes.

“Quiet!” Blood said, the spittle flying onto Nesaena’s cheek. “Whores don't get to talk.”

Jaehaera looked like she wanted to cry, but as ever, her emotions failed her. Maelor was crying so loudly that Cheese had to cover his mouth, waving the knife at Jaehaerys and threatening to gut his three-year old brother if he so much as let out a sob. 

“As I was sayin’, your brother killed Lucerys, an’ in this world, we lowborns have to make our own justice.” Blood said, an evil chuckle escaping him. 

“W-who are you?” Nesaena’s voice wobbled. This time, there was laughter from Cheese

“We’re debt collectors.” He grinned evilly. “An eye for an eye . . . a son for a son. An’ you get to choose.”

It took her a second to process that. They . . . they were going to choose which of her children was going  to . . .

What . . . they’re . . . no. No no no no no no! NO! NO!

They couldn’t ask that of her! They were children! “They’re children-”

“Choose. More than what the Queen got.” Cheese said. “And we’re only after one. T’ square things. Won’t hurt the rest o’ you fine folks. Which one d’you want t’ lose, Your Grace?”

They were going to force her to choose which of her sons would die.

The tears finally flowed as the awful reality settled on her. They weren’t going to leave until she chose which of her sons was to die. All this . . . over fucking LUKE?! “Kill me!” She shrieked. “I’m the Queen, they’re just children! They have no part in this! I’m the one you want to kill!” She begged. She could see them considering it for a brief moment. Please just don’t hurt my children . . .

Blood shook his head. “No. It has to be a boy.” He said, pressing the knife even tighter against Nesaena’s throat. Evidently he was trained somewhat, because the blade was causing enough pain already without drawing blood. “Choose!”

“Kill me, please!” She begged again. “I’m Aegon’s wife! I’m Aemond’s sister! Kill me! Please just leave my-”

“ENOUGH!” Blood roared. “Make your choice. Now!”

Nesaena cried. The choice was impossible. Asking her to choose which child would die was beyond cruel; it was behaviour more worthy of a beast than anything. The tears flowed without end, only for her to be interrupted by the voice of Cheese. “If you don’t choose, we’s going t’ have you and your little girl then kill both your sons. Choose!”

Nesaena begged again for them to kill her, prompting a warning from Blood that if she did it again, he would make good on Cheese’s threat to rape Jaehaera. These men were monsters in every sense. What kind of man threatens to rape a six year old girl?!

“Choose or they both die!” Blood ordered.

Damn you, Daemon and fucking Rhaenyra. “ . . . Maelor . . .” She managed to say through broken tears. He was still too young to know what was going on, and she would still have her oldest son. And when this is over, I will torture Rhaenyra’s precious Jace to death in front of her .

“That’s this prick, yeah?” Cheese said. “You hear that, boy?” He said, kneeling down to Maelor’s height. “Your mama wanted you dead.”

Blood released his grip on Nesaena and shoved her forward before marching to Jaehaerys. He picked the boy up by the scruff of his neck, and pressed him against the wall.

Then the knife slammed home.

Aemond was the first to find what had happened. He had been planning to visit his mother and instead walked in to see Nesaena’s children crying, and then turned to see his sister wailing and holding the now-headless body of the six-year-old Prince Jaehaerys Targaryen. Shouting for guards, he ordered the entire Red Keep to be locked down and for Aegon to be found.

For once, Aegon wasn’t drowning his sorrows but writing something for a raven when he was alerted. He charged through the halls before all but breaking down the doors of his mother’s chambers, being the second to survey the scene. The first thing he did was rush to Jaehaera and Maelor, checking to see if they were alright before embracing Nesaena. For once, she didn;t push him away.

Their mother was found in one of the side rooms, bound and gagged alongside her chambermaid, who had been strangled to death by the assassins. Forced to listen to the whole thing, Alicent was barely holding herself together and was taken away to try and recover. Otto and Criston were the next to arrive, and the brutality of it stunned even them. To murder an innocent child in front of their mother and siblings . . .

“We will find these monsters, Your Grace.” Otto said. “And Lord Larys will take his time with them.”

“ . . . no.” Aegon replied, standing up and facing his grandfather. “Because of you, we have lost Harrenhal. Because of you, an army is gathering against us in the Vale. Because of you, the Greyjoys are raiding the Westerlands. Because of you, we are now facing enemies within the Reach itself.” He said. There was an eerie calmness to his voice, but his true feelings were shown in his eyes; and they promised nothing but fire and blood. “It is because of you this happened, grandfather.” He growled. “You are no longer my Hand.”

“What?” Otto said, stunned.

“I will not suffer your failures any further.” He ripped the pin from Otto’s doublet. “You are nothing anymore.” He turned to Cole. “Ser Criston . . . congratulations. You are now Hand of the King.”

He heard Cole babble out a thanks and his grandfather protesting, but the decision was made. He knelt down next to Nesaena again, and turning her head towards him, kissed her gently. Surprisingly, she didn't try to bite his tongue off. When he pulled back, he saw the same promise of violent revenge in her eyes that she no doubt saw in his.

It was only after that Aegon allowed himself the luxury of losing his temper.

Daevar and Kermit had been training in the courtyard while Helaena, Daeron and Ben watched when a rainstorm cut it short. The weather was getting colder of course, but they were yet to see any snow down here even if it had been reported in the Eyrie. Even so, the suddenness of the rain had sent them running for cover under the wooden awning over the keep’s entrance.

“Ser Gerold always said that you can't predict a battlefield’s condition.” Daevar said, trying to goad Kermit into sparring in the rain. 

“He also said not to train when there is a risk of severe injury.” Kermit replied, gesturing at the rain. “And I don’t quite fancy slipping and breaking my ankle.”

“You’re wearing armour, you dolt.” Daevar said, shaking his head. Helaena laughed, holding Rhea in her arms. The little girl had inherited the classic Targaryen look, save for the brown eyes which were clearly her father’s. “Does it really have to be our squires who do it?"

“I’m not sure I want to spar in the rain either to be honest.” Daeron said. Ben nodded in agreement; for all his bravado he could still seem like a little kid at times. And he hated the rain, which was ironic when one considered that he grew up in the Riverlands. Truth be told, they were all trying to distract themselves; the death of Luke had set the Greens and Blacks firmly on the path to war if something wasn’t done soon.

“My lord, we . . . received this from King’s Landing.” Carrick said. The Septon had Maester Barden with him too, and judging by how pale their faces were, something was badly wrong. Curious, Daevar took the strip of paper that Carrick was holding. 

“Probably asking for our support.” Daevar said, rolling his eyes as he began to read the message. 

He had to read it a few times to fully process it before handing it to Kermit and wandering into the rain. 

“What does it say?” Daeron asked. Kermit’s own face was betraying the horror at what he had read. 

“It . . . Jaehaerys is dead . . . murdered . . . they . . . they made Nesaena choose which of her sons . . .” He stammered. It was too horrific to put into words, and the look on Kermit’s face was replicated on Helaena’s, Daeron’s and Ben’s own. As for Daevar, he had wandered into the middle of the courtyard, removing his cuirass and letting it fall to the muddy ground. The rain stuck to his gambeson, soaking it through and weighing it down. 

He stood there silently for over a minute before finally turning to the sky, looking straight at the clouds. The rain pounded on his face, hair sticking to his head. 

“HAVE WE ALL GONE MAD?!”

Jaehaerys was a boy of six, who had barely stopped chewing his toys. He had never so much as ridden a dragon before he was considered a fair target by my grandfather. And done in front of his siblings and mother in the most horrific way possible . . . it was the act of a madman who could only be hopelessly deranged enough to consider a collection of children as targets.

If the Seven Hells do exist, I hope my grandfather is burning in the hottest of them without relief. At least that would be some small justice.

Chapter Text

The aftermath of the vicious Blood and Cheese incident would have dire ramifications for what was to come. Both the Blacks and Greens had committed crimes that could not be walked back. They were now at war, and the Dance of the Dragons-as it has become known-would prove to be the most devastating in the realm’s history. 

For my father, he now had to face a choice: choose a side, or stay out. Much as I’d like to say he reached his decision solely because of me, I think that Lord Kermit’s well-earned disappointment in him played a role. It was, after all, his home region where the war would be mainly fought.

They were all sitting around the central table of the Great Hall. Daevar had a mind to call the castle’s council together, but figured that he needed to make his decision with everyone important present. Helaena’s eyes were bloodshot from crying; her sister had done nothing to deserve what had happened. Rhea was held tight at her chest, despite the fact she was sleeping. 

“So . . . Aegon or Rhaenyra?” Asked Kermit. He was sitting next to Maester Barden, who for once wasn’t chafing at his presence. “Pretty shit choice we have in front of us, isn’t it?” He added. Ben, sitting next to him, grunted in agreement.

“I had thought that we could avert the worst.” Daevar said. “Even after the Greens usurped the crown . . .”

“A war was inevitable at that point, My Lord.” Barden said. “As soon as Rhaenyra began sending ravens, she couldn’t back down, and neither could Aegon.” he sighed. “By virtue of their crowns, neither of them could afford to back down.”

“Barden is right.” Willam said. “The one who did back down would’ve looked like a fool.”

“This was my failure.” Daevar said. “I thought war could be avoided.”

“It was our brother and your father that did this.” Daeron said. “They were the ones who pushed us to this point.”

“Jaehaerys was a boy of six . . .” Helaena said, her voice wobbling. Daevar took her hand, trying to steady her. Even Arrow, tucked away in one corner of the room, sensed something was wrong, padded over and nudged her slightly. 

“It was barbaric.” Gerold spat. “Murdering a child . . .”

“May he burn in the hottest of the Seven Hells.” Julia said quietly, though that said more than if she had shouted it.

“The hottest parts of the Seven Hells are reserved for others, My Lady.” Septon Carrick said, turning to Daevar. “I’m afraid we must make a choice, My Lord. We must back either Aegon or Rhaenyra.”

“Or someone else.” Daevar said. “We have a potential claimant in this room.” He turned to Daeron. The boy’s face showed a mix of surprise and terror at the suggestion; he had never been trained to rule anything!

“M-me?” Daeron asked, pointing to himself.

“Why not? You’re a King’s son. Your claim is just as legitimate as Aegon and Rhaenyra’s You’ve been in battle. You have the respect of soldiers.” Daevar said. He hoped Daeron would at least listen to what he was saying; they would have a far easier time declaring him for the Iron Throne than simply finding someone else. 

“I . . . I’m not meant to be King, Daevar.” Daeron replied. “I don’t know how to rule . . . I know dragons and that’s it.”

“The same might be said for Aegon or Rhaenyra.” Julia said. “You have the most legitimate claim to the crown here.”

"What about Helaena?” Daeron said. “She’s older than me.”

“I’ll never sit on that throne.” Helaena said quickly. 

“Then neither will I.” Daeron said. “I’m renouncing my claim.” He added. Daevar sighed; his best hope of getting a decent person onto the Iron Throne was gone. He was back to where he’d started, except this time he was starting with even less than what he had the first time around. 

“Fine” He sighed, his decision made. “We’ll stay here, fortify Runestone, and wait out the storm.” Someone will have to pick up the pieces when it’s all over. “Agreed?”

There was a gentle murmuring of agreement from everyone prompting an outraged Kermit to stand up so quickly that he knocked his chair over. “No! I don’t agree!” He shouted. 

“Kermit, this isn’t our war.” Daevar said, hoping to talk his friend down from saying something outrageous.

“It’s my home that’s going to be torched! The Vale might be fine, but the Riverlands won’t be!” Kermit shouted. He knew he was right as well; Harrenhal had already fallen while the Brackens had declared for Aegon and other houses for Rhaenyra. The Riverlands’ central location promised that the fighting there would be vicious as both sides tried to gain the advantage.

“Mine too . . .” Ben said quietly. Was Daevar really going to let them down?

“I could never stand on the same field as Daemon or Aemond . . . but you have an existing claim, too Daevar.” Kermit pointed out. It was a thin one, but it did exist. “Daevar, you’re a Targaryen by your father. You have a claim on that alone. I can’t follow Aegon or Rhaenyra . . . but I would follow you.”

“Ser Kermit’s right.” Gerold said. “It is a thin claim, but a claim nonetheless.”

“No.” Daevar snapped at Gerold. “I am not fighting a war just to seat myself on the Iron Throne.”

“But it wouldn’t be for yourself. It would be to prevent others’ ascension.” Gerold replied. It went unsaid of course that the danger here was that it would be Aemond or Daemon who would truly wield the power if Aegon or Rhaenyra won. It was not a prospect that Daevar relished of course, but it was one he would have no part in. “If you do not do this, then the Vale is lost to civil war once more. You are our last hope of avoiding it.”

“I’m not going to discuss this further.” Daevar said. Kermit dropped his head, letting a few tears hit the table before turning to his squire.

“Come on, Ben.” He said. The boy obediently stood up and followed him to the door.

“Where are you going?” Daevar asked.

“Home.” Kermit choked out. “I’m going home. My father needs me more than you do right now. Come on, Ben.”

Helaena sat on the bed, concerned for her husband. Daevar had retired to their chambers after the meeting, and he’d remained silent ever since. Not even Rhea, awake and babbling in her lap, had managed to calm him down. Though he wasn’t angry, just . . . contemplative. Seeing him so quiet unsettled her. She kissed Rhea’s forehead and took her little hand in hers. “Daevar . . . are you alright?”

“ . . . what Kermit said got to me, Helaena.” Daevar admitted. “He’s not wrong when he says it’s his home that will be burned once the war begins in earnest.” 

“Especially seeing as the Riverlords are choosing sides.” Helaena said. “There won’t be many who stay neutral there for long.” 

Daevar nodded. The only houses guaranteed to remain neutral in the Riverlands were the Tullys and the Blackwoods on account of Kermit and Ben being in Runestone, and that wouldn’t last long. As soon as they were back home, both Ser Elmo and Lord Willem would be forced into choosing a side. 

“Is there no way I can convince you or Daeron to take up your claims? They’re as good as Aegon’s or Rhaenyra’s.” He asked hopefully, only for an emphatic shake of the head from her. 

“Daeron publicly renounced his claim, and I’m no ruler.” Helaena said. She had been educated in needlework, embroidery, dressmaking, how to raise children and be pious, not to serve as a ruling queen. “I . . . Daevar, Jaehaerys was a boy of six . . .”

“I know.” Daevar replied. “But let’s not forget what happened to Luke, either. Aemond murdered him in cold blood.” He added. News of that had arrived not long after his return to Dragonstone. “Neither Aegon nor Rhaenyra would be in charge, even if they won the war.”

“You said it would either be my brother or your father who would be the true power.” Helaena said. “I was hoping things would be clearer than this.” 

Daevar shook his head. He had technically fought in a war of succession when Arnold Arryn had rebelled against Lady Jeyne a second time around, but this was an altogether different matter. Dragons were involved now, on both sides. “How many people are going to die before they come to their senses?”

“They’ve taken leave of their senses.” Helaena said. “Daevar . . . I’m scared. For you, and me and Ser Kermit and Lady Jeyne and everyone else here . . . but I’m most scared for Rhea.”

She’s right, a voice said. Would the world ever be safe as long as Daemon or Aemond are running around in it?

The answer to that was obvious. Both men were capable of murdering children; all doubt of that was gone. More than that, Daevar had doubts that they wouldn’t just fly into another rampage as soon as the war was won against their former enemies. Daemon was obsessed with his reputation as the deadliest man in Westeros, and it was getting plain to see that Aemond was taking that as a challenge. 

Would you ever be able to look your daughter in the eye if either of them came knocking? He asked himself. Can you ever look Kermit in the eye again if you do nothing?

“What am I to do?” He wondered out loud.

“You will do what you know is right, Daevar.” Helaena replied, unflinchingly. “I just worry for our daughter.” She said. As long as Aemond lives, she won’t be safe, she thought. 

Daevar sighed and sat down next to them. Rhea was a beautiful child; she’d gotten the brown Royce eyes but the Targayren silver hair was already making itself clear. She was a happy child, even if she couldn’t hear. He stroked Helaena’s hair gently and sighed. No. Neither of them will be safe . . . Aemond wants Helaena and my daughter would be in constant danger . . . and then there’s Kermit.

He couldn’t betray his best friend. If their positions were reversed, he was certain he would likely act exactly like Kermit was. Then there were the rumours that Eldric Arryn was preparing to challenge Lady Jeyne’s rule of the Vale as well . . . his home was going to become a battlefield too, if a slightly less destructive one, and he would end up defending Jeyne’s rule of the Vale again too. 

“My claim’s a thin one, Helaena.” He said. He was only a king’s nephew, after all.

“Daevar, I said you’ll do what you know is right and I meant it.” She said, kissing him gently. “I also swore a vow in the Throne Room when we were wed. One heart . . .”

“One flesh . . .” Daevar said.

“One soul.” Helaena smiled gently. “Whatever you decide, my love . . . I will not leave your side.”

“A fact I’m grateful for, Ellie.” He said, kissing her cheek. Rhea turned her head and looked at him, babbling happily when he stuck his tongue out at her. How can I justify sitting behind my walls while war ravages the realm?  

He couldn’t.

