"This sounds like an example of organizational failure being temporarily covered for by the competency of on-the-ground administration. -From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 13
Dinner the night before with his family had been… tense. It had grown wearisome to watch his wife and daughter take turns glaring at each other or sending veiled barbs. Viserys had decided that he would break his fast with a smaller and less frictional group. To that end, he had invited Aegon and Helaena, both of whom had comported themselves respectfully, along with Elaena, Kevan, Laenor, as well the newly arrived lords Corlys Velaryon and Humfrey Lefford.
"Who do you think will win the melee today?" Viserys asked the group.
"Ser Criston, most like," Aegon replied to his father. "He seems to defy the years with ease and only grows more skilled. I fear I will never possess even a fraction of his ability."
Viserys knew that Ser Criston had played a pivotal role in instructing his sons in the art of arms. Aemond, despite being much younger, was already surpassing Aegon. This was not to say that Aegon was incompetent, but he was unlikely to ever emerge as a tourney champion.
"Ser Harwin is in the mix, as is Lord Boros," Corlys added, "I do not think Cole will have as easy a time as he normally does."
Elaena nodded. "Lord Corlys is correct; the competition will be fierce. I have seen Ser Jon Roxton, and he is indeed formidable. I understand that he and Ser Medrick will be among the attendees."
A few other knights were named, and Viserys leaned back, savoring the discussion as his breakfast companions contested with each other on the most likely to win. What a marvelous event to witness – disagreement without rancor!
During a lull, Viserys said, "It is a pity your wife is in Tyrosh, though it was gracious of her to allow Daemon and Laena the opportunity to attend court. I greatly look forward to her return."
Corlys nodded graciously. "Rhaenys would do anything for her children." He gestured toward Laenor. "And Laena was dearly looking forward to the wedding. When one has a wife as fierce as Princess Rhaenys, one avoids arguing!" His tone made it half a jest.
Laenor looked to Kevan. "Advice you should consider well, Kevan. Don't argue with your future wife, ever."
That tone was not in jest. It had a serious depth to it that took Viserys back a bit.
Helaena giggled, "Ser Kevan, you better behave with my sister or the Dark Storm will get you!"
"Don't scare the poor lad," Viserys admonished Laenor. "That is my duty!" Viserys stared hard at the young man until his expression could no longer be held straight. His belly laugh was soon joined by the others in the room, to varying degrees.
Kevan took it in good grace and then leaned forward to ask, "Are things still dire in Tyrosh? I am surprised."
Corlys swallowed a bite of peppered fish before answering, "Not exactly. Daemon is paranoid, and perhaps with cause. Essos has seemed oddly… peaceful and ingratiating of late. He fears it's a ruse and that they're plotting a surprise attack on his city."
Humfrey looked at the Sea Snake curiously. "But surely any attempt would fail? The walls are intact and a goodly portion of your fleet is still in the area."
"I believe so, but Essos has large fleets of their own, and Daemon has no trust for our Dornish allies." Corlys replied.
"Aye, my brother does not trust Prince Qoren. The Prince arrived yesterday and will be feasting in our hall tonight after the melee." Viserys thought for a moment. "That reminds me, we'll have another great knight within the melee. Ser Artyr, the Sword of the Morning, will be present to display his prowess." He paused, searching for what he had been about to say. "Ah, what was I saying? Oh yes, Prince Qoren will be here and I hope some more face-to-face time with my brother Daemon will build trust. Qoren will be seated next to Daemon and your daughter, so please put in a word with Laena to try to keep things peaceful."
"It shall be done, Your Grace." Corlys inclined his head while replying formally.
"Elaena, you must be eager for the second day of events, mayhaps ready to crown more Knights of Victory?" Viserys asked his daughter.
"I am, Father. The knightless jousts and melees are quickly becoming a favorite among the smallfolk. There have been some unexpected sapphires found in the dirt; many of the Knights of Victory have proven themselves worthy of their knighthood and have secured gainful employment."