He would never be able to look Kermit in the eye again. His daughter needed a safe world to live and grow up in, and that wouldn’t be possible if Aemond or Daemon were the power behind the throne. 

He sighed and stood up, decision made. It was not one he relished, but it was one that he had to make so he could secure a safe future for his daughter. At least if he died, it would be with a clean conscience as well. “We should gather the council again. What I do next I’ll likely end up regretting for the rest of my life.”

It was dusk by the time everyone had gathered again. Kermit and Ben had packed most of their things but were yet to leave, which Daevar was glad to note. Helaena had left Rhea asleep in their chambers with guards posted outside; neither she or Daevar were going to take any chances after what had happened to Jaehaerys. Kermit, for his part, refused to look Daevar in the eye.

“Before us are two choices.” Daevar began. “Aegon or Rhaenyra. One of them is a usurper, the other sanctioned the murder of a child. And let’s not forget that it would be either Aemond or Daemon wielding the true power once one side wins.”

“As Ser Kermit said-a shit choice.” Willem said. 

“Indeed.” Daevar nodded. “And with Daeron and Helaena renouncing their claims, we’re in a difficult spot.” He admitted. “It is my opinion that if the Greens or Blacks win, then there will never be peace in this world. They are both too warlike; their leaders have been too shielded from the consequences of their actions.”

There was a general mumbling of agreement. While there was no doubt that Aegon was a usurper, his actual lack of enthusiasm for ruling had been made clear by Daeron. Rhaenyra on the other had had seemingly given herself over to the slaughter, but there was little doubt in anyone’s mind that she would’ve been pushed as far as she ahd been without Daemon. 

“I still find it difficult to believe Rhaenyra assented to this barbarism in King’s Landing.” Carrick said. “She is sheltered; not a murderer.”

“Which would hardly make her an ideal Queen.” Barden replied. “Not to mention that as Lord Daevar said, it would be Daemon who would be the true power behind the Iron Throne. And there is still Lord Corlys’s scheming to consider.”

“I’m not disagreeing, Barden. Merely pointing out the facts of the situation.” Carrick replied. Much as he did respect the Maester, the man did have a habit of jumping down people’s throats.

“Crown of bronze, crown of kings . . .” Helaena mumbled, picking at the table. 

“We are standing on the edge of the abyss, and both Aegon and Rhaenyra would see us thrown down it while my father and cousin would see us all burn in the fires of their ambition.” Daevar said. “As I said, there is unlikely to be lasting peace in this world if they win.”

“Then what will you do?” Ser Gerold asked, leaning forward. 

“ . . . I am the blood of King Jaehaerys through my grandfather Baelon and my own father. My claim is not a solid one, but I do have a basis for it.” He said, pausing for a moment to allow everyone to process what he had said. “It’s with this that I have a claim to the Iron Throne of Westeros, and it’s one I intend to use. In the sight of you all, I lay claim to the Iron Throne and all the titles that come with it.”

The gauntlet had been thrown. Everyone in the hall knew what had just happened, and there would be no turning back from it now. Daevar’s claim to the throne was minimal, it was true, but there was at least some basis for it; the issues could be solved through victory on the battlefield. After all, that was how Aegon the Conqueror had made the Seven Kingdoms into one.

“I knew you’d come around.” Kermit said, smiling and drawing his sword. “You have my sword, Your Grace.”

“Mine too.” Ben said, drawing his own weapon. 

“You have mine.” Willem drew his sword and laid it on the table.

“I stand at your side, Your Grace.” Gerold said.

“Aegon and Aemond have forsaken any bond we had.” Daeron said. “I stand for you, Your Grace.”

“Heartwarming as this is, there are other plans that need to be made.” Barden said, eager to move things along. His own feelings on Aegon and Rhaenyra aside, they were now irrevocably committed to fighting this out, and that meant allies. “You can't fight a war with the three thousand men we can call on here.”

“Which is why I want ravens sent to our allies. The Redforts, the Coldwaters, the Shetts.” Daevar said. “We’re allied to the Redforts by virtue of Willam’s marriage, and the Coldwaters and Shetts are our vassals.”

“I will send them to the Waynwoods and Hunters as well.” Barden said. “And I’ll take the precaution of dispatching one to the Eyrie.”

“Very prudent, Barden.” Carrick smiled. “I must also prepare for your coronation, Your Grace.”

“It will have to be a simple affair, Septon Carrick.” Daevar said. “Make no mistake: we are now committed to this. If any of you have any qualms, say so now.”

No one said a word. 

“Thank you.” Daevar said. “In the meantime, we should try to gather a list of those who have allied with Eldric; he wouldn’t be making a move without the support of the Greens or Blacks.”

“I’ll see to it.” Gerold replied. 

“If this is to end in fire,” Julia said with a wry smile on her face, “Then we shall all burn together at least.”

What my father had done was what might be described as throwing down the gauntlet. He had made his decision; neither Aegon nor Rhaenyra could be allowed to inherit, lest Aemond or Daemon become the true power in Westeros. At best, a victory by one of them would stave off another war for a generation or two.

Daeron’s renouncement of his claim had been a public one, which of course was a fact that my father conveniently forgot when he made contingency plans in the event of his death.

Chapter Text

Preparations were made almost immediately. My father did not take his decision lightly, but it was one that had to be done. As he pointed out, the ascension of Aegon or Rhaenyra would leave Aemond or Daemon pulling the strings, which could not be allowed. It would mean a long war and a brutal war, but it was one that was necessary.

Allies were called, but only a small handful answered the call at first. What my father needed was victories, and so he began planning out his first battle of the war.

“Who has answered our call?” Daevar asked. He, Gerold, Willam, Barden and Kermit had converted part of the Great Hall into a war room, with a map of Westeros spread out over the table as they stood over it. Crudely carved icons marked out where the armies and dragons were; the colours corresponding to the factions. A black dragon was in place at Harrenhal with an icon, another black dragon was at White Harbor, while a third was placed over the gullet and an army icon had been put in the eastern Vale to represent Eldric’s army. Green dragons were crowded around King’s Landing, while army icons were in place at Oldtown, Casterly Rock, and King’s Landing.

“Only the Redforts, Coldwaters and Shetts so far.” Barden informed him. “We are still waiting on replies from the Hunters, Waynwoods and Corbrays.”

“How many men can we muster?”

“With the additions of our allies, around six thousand.” Willem replied. “Not enough to take on Eldric, assuming he does have twelve thousand men.”

“With respect, we have Tessarion.” Gerold said. “She and Daeron alone are worth an army.”

“Assuming that Eldric does not have a dragon and rider with him.” Daevar pointed out as bronze icons were placed on the Redfort and Coldwater Burn. “What of Gulltown?”

“Lord Grafton has sided with Eldric and recognised Rhaenyra as Queen.” Barden said. “But he is yet to call his banners. I think he is fearful of what us or the Redforts will do if he tries to march past us.”

“Assuming he’s still capable of marching.” Kermit said, causing a ripple of laughter. Lord Grafton had only grown more stout over the years, and his habitual laziness was an easy thing to mock, if not a desirable trait in a commander. “I did receive return ravens from my father and Lord Blackwood. They’ve not sworn to back us, but neither of them will support Aegon or Rhaenyra, and the same goes for most of the eastern Riverlands houses.”

Fitting , Daevar thought. The houses in the eastern Riverlands would wait to see who triumphed in the Vale before taking a side; there was little sense in them coming to support him when he was still outnumbered by Eldric. I would have done the same in their position. “Are our men ready for war, Willam?”

“That they are, Your Grace.” he said, puffing out his chest. Raising all of their forces within the few days he had was a monumental task, but he had managed it. They Royce forces would be ready to march as soon as Daevar gave the word. 

“There is the problem of finances though.” Barden reminded them. “Wars are expensive, Your Grace, and this will be a long one. I fear our coffers will be drained before long.”

“Taking Gulltown should rectify that.” Gerold said. The city was the Vale’s only deep-water port, and thus the major trading hub of the region. It would give a substantial boost to the war, but only if they could prevent too much damage in the inevitable fighting that would happen there. “If we storm the city, we would catch Grafton off guard. Especially if the Shetts strike from within.”

“The problem is Isembard.” Daevar said. 

“Isembard Arryn is a man of coin at heart, Your Grace.” Barden said. “He will side with whom he thinks will win.”

“Then we must prove that we can win. An early victory could bring us more support.” Daevar said, looking at Gulltown on the map again. It was the obvious target, and if Grafton really was the oaf he seemed to be, then he wouldn’t see an attack coming. It would also deprive Eldric of a strong location and strangle the Blacks’ finances in one stroke. “We strike at Gulltown as soon as we are able. Send word to Lord Redfort and have him meet us on the road between here and the Redfort. Have Lord Coldwater call his banners and fortify; he can tie Eldric’s allies down where he is.”

“Solid thinking, Your Grace.” Gerold said.

“Well then, we had best get to our tasks. Kermit, I want you to come with me.” Daevar said.

“I . . . um . . . very well, Your Grace.”

Daevar led Kermit into the crypts under Runestone, a place where Kermit always felt like an intruder. This was the sacred place of House Royce, and being down here filled him with unease. He adjusted his doublet slightly as they made their way down; Daevar with a torch in hand. He led them to the statue of Daevars mother before he turned to Kermit.

“Are you sure about this Kermit?” Daevar asked. “Your house hasn't declared for me. If you’re captured-”

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take.” Kermit replied, looking at the statue of Rhea Royce. “Besides, I’m in service with your household guard. I haven’t quit my post just yet.”

“Something I’m very grateful for.” Daevar smiled before sighing. “Kermit . . . there are two things you must know . . . the first is my heir.” 

Kermit’s head snapped towards Daevar. He’d decided who was going to succeed him? Kermit dismissed that as soon as the thought came into his head; it was likely more of a measure for their faction to have someone to rally around if he died. “Who is it?”

“Until a son is born to me, Daeron is my heir. Rhea can’t rule if she can’t hear.” He explained. He had thought of having Rhea succeed him, but apart from being not even a year old, she would be taken advantage of by just about everyone because of her deafness. “He’s proven himself in battle and can lead men.”

“He renounced his claim though.” Kermit pointed out. “In front of all of us.”

“That’s why I’ll be speaking to everyone who was there. Daeron will be your King if I fall. Swear to me that you’ll uphold that.”

“I so swear.” Kermit said without hesitation. He had to admit, Daeron’s renouncing of his claim could be conveniently forgotten if Daevar did fall. After all, he had the respect of the soldiers after what he did in the battle against the Hill Tribes. “He would’ve been a good king to fight for.”

“Yes, he would’ve.” Daevar said wistfully. He had tried to tell Daeron to press his claim to the throne, but he hadn’t listened. Whether it was because the boy genuinely wanted Daevar to be king or had a well-founded sense of unease about taking up a crown, no one knew. It was on record now though; he was Daevar’s heir if something happened. “If only he and Jace had managed to resolve their differences . . .”

“We can’t dwell on that now.” Kermit said. “The time for them to resolve things was years ago.”

“You’re right, of course.” Daevar replied.

“You said there were two things. What was the other?”

Daevar took a deep sigh. Kermit’s response to this would not be a welcome one, but it was something he had to do nonetheless if he wanted the safety of his family ensured. “Kermit . . . it is likely I will fall. You know that and I know that. If I fall . . . I want you to take Helaena to wife and keep her and Rhea safe.”

Kermit blinked. Was Daevar serious? Marry Helaena if he died? “Daevar, I . . .” He tried to say something, but the words escaped him. “Are you-”

“Am I sure? Yes.” Daevar said. Kermit noticed that he looked desperate, hoping that his answer would be the one he was after. “They must be cared for if I die, Kermit. Daeron will do his best, but you are the only person I trust with this.” The torchlight shone across his face. “I do not ask this lightly, but . . .” He sighed. “If I die . . . my wife and daughter cannot be taken by Aegon or Rhaenyra. If I die, i want you to take her to wife and keep them safe.”

Kermit once again struggled to find the words to say. His first thought was to tell Daevar that he wasn't going to die, but he knew that would be pointless. A straight refusal was next, but the look of desperation on his friend’s face gave him pause. He took a moment to collect his thoughts before replying. “Daevar . . . I cannot lie, you ask a great deal of me with this.”

“I know I do, Kermit.” Daevar replied. “But there is no one in the world I trust more than you.” 

Kermit sucked in a breath. “Alright, I’ll do it.”

“Promise me, Kermit.” Daevar said.

“I swear in the light of the Seven that will wed Helaena if you fall.”

Daevar sighed and relaxed his shoulders slightly. “Thank you, Kermit.” He smiled slightly at is friend. “Come. We had best make the coronation or Carrick will be most upset with us.”

The Great Hall had been decorated hastily for the occasion, but it was done nonetheless. The dining table in the middle had been removed and Royce and Targaryen banners had been hung from the ceiling. At one end of the hall sat two large chairs that represented thrones, though they were decidedly less grand than what was at King’s Landing or even Dragonstone. Above the chairs was the hastily-stitched banner of Daevar; The Targaryen three-headed red dragon over the black studs and bronze field of House Royce. 

The crowd was not massive, but there were enough witnesses. In the front row stood everyone of major importance; Gerold, Julia, Willam, Alyssa, Kermit, Ben, Daeron, Barden, and representatives from Houses Redfort, Coldwater and Shett. Daevar and Helaena walked down the centre of the hall, the crowd parting for them. Helaena held Rhea close as they approached the chairs. Septon Carrick, standing next to the chairs, beckoned for them to sit down. Daevar nodded to the man as they sat, signalling for him to begin.

“I welcome you all to the Great Hall of Runestone for this momentous occasion.” Carrick began. “We stand here in the shadows of an ignoble war, declared by those with no care for the people. The Seven are looking down in despair on the world that they have created.” He continued, his voice trembling slightly. “It is a world on the precipice of catastrophe, as its perpetrators would have us give in to fear.” He shook his head emphatically. “But we shall not surrender to fear. We shall not walk in fear of others. Against the darkness, the light of hope will always burn in defiance.”

A short murmuring was heard before Carrick led them all in a prayer. In truth, Daevar was only half-listening, while Helaena was softly mumbling to Rhea. Daevar swore he heard her say “Bronze and blue, defending each other,” but he wasn’t entirely sure. In any case, his attention was returned to the coronation as Carrick finished his sermon. The Septon turned to face him. Daevar stood and walked forward as Carrick signalled for a servant to bring a bowl of water to him. Carrick dipped his fingers in the bowl and began tracing the Seven-Pointed Star on Daevar’s forehead.

“Seven above, we ask you to find favour with your devoted servant, Daevar of House Targaryen. May the Father judge him worthy of his titles. May the Mother watch over his family. May the Warrior bless him with the courage to end this war. May the Smith give him the strength to mend this broken land. May the Maiden stand watch over his child. May the Crone give him wisdom and guide his way.” Carrick recited. The name of the Stranger was not said out loud of course; Carrick was still a superstitious man who refused to say the name of the last of the Seven out loud. He then signalled for Daevar to kneel in front of him, along with Helaena. Reluctantly, she left her chair and knelt before the Septon; Rhea still in her arms.

Carrick turned and signalled forward two other servants, bearing the crowns. They had been hastily made of course, but they were still impressive. They had been forged in bronze in the style of the Runic Crown that had been worn by the Royces before the Andal Invasions. A band of bronze would fit around the head, with squares in a lighter bronze depicting the Targaryen dragon studded into it. The larger of the two crowns was lifted by Carrick before he turned back to the audience.

“The Runic Crown was worn by the Bronze Kings of old. Its last wearer was Robar II, High King of the Vale, the Fingers, and the Mountains of the Moon. Now, it rests upon the brow of their successor.” He turned and gently placed the crown on Daevar’s head, “Hail Daevar of the House Targaryen! The First of His Name; King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men; Lord of the Seven Kingdoms; and Protector of the Realm!” He proclaimed, before turning and taking the smaller crown and placing it on Helaena’s head. “And his wife Helaena of the House Targaryen! The First of Her Name; Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men; and Lady of the Seven Kingdoms!” He then turned back to the audience. “Long may they reign!”

The crowd repeated the words back, though with a wariness. There seemed to be a general feeling that this war would not end quickly, and now they had invited the wrath of both Aegon and Rhaenyra when there were so few of them. Still, there was no turning back now. They had committed themselves to the fight, and could not rest until it was over. 

Daevar, who had now risen to his feet, asked the Septon if he could speak; Carrick nodded. “My Lords and Ladies, I did not take this decision lightly.” Daevar began, his hand firmly on the hilt of Lamentation. “But I cannot allow this realm of ours to fall victim to the whims of monsters. I know I ask much of you, and our way will not be easy. It will take us through much hardship and pain.” He said. “But we are of the Vale! We have fought against invaders, Tribesmen, marauders and hard winters! When confronted by evil, we do not surrender to it! We do not retreat in fear of it! We face it, swords in our hands and roars of defiance on our lips!” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I have prayed that our enemies might see reason and avoid this catastrophe, but they cannot see past their own ambitions. It is with great reluctance that I draw my sword.” He drew Lamentation from her scabbard, holding her up for effect. “But I shall sheathe it only when peace is restored!”

A roar of approval went up from the crowd.

“We march to war, my brothers and sisters! And we will be victorious!” He shouted. “We Remember!”