Kevan nodded, agreeing with his betrothed. "Several are at Golden Tooth, and I have been impressed with their valor and competence."
"I can also vouch for these knights," Corlys added. "My grandnephew, Daemion, has been impressed with their service."
"Oh right, he was one of the first suitors for Elaena's hand. I understand Lyman invested a tidy sum in a small fleet expedition to the far reaches of Essos? Is he expected to return soon?" Viserys asked.
Corlys stroked his chin, a hint of nostalgia quirking his lips. "He's retraced much of my own journeys. He made it to Leng, and as of three weeks ago, according to the raven, he should soon be docking in Qarth for the return journey. Assuming the weather holds and he is not accosted by pirates, it will have been an incredibly successful expedition."
Aegon asked, "They use ravens in Essos too? Without Maesters?"
Corlys nodded. "Yes, though it is not as common. They use pigeons at times as well. There is no grand secret to training a bird to send a message, it is just a matter of convenience that we let the Maesters handle it all."
"The birds he returns with will sing, but they won't carry messages," Helaena said in an airy voice. The table glanced at her questioningly, but Aegon quickly steered the conversation back on course.
"Pigeons? I would not have thought them intelligent enough, but that is fascinating. If you have some time, Lord Corlys, I would love to hear more of your journeys to Essos."
Viserys saw Corlys consider his words carefully, a slight furrowing of the older man's brow telling the King that Aegon's invitation had caught the lord by surprise.
"I should have some time while I am here, my prince, and would be honored to do so."
Viserys was beaming. This is what the realm needed!
"My boy, there are also quite a few dignitaries from Essos who have newly arrived. I am sure they will be happy to speak with you, and most speak our tongue fluently," Viserys suggested.
"It was strange to see ships docked from Qarth and Volantis in King's Landing." Corlys admitted. "Were they expected?"
Viserys nodded. "They were. I was taken aback as well. When I wed Alicent, only Pentos, Braavos, and Myr sent representation. Now Myr is absent, but among the cities you mentioned, we also have Lys, Lorath, and even guests from Norvos. Two royal weddings in unison must have been too great an event to ignore!"
General agreement around the table met his comment and Viserys took another sip of the well-watered wine he was drinking. He was proud of his reign, and this grandiose occasion would most like mark the height of magnificence during his rule, well-attended beyond all else before or still yet to come.
"Myr has people in the city as well on business with the Dragon Bank." Elaena remarked.
"Oh?" Viserys asked, intrigued.
"Yes, there was a project to create glassworks in the North that sought financing from the Dragon Bank. I believe the plan is sound, and as a gesture of goodwill, I offered to have Myrish consultants invest in a stake of the burgeoning enterprise."
Viserys frowned. He now knew his daughter wasn't completely innocent or naïve to the ways of the world, but she was still young and far too trusting.
"That may have been a mistake," he said softly, keeping his voice light. "I know Lyman has been busy arranging the various financial aspects of this wedding, but you will want to review those specific plans with him. It's likely the Myrish do not intend to be good partners in any such enterprise."
Laenor coughed, and Corlys gave him a few sturdy pats to the back. Viserys was idly amused that such a puissant warrior could still choke on a glazed sausage.
Kevan was vainly trying to hold back a smile. Viserys wondered why. Surely, he wasn't pleased that his betrothed was being reprimanded, albeit in the slightest and lightest way possible. Elaena always wore a confident mien, and one of Viserys's fears regarding suitors was the difficulty some men had in marrying intelligent and powerful women.
I like you Kevan, but while I jested earlier, you had best treat my daughter well!
"The meeting was very productive, but we have yet to get to the signing stage. I will review it with Lord Beesbury later today before final arrangements are made."
Good, Lyman will set things to right. Most like, Elaena would have checked in with him before any final agreement; I worry over nothing. Those two have worked hand in glove for several years now. And it is right and proper that my darling daughter still has her innocence.