Another roar of approval, mixed with cries of “We Remember!” Went up all over the hall; even Julia and Alyssa were shouting. With the fire lit inside them, the men and women of Runestone departed the hall, preparing for war. The only ones left with him after a while were Helaena and Rhea, and he noticed a tear rolling down her cheek

“Helaena, are you . . . displeased?”

She sniffled slightly. “How many will die before this ends, Daevar?”

“I cannot say.” He answered honestly. “But . . . this world is not going to be safe with my father or your brother in this world.”

Helaena just nodded. It was the truth, as harsh as hearing it was. 

“If you want to leave for Essos and take Rhea to safety, I will not hold it against you.” He offered. Helaena looked at the babe in her arms, then Daevar before shaking her head. 

“I swore to stand by you in the Red Keep.” She said. “One heart . . .”

“One flesh . . .”

“One soul . . .” She said before kissing him gently. “Stay alive, Daevar. For our family’s sake.”

My father’s crowning was not the most magnificent of the three, it must be said. It was a small one held with the few allies he had, and shared with my mother. The fact that the Runic Crown was placed on his head was in testament to King Robar II, who had fought the Andal invasions centuries ago. 

With the war coming, my mother and father’s relationship would no longer be the absolute priority for either of them. This promised to be a vicious war, a fact which they both knew and understood. Ending this war was the priority for them now; the sooner it was over, the sooner things could be resolved.

Chapter Text

Gulltown would be the first battle of the war for the Bronzes. By this time, fighting had already broken out in the Reach and the Riverlands. Both branches of House Vance had fought a brutal battle against the Brackens, while the Tarlys had unexpectedly marched in support of Rhaenyra. Daemon meanwhile was gathering an army near Harrenhal.

My father needed an early victory to convince other houses that he was strong.  What my father could not foresee was that the wheels in Gulltown were already turning . . .

The road to Gulltown

It was amazing just how quickly such an army had gathered. Six thousand men were preparing to attack and seize Gulltown in the Bronzes’ first action of the war. Daevar and Helaena stood at the side of the road as the army passed by, banners of Runestone and Redfort fluttering in the breeze as weapons and armour clanked against each other. Dreamfyre sat comfortably behind them as Daeron flew overhead on Tessarion.

“With luck, Gulltown will be ours on the morrow.” Daevar said. “We strike at night, assuming the men get into position by then.”

Helaena nodded. “I have faith in them, Daevar.” She said. Bronze banners flying over a city , she thought. 

“Do you have faith in their king?” He asked.

“I have faith in my husband.” She replied. Seeing an army on the march truly was an awe-inspiring sight, with thousands of spears held with points to the sky as the men clad in mail and plate marched by. The knights on horseback did not have their shields or lances, but those would come with the battle.

Willam broke from the formation and rode up to them. “We should be in position for the assault by nightfall.”

“Good.” Daevar nodded. “When battle is joined, you’ll be leading the vanguard.”

“You honour me, Your Grace.” Willam said, bowing his head. “I will not let you down.”

“I know.” Daevar replied. Smiling, Willam returned to the column of knights passing by. He urged them on, exhorting them that their enemy was in Gulltown. Daevar turned back to Helaena. 

“You should get back to Runestone.” He said. “It’s going to get very ugly around here very soon.”

She leaned forward and kissed him deeply. “And so Rhea is kept safe.” She said, fiddling with the straps of his cuirass. “Good luck.”

“Thank you, Ellie.” He smiled tenderly at her before kissing her again. “I’ll see you soon.” he added. There was another kiss before she mounted Dreamfyre, the dragon flexing her wings before taking to the skies. After passing Tessarion, she took course for Runestone . . . where no doubt a very grumpy Vermithor would be waiting.

Daevar mounted his horse just as Kermit rode up. “To war, then.” 

“Indeed.” Daevar said, with more than a little apprehension. He had fought in two major battles before, but not a war of this scale. It would only end with the total triumph of one faction and the total defeat of the other two. He just hoped they were the ones left standing when the war ended. Mounting his own horse, Daevar looked upwards. “Has Daeron reported anything?”

“No movements from the city.” Kermit shrugged. “Either Grafton’s lazy or a coward.”

“Either works for me.” Daevar grunted. The Graftons had never been high in the estimation of anyone in the Vale. “The Shetts will strike when we do.” 

“And divide the Graftons between the walls and the streets.” Kermit replied. “Assuming they’ve prepared for an attack, that is.”

“Let’s hope they haven’t.” Daevar replied. He wanted to take the city with as few losses as he possibly could, but needed the battle to end quickly. The longer they were here, the longer Eldric would have to fix them in one place before destroying them. “When the battle starts, have Ben carry my banner. And make sure it stays up.”

Kermit nodded before riding off to inform his squire of the good news. To be selected to carry the King’s banner was a great honour, even moreso when you’d only be selected as a squire. Of course, it also came with the responsibility to not let it fall or be taken by the enemy, considering it was one of the main symbols of authority for a king.

Daevar looked out over the columns once more before turning his horse towards Gulltown. Tonight he would either end up either winning the support of the rest of the Vale or be cast into oblivion. 

Gulltown

It was a testament to the skill of Ser Willam and Lord Redfort that the army had been drawn up successfully in fading light with only torches for assistance. Three ranks of archers stood at the front, with men-at-arms arranged into pike squares behind them and the knights arrayed at the back. The knights themselves had dismounted; their horses would be of limited use when storming a castle. With the Shetts ready to strike from within and ladders distributed among the men, the plan was set. The walls would be taken by raiding parties led by Willam, who would then open the gates for Daevar and the main force to storm in and take the streets while Daeron burned the key defense towers.. The signal for the attack would be a flaming arrow shot high into the night sky. 

Of course, Daevar had decided he himself would shoot the arrow. 

A bow was not his natural weapon; he had been trained as a knight rather than an archer. Still, the arrow tip had been wrapped in string and covered in oil, and lit it in a torch that Kermit was holding. Difficult to draw as it was, Daevar managed it, and then released. 

The assault parties rushed forward as silently as they could, ladders in hand. By the time they’d reached the walls, it was too late for the few hundred Grafton soldiers in the city to respond. Willam led the way up onto the walls, thrusting his sword through the leather armour of the nightwatchman above him as he climbed over the crenellations. Fighting towards the gatehouse was a simple matter; the guards had been taken so completely by surprise that no resistance was mounted. The gates were opened a bare fifteen minutes into the assault as Daeron and Tessarion attacked one of the towers. A few archers loosed some arrows at them, but Tessarion, defending her rider, unleashed a brilliant blue flame, burning the men inside. 

Daevar drew Lamentation, pointing it towards the city. “Infantry, advance!” He called, raising his shield. Kermit stood next to him in the first line, shield also raised. They advanced at a brisk march, cautious of any resistance that might crop up. His archers were being rushed to the captured walls, but they had no targets to shoot at. When Daevar arrived in the city, he saw what was happening.

The Shetts had struck exactly on the mark. The attack from within had broken the few defenders who were there, and the pockets of defenders that did exist were being snuffed out easily. Daevar led one of his formations into the city square, where they did encounter a few Grafton soldiers stubbornly defending the family’s manse. They themselves had formed a square to defend themselves, but there were less than a hundred of them. With a cry, Daevar led a charge straight into them. He felt Lamentation pierce the leather armour of one soldier, and heard a triumphant shout from Kermit as his morningstar struck one Grafton in the face. 

Under sustained attack from all sides, the Grafton square lasted less than ten minutes before they were fleeing. “Let them go!” Daevar ordered. “We need to take Lord Grafton’s manse!” he shouted.

“No need.” A voice said. Daevar turned around to see the tall, slim figure of Isembard Arryn exiting the manse. He was wearing a cotehardie decorated with a golden falcon on the chest, while the two guards he had exited it with likewise bore the same sigil. After all, he had been called the gilded falcon for a reason. “Gulltown is yours, Your Grace.” He said with a thin smile. “Lord Grafton is in my custody and you have my allegiance as well.”

“The city’s not secured yet.” Daevar said.

“Most of it is.” Isembard replied, his sandy blonde hair flopping about as he nodded. “I have seen to capturing the arsenal, garrison and port. What loyalists remain will not last long; House Grafton is not widely loved.”

“And he has surrendered the city?”

“To me, yes. I in turn, surrender it to you.” 

Daevar let out a breath. It hadn't been much of a battle, but it was a victory nonetheless. “Very well. I’ll set myself up in the garrison. Meet me there in the morning, Lord Isembard.”

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

Daevar brushed past him, entering the manse and scoffing at the luxurious surroundings. The pillars were gilded with gold, while paintings hung in gold and silver frames from the walls. The burning tower that was the sigil of House Grafton had been torn down, replaced with the golden falcon banner of Isembard Arryn. Just how long has he been planning this?

Lord Grafton had been confined to his private chambers and was mightily angry about the whole affair. “You’ve invaded my city!” He screamed at Daevar as soon as he entered the chambers. The contrast between the fit warrior’s frame of Daevar and the fat Lord Grafton was readily apparent. 

“And I’ve taken it.” Daevar replied. “You surrendered it to Lord Isembard, who has surrendered the city to me. Gulltown is mine.” He said simply. The fat man’s jowls shook with rage. “I asked for your allegiance, and you declared for Eldric Arryn who has declared for Rhaenyra.”

“You did not even offer me a chance to surrender before you attacked!”

“Why would I give away my advantage?” Daevar demanded. “In any case, the ‘battle’ is over and Gulltown is mine. As of now, House Grafton is stripped of Gulltown and I will not hear you argue otherwise. Until you calm yourself, fat man, you will remain here under guard. I am not asking you to stay here; I am ordering it.”

Daevar then turned and left, though not before giving orders to Isembard’s men that Lord Grafton was to remain under guard until further notice. A camp bed had been set up in the garrison for him, and after issuing orders for guards to be posted at key places in the city, he collapsed, exhausted. 

The next morning, Daevar had sent word out that all his commanders were to meet in the Grafton manse to discuss their next move. With Gerold in charge of the small garrison that remained at Runestone, it was Willam, Kermit, Ser Jon Shett, Lord Kevan Redfort, and Lord Isembard Arryn who were present, along with Daeron. Ben was puring water for everyone; Daevar had given instructions that only water was to be served at councils of war.

“With Gulltown ours, we have put a significant dent in Ser Eldric’s ability to fund his army.” Isembard said. “It’s the only major trade hub in the Vale, after all.”

“We should expect ravens from other houses in some days.” Lord Redfort said. By now, he was a grizzled veteran with some fifty years of his life gone, but he was still a more than capable soldier. “Our victory here was a statement that we are to be taken seriously.”

“Was hardly a battle though.” Willam said.

“Which makes it better.” Ser Jon said. “We took very few losses; just over a hundred men.”

“And Lord Grafton's vassals were swift to pledge us their loyalty.” Isembard provided. “That has given us an additional two thousand swords.”

“Assuming we can gather them fast enough.” Daevar said. “We should look to find Eldric’s army next. It won't matter how many castles or villages we take if his army remains in the field.”

“I can scout for him.” Daeron offered. “Tessarion and I will move faster than outriders.”

“He does have a point.” Willam said. “Tessarion is quite nimble.”

“We will need allies outside of the Vale if we are to carry this war.” Isembard said. “Give me control of the city, Your Grace. You’ve already stripped it from House Grafton-”

"What?!” Daeron said, stunned. To strip a house of their land for losing a battle was a dangerous precedent. “Your Grace, why did you not inform us?”

“Lord Grafton is in a state of rebellion against his liege lady.” Daevar replied. “He should be grateful I did not give him the traitor’s punishment.” He added, before turning to Isembard. “For now, you shall serve as Lord Protector of Gulltown.”

“I can live with that, Your Grace.” He smiled. “I will see about means to keep this war of yours financed; I’m sure my contacts in the Free Cities would be able to loan us some coin.”

“Good.” Daevar said. “In the meantime, dispatch a ravens to all the houses of the Vale announcing our victory. Hopefully the wavering houses will be convinced to support us.”

“A victory as decisive as this will prove useful for both allies and funding alike, Your Grace.” Isembard said with a sickly sweet smile. “I’ll see the ravens are dispatched.”

“Thank you, Isembard.” Daevar said, a chill running down his spine at that. “Willam, assign a garrison strong enough to hold the city and ready the rest of our men to march. Once they are ready, you will take two thousand men and force the submission of House Waxley; once we control Wickenden we control the coastline. You’ll establish a garrison there while the rest of us march on Old Anchor; the Melcolms have already declared for Rhaenyra and Eldric.”

“We have a plan then.” Ser Jon said. “Let’s kill this pest of an Arryn once and for all.”

Later that day, ravens flew from Gulltown announcing the victory and once again demanding allegiance from the various houses of the Vale.

Dragonstone

Things were proceeding well, from what Rhaenyra could see. The Velaryon blockade was in place at the Gullet, Daemon had taken Harrenhal, and the Tarlys, Vances, Pipers, and Manderlys had all declared for her. Soon enough, Jace would also bring the allegiance of House Stark and Lord Cregan would march with the armies of the North as Dalton Greyjoy raided the Westarlands coastline.

There was no denying it; they had the advantage. If only it had saved my precious Luke . . . She thought. Daemon’s revenge for Luke had horrified her, naturally. The murder of an innocent child was not something she could countenance, and it was just as well that he was away at Harrenhal and not on Dragonstone. Neither was she wholeheartedly supportive of the alliance Jace had struck with Ser Eldric Arryn; she had heard from just about everyone that no one could trust that man. His support had demanded a high price too; acknowledgement of his father as Lord of the Eyrie and himself as the Lord Regent.

She was busy studying the Painted Table when Gerardys entered, Lord Celtigar at his side. “Out with it, Gerardys.” She said, slightly irritably. 

“I have some troubling news, Your Grace.” The Meester began. “Regarding your cousin.”

“Lord Daevar has declared for Aegon.” She said. It wasn’t much of a surprise, seeing as the boy was married to Helaena and had Daeron as a squire..

“No, Your Grace.” Gerardys said, gulping slightly. “He has claimed the Iron Throne through his ancestry to King Jaehaerys . . . and he has already taken Gulltown.”

That got Rhaenyra’s attention. She turned and faced Gerardys, allowing herself a small look of alarm, though that betrayed a much greater conflict within. Why had he doen something so stupid? More to the point, how had he managed to seize the Vale’s only real city that rapidly? “H-how did he capture it?”

“By night attack, and treachery from within by Ser John Shett and Isembard Arryn.” Celtigar said. “Your Grace, you should strike them now. Send Baela to fight; she can stand up to Prince Daeron.”

Unlikely , Rhaenyra thought, though she bit her tongue. “She would also have Dreamfyre and Vermithor to deal with. Daemon will have to deal with it. Send a raven to Harrenhal and demand he attack the Eyrie immediately.”

“Your Grace, with him rallying his forces at Harrenhal-”

“Our armies can do without him. He must eliminate their riders, one by one.” She said. “Then we can set about burning their men. Send the raven at once, Lord Celtigar.”

Bartimos bowed and left the room, leaving only Maester Gerardys present. “Leave, Maester.” She said, her eyes still fixed on the green icon at Storm’s End. Luke . . .

His body had never been found, and it was likely washed away with the tides by now. Feeling it overcome her, she made for her private chambers and shut the door before collapsing against it. My Luke . . .

His murder had marked the start of the war, as far as she was concerned. And when she ruled, she would make sure that Alicent watched as her sons were burnt alive for their treason and crimes. Only once your sons and father are dead will I permit you to die, Alicent . . . Daemon was right about you and your family all along . . . yes, you will pay dearly for what your one-eyed son did to my Luke . . .

And Daevar would receive the just reward for his own treason, as would his wife. It would come with time. Her destiny was to be Queen.

And who could fight destiny?

The Capture of Gulltown was not much of a battle. The internals strikes from the Shetts and Isembard Arryn sealed the fate of House Grafton well before my father stripped them of their land and titles. The soldiers of House Grafton quickly marched to my father’s banner after the city fell.

In the coming days, more and more houses would swear their loyalty to my father. The Corbrays were first, followed by the Templetons and the Belmores. At a stroke, my father’s numbers had gone from six thousand to twelve thousand, and would continue to increase as smaller houses pledged their loyalty.

Chapter Text

With Gulltown in the hands of the Bronzes, the war had changed. Rhaenyra had lost what she thought was a stable base of power, and her decision to not send a dragon to support Ser Eldric is one of those decisions that will be pondered for generations. Nonetheless, the war now entered a new stage.

All the while, the Greens began pondering their next move, hoping to take advantage of the Vale going against Rhaenyra. I have pinned Ser Criston as the principal architect of the newer, more aggressive strategy that Aegon adopted at this stage.

King’s Landing

Pondering over maps was not the most exciting thing Aegon had ever done, but Ser Criston had drummed into him the necessity of it. As it stood, things did not seem to be going well. Wooden black icons were in place at Dragonstone, Harrenhal and Horn Hill, as well as in the Vale and most of the Riverlands. The only green icons were over Stone Hedge, Oldtown and King’s Landing. Bronze icons were in place at Gulltown, Runestone, and a smattering of castles in the Vale. Rebellion all over , he thought. W here do we start?