***
It felt odd to Medrick to once more be in the south. The death of Rickon Stark could not have come at a worse time. With the Wall howling that something dangerous was stirring in the North, the last thing needed was a new overlord. Already, there were some concerns about his rulership, and the young Cregan Stark, still not of age, had spoken out against his uncle. It was a fine mess, and it felt wrong to set sail once more for King's Landing.
However, the North needed representation. Lord Bennard Stark had chosen not to attend the royal wedding, and so his vassals had to go in his stead. Medrick was here with his father, Lord Desmond Manderly.
Elaena's ideas had taken root in the North, and already tests, or 'experiments,' were being done with differing farming methods and seeds. They were minor in nature, and assurances were made that food would be shipped to make up for any failures, but if they succeeded... it would do much to increase the North's food stocks prior to winters.
Thoughts of that were put to the side as his squire finished fastening the last pieces of his armor. The grand melee would be fought on foot. That had become more frequently the style of late in King's Landing. Medrick also intended to compete in the joust, assuming he suffered no great injury.
Nearly two hundred knights would take the field. Tourney weapons were provided, so bludgeoning weaponry was favored. If a knight yielded, they were honor-bound to retreat from the field with their hands upraised. There were no rules regarding working in tandem, but there could be only one winner.
The crowd was lively and in a jovial mood. Free food and entertainment, and a celebration for the ages – for the smallfolk, this would likely be one of their most cherished memories. Medrick recognized a goodly portion of the heraldry from these southern houses, but did not know much of their details. As the King instructed the tournament to begin, Medrick focused on a knight bearing the heraldry of a broken wheel.
Waynwood.
Medrick came in confidently with an overhand strike that the other knight tried to parry aside, but the momentum of the blow was more powerful than his foe had anticipated. The blade clipped the pauldron, and Medrick seized the momentum in the fight. Bashing strike after bashing strike had the Waynwood knight on the back foot. He feinted to the head, only to curve downward and land a blow to the side. The jarring strike knocked the other knight off balance, and Medrick was about to ask if he yielded when another knight crashed into him.
Medrick kept to his feet and shoved him aside and then chaos reigned. The crowd evidently enjoyed it as their cheers grew louder and louder as Medrick fought with precision as well as he could. When he had the opportunity, he backed toward the side of the arena so that he could at least avoid being blindsided.
He heard Lord Borros Baratheon's roar and the howl of his warhammer, glancing over to see the man smash aside the purple unicorn of House Brax. The heavy wooden shield had shattered, and no doubt the bones in the arm that had held it had as well, such was the fury and raw might in every strike from the Lord of Storm's End.
Medrick also saw Ser Criston wield his morning star to great effect. It smashed into helms and wrapped around the hafts of weapons. His armor was no longer pristine white, but his white cloak caught the sunlight.
Over half of the competitors had been laid low, and Medrick found himself crossing blades with Ser Rickard Thorne, also of the Kingsguard. The two went at it, and Medrick found them to be of near equal skill. This was a duel worthy of the name, and Medrick found himself thrilled with the contest. By the grace of the Seven, no one interfered, and when they both disengaged to draw breath, they saw the numbers had dwindled even further.
Medrick caught a glimpse of Ser Harwin bodily lifting another knight and slamming him to the ground. Only for Ser Criston to nearly brain him with the morning star. Harwin had managed to get an arm up and took the blow on his gauntlet. It sent him to the ground, but Criston could not follow up as another knight came upon him in a dazzling display of swordsmanship. Criston had to yield ground from the onslaught, and then Medrick's own foe charged back into him and he lost sight of the battle.
The fight came down to who had more endurance. As Ser Rickard's movements slowed, Medrick was able to seek an advantage and soon had the man on his back, yielding. Medrick looked around warily and saw only a handful left. Harwin approached him with a blunted tourney blade, and Medrick was forced back by his absurdly powerful blows.
He would have gone down if two other surviving knights had not charged into Ser Harwin, bringing him to the ground instead. Medrick's sense of honor prickled and he slammed down his tourney blade onto one of the men squirming to hold Harwin down. The blow struck him in the helm and the knight collapsed as if a puppet whose strings were cut. Harwin wrestled in the churned earth and Medrick saw a knife fall from their struggle.
Had they been trying to knife him in the pit, eye, or neck? What even-?
Medrick again did not have time for thought as Borros called out a challenge and advanced on him. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself for the onslaught. The hammer was everywhere and Medrick couldn't even properly block it without suffering a similar fate as the Brax knight had. Being as winded as he was, he failed to move in time and the hammer struck him hard across his sword arm. Shooting pain went up his side and his blade dropped from his hand.
"I yield!"
Borros nodded and shouted a war cry, looking around for who was left. It was just Harwin, and Medrick got a front-row seat as the two titans clashed. Harwin was larger and stronger, but Borros moved with a fluidity that was impressive. Borros was probably the third-largest man on the field, so the difference between Breakbones and Lord Baratheon was not that great. Ser Harwin gave it a go, but he too was felled by the Baratheon hammer.
Storm's End had triumphed, and the smallfolk screamed their approval. Medrick was well pleased with his performance. He had bested a Kingsguard and had only been defeated by the eventual victor of the entire melee. Medrick moved his arm; he would have a nasty bruise, but he should still be able to compete in the joust.
***
Listening to Lord Borros boast during the feast had grown tiresome to Rhaenyra. It was made worse by the fact that his final victory had been over her Harwin. She had screamed like one of the smallfolk when it had come down to just the two of them. She was mildly embarrassed about that, but it had been so exhilarating, and she had been sure he would prevail!
At least Ser Criston was also vanquished. Pity that he didn't suffer a major wound. It would be justice after what he did to Ser Joffrey. When I am Queen, that matter will be rectified.
Daemon, who had watched the fight with her, had been contemptuous of Baratheon. He had said that his wild swings and savage attacks had left him exposed, but with the rules of the melee only allowing blunted weapons, his opponents couldn't exploit the myriad openings he had.
"In a real fight, Dark Sister would have crippled him in the first minute." Daemon had said confidently.
Laenor had shrugged, saying, "He employed the rules of this contest in his favor when selecting his weapon and fighting style. A warrior like Borros would act differently against edged weapons."
Her thoughts returned to the matter at hand today. Her father had been most eager for this event prior to the joust. Syrax crooned as Rhaenyra stroked her scales and then stepped up into the saddle to mount. Today, the people of King's Landing would behold something that most like would never be seen again in their lifetime.
Syrax rose into the sky and joined the other dragons. She saw Laenor on Seasmoke, Laena on mighty Vhagar, and Daemon on Caraxes. Below her, she saw her son, Jace, on Vermax. Her other children's dragons were yet too small to fly. She hadn't noticed at first, but soaring even higher than the rest was Elaena on Viktoriya.
Why is she flying so high?
Then came the Greens. Aemond on Vermithor, whose sheer size was startling. Not quite as large as Vhagar, but easily the second-largest dragon in the skies. Then came Aegon, and Rhaenyra's breath caught in her throat; the way the sun glistened and reflected from Sunfyre's scales was resplendently beautiful. Behind him came Dreamfyre. Not nearly so radiant, but the dragon possessed an elegant and serene beauty.
Tessarion came next, a swift and agile dragon. Blue and copper were her coloring, and Daeron rode his mount with effortless grace. Finally came Silverwing, who flew next to Vermithor. They soared in the air, awaiting the bevy of trumpets that would signal them to fly over the city and awe all of King's Landing.