Ser Criston and Aemond stood at one end of the map table, while he and Nesaena stood at the other. His sister-wife was eager to pay back Rhaenyra for murdering Jaehaerys, and with Ser Erryk’s failure to bring the war to Rhaenyra, they had to take this on the battlefield, which was far easier said than done.

“Their dragons are the biggest threat.” Ser Criston said. “Especially with Caraxes and Meleys. And this blockade at the Gullet is putting the treasury under strain.”

“Then we burn their ships.” Aemond said. “If my uncle wishes to respond, let him. I look forward to the challenge if he dares face Vhagar and I.”

“I still say we attack Dragonstone with all of us.” Nesaena growled. “They can’t stand up to Windfyre, Vhagar and Sunfyre all at once.”

“And if they find riders for the dragons that are there?” Criston asked. “We still have no idea where Jacaerys is either; he could return at any moment. Not to mention that a strike on Dragonstone would leave us defenceless if Daemon and Caraxes attack.” He shook his head, instead tapping at Horn Hill. “The rebellion in the Reach is the most serious threat. We should remove House Tarly from the table.”

“How?” Aegon asked.

“The Hightower army is gathered and about to march from Oldtown. If the Queen and Windfyre-”

“No!” Nesaena shouted, indignant. “You are not going to send me away to fight a different war when that whore sits on Dragonstone!”

“Please try to think strategically, Your Grace.” Ser Criston said. “Crushing her supporters in the Reach will be a significant defeat for Rhaenyra, and will enable Lord Ormund to link up with Lords Jason and Borros.”

“Think about it, Nesaena.” Aemond said. “The Hightower, Lannister, and Baratheon armies combined . . .”

Nesaena went silent. Aemond was right; it did sound incredibly tempting. She would be able to lay a key role in bringing the biggest single army the Greens had into the war proper, and then Rhaenyra would be left hopelessly outnumbered, even with her dragons. The realisation that the whore had not sent any dragons into the Reach made things easier as well. She looked down, then back up, with her decision made. “Fine. I’ll go, but I won’t be happy with it.”

“That doesn’t matter.” Aegon said carelessly. “We need to take their dragons off the field.” He said. They would be outnumbered in the sky until they started picking them off, one way or the other. 

“I have been formulating a plan to do just that, Your Grace. It will also allow us to move onto the attack.” He pointed at Duskendale. “We strike at Duskendale and then Rook’s Rest. They’ll send for Rhaenys and Meleys to respond, then we ambush them.”

“We’d have to pass by Rosby and Castle Stokeworth.” Aegon said, remembering that they held hostages from both houses after taking control of the city. “They’re yet to give me their allegiance.”

“It is not for you to plead for support from your lords like a beggar pleading for alms. You are the lawful King of Westeros, Your Grace.” Criston said. “Those who deny it are traitors, and it is time they learnt the price of their treason.” 

“My new Hand has a steel fist.” Aegon said, a smile spreading across his face. Criston’s plan was a good one, and if they could isolate and and kill Meleys, then they would remove one of the biggest threats to King’s Landing. “But what of Harrenhal and Daemon?”

“We must accept the loss of the Riverlands for now, Your Grace. House Bracken will not withstand a sustained attack for long. In any event, it will not be long before your cousin defeats Ser Eldric and marches out into the Riverlands himself; that will give your uncle plenty to worry about.” Criston said. Aemond remained impassive, though he was frustrated with the fact that they were seemingly going to let their uncle have free reign over one of the Seven Kingdoms.

“Then we have a plan.” Aegon said. Criston nodded, announcing that he would prepare a force to march on Duskendale, while Aemond left the room in silence. Aegon leant on the table, his eyes affixed on Dragonstone. My sister is there . . . she will die a painful death . . . “I will burn her alive.” He growled. “Let Sunfyre have her.”

Nesaena, who had been about to leave herself, turned around when she heard him. “What was that, Aegon?”

“Rhaenyra.” He said. “I’ll make her choose which of her sons will die quickly. The others will die slowly. I’ll take great pleasure in doing it myself.” He said darkly. Nesaena looked into his eyes and for the first time, there seemed to be a fire in them. It stirred something in her. She approached him.

“How will you kill them?” She asked.

“The one she picks will be hanged. The others . . . I’ll have Sunfyre roast them alive for what she did. I’ll wipe out every last living member of that fucking House Velaryon, too . . . she’ll watch each and every one of them die.” He growled. “Vengeance for Jaehaerys.”

“Please let me kill Baela and Rhaena, Aegon. Windfyre gets rather ravenous.” She pressed her body against his. “Let me kill them, Aegon . . . and let’s take our time with Rhaenyra . . . she should hear them all scream before she dies.”

“We will have our revenge for Jaehaerys, Nesaena.” He said, his hands going around her waist.

“We will kill them all . . . slowly . . . painfully.” She whispered before biting down harshly on his ear. Aegon growled again before turning her around and pressing her down on the table and flipping up the skirts of her dress. He quickly undid his trousers and without warning, slammed himself inside of her. 

Nesaena might’ve protested if this had happened before, but she didn’t now. The pain felt good . As she closed her eyes, she could hear Rhaenyra screaming, begging for mercy as her sons were slowly tortured to death . . .

Harrenhal

“He marched six thousand men at night and managed to overrun a city at the end of it?” Daemon asked; interrupted only interrupted by the crackling of the hearth in the makeshift war room. Perhaps there was some merit to his son having grown up in Runestone after all. It was an impressive feat of arms to say the least, much as he hated to admit it. Soon enough, Lady Jeyne would likely be pledging her allegiance to him and that would be the end of their hopes in the Vale. Eldric Arryn was yet untested in battle, and he would be against a force that had just won a great victory. 

“So it seems, My Prince.” The Harrenhal Maester said. He had gathered a small handful of men so far, but when the Freys joined him . . .

He was interrupted by Lord Roote barging into the room to inform him that the Vances of Atranta, having defeated the Brackens decisively in the field and broke their army, would march to Harrenhal posthaste, along with the Lychesters, Rygers, Paeges and other western Riverlands houses, save for the Brackens and Tullys. The Smallwoods, Pipers and Vances of Wayfarer’s Rest meanwhile would guard against the assault.

“What news of the east?” Daemon asked.

“Only the Mootons have given us their support. The Darrys and the Coxes have followed House Tully into neutrality.”

Damn . He had been hoping to sway Saltpans and Darry to them after Maidenpool had declared for Rhaenyra. “And the North?”

“House Stark has declared for Rhaenyra, thanks to Prince Jacaerys. Where they go, the North will follow.” Roote said confidently. He was a tall man; taller than Daemon was in fact, with dark eyes and flaming orange hair that belied a calm, collected demeanour. The Rootes had been the first Riverlands house to declare for Rhaenyra, and had brought near three thousand men to Harrenhal after Daemon had taken it. 

“With winter coming? I doubt it.” Daemon replied. “They will want to care for their own before they march south.” Not that I can blame them; I would likely do the same .

“Regardless, the Riverlands remain deeply divided, My Prince. Word arrived from our men in King’s Landing as well; Ser Otto Hightower has been removed as Hand and been replaced by Criston Cole.”

That caught Daemon off-guard. Aegon had removed Otto Hightower from office? For all of the man’s many faults, Daemon had thought that Aegon would not take the risk of removing a man so heavily experienced in matters of state, and certainly not with Cole. It pointed to a newer, far more aggressive strategy on Aegon’s part, no doubt provoked by the murder of his son. Daemon was suddenly wary; experienced soldiers were rare in this day and age and those few veterans that did exist were worth their weight in gold. Cole had fought in the Dornish Marches for nearly all of his life until he joined the Kingsguard.

“Have we got any indication of their next move?”

“None yet. As far as the Bronzes go, you know about Gulltown. I suggest sending support for Ser Eldric-”

“Allying with him was foolish and made an enemy of the entire Vale.” Daemon interrupted. “We’ll prepare to march on Stone Hedge, Lord Roote. Ready your men and send a raven to Atranta informing them that we will meet there and take the Brackens out of the war.”

Lord Roote opened his mouth to protest, but seemed to accept the decision before leaving. Daemon studied the maps for a few more minutes, taking a green token off of Stone Hedge, then gathered Dark Sister and began heading towards his chambers. He passed by Ser Symon Strong on the way; the man was harmless enough to be left alone when Harrenhal had fallen. 

“Trouble, My Prince?” He heard a woman ask as he walked down the corridor. The woman was only slightly younger than he was even if she looked much younger thanks to her long black hair and strangely young features. This was Alys Rivers; the woman who had supposedly been the wet nurse to Harwin and Larys Strong. 

“Nothing you need concern yourself with, witch.” Daemon snapped. He had seen the woman at night, speaking in High Valyrian in front of towers of flame. He had heard of and seen similar people in Essos, and immediately had recoiled from them. 

“All is the concern of the Red God, My Prince.” She smiled thinly. “For the night is dark and full of terrors.”

Daemon rolled his eyes and walked past her. If he were younger, maybe he’d have taken her into his bed; she had offered as much when Harrenhal had fallen. But he was old now, and could likely find a far prettier younger woman somewhere around here. Besides, Rhaenyra would never have to know about any of them, save for Mysaria. 

He found himself distracted by thoughts of his son. The boy had done well to take Gulltown on such short notice, even if it now meant this war was about to be fought three different ways. 

I hope I don’t see you across the battlefield, Daevar . . .

The Redfort

The other houses had begun arriving at the Redfort when Daevar marched there just over a week later. With Isembard Arryn in place and seeing to the Bronzes’ financials, he had left a small garrison before marching to the logical meeting point before advancing on House Waynwood, who had rebuffed his demand for allegiance by stating they would be backing Rhaenyra. From the picture that was slowly emerging, most of Eldric’s forces were gathered from the houses of the northern Vale, while most of the south was under his control. Even so, Eldric had not wasted time, and the last report was that he was moving fast down the road towards Ironoaks. 

The other lords had grimaced when realising that a major battle was going to be fought in the region that Daevar was supposed to have the strongest support in. It was something they had tried desperately to avoid, but was now a certainty.

Daevar had only just dismounted and was preparing to head into his tent when riders came barrelling up to the camp bearing the falcon banner of House Arryn and a message for Daevar. Immediately after reading it, he called a council of war in his tent. A map had been hastily spread out on the thankfully dry ground, and most of the important commanders were kneeling over it. 

“If Lady Arryn is willing to give you her allegiance, then that will sway several houses to you.” Ser Corwyn Corbray said. He had arrived at the head of three thousand men and immediately had taken command of Daevar’s cavalry. 

“She asks for a steep price, Ser Corwyn.” Daevar replied. Jeyne had asked for a dragon to be stationed at the Eyrie to defend it from potential attack, and seeing as Daeron was needed to support the army in the field, that left Helaena. “Runestone would be left vulnerable.”

“Runestone is well-fortified, Your Grace.” Willam said. “And besides, the Greens and Blacks would never be able to reach it.”

“I hope not.” Daevar said before sighing. “And this would secure Lady Jeyne’s allegiance?” He turned, asking the messenger who was standing at the flap of the tent.

“She cannot abide Rhaenyra or Aegon’s accession for her own reasons, Your Grace.” The messenger said. “If you were to offer a defence, it could very well persuade her.”

“Fine.” He said. “I will send a raven to Runestone. Tell Lady Arryn to march her force to Ironoaks; I intend to give battle there before the moon turns.” He said. The messenger bowed before rushing out of the tent to ride back to the Eyrie. Daevar had made sure to oblige the man with a fresh horse to do so.

He was uncertain whether Helaena would say yes. After all, she would not want to be parted from Rhea after what had happened to Jaehaerys and Luke, and he couldn’t blame her for it. 

"Shall we plan for battle then?” Kermit said, a giddy look on his face. “I’ve been waiting to show Eldric a thing or two.”

Daevar nodded, and began laying out his plan . . .

Runestone

“He wants me to emplace myself at the Eyrie?” Helaena asked. She had been feeding Rhea in her and Daevar’s chambers when Gerold arrived with the message. To say that she was shocked was an understatement.

“He says it would secure Lady Jeyne’s allegiance.” Gerold replied. “She’s concerned about a dragon attack on the Eyrie.”

“Dreamfyre’s not a battle dragon, Ser Gerold.”

“But she’s still a dragon.” He said. “And right now, only you and Prince Daeron are active riders; Daevar won’t use Vermithor unless things go badly for us because he’s too afraid of the destruction that would be caused.”

Helaena sank back in her armchair, trying to blot out the visions that were plaguing her more and more since the war had started. Last night she had seen a dragon drowning beneath the waves, struggling against the tide as men aimed crossbows at it. She had woken in a start, reaching for her husband before realising he was not there.

“I should emphasise this, Your Grace,” Gerold continued, “He says he is not commanding, but asking.”

Helaena sighed. I can’t leave Rhea here . . . “My daughter . . . she would have to come with me; I don’t want her alone here. And our return from King’s Landing was not especially safe.”

Gerold nodded. “I understand, Your Grace.”

“And Lady Jeyne will give us swords if I do this?”

“She is a woman of her word, Your Grace.” 

Helaena nodded. Much as she didn’t want to do it, if it would secure the support of the Eyrie then it was worth it. “Very well. I’ll begin preparing.”

“I’m glad to hear it, Your Grace. I’ll go and speak with Barden now.” Gerold said, bowing before leaving to find the Maester.

With great reluctance, Helaena hauled herself from the armchair and began dressing in her riding clothes before gathering Rhea in her arms. Hopefully Barden would be able to devise something quickly enough for her to leave before sundown. She held the little girl close, listening to her heartbeat.

“I will protect you with my life.” She said, despite knowing Rhea couldn’t hear her. “I will not let what happened to Luke or Jaehaerys happen to you.”

Rhea just pulled on the fabric of her riding tunic. For someone who supposedly couldn’t hear, the babe seemed to have some sort of sense of what was being said. 

My mother’s emplacement at the Eyrie was a necessary part of the deal that had been struck between Lady Jeyne and my father. After all, she needed a defence from dragons. Throughout the war though, there would be no major dragon attack on the Vale; no one has managed to decipher why. The only ones who know the reasons for certain are dead.

I have never been told what my grandfather thought of my father’s victory. If he was a man who respected nothing but strength-as I have been told-then he no doubt had some admiration for what had been achieved. 

Chapter Text

Even as 132 AL began coming to a close, the war began expanding further. Clashes in the Riverlands were brought to an end as Prince Daemon took Stone Hedge and forced the submission of the Brackens. In the Reach, Lord Hightower’s attempt to march on Horn Hill was met with defeat after he walked into a Tarly ambush.

All sides began moving to their first major clashes. Criston Cole marched with seven thousand men from King’s Landing, heading for Duskendale. As for my father, he was marching on Ironoaks. House Waynwood had declared for Rhaenyra, and Eldric was rallying his forces there.

The Battle of Ironoaks was to be the first major battle my father fought. Though many songs have been written of it, the reality is that it might’ve gone the other way had it not been for Prince Daeron and Ser Joffrey.

Outside Ironoaks

Daevar, Kermit and Corwyn were seated on horseback opposite Eldric, Lord Waynwood, and Gunthor Royce. It had been some time since Daevar had seen Gunthor, but that was for his own reasons. The man had never been able to abide that Runestone had passed to Daevar’s mother instead of himself, and he’d all but abandoned Gerold in a fit of pique at his brother.

“You have our demands. You can bend your knees and live, or fight and die.” Daevar said. “Any survivors will be imprisoned.”

“We are sworn to Queen Rhaenyra.” Eldric said, a thin smile on his face. “She has acknowledged my father as the true Lord of the Eyrie, and me as Regent. It’s more than you ever did.”

“You’re committing treason against your liege lady.” Ser Corwyn said. 

“And you’re committing treason against your Queen.” Eldric replied. “You can be the judge of which is more severe.”

“Your mother’s debt to me is still to be repaid!” Gunthor said. The man was in his late 60s with a bald head, but was still built like an aurochs. His heavy plate armour only seemed to add to his fearsome appearance. 

“Your debt does not exist, Ser Gunthor.” Daevar snapped. “My mother was acknowledged as the Lady of Runestone decades ago. Your son accepts it, so why can’t you?”

“Gerold has been a disgrace of a son.” Gunthor spat. “Where is he? Too much of a coward to show his face?!”

“Peace, Gunthor.” Eldric replied. “You have two options now. Either you bend your knees to Queen Rhaenyra and hand over Prince Daeron for judgement, or you can die. We’ll expect your answer within the hour.” He turned his horse around and rode back towards his army, fifteen thousand strong with the addition of the Waynwoods. Daevar’s army was outnumbered, but not significantly.

“Would you believe I once called Lord Waynwood a brother?” Ser Corwyn asked. “Now he’s declared against you.” He said as they turned around to ride back to their own army. 

“We are outnumbered.” Kermit said. 

“We don’t need to withstand them forever.” Daevar said. “Daeron has gone to guide Ser Joffrey towards us. With a bit of luck, he’ll hit them in the flank after battle is joined.”

Kermit nodded. They didn’t need to hold the line forever, just until Ser Joffrey arrived with the Arryn soldiers, then they could send Eldric’s army scattering to the winds and focus on taking the strongholds of his supporters. Of course, the whole plan relied on Eldric being the one to attack, and then him being pinned in place long enough for Daeron and Joffrey to attack from the side. 

“A lot could go wrong, Your Grace.” Corwyn said.

Daevar simply nodded.

By the middle of the day, battle was still yet to be joined. Both armies were drawn up facing each other, but not a single arrow had been loosed. Eldric had planned to defend from the outset, or he had successfully guessed Daevar’s strategy and was preparing his own plan to counter Daevar’s. Either way, Daevar was left feeling uneasy, especially since Eldric’s men had had time to prepare their positions, and could easily retreat into Ironoaks itself even if he defeated them.

“We should hit them now.” Kermit said. “They can’t stand up to a full attack.”

Daevar and his commanders had set themselves up in the middle of the army while they waited for battle to be joined. Eldric’s main force had been positioned on the slope of a slight hill with trees on either side. Any attacking force would have to charge up the slope, and even then they would be coming up against braced pikes.

“Take a look at that slope, Ser Kermit.” Lord Redfort said. “Our men would have to advance up it.”

“It’s not steep.”

“Steep enough to cause problems.” Corwyn said. “Your Grace, Eldric’s not likely to leave his position.”

“No, quite right. And we can’t flank him through the woods either.” Daevar thought quickly before devising his new plan. If Eldric wasn’t going to attack them, they would have to attack him. With his new plan readied, Daevar ordered the attack to begin. On the right flank, Corwyn led most of his knights forward in a heavy charge, slamming into the troops defending Eldric’s flank. This was the one area when the slope of the hill as at its gentlest, and the men defending that flank were quickly forced into retreat. The mounted knights had the edge here; the soldiers defending Eldric’s flanks weren't armed with pikes, and as such lacked a solid defence against cavalry.

Panicking, Eldric ordered his own cavalry to counter-charge Corwyn, and in the ensuing melee, his men seemed to have the best of it. Corwyn called his knights to retreat, and those that hadn’t been cut down by lance or longsword withdrew just as the rest of the army moved into the attack on the left and centre.

Willam was leading the vanguard of the main attack, with Daevar behind him leading the main force and Lord Redfort on the left. Willam was dismounted, leading the infantry line forward. He had organised them into squares that were ten men deep and ten men wide, with pikes forming the first two ranks. Peering over the ranks of pikemen, he could see that Eldric’s own pikemen were defending his centre. So it will be a push of pike then , he thought. Fucking wonderful.

“Pikes at the ready!” He shouted. The pikemen lowered their weapons of sixteen-foot long ash poles tipped with steel as they clashed. Willam had read over and over again that the push of pike was something that the soldiers of the Vale feared and detested, but it was not something he had seen in battle.

He could see why it was hated so much. 

It became a question of strength, assuming one didn’t get a pike to the neck or face when standing in the front ranks. The masses of pikemen continued pushing against each other, trying to shove the other back. Even if the Bronzes were trying to attack up the slope, they were still pressing hard. Willam, for his part, left his position in the square and charged up the channel between his square and the next one on. Knocking aside one of the pikes with his shield, he managed to hit the enemy line and stabbed one soldier through the neck with his sword. 

Daevar, behind them with the main force, dismounted his own horse and shouted for the few knights with him to do the same. After all, horses would not charge onto pikes. He formed his men into wedges, drew Lamentation, and ordered them to advance slowly at first before they reached the rear ranks of the vanguard, which had by now been considerably thinned out. The vanguard began to fall back as the main force took up position, driving forward slowly. Then Daevar gave the order. “CHARGE!” He shouted.

At his word, the attacking wedges surged forward. The heavy fighting had left the front ranks of Eldric’s troops weary, and now the commitment of fresh troops was proving too much for them. They began to fall back under the sustained assault as the pikemen’s weapons were knocked off-balance by their attackers. Rapidly, Eldric’s pikemen retreated, but he had fresh troops behind them as well.

The battle descended into a bloody mess as the two lines of dismounted knights and men-at-arms clashed. Daevar found himself ducking behind his shield before thrusting Lamentation into the shoulder of one enemy before barely managing to pull his sword arm back before an axe fell on it. He pushed forward with his shield, trying to take advantage of the now-empty position in front of him. He met the shield of another soldier and rapidly thrust forward with Lamentation again. He didn’t connect with anything, but was still able to advance.

Next to him, Kermit still had his morningstar slung at his belt, and was thrusting forward a long dagger that was more useful at close quarters. He felt it connect with someone’s face before pulling back and shoving his shield forward. His boot was tramping over the man he had just killed, but that was far from his mind as he felt the blow of a thrusted sword bounce off his armour. 

Daevar knew this was a dangerous moment; they were effectively in a shoving match and all it would take to kill him was a lucky thrust with a dagger. He was stabbing wildly with Lamentation, trying to cut into anything in front of him while he shoved forward with his shield as much as he could. He felt himself thrust the point of Lamentation through another target and immediately pushed forward. “Everyone push! We’re breaking through!” He shouted. With no view of the situation around him, he had to trust that his subordinates would take the initiative. 

Thankfully, it was now that Corwyn had sprung his trap. Having successfully pulled all of Eldric’s cavalry away from the battlefield, his knights now turned around and attacked. Caught at the end of a pursuit, Eldric’s knights hadn;t been expecting a counterattack, and quickly fell victim to Corwyn’s men. Lady Forlorn flashed and turned in the afternoon sun as the Valyrian steel did its work on the enemy. With Eldric’s knight broken, Corwyn charged his men back into the battle, falling on the enemy flank.

Sensing that the enemy was beginning to give way, Daevar shoved forward again. “They’re breaking! Keep pushing!” He shouted, filled again with a desire to end the battle. He could hear a roar from his men as they recommitted to the fight, stabbing with spears, swords and daggers and anything else they could find. 

Then came a roar from the sky.

Daeron and Tessarion had successfully guided Ser Joffrey to the battlefield, and began swooping down into an attack run. “Dracarys!” Daeron commanded, and Tessarion’s blue flame lit up the rear ranks of Eldric’s army. The terrified screams were cut off as they were smothered in flame, while a handful of survivors screamed for their comrades to put them out of their misery.

“Archers, shoot at that fucking dragon!” Eldric shouted, but it was no use. Tessarion was simply too fast, and Daeron had learnt how to use her properly against a fixed army by now; use speed and attack the flanks and rear. They came down and made another pass, this time burning Eldric’s baggage train as Ser Joffrey finally appeared at the edge of the battlefield and ordered an immediate attack. 

Eldric quickly ordered Gunthor to block Joffrey's attack, but he had barely a thousand men to defend against seven thousand attackers. In ten minutes of furious fighting, Gunthor’s force was smashed and retreating from the battlefield. Gunthor himself stood in the middle of his fleeing troops, beheading one of them in anger with his greatsword. Seeing Joffrey atop his horse, he let out a roar and charged forward. 

Joffrey had just managed to cut down one of the enemy men-at-arms when he felt his horse scream and crumple. Thankfully, he was able to remove himself from the saddle before the beast fell on its side, and gathered up his sword. Gunthor was the biggest man he had ever seen, but he couldn’t let that stop him. He dodged one massive, heaving blow from Gunthor and managed to land a quick cut on his inner elbow. Gunthor roared and slashed again; Joffrey parried and landed another cut. 

Gunthor attempted an almighty overhead cut next, but Joffrey was able to parry and cut the calf of his leg. The big man roared and fell to his knees. “Surrender, Ser Gunthor. You are defeated.” Joffrey said, his sword levelled at the man’s neck.

“I’ll die before I surrender to you!” Gunthor shouted, lashing out with his greatsword again. He slashed in a wide arc, and would’ve taken one of Joffrey’s legs off if he hadn’t gotten his sword in the way in time. Gunthor staggered to his feet, but was clearly favouring his left leg as he aimed another blow, though Joffrey could feel it was weaker as he parried it away and stabbed Gunthor in the shoulder. Gunthor drew his dagger, but Joffrey pulled his sword free and then stabbed the man in the throat. Gunthor made a horrible gurgling sound as blood spilled from the wound in his neck.

Daevar by now was shouting for his men to charge again, and with the arrival of Joffrey and Daeron, the battle was all but decided. Eldric’s army was in full retreat, and not towards Ironoaks, but up the northern road. “You bloody well took your time.” He said as Daeron landed. What remained of Eldric’s army at the field was surrendering. 

“You were the one who told me to lead Ser Joffrey here.” Daeron said. “Besides, I’m here now.”

“After the battle was already won.” Kermit said, wrenching his morningstar free from the skull of one unfortunate soul. 

“We’ve won the battle, not the campaign.” Daevar reminded them. “Today was a victory, but there will be more battles in this to come.”

Several days later

“A raven from Sisterton, Your Grace.” Gerardys said as he walked into Rhaenyra’s chambers. She had been thinking about her Luke again . . . his life had been cut short by that one-eyed monster in cold blood. Was he really just a pawn in the game that she was playing? Had she sent him to his death? No, it was that monster who did it . . . oh my precious Luke, where are you?

“Yes, Maester?” Rhaenyra said, drying the tears on her face and turning to look at him. 

“Ser Eldric was defeated near Ironoaks. Lady Arryn has pledged allegiance to Daevar; Ser Joffrey rides with him as the leader of the Arryn forces.”

Rhaenyra clenched her fists. She knew that she was making a mistake thinking that Eldric could defeat Daevar in battle with his ragtag assembly of lesser lords and knights. Am I surrounded by imbeciles? She wondered. Daemon and Corlys were the only true leaders she had, and her Prince had now sat still at Harrenhal, gathering his army in the Riverlands which for reasons beyond her understanding, did not include the Tullys or Blackwoods.

“Why is it that things go so badly in the Vale?!” She demanded.

“Because we have no dragon there, Your Grace.” Gerardys said. “They have three. If we were to send-”

“No.” She replied. I must trust in Daemon’s plan. “We will need them to take King’s Landing.”

‘Very well, Your Grace.” Gerardys replied. “Your son also dispatched a raven. He is on his way home; the Starks will not be ready to march for some time, but Lord Cregan will send an advance force under Lord Dustin.”

“And why will Lord Stark not march with his full force?” She demanded. “He owes his allegiance to us.”

“He believes that the North will be badly affected by the winter snows, Your Grace. Men will be needed to bring in the harvest before the weather turns bad.”

Fucking winter . . . She couldn’t blame Lord Cregan for his caution, but of course winter had chosen to begin just as the war started. Her ideas of a quick march were scuppered then; they would have to adapt, and fast.

“I hope you have some word from Harrenhal, at least.” Rhaenyra replied.

“I do, Your Grace. The Vances of Atranta are planning to march on Stone Hedge; it seems likely that Prince Daemon will join them to demand House Bracken’s submission. The Blackwoods have thus far ignored our requests.” Gerardys said, wording it as carefully as he could. 

“What of the other houses? The Mallisters, the Freys?”

“Lord Frey is gathering his men as we speak, all four thousand of them. Lord Mallister is staying put. The exact words he returned to us were ‘As long as House Tully remains neutral, Seagard will not march.”

“Damn him!” Rhaenyra shouted before regaining control of her senses. At least Jace was coming home; they could begin planning the next phase of the war then. “Very well. Has any sort of picture emerged yet?”

“It’s difficult to say, Your Grace.” Gerardys replied. “But it does seem we have a slight upper hand. When the snows come, Daevar will be unable to march, and Aegon is facing hostility from much of the Riverlands and a good portion of the Reach as well.”

And he did not expect war in the Reach, she reminded herself. That was supposed to be Aegon’s biggest base of support, and as long as there was a war there, the Hightowers couldn;t march to support him in the Riverlands. “And what of the Tyrells? Have they said anything?”

“House Tyrell remains firmly neutral, Your Grace, though Lord Tarly suspects they will send forces to march with the Hightowers.”

Rhaenyra nodded. “Very well. Thank you, Gerardys. You may go.”

Thank the Gods Jace is returning home safely . . . I cannot bear to lose another son . . .

Victory at Ironoaks added some much-needed legitimacy to my father’s cause. The houses of the Vale that had declared for Rhaenyra began pulling their men from the fight and going over to my father, or holing up in their castles, depriving Ser Eldric of the swords he needed for a sustained campaign.

The news that House Arryn had declared for my father was likewise a mighty blow to Rhaenyra’s cause, but it was more than just the Vale that was at stake. Such a declaration I suspect also gave further reason for the Tullys, Blackwoods, Mallisters and other Riverlords to keep their neutrality.

For now, at least.

Chapter Text

With the war now having well and truly begun, each side began preparing for the inevitable beginning of the war for the skies. Dragons had not duelled in the skies of Westeros since the days of Maegor, but a clash between riders was inevitable. Indeed, I believe the desire to pick off the Blacks’ dragons was Cole’s main strategy. 

As Prince Daemon took Stone Hedge, my father began steadily marching north through the Vale, taking castles and strongholds as he gradually began cutting out Ser Eldric’s base of support. Of course, what he didn’t know was that Ser Eldric was rallying what was left of his forces in the far north of the Vale. 

Duskendale

It was as the sun was going down that Aegon and Aemond landed on Sunfyre and Vhagar outside the city. Ser Criston had emphatically said that he wouldn’t need their assistance to capture the city, and looked like he was right. Aegon’s banner-a gold three-headed dragon on a black field-flew over the Dun Fort by the harbour, and soldiers had been put on watch.

The Rosbys and Stokeworths had capitulated easily enough with their lords held hostage in King’s Landing, but it seemed that Lord Darklyn needed a reminder of who his king was. With the city now in their hands, they had deprived Rhaenyra of her most significant ally near King’s Landing as well. Good. We need to secure our surroundings before attacking further, Aegon thought. 

The two of them made their way through the gatehouse and into the market square behind it, though the market had been suspended in favour of a venue for executions; in the middle was a crude wooden platform with a headsman’s block placed on it. Evidently Ser Criston had decided that making the executions public instead of holding them at the Dun Fort would send a message. 

“Your Grace!” One knight said, running to them. It was Ser Gyles Belgrave, one of the Kingsguard’s recent appointees, easily recognised without his helmet by his balding head and goatee. “Ser Criston is in the Dun Fort with the other commanders. Lord Darkyln is being held there as well, to await your judgement.”

“Good.” Aegon said simply before gesturing for Ser Gyles to lead them towards the stronghold of House Darklyn. The Dun Fort was an impressive structure; built on cliffs overlooking the Duskendale harbour and with a rectangular keep protected by four large drum towers. Inside, the main hall of the keep seemed to have been turned into a temporary war room, with map tables all over the place. Ser Criston himself was studying one of them as Aegon and Aemond entered. “Congratulations on your victory, Ser Criston.”

“Hardly a victory, Your Grace.” Ser Criston replied. “They were so surprised that we’d taken the arsenal and the harbour before they’d realised what was happening.” He explained. “The men who refused to swear allegiance to you are dead, apart from Lord Darklyn.”

“I’ll sentence him myself.” Aegon said. “Bring him to the market square on the morrow; he can answer to Sunfyre.”

Criston winced. There was no need to subject Lord Darklyn to such a needlessly cruel death, especially when they were still trying to win over support from other lords, but he couldn;t defy a king’s command. Not when they were so close to the culminating engagement he had been pushing for with his strategy. Regaining his composure, he nodded. “Very well. Your mother dispatched a raven as well; the Queen has departed for Oldtown on Windfyre.”

“What is your plan from here, Ser Criston?” Aegon asked, walking up to the map table. “We’ve taken Duskendale, and Daevar’s victory at Ironoaks is more a problem for Rhaenyra than us.” 

“From here, we advance on Rook’s Rest.” Criston pointed to a spot on the map. “It’s about three days’ march from here. We’ll take the castle from Lord Staunton and then prepare an ambush.”

“Ambush for what?” Aemond asked. “Once Rook’s Rest has fallen, we should turn and attack Harrenhal. My uncle is the biggest threat to us right now.”

“The Riverlands are lost.” Criston replied. “We must accept that and refocus our efforts on inflicting a defeat on Rhaenyra in the Crownlands and knocking the Tarlys out of the war too.” He said. “Try to see the bigger picture, My Prince. If the Crownlands and Reach are secured, we have a line of unbroken support from Casterly Rock to Storm’s End.”

“Aemond, Criston is the soldier that neither of us are.” Aegon replied. “We would do well to follow his advice.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Cole smiled slightly. “Lord Staunton will be ready for our attack, but we will take it. He will no doubt send for aid from Rhaenyra; she will have to send on of her riders to respond.” He moved a finger across the map from Dragonstone to Rook’s Rest. “When the rider she sends is committed to the fight . . .” He snapped his fingers. “That’s when you two swoop down and attack.”

The brothers smiled. Finally, a chance to inflict some damage on Rhaenyra. Finally, a chance to take vengeance for Jaehaerys. With luck, it would be Rhaenyra herself flying to meet them, assuming Syrax could still fly, of course; the beast was so fat that it would be a minor miracle if she could still take to the skies.

“When do we march?”

Dragonstone

“Duskendale has fallen.” Rhaenyra muttered. “Our only support left in the Crownlands is Rook’s Rest.”

She had taken Jace into the Chamber of the Painted Table as soon as he had returned. The boy had been filled with rage upon hearing of his brother’s death, but he did his best to douse it. Rash thinking led to rash actions and that would help no one; the best way to avenge his brother was to defeat Aegon in the field and bring him down for good.