Rhaenyra saw Caraxes glide closer to the Greens. Vermithor winged around and interposed himself between Silverwing and Caraxes. For a terrifying moment, Rhaenyra thought Daemon was about to do something mad, but Caraxes veered off. Vhagar let out a cry, and Rhaenyra saw Laena shout; what she said was impossible to hear over the roar and the wind, but beyond continuing to circle the skies, naught happened.
The signal was finally heard and they proceeded down in order of size.
I should have been first, but like always, father wished to avoid conflict. By defaulting to the length of each dragon, he forestalled arguments. I will not be so meek when I am Queen.
Laena dove down first, and Vhagar let out a triumphant roar. She idly wondered if dragons had pride the way their riders did. Was Vhagar pleased to be going first? Either way, Vermithor descended soon after with his own resounding roar.
After the Bronze Fury came Silverwing. The dragon moved slower than either of the two larger preceding ones, and Rhaenyra thought it must be due to how fresh Daenora's bond as a rider yet remained. The loss of Silverwing was concerning, Daemon had raged that the balance was growing too close for comfort.
His repeated insistence that the Greens have six dragonriders is infuriating.
But he was right in terms of Silverwing being a grievous blow. Despite being younger than Dreamfyre, she was larger, which most like meant that, eventually, she very well may reach Vhagar's size – though that would be many decades away.
Behind Silverwing came Dreamfyre, and then almost instantly Daemon and Caraxes, flying less than a wingspan behind Dreamfyre. Rhaenyra frowned. She normally wouldn't be opposed to her lover intimidating her enemies, but Helaena was but a young girl, and this was her wedding celebration. There was no need for such base behavior.
Tessarion gave a roar and almost moved out of order, but Sunfyre gave an answering reply, flying crossways and cutting the younger dragon off. Shouts she barely heard were exchanged, and Tessarion winged away. Irked by the whole affair, Rhaenyra spoke to Syrax in High Valyrian, and her dragon descended in a stately manner behind Caraxes.
She looked behind, and Sunfyre followed at an appropriate distance. She knew the order from there. After Sunfyre would come Elaena on Viktoriya. Her sister had been blessed with a fast-growing dragon; Viktoriya was already larger than Laenor's older dragon, Seasmoke, who would thus follow her. Following Seasmoke would be Tessarion, and then, finally, her own son's Vermax.
Eleven dragons flew over the skies of King's Landing. Only Meleys was absent, due to the need for at least one battle-ready dragon to remain in Tyrosh. The dragons winged over the tourney area and then flew past the Red Keep. They circled the city and flew over all the gates. A few of the dragons flew concerningly low in Rhaenyra's estimation, but the people seemed to revel in it. Cheers and clamor were awash throughout the entire capital, the earth and sky seeming to tremble with the uproar of celebration from so many at once. For a few moments, Rhaenyra imagined them cheering for her alone, their next Queen.
She knew her father would be grinning broadly at this display. She hoped that all the visitors from Essos that had arrived for the royal wedding were also watching. This was the power of the House of the Dragon. With it they could reduce any city to ash, something that would hopefully make those Essosi powers wary of attempting to contest them in Tyrosh and the Stepstones!
***
Daeron had missed the opening preliminary jousts, as had the other dragonriders, the distance from the Dragonpit making attendance impractical. Not that there was much to see; the field had been swiftly winnowed down to the great knights of the realm. Yet his uncle's actions still irked him. Dragons were perilous creatures, and stalking Dreamfyre so closely could most like only have ended in calamity.
His sister Helaena hadn't seem bothered though.
"It was like a race!" she had said.
The Septons say that Daemon may well have sired dozens of baseborn children. He frequents dens of ill repute and deflowers maidens, many of whom never had another option before being sullied.
Sadly, even his Hightower kin were not free of that particular sin. Gunthor frequented such establishments as well, laughing off any reproach and declaring that, in time, Daeron would better understand such desires. Yet, for all Gunthor's indiscretions, they paled in comparison to Daemon's. To shame oneself in relative privacy was one thing; to serve as a poor example to others and disgrace one's lady wife with public debauchery was quite another.