“Which means he’ll attack Rook’s Rest next.” Jace said. “I could fly there now, to reinforce it.”

“No!” Rhaenyra snapped. “You are my heir, Jacaerys. My last hopes are with you. You will not fly into battle without my express permission.” I will not lose another son .

“I . . . yes, Mother.” Jace replied reluctantly. He would have to fight eventually; the realm would hardly respect a Prince of his age hiding behind castle walls while the war raged around him. Daeron had already flown into battle several times in support of Daevar, after all. Here was a reason he was so well-liked; Jace could admit that much. 

He glanced over at the Vale briefly, seeing the newly-carved bronze icons representing Daevar’s forces. They had been placed over the Eyrie, Gulltown and Runestone. Jace had only learnt of Daevar’s victory over Ser Eldric when he had returned, and the almost complete breaking of Ser Eldric’s army. I never should’ve taken him as an ally, Jace thought. It had been  a stupid idea to begin with; even assuming that he could trust the man, Ser Eldric was not a veteran in the way Daevar was. Not to mention Daeron and Tessarion.

“Daemon plans to force the submission of Stone Hedge.” Rhaenyra said. “Once that is done, Aegon will have no supporters in the Riverlands.”

“Maybe; but our own support there is likely wearing thin too.” Jace replied. “Several houses are yet to declare or have declared neutrality between us. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them are waiting to see how the fighting in the Vale goes.” He left unsaid that the remaining houses were likely taking their cues from House Tully, and would go the way they did. “I wouldn’t count the Greyjoys as allies either; they just want to raid the Westerlands.”

“Agreed.” Rhaenyra replied. Dalton Greyjoy was an ally of convenience, nothing more. “We must be ready to bring him in line when we win the war.”

“We will be.” Jace replied. “The other thing is Daevar.”

“We must consider the Vale lost for now.” Rhaenyra said. The onset of winter would prevent any major attack from there in the first place; the first major snowfall would block the routes out of the Vale. “The war is being fought in the Riverlands and Crownlands, so we must defeat Aegon there.”

“And when he marches from the Vale?” Jace asked.

“He will be dealt with when the time comes.” Rhaenyra replied. True, part of her still hoped that they might be able to reason with Daevar, but given the way people had gotten it into his head that he would make a good king, she very much doubted he wanted to hear them out. “I have ordered another raven sent to Runestone to that end.”

"The time for that has long passed, mother.” Jace said. “Daevar has already confronted forces allied to us and defeated them. He is not likely to hear out any pleas for peace, especially if they do not guarantee Daeron’s safety.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flashed with anger briefly. Daeron would be a threat to her claim as long as he lived, and no one could ever be persuaded to give up a claim to the Iron Throne. Unless they were dim-witted of course, and whatever flaws Alicent’s children might have, none of them were dim-witted. “Daeron’s fate will be a just one.”

Daevar won’t take that well, Jace thought. “That won’t be enough, mother.” He said. “Daevar’s winning the war in the Vale. If you could send me to aid him-”

“I will not have another son put in the line of danger, least of all my immediate heir.” She said. “But you have managed to deliver Winterfell and White Harbor, and for that I’m grateful. Even if Lord Stark refuses to march immediately.”

“I did meet Lord Dustin when I was in the North, mother.” Jace replied. “I think you’ll be pleased with having him as an ally.”

“How many men is he bringing?”

“He said he had around two thousand initial volunteers, and could bring up to three or four thousand more.” Jace replied. “All of them ready to die.” He added. It was a morbid thing, if he was honest with himself. The Northerners had a tradition where the older among them would go out into the frost when winter came to ensure that there was more food left for the rest of them. “But we face the same problem; very few of them have seen battle before.”

“And not being afraid of death makes you stupid.” Rhaenyra added. It was a lesson Corlys had imparted on her; the fearless soldier is the most foolish. “When Daemon takes Stone Hedge, Aegon will likely use that as an incentive to strike Dragonstone. I will need you here to defend our island.”

“And what of our counterattack?” Jace asked. “We cannot let the Greens have the initiative.”

“It’s all moves and counter-moves at this stage, Jace.” Rhaenyra replied. “Right now, there has not been a major dragon against dragon battle, but that will change soon, I suspect.” She looked up from the table to face him. “And when it does, we must pray that we are the victors.”

The Eyrie

The first flurries of snow had fallen the morning that word of Daevar’s victory at Ironoaks had reached them. Nothing serious yet, but Helaena had the feeling a major fall wasn’t that far off. As soon as the white raven had arrived, Lady Jeyne had ordered all sorts of preparations to be made, including making sure there was enough food for Dreamfyre as well. Helaena was grateful for that; she didn't want Dreamfyre out hunting when they didn’t know if Rhaenyra would send a dragon to support Eldric.

She was sitting with Jeyne and Jessamyn in the Eyrie’s solar; the afternoon light filling the room as tea and an assortment of cakes had been spread out on the table in front of them. Rhea was at her breast as well; the little one had a prodigious appetite it seemed, but Helaena was willing to indulge it. “She’s a beautiful little girl, Your Grace.” Jessamyn said, sipping at her tea.

“Thank you, Lady Jessamyn.” Helaena smiled. Jessamyn smiled and bowed her head.

"We should be thanking you, Your Grace.” Jeyne replied, setting down her cup. “We’re aware that you coming here has left Runestone without a dragon to defend it.”

“Vermithor is still there. Daevar doesn’t ride him, but . . .” She trailed off. Vermithor was bonded to Daevar and would fight any dragons that did attack Runestone. He would likely triumph too, being that he was the second-largest dragon in the world behind Vhagar. And Daevar will ride him one day , she reminded herself. 

“Indeed, My Lady.” Jeyne smiled before dropping it. “You’re still worried for him, aren’t you?”

Helaena nodded as Rhea finished feeding. She pulled her dress back up and let the little girl fall asleep in her lap. “I’m his wife, Lady Jeyne. Should I not be worried?”

“You would not be human if you were not worried for him, Your Grace.” Jeyne replied tenderly. She had been surrounded by death from the time she was three; the rest of her family had perished at the hands of the Hill Tribes, and then as the years passed, her regent Yorbert Royce died, then Rhea. The only one still standing at her side from the regency was Jessamyn. “I have seen much death in my life, Your Grace . . . but there is something about your husband. He has you and your daughter to come back to, after all.”

“I can merely pray that is enough for him to consider his own safety before charging into battle.” Helaena sighed. “It’s not just that I fear for him, Lady Jeyne. I miss him.” She admitted. It was true, she did miss just being held by him. And damn her, she missed laying with him too. 

“That’s only natural, Your Grace.” Jeyne replied. The times where she and Jessamyn had been parted had been difficult for her too, but they had always come out of them stronger than they were before. “He will be back. He has too much to risk to throw himself into certain death.”

“Indeed.” Jessamyn agreed. “Never underestimate the power loved ones can have on someone’s sense of self-preservation. Besides . . .” She sipped at her tea. “Ser Joffrey has always said that the soldier without fear is the soldier without wits.”

“On that, he is correct.” Jeyne replied. “A man without fear is more likely to get himself killed before he can contribute to the fight.”

“You have seen this, Lady Jeyne?” Helaena asked.

“I was just a babe at the time, but I did hear plenty of stories from Lord Yorbert growing up. My father proclaimed himself to be without fear; he took himself and my brothers through a region infested with Stone Crows.” She shook her head. “The ambush killed all of them”

“Gods . . . Lady Jeyne, I-”

Jeyne waved her hand dismissively. “Your Grace, I was so young that I cannot even remember their faces. While their loss is with me, I cannot recall anything about them.” She said. It was a terrible thing to confess, but it was the truth. Her father was not someone she could remember, and her brothers even less so. 

“I wish it were the case for my brothers. Except Daeron.” She said with a slight shudder as she remembered Aemond’s attempt to force himself on her. Frantically, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, still frightened there might be traces of him on there.

“Are you alright, Your Grace?” Jessamyn asked, her brow creasing in worry.

“Hmm?” Helaena asked before it registered with her. “Yes, Lady Jessamyn. I’m fine.”  She scooped up Rhea and stood up. “I think I should take Rhea to her cot for now. I must admit, I am feeling tired as well.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Jeyne replied as she and Jessamyn stood as well. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Thank you, My Lady.” Helaena curtseyed as much as she could with Rhea in her arms and left Jeyne and Jessmayn in the solar by themselves.

“We can’t keep the war away from her forever, Jeyne.” Jessamyn said. “She’ll have to do something sooner or later.”

“I know, Jessamyn.” Jeyne replied. “But she wouldn’t last in battle. One volley of arrows and she’ll either fly away or . . .” She trailed off, unable to say it. She would not condemn a child to life without her mother; she had already seen that cycle play out with Daevar. “Besides, Daevar would kill me.”

Building towards the Battle of Rook’s Rest was a time of nothing but pure guesswork from Rhaenyra. Cole had successfully anticipated that she would not dispatch her son to confront him, nor would Daemon deviate from his plan to lure them into the Riverlands. Ultimately, Cole’s skill in war would only make itself more apparent as the war went on.

My mother has always said that was ashamed of herself for her actions in these days. Given my father’s requests of her though, she could scarcely act otherwise. Lady Jeyne wanted to make her stay in the Eyrie comfortable, but my mother always felt ill at-ease with it knowing that my father and his army were suffering all sorts of privations.

Chapter Text

Only a few weeks were left in the year by this point, and the decisive battle of this year approached. It was to be the first real clash of dragons in the war, though Rhaenyra did not know it by that point. It was also to be the Blacks’ most significant defeat of the year; even more so than the Battle of Ironoaks.

Criston had besieged Rook’s Rest as part of his new strategy and just as he planned, Lord Staunton sent a raven to Dragonstone requesting assistance. RHaenyra, forbidding Jacaerys to go, instead dispatched Rhaenyrs and Meleys. What she did not know of course, was that the Kingmaker had set his trap perfectly . . .

Rook’s Rest had defied Criston Cole for days before they had sent for support from Dragonstone. In her infinite wisdom, Rhaenyra had only sent Rhaenys and Meleys. It wasn’t like Rhaenys couldn’t understand why of course; risking Jacaerys at such a stage in the war was not exactly a wise decision, especially when Lord Staunton hadn;t reported any dragons present. She was there strictly to wipe out Cole’s army; a simple enough task for a dragon like Meleys. 

Encased in her full armour, she finally spied Rook’s Rest on the ground and identified the siege campe in the fields to the west. So, Cole is not a commander after all, she mused before swooping Meleys down. Cole was not an idiot of course; he would likely have some defences prepared, but she had though that a man with experiences from the border wars with Dorne would be more intelligent about placing his forces; she’d have put them in the woods to the north. Wait . . .

It only occurred to her after she had commanded Meleys to burn the camp. There were no screams. No men shouting in alarm, nor even any scorpion bolts being loosed at her. Unless Cole had fled-and whatever else the man was, he wasn’t a coward-something was very wrong. She flicked her head towards the woods to the north, just in time to see a cloud of arrows and scorpion bolts burst from the treeline. “ Pālēs, Meleys!” She shouted, ordering her dragon to evade the barrage of projectiles as best as she could before flying straight at them.

Cole, for his part, stood at the edge of the treeline directing the arrows at Meleys. As the huge dragon closed in on them, he could see some of the men begin to lose heart. “Hold to your courage for the one true King! Aegon!” He shouted. He couldn’t really blame them for losing their faith when faced with a monstrous dragon, but them fleeing was not going to help the morale of anyone. He seized control of a scorpion and loosed it; Rhaenys felt the hairs on her neck stand on end as the bolt whipped just centimetres from her face. 

She twisted Meleys into a roll then began her attack. “ Dracarys!” She shouted. Meleys released a gout of orange flame, incinierating many of the mne that made up Cole’s first line. Those that didn’t find themselves burning to death were trapped under the canopy of burning trees. Cole and the few hundred survivors pulled themselves out of the ambush position and rushed towards a nearby hill deeper in the woods. If this next part of the plan didn;t come off absolutely perfectly, then they would be finished and the war would likely be lost here. It all depended on one flaming scorpion bolt reaching the height needed to trigger the second stage of the attack. 

Rhaenys had looped around to swing Meleys into another attack, but apart from the screams of burning men and a fire that was rapidly spreading as it caught other trees, there was nothing. Had she killed Cole? Of course you did; he would’ve been cooked in his armour. It was time to finish off what remained of his little army, but the woods were dramatically thicker the further she got from the edge, and the part of the canopy that hadn’t caught alight prevented her from sighting anyone below. Growling in frustration, she was about to peel off for Rook’s Rest when she saw a single flaming scorpion bolt shoot to the heavens from the canopy. 

Then there were two roars as they appeared. 

Oh no.

Appearing like demons, Sunfyre and Vhagar dived towards her. Criston Cole had sprung his trap, and Rhaenys had come snatching at the bait. 

She allowed herself a moment of fear. After all, she had been ambushed by two dragons, one of whom was the largest alive with an exceptionally cruel rider, and the other an unknown quantity with a rider who could only have bloody vengeance on his mind. There was nowhere to run.

With a cry, Rhaenys turned Meleys towards their attackers and charged straight at them.

So this is how it ends . . .

Aegon and Aemond, together with their dragons, had been waiting above the clouds for Cole’s signal, keeping a close eye for the flaming scorpion bolt launched high into the sky to launch the second stage of the ambush. When it came, the two swooped down from above the cloudline, roars bellowing from Sunfyre and Vhagar. For Aemond, this was a chance to win his first victory; for Aegon, this was his chance at wreaking the first stage of his vengeance on Rhaenyra’s family. Not even the sight of Meleys charging towards them dissuaded them.

Aegon and Sunfyre dived out of the path of the charging Meleys, letting Aemond and Vhagar attack head-on. The mightiest dragon alive spewed a jet of flame at Meleys, forcing the Red Queen to break off her attack run at the two dragons. One dragon would’ve been a difficult enough opponent, but two was impossible, especially since both riders were dead-set on killing both her and Rhaenys.

Aemond pulled Vhagar into another attack on Meleys, shouting in Valyrian to burn Meleys’ mongrel hide. It was a command that Vhagar was only too happy to follow, and more jets of flame were flung at Meleys. One of them singed her wing, causing a sharp cry of pain to erupt from her. Rhaenys flinched too; Meleys was not invincible, as she was learning. She turned around to strike at Vhagar as the massive beast turned around to attack, only to be set upon by Sunfyre. The golden dragon was much more nimble and faster than either Meleys or Vhagar, and Meleys’s attempts to counter Sunfyre’s attacks showed it. Sunfyre swiped at her tail with his claws before twisting in the air and launching a fireball at her which narrowly missed Rhaenys herself. These usurpers are cleverer than we thought .

Above, Aegon shouted in triumph at his successful attack. “Again, Sunfyre!” He shouted in Valyrian, turning his dragon into another quick attack with the same pattern; swiping his claws at her then twisting around to spew dragonfire. One of the claws only narrowly missed Meleys’s eye, but the fireball crashed into her leg, prompting a loud howl from the wounded beast. 

“FUCK!” Rhaenys shouted as Vhagar now came on again. Meleys was able to hold her wits long enough to avoid the attempt to effectively bite her in half, but then Vhagar whipped around her massive tail as she passed by, striking Meleys in the face. Stunned for a moment, Meleys was unable to prevent being sliced across the back by Sunfyre before another jet of flame came shooting at them. Rhaenys ducked, but could feel that Meleys was tiring. She didn’t have long before Aemond and Aegon would close in for the kill, and what had she achieved with her relief effort? Nothing. Rook’s Rest would fall, and Daemon would be left exposed to their joint assault in Harrenhal. 

She had only one chance to end this but Meleys had to stay calm and push through the pain, and pray that luck was on her side long enough to strike the blow she needed to. She whispered words of encouragement to her dragon as she temporarily pulled away from the fight to hurriedly plan out an attack. There was no way she was going to escape this alive; that much had been apparent from the start, and it had only gotten clearer once meleys had been wounded twice Perhaps though there was a chance that she could take Aegon with her and end the whole war right now . . .

She swung Meleys around for one last effort. 

“FIRE AND BLOOD!”

On the ground, Criston Cole had set to reorganising his forces as much as he could. He would have to do a proper count later, but he knew he had lost at least five hundred men in Meleys’s attack, and likely more. He had gone into this knowing that he was likely to lose men, but it still weighed heavy on him that he had thrown away so many lives for a shot at a single woman and her dragon. That was even if Aegon and Aemond could defeat Rhaenys; the Lady of Driftmark was putting up a good fight. 

His men were mesmerised by the sight of the brawl between the three dragons. It hadnt been seen in Westeros in any of their lifetimes; the last time dragons had fought in the skies was when Maegor seized the throne from Aegon the Uncrowned, and that hadn;t been much of a fight at all. Here, it seemed the three riders were equally matched, though that didn;t stop them from cheering for their king, Cole was happy to note. The loyalty of the men he had now was beyond reproach as far as he was concerned. They had been bonded together in blood, and that wasn’t easily broken.

From a distance, Cole could make out that while Sunfyre and Vhagar had the upper hand, Meleys was still more than able to fight back. A shame that Rhaenys hadn't been persuaded to join their side; she would have been a formidable ally. Still, they had no time to waste, especially since there was still a castle to take, and they would need to be ready to take Rook’s Rest as soon as the fight was over. Cole turned to Ser Gyles. “Gather the men together and surround Rook’s Rest. As soon as the battle up there is over, we need to turn around and take the castle.”

“I thought our objective was killing Meleys, Ser Criston?” Gyles asked. A seasoned swordsman he was, but he was no great strategic mind.

“It is, but if Rook’s Rest falls then Rhaenyra has nowhere to land her household forces or any Velaryon soldiers.” Criston said. “They cannot land just anywhere; they’ll need access to food and water, and they’d be exposed if they just camped in the open.” He explained. Gyles accepted the logic of that; no one wanted to make an opposed landing when there was the prospect they could be met by another army. 

Criston turned back to the dragon duel above them. For a moment, he was reminded of the stories his mother told him as a child about the end of the world; even though these three dragons represented a fraction of the fighting forces for both the Greens and Blacks, it seemed that anymore concentrated in the one spot might just end up causing the world to split.

Then it happened. He saw Meleys close her jaws around the neck of Sunfyre as Vhagar descended fro above, sending the three dragons crashing to the ground under her immense weight. “Shit . . .” He muttered. “Ser Gyles, gather what horsemen we have, mount them up and follow me!”

Rhaenys’ final attack had not been expected by either Aegon or Aemond. Aegon had driven Sunfyre in for the killing blow on Meleys, when the Red Queen had charged straight at them at the last second. In his eagerness, Aegon had separated himself from Aemond and left himself vulnerable, something that Rhaenys happily exploited by having Meleys charge forward and bite down hard on Sunfyre’s neck. Aemond, seeing Aegon in trouble, attacked down from above and sent them all sprawling to the ground. 

By the time Criston’s riders arrived, it was clear who the victor of the battle was. 

Meleys, wounded and in pain already, had been killed in the fall, though she hadn’t gone down without a fight. Flame had sprayed everywhere as she hit the ground, though Aemond had given up trying to distinguish who was launching dragonfire at who when they had hit the ground. Still, he was unharmed, and more importantly so was Vhagar. He dismounted his dragon and immediately walked up to Criston. “I believe we have victory, Ser Criston.”

“Where is the King?” Criston asked, only to see him a moment later. Not much stunned Criston Cole; he was a veteran soldier of several dozen skirmishes at battles against the Dornish, who were known to be brutal enemies. Not much could’ve prepared him for the sight of this though.

Sunfyre had evidently adjusted himself to protect Aegon in the fall and it had cost him half of his left wing in the process. The dragon, barely breathing himself, groaned at the sight of Cole. Criston dismounted his horse and rushed up to where Aegon lay, having been thrown from his saddle. Though Criston could hear him breathing, he was not in a good way; the parts of his body that weren’t burnt were badly cut, and it looked like the armour on his left arm had melted into the flesh under the flame. Thankfully, for him at least, he seemed to have passed out; whether that was from the impact on the ground or the sheer pain, Criston didn’t know.

“Is he dead?” Aemond asked.

“No, he’s alive. Barely.” Criston said. “Ser Gyles, take King Aegon back to Rosby on one of our supply wagons, as gently as you can manage. Have the Maester do what he can for him there, then take him back to King’s Landing.”

“Yes, My Lord Hand.” Gyles replied before kicking his spurs into the flanks of his horse and riding off. 

“It seems we are without a king.” Aemond said.

“Not yet.” Criston replied. “He is still alive, so he is still our king.”

“But he is unable to carry out his duties.” Aemond replied. “Someone will have to lead our war effort in the meantime, Ser Criston.” Not that Aegon was leading it to begin with.

“That is a talk for another day, My Prince.” Ser Criston replied. “Right now, Meleys is dead, and I assume that is Rhaenys Targaryen.” He said, nodding his head at a lump of charred flesh next to the red dragon. “But Rook’s Rest is still in enemy hands.”

Aemond smiled thinly. “Then what are we waiting for?”

Dragonstone, several days later

“It should have been you!” Corlys raged. He had made for Dragonstone as soon as word of the Battle of Rook’s Rest had reached him, especially after hearing of the death of his wife. “Staunton sent to you, yet you left it to my wife to answer and forbade your sons to join her.” 

The Chamber of the Painted Table had been transformed into the war room for the Blacks, but the only thing that dominated the room now was Corlys Velaryon’s outrage over what had happened at Rook’s Rest. “Nesaena does not hide behind her walls; we know she is going to fight with the Hightowers even now! Yet you sit here and cower behind your walls!”

“I share your grief, Lord Corlys, but do not mistake my silence for apathy.” Rhaenyra replied. “And do not accuse me of being a coward.”

“Who is doing your fighting for you at the moment, Your Grace?” Corlys snarled. Jace slammed his fist down on the table.

“That’s enough, Lord Corlys!” He snapped. The last thing they ended right now was dissent in their ranks after a defeat; that would be what the Greens were counting on. They were better than anyone on Dragonstone when it came to fighting the war of influence, so maybe it had been a blessing in disguise that Otto Hightower had been removed as Hand. “Let’s not have any disagreements; disagreements lead only to disaster. And all is not lost.” He pointed to Harrenhal. “We still control Harrenhal and now we have taken Stone Hedge, and the Tarlys have proven skilled enough to hold back Lord Hightower in the Reach. We have suffered a shock, yes, but it is one that we can overcome.”

“I will withdraw House Velaryon from the cause if I see no plan.” Corlys said. “I was right; all of our misfortunes have come by your hand!”

“If it’s a plan you want, Lord Corlys, why not make it yourself as Hand of the Queen?” Jace asked, trying to guess that Corlys was after the power and authority that would come with such a position. “Daemon’s gathering an army in the Riverlands; you’re the most senior commander we have here, and you’re the leader of our fleet. A war leader should be second only to the Queen.” He said, turning to his mother for support. She furrowed her brow for a second, then nodded when she realised what he was getting at.

“My son is correct. With my husband fighting in the Riverlands, I need an experienced commander as my leading advisor.” Rhaenyra said. “I would name you as my Hand, Lord Corlys. You need only restate your loyalty.”

Corlys went silent for a moment. Were they really that desperate to keep him on side? If they were offering that, clearly they must be. I might be able to wring something else out of them later on as restitution for Rhaenys. “ . . . I accept.”

“Good.” Jace replied. “Now let us go back to the war.”

The Battle of Rook’s Rest was the first time that dragons had duelled above Westeros in nearly ninety years; it had last happened at the Battle Beneath the God’s Eye when Aegon the Uncrowned and his dragon Quicksilver were vanquished by Maegor the Cruel and Balerion the Black Dread.

Rhaenys’ death was a significant setback for the Blacks as well, forcing them to reorganise their strategy with the loss of a major dragon. Prince Jacaerys therefore began considering the idea of calling for riders for the unclaimed dragons. At the time of course, he could not have known of the destruction that would have resulted from his eventual decision.

Chapter Text

After the Battle of Ironoaks, the campaign in the Vale became one of taking castles. Eldric Arryn would not attempt another major stand in the future; I strongly suspect he had already fled the Vale for Dragonstone, but we may never know what he truly did after the battle. 

As the year began to enter its final days, more and more houses of the Vale shifted their allegiances from Rhaenyra to my father, who accepted those who did swear to him and stripped the lands of those who didn’t. Entrusting the mopping up of the Vale to his subordinates, he made his return to my mother at the Eyrie. Of course, this decision was to later haunt him with the death of Ser Gerold . . .

Returning to the Eyrie almost felt alien to Daevar. He had seen much of war already, and seeing a place that was so peaceful made it seem like it was from another world. No matter, he would finally be able to see Helaena and Rhea again after months of campaigning. With the war in the rest of the Vale in hand, he would have to see to his next moves as well now that the snows were beginning to fall. 

The ascent up to the Eyrie was made more difficult by the snow as it crunched under his feet, but it was one that he had done before, and the reward waiting at the top was one he had been looking forward to for a long time. Arriving at the top, he tethered his horse to the stables and finally entered the Eyrie. He was immediately ushered through to the High Hall, and found himself set upon by his wife straight away.

“Daevar!” Helaena exclaimed, running up and hugging him as tightly as she could. He kissed her deeply before pulling back, holding their foreheads together. “You’re here . . .” She said, feeling her eyes well up with relief. Her husband was here, in front of her, unwounded and alive. 

“I’m here.” He said before kissing her again. “At least for a short time while I plan what to do next. The others have the mopping up in hand.”

“Please don’t leave too soon . . .” She said, kissing him through her tears. Daevar just hugged her again in response; he couldn’t make a promise that he couldn’t keep. 

“The conquering hero returns to us.” Jeyne said as she entered the Hall. “Are you here to grace us with stories of your great victory, Your Grace? I can’t imagine you’d be here if things weren’t in hand.”

“Eldric tried to make a stand near Longbow Hall, but the Hunters attacked him before he’d readied his position.” Daevar replied. “His army’s all but gone.”

“So I’ve heard.” Jeyne smiled. “I’m getting more and more ravens every day rescinding their recognition of Arnold as Lord of the Eyrie and pleading themselves to me. I in turn pledge their loyalty to you.”

“You have my thanks, My Lady.” Daevar replied. He had suspected his victories had improved Lady Jeyne’s position as well, but didn’t want to assume, especially given the risings she had faced in the past had been without the backing of a claimant for the Iron Throne. “I would like some time with my wife before anything else, My Lady.”

Jeyne nodded. “Of course; I suspected as much. I expect Her Grace to lead you to your chambers. After you’ve been with your family, we must talk about the strategic situation; it’s all rather confused.”

Daevar nodded. He did recall Gerold once saying that anyone who wasn’t confused in war did not truly understand the situation, but he had mostly written that off. He was starting to see what his mentor meant now; managing an entire war was a confusing business, especially when you were chasing the enemy all over the Vale. “Of course, My Lady.”

“Well, let’s go.” Helaena said, taking his hand and leading him through the hallways of the Eyrie to the chambers that she had been given on her arrival. In the corner of one of the rooms, Rhea lay sleeping in her cot. She was growing hair now, that of the classic Targaryen silver-blonde; though she had inherited Daevar’s brown eyes as opposed to Helaena’s violet. 

“She looks like you.” Daevar said. He was tempted to reach down and tickle her stomach, but decided to leave her be. Babes needed their sleep, or so Helaena had told him. 

“I think she has your nose though.” Helaena said, turning to face him. “But she does have your eyes, that I’m certain of.”

“Shame she didn’t get yours.” He said, wrapping his arms around her from behind and kissing her neck gently. “Your eyes are nearly as beautiful as the rest of you.”

Helaena leaned to the side and let her eyes close as his soft kisses crept up towards her ear. “Daevar, not in front of Rhea.” She giggled, though she was only speaking half-seriously. 

“Then let’s go to the bedchamber.” He suggested, taking her hand and leading her in before ensuring the door was shut and kissed her deeply. Helaena had missed her husband deeply, and yes, she had missed laying with him, much as she was not supposed to give in to base urges. Still, that was far from her mind as she hurriedly removed his doublet. 

“You don’t wear your cuirass anymore.” She said in between kisses.

“I’m not Lord of Runestone anymore.” He replied. Well, that was the public reason, privately, bronze armour was terrible at deflecting blows, and he didn;t want to risk his life wearing bronze against someone swinging a longsword. He kissed her again as she unlaced her dress, letting it fall to the floor, followed by her smallclothes. Daevar stood back, his eyes raking over her form. 

“Daevar . . . you’re making me blush.” Helaena said, her cheeks going bright red as she made to cover herself before he moved her hands to her side, gently. 

“A man should do that for his wife.” He replied before removing his own tunic and trousers. Helaena ran a hand over the muscles on his torso; he had been in good shape before, but the war had been kind to his body. If anything, he seemed more muscled than he had been before, though she didn’t fail to notice the few scrapes and nicks on his body.

“The war did that, didn’t it?” She asked. Daevar nodded.

“I’d have been worse off without armour.” He replied. Helaena kissed him in reply before he sat down on the bed, pulling Helaena into his lap before she sank down on him. It had been too long since they had been together in this way, and the feeling of being inside her was something he had missed dearly. His hands went up to her breasts as she began rolling her hips on him and threw her head back.

Helaena’s eyes closed. It had been too long since he’d had her husband properly, and now here he was. She wanted to be with him. She wanted to share her pleasure with him. She ran her hands over his muscles again, feeling them flex under her touch. She began speeding up her movements, leaning down to kiss him as much as she could before gasping his name. “Oh Daevar . . .”

“Fuck, Helaena.” Daevar managed to grunt out as he began meeting her hips with his own thrusts up into her, doing his best to make her feel good as well. The feeling of her around his cock was almost too much for him at first, but by some miracle he managed to hold on. His own hips snapped up to meet hers again, and he got the desired result when she threw her head back once more. 

“Oh Gods . . .'' She sighed as her movements sped up even more. She could feel herself getting closer and closer, chasing the high that she had gotten familiar with thanks to her husband. Daevar wasn’t holding back either, and struggled to stave off his peak until his wife had finished. Herlaena’s hands pressed down on Daevar’s chest as she sought any leverage to keep herself upright. She could feel herself getting closer-

And then the coil broke. Her back arched and a loud gasp of Daevar’s name escaped her lips as she fell over the edge. The tightness that she gripped him with was too much, and he exploded into her with a loud moan. Helaena rolled off of him, panting.

“That was a reunion from the Gods themselves.” Daevar said. Helaena laughed.

“I missed you, Daevar.” She said before gently kissing him. “I was worried about you . . . worried I’d hear you’d been killed . . .”

“Helaena . . .” Daevar stroked her cheek. “Look, I won’t lie and say that I will be fine, but I’ll do my best to stay alive. You have my word on that.”

“Good.” She said. “Because . . . I have dreams about you sometimes. Bad dreams.”

Daevar nodded. He had learnt from Barden that some Targaryens had a propensity for prophetic dreams; the only reason they still existed was because Daenys the Dreamer had seen Valyria’s destruction in her dreams and Lord Aenar had taken it seriously enough to move the family to Westeros. “Any chance you could tell me about some of them?”

Raventree Hall

“So Humfrey Bracken meets his fate at last.” Lord Willem Blackwood said. He, his sister Alysanne and his bastard brother Robb Rivers were sitting in his solar after having spent the day on the archery range. As usual, Robb had nailed every target right in the middle while Alysanne hadn’t been too far off it. Willem himself was not much of an archer, but he made up for it by being a better swordsman. “I can’t say it was unwelcome.”

“Didn’t you kill his son in a duel, brother?” Alysanne said, tinkering with an arrow. The Raventree Hall solar had always felt comfortable and familiar somehow, with its huge beams of dark oak holding the place together and the large, high-backed chair that her brother was sitting in. The whole room overlooked the large Godswood, which every Blackwood would die before letting it be defiled. 

“Jerrel was asking for it.” Willem replied. “Besides, he has another son.”

“Amos.” Robb replied, flicking his long hair from his face. “He’s a lot more cunning than his father.”

“So cunning he somehow let Stone Hedge fall.” Willem replied. Robb knew Amos better than he or Alysanne did, or even Ben for that matter. He just hoped his son was alright; knowing Kermit, the two of them would be right in the thick of the fighting. With luck, Ben would bring honour to his house.

“There’s not much anyone can do against dragons.” Robb replied. “Scorpions can only do so much.”

Willem hummed. Robb was correct on that. “Well, that’s what he gets for dragging himself into the war.”

"And someone else had killed Brackens instead of us.” Alysanne said. The feud between the Blackwoods and Brackens went back centuries, and had only been enhanced by the Blackwoods being the only house south of the Neck still to keep to the Old Gods. It was little wonder to most observers why Willem had been so quick to draw his sword on Jerrel Bracken during Rhaenyra’s progress all those years ago. If it had been any other noble, he might’ve let it pass, but from a Bracken? No.

“You know why we didn't involve ourselves in the war, Aly.” Willem replied. “Ben is still in the Vale. Declaring for Rhaenyra would’ve out him in danger.”

“Why not declare for Daevar?” Robb asked. “Aly, you know him better than we do. What’s he like?”

“He’s like every other lord of the Vale.” She shrugged. They’d only met a few times when they were younger and again when Kermit had been knighted, but that was about it. “Strong, warlike, honourable. They teach them very young.”

“Declaring for him would put us in the sights of the Rogue Prince.” Willem said, shaking his head. “I am not about to risk the lives of everyone on our land for Daevar Targaryen.”

"We may not have to.” Robb replied. He had been quietly formulating a plan since word had arrived of Stone Hedge falling to Daemon. “I could take a few men out and live off the land. Hnt down Bracken patrols, pick off their leaders, that sort of thing. If we got caught, you could deny all responsibility, brother.”

“That would lead to you being executed if caught.” Alysanne replied. It was a risky plan to say the least, and it banked on Prince Daemon not responding in force. Given what she had learnt of the man from Kermit, she saw that as unlikely unless there was some sort of plan that he was working towards. She set down her arrow on the table. “And that’s if they’re feeling kind about it.”