Tyrosh is a good place for him, let us hope he visits Westeros rarely!
Daeron sat in the stands near his mother, his gaze wandering over the arrangement of seats. To his father's right were Rhaenyra, Laenor, and their children, alongside Daemon, Laena, and their twin daughters. To his mother's left sat his full siblings. Elaena and Kevan had chosen seats a row below the King and Queen. He had hoped to sit next to Elaena, but that spot was already claimed by a blond-haired lady he did not recognize, and of course Ser Kevan was on her other side.
He settled in to observe the jousts. He watched a member of House Arryn unseat a Frey and then a member of the Kingsguard vanquish a hedge knight. The bouts were quite lopsided. He said as much and Aemond glanced at him.
"Of course they are. You didn't think the lots were truly random, did you? The tournament organizers ensure the best knights avoid facing each other until the round of sixteen. Even then, they claim it's random, but I have my doubts. It will be Ser Criston against our uncle Daemon."
Daeron had not known that. "Either could be unhorsed before then."
Aemond shrugged. "Unlikely. Perhaps if the Dark Storm had chosen to compete... but he hasn't entered a joust in years. The twin Kingsguard brothers are skilled jousters, yet neither is likely to triumph over those two."
"I will say a prayer for Ser Criston to prove triumphant, then," Daeron replied, briefly lowering his head. He barely caught the sneer on Aemond's face and was about to ask the cause of it when an upset occurred on the field.
One of the hedge knights had unseated Gwayne Hightower! His uncle was a bit battered from the fall, but raised his hand which indicated that he was not seriously injured.
"Poor showing." Aemond commented.
Helaena gave him a look. "Be nice, brother. Uncle Gwayne is always kind to us."
"You should ask him for a wedding present then."
"Oh?" Helaena asked, seemingly curious at the unexpected response.
"Yes, ask him not to joust anymore and embarrass the family."
Their mother glared at Aemond. "My brother is a valiant warrior; everyone has a poor showing every now and then."
Aemond snorted in derision, but did not argue further.
Losing a joust does not shame a family. No, what shames a family is passing bastards off as trueborn sons. How the Velaryons bear it, I'll never know.
Daeron glanced at Jace, Luke, and Aenar. Their features made it plain – they were Strongs, the resemblance to Ser Harwin, Rhaenyra's sworn shield, was undeniable. Yet curiously, Aelyx bore the unmistakable traits of a proper Targaryen. The Septons in Oldtown claimed that Rhaenyra had taken lovers beyond Strong, fueling rumors about Aelyx's parentage. Some whispered it was Daemon, others a Targaryen bastard, and a few even speculated it was the Sea Snake himself.
It is possible even Rhaenyra does not know.
The thought of a bastard one day claiming the Iron Throne made Daeron sick. Lord Ormund Hightower had assured him that godly men would never allow such a vile thing to come to pass, though he insisted Daeron was far too young to concern himself with such matters. Yet it always rankled when he was excluded from knowledge. He might be six years from formal adulthood, but he was a dragonrider and had already surpassed some Citadel apprentices twice his age. The Maesters continued to urge him toward their vows, but he did not think that was the path the Smith had in mind for him.
The next match saw Ser Willis Fell of the Kingsguard take down Ser Amos Bracken. The jousts continued, and Aemond's prediction proved true. Ser Criston laid low a knight from House Manderly to win the semi-final round.
That is a noble house, stuck in the North with the savage heathens and their Old Gods, the Manderlys still proudly pay homage to the Seven. Perhaps one day they will convince their neighbors of the true path.
His sister, Daenora, cheered loudly for Ser Criston. Daeron vaguely recalled seeing Ser Criston often in the Royal Apartments. His main charge was the Queen, Daeron's mother.
"Do you think he will win?" He asked his brothers.
Aegon immediately answered yes, but Aemond gave