“We’re all going to die one day.” Robb shrugged. “I’d rather die in battle with a bow in my hand than sitting here waiting for something to happen.” 

“It would risk all of us as well.” Willem said. “The Brackens wouldn't believe me if I denied it.”

“Well then give me the best skirmishers we have and I can make it work.” Robb said. “Come on, a chance to kill Brackens outside of Stone Hedge? Not mention it would leave them weakened for when Daevar comes marching out of the Vale.”

“It would go a long way to winning Daevar’s support for us against the Brackens.” Alysanne admitted. Willem stood up, the decision having been made. If they were going to declare for Daevar, best to start hurting the Brackens now.

“I want you to pick twenty men, no more than that.” Willem said. ‘And for the love of the Gods, do not leave any traces of yourself where you strike.”

Robb nodded, a smile spreading across his face. He was about to go to war for the first time, against the Brackens no less. “I’ll have them ready to go by sundown.”

The Reach

“Lord Hightower!” Shouted Lord Jon Roxton, rushing up to Ormund. They had been on the march towards Horn Hill when the Tarlys and Beesburys had ambushed them on the road. Strung out as they were, they’d been unable to organise themselves to resist the assault. “The vanguard is broken. I’ve ordered the retreat.”

“Retreat!?” Ormund shook his head. The army around was dispirited and demoralised, but that would change the second they won a victory. “I am the Lord of Oldtown, Lord Roxton, and a soldier besides. This steel is my word!” He said, thrusting Vigilance into the ground. He was not going to leave his cousin and her children to the tender mercies of Rhaenyra, not when they were counting on him to end the fight here. “I cannot break my word.”

“I know, My Lord.” Lord Roxton replied as the army marched past. The Roxtons had been vassals of the Hightowers going back centuries, and Lord Jon had answered his liege’s call to arms when they had rallied in support of King Aegon. The flame in the Hightower had glowed green that day, but the war had not been going well since the army of twenty thousand had marched from Oldtown. The Tarlys had not been expected to declare for Rhaenyra, and they had proven skilled opponents; shadowing the Hightower army and only attacking on ground favourable to them. “I’ve ordered the retreat to the Honeywine.”

“The Honeywine?” Ormund asked. “We’ll be up against a river if they attack.” He shook his head, red hair flopping about in the breeze. “It’s suicidal.”

“That’s part of the reason I ordered it to there.” Roxton said, dropping the volume of his voice. “If they attack us there, we win or we die. The Tarlys have other options.”

“It's a big risk, Jon.” Ormund replied. “And not one I’d want to gamble on.”

“Do we have any other choice?” Roxton asked. “Look, if we fortify ourselves properly there, we can break their attack then throw our cavalry at them.” 

Ormund considered his words. It was true; their heavy cavalry had been woefully underused for the entire campaign, mainly because there hadn;t been a chance to use the preferred Hightower tactic of massing all of their knights at one point and then sending them against the enemy line in a massed group. “The men might be too demoralised for a straight fight. If they attack us again, it might just finish them off.”

“Morale can be rebuilt. An army cannot.” Roxton replied as they looked back over the road. Lord Unwin Peake, his dark beard having grown out since the beginning of the war, was moving the men along as best he could. “Besides, Lord Peake’s men are yet to see a battle; they’ve been after a proper fight for a while.”

“But an army cannot function without morale.” Ormund replied. Still, he knew Roxton was right. It was a lesson they had seen in warfare before; if a defeated army had nowhere to retreat to, the would continue fighting until they had all been killed. “I’d want them to attack us from the other side of the river.”

“Lord Tarly’s not a fool. He won’t send his army across a river under archer attack.” Roxton said. “But we might be able to lure him into attacking a fortified position.”

“I hope so.” Ormund replied. “Or we may have to fortify Oldtown next and await the siege.”

"That will not happen, My Lord. You can depend on it.” Roxton replied resolutely. Oldtown would never come under siege while he lived. If Ormund had heard him, he gave no indication. The Lord of the Hightower seemed lost in thought as he considered Roxton’s plan. Risky as it was, that was perhaps what they needed to finally break the campaign open.

“Very well, Jon. We go with your plan and hope that it works.”

The Blackwood plan to start an irregular war with the Brackens did not end up arousing the interest of the Rogue Prince in the end. I suspect he simply wrote it off as the Brackens and Blackwoods simply engaging in their old rivalry; something he had little time or inclination to deal with amidst the overall war. 

As I said, my father’s decision to temporarily reunite with my mother was, in my opinion, partly to blame for the death of Ser Gerold. It was to affect my father’s decision-making moving forward, all of which would lead to the disaster at Claw Isle. 

Chapter Text

As the year 133 AC dawned, the war entered its decisive year. Some have expressed some disbelief that the war could only effectively last for two years-it was over by the middle of 134 AC-but this is what tends to happen. Armies tire of fighting and soldiers tire of being away from home. Of course, many men would return to homes that simply did not exist after the war.

It was in the first week of the new year that Gerold Royce, who had gone to relieve the Siege of Coldwater Burn with a thousand men, simply disappeared with his entire command, which my father was told of as soon as his brief sojourn to the Eyrie was over. Of course, it was only recently that we found out the grisly truth when a farmer was clearing land. 

133 AC

Heart’s Home, the seat of House Corbray

Daevar and Kermit could scarcely believe it when they had heard the news. Vanished? It seemed impossible, but when Daeron had not managed to find any sight of them when flying over the forest on Tessarion, that had been the conclusion. While the men of House Corbray debated what could’ve caused such a terrible fate in the Great Hall, Daevar sat at one corner of the table, head in his hands.

Ser Gerold had raised him, and taught him everything from how to fight to how to be a proper lord that won the respect of the people. With Daevar’s mother dying when he was still so young, Ser Gerold had been the one who guided him through life, and now he was gone without even a body to send home for a proper Royce burial. It was a terrible fate, one that Daevar couldn’t even imagine if he tried. 

Kermit wasn't much better, having collapsed against the wall in sheer shock as soon as he had heard the news. He had been Ser Gerold’s squire for as long as he could remember, and while they might not have had the best knight-squire relationship in the world, he’d been a part of Kermit;s life for so long that the realisation he was gone made Kermit feel like his guts had been ripped out. Ben was playing the dutiful squire to him, staying at his side and keeping him company, but he had long given up on stopping his master from crying. 

“There’s nothing we can do about it now.” Lord Leowyn Corbray said. He was nowhere near as hardy and martial as his brother or son in either skills or build, but he had a great mind for logistics, which were just as crucial in keeping an army in good form for the campaign. 

“Father is right.” Quenton replied. The heir to Heart’s Home had the classic air of a knight, from the neatly combed hair to the chiselled, square jaw and polished armour. “The longer we spend dallying around, the more time Eldric has to escape.”

“Eldric is all but defeated.” Corwyn reminded them, pointing to the map on the table. “Only Newkeep and Grey Glen still defy us, but Prince Daeron is seeing to them now. They’ll strike their banners the moment a dragon shows up on their doorstep. Besides, Ser Joffrey is about to advance on Newkeep.” He added. House Tollett of Grey Glen and House Hersy of Newkeep, in the far north of the Vale, remained the only major houses still sworn to Rhaenyra. 

“And what of the Three Sisters?” Leowyn said. “We can’t land on Sisterton and force their submission. There’ll be Northmen there helping to fortify it.”

“Your Grace?” Corwyn asked. Daevar didn’t respond. He was still in despair over the unfairness of it all. Gerold didn’t deserve to die like this , he thought. He should’ve died in his bed with his wife and children at his side.  

“My King, we must discuss-” Quenton started, only to be cut off by Daevar’s fist slamming on the table.

“Ser Kermit and I have just lost a man who was a mentor and father figure to us both! Will you let us grieve for five minutes?!” He snapped. 

Ser Corwyn looked at him with sympathy. “I apologise, Your Grace. Ser Gerold was a friend of mine too, but war waits for no man. Especially one that changes as fast as this one.”

“Can you shut up about the war?!” Kermit shouted. “The King’s right! He’s not been dead more than a few days, and you already want to make us fucking forget him!”

“Ser Kermit . . .” Ben sighed, a hand on the back of his master. “My lords . . . I think that discussion of the war can wait for a day or two.”

Leowyn sighed, but nodded. “Very well, it can wait for a time.”

Corwyn nodded in agreement. “As it is, we still need to remove the Tollets and Hersys from the war. With luck, Prince Daeron will be able to bring them to heel.”

Daevar had been the one to dispatch Daeron on the first day of the new year to take both castles in conjunction with Ser Joffrey, but he didn;t even hear the words from Ser Corwyn.

All he could remember was Ser Gerold taking him in his arms the day his mother had been killed. 

Harrenhal

With the fall of Stone Hedge, the war in the Riverlands was effectively over, and Daemon had begun his new plan to bring the war to a close. The Greens had proven more resourceful than he had expected. Otto Hightower was not an aggressive leader, but his know-how when it came to politics and diplomacy would have proven troublesome the longer he stayed in control of the Greens’ court, so his removal had been welcomed. His replacement by Criston Cole had set off some alarm bells in Daemon’s head, but nothing too serious; Cole may’ve had experience from fighting the Dornish, but he had never fought in anything larger than a skirmish.

That thinking had changed after the Battle of Rook’s Rest.

Cole had prepared an ambush to near-perfection, and had managed to remove one of the Blacks’ best dragons from the war. Criston Cole was no slouch when it came to battle, and his aggression was such a complete departure from Otto Hightower that even Daemon had been caught by surprise when news of the disaster at Rook’s Rest had come to him. The only silver lining was that Aegon had been crippled.

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of his supper; a wench from the Strong kitchens had brought it up to him. She was an ugly thing, with a pockmarked face and enough fat to make it seem as though she were about to give birth. He signalled for it to be set down and for her to leave as he bent over the map once more.

Things had changed dramatically. Rook’s Rest had been a cutting blow, but the Riverlands were now entirely Black, and the Reach would not be far behind. They were winning the war, and soon enough, they would be able to turn to the Vale and see to Daevar, who was proving a better leader than expected. His victory at Ironoaks had been almost perfect in execution; especially with Ser Joffrey’s arrival at exactly the right moment. The follow-up in the weeks and months after had been equally impressive.

“By the Gods, he does war honour.” Daemon found himself saying. The Vale is lost; we must look to the Riverlands for now. Unless . . .

He looked at the green icon on King’s Landing. They had only one dragon in the city now, if the reports were to be believed. Sunfyre was apparently too gravely injured to fight, and Nesaena had been seen heading southward on Windfyre. Who would be in control of the Greens now? He tried to think from their point of view. Logically, Cole would be the best choice to assume command, but from what he knew of Aemond, that would never happen.

“He wants to fight me, so he won’t let anyone else lead them . . .” He mused. Aemond had challenged him at that dinner before the war had started, so it was clear that he would be Aemond’s target. His eyes flashed over to Dragonstone. Syrax was too fat to fight, but she could still fly, as could Vermax.

The plan was not one he would’ve gone for if Otto Hightower was still in charge, or if Aegon were still able to lead, but with Aemond likely to be the one in charge in King’s Landing now, he felt able to take a risk. He made his way over to the rookery and handed a hastily written message to the Maester with instructions to dispatch the raven to Dragonstone as quickly as he could. He passed by Alys on his way back; she was staring into her flames again and likely didn’t even notice him.

Plan in place, he returned to his chambers and turned to his supper. Bread and hard cheese, the same as the men encamped outside. A commander could not have the respect of his men if he did not share in the same privations as them. It was that line of thinking that pushed him into gathering the food and heading outside to join them.

They were in good spirits. They were winning the war. What did they have to be unhappy about?

Dragonstone 

Jace had finished his planning, spread out as it was on the floor of his chambers. The facts that Aemond would likely not tolerate anyone else taking leadership of the Greens and that Daevar was now all but triumphant in the Vale had forced him to press forward with his plans more quickly than he would’ve liked. In the end, it was relatively simple: anyone could step forward and try to claim a dragon. If they succeeded, they would be ennobled and given lands by Rhaenyra.

Only Valyrians could claim dragons after all, so it would prove their heritage if they could claim one.

The other thing that he was pleased to note was that Corlys had taken to being his mother’s Hand like a duck to water. He was even now discussing a strategic plan with Rhaenyra that Daemon had supposedly devised. Jace was reluctant to use Daemon’s plans- the man had ordered the murder of a fucking child- he had been overruled. Clearly his mother was interested in what her husband had to say more than her son and heir.

“This room looks worse than mine did.” He heard a voice say, turning to see Baela standing in the doorway. I must not look a pretty sight , Jace thought. He was in only a thin white tunic and the grey trousers he had worn to the North. 

“Consequences of planning for a war.” Jace replied. “Your brother’s proven a better leader than anyone expected.”

Baela hummed. Her betrothed wasn’t altogether unattractive, she had to admit. Even if he looked nothing like Daevar, he was still not the sort of boy that girls would simply turn away from. “I still think Rhaena pines for him. She never felt that way about Luke. She was devastated when Luke died, but as a sister would grieve for a brother. Not . . . that.”

Jace nodded. “Sometimes I wonder what would’ve happened if the two of them had been betrothed.”

“Well it’s not like we can say.” Baela said. “You saw him at the dinner; he wouldn’t consider anyone but Helaena. Even with her strange ways.”

“There are some who might find that endearing.” Jace said, casting a small smile at Baela. “Evidently he does.”

“Was there a girl in the North, Jace?” She asked bluntly. “Someone who broke you in for our wedding night?”

“I . . .well . . . I . . .” Jace spluttered. It wasn’t exactly the sort of question he had a ready answer to. “Um . . .”

“It’s alright if you did. I’d rather have you ready for our wedding night than knowing nothing. Besides . . .” She smiled mischievously. “At least you’d know where to put it.”

Jace blushed deeply. He’d heard the same thing from Daevar not long after their betrothal had been announced. “C-can we change the subject, please?”

“What else is there to talk about here?” She said frustratedly. “Your mother won’t even let me go and fight. I have a dragon of fighting size, and Nesaena’s going off to fight in the Reach. Moondancer’s ready but no one will let me fight with her.”

“Baela, I think it’s because we wouldn't just be fighting the Greens” Jace reminded her. “We’d be fighting the Bronzes as well. Could you kill Daevar if you saw him on a battlefield?”

“Could you?” She shot back. “You’ve not fought a battle either, so don’t get started on that with me.” She snapped before regaining her senses. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t have said that. I just don’t like sitting around and waiting for something to happen.”

Jace stood up and wrapped her in a hug. Baela had been expecting something of a skinny frame like Luke, but Jace was surprisingly well-muscled. Evidently the North had been good for something apart from the alliance gained with the Starks. “I don’t either, Baela . . . but somehow I get the feeling that we’ll both see battle eventually.”

Though I pray you don’t come up against Vhagar, Baela.

King’s Landing

Alicent had been beside herself when she saw what had happened to Aegon. Her son had been near death when they had returned from Rook’s Rest, and she had refused to leave his side ever since. Even so, Aegon remained slipping in and out of consciousness, with Orwyle keeping him dosed on Milk of the Poppy to dull the pain. Of course, this didn't matter to Aemond or Criston, busy as they were arguing over who was to take leadership of the Greens; the arguments between them had kept the Small Council occupied for days.

“I’m the most experienced commander here.” Criston said, knowing he was right. “I planned our victory at Rook’s Rest; my strategy’s working. We’ve already removed one dragon from the war.”

“And how many of our men were killed in that battle, Ser Criston?” Aemond asked. “Our King is barely able to string together a sentence when he is conscious, and most of the time he’s not. And need I remind you, we’re also down a dragon; Sunfyre was too badly wounded to be brought back with us.”

Jasper Wylde, Tyland Lannister and Larys Strong all looked at each other; various looks of concern on their faces. The last thing they needed now was a fight between their two best soldiers, even though they knew Criston was right; the Blacks had lost far more at Rook’s Rest than they had. “Ser Criston does have a point.” Tyland said, being the first to speak up. “Furthermore, My Prince, one thing that your cousin in the Vale has grasped better than anyone else-”

“Do not speak of my cousin, Ser Tyland, or I will have your tongue out.” Aemond growled. “Maelor is but three and Jaehaera is a girl. Someone who can lead us must take control.”

“If I may make a suggestion, My Prince.” Larys said, quietly enough that others had to strain to hear him. “You could take overall command of our forces as Prince Regent, while Ser Criston leads our armies in the field. He is our best strategist after all.”

Aemond liked the sound of that. Prince Regent . . . it wasn’t King, but it was the next best thing. And Aegon’s recovery was far from a sure thing as well, and with Maelor still just three, he could be Regent for a very long time indeed. He would be a better ruler than Aegon could ever have hoped to be. He knew he would be. 

“That . . . would be an acceptable compromise.” Criston said. “My strategy’s working; Dragonstone is vulnerable to a direct assault.”

“No.” Aemond said. “Rhaenyra and her bastard son can't defeat Vhagar on their own.” He chuckled slightly at the idea of facing Jace on Vhagar; maybe the oldest of the Strong bastards would actually be able to put up a satisfying fight. It was no good having him go down easily, especially when he was already acquiring a reputation for himself.

“So what is your proposal then, Prince Regent?” Larys said, careful to use Aemond’s real title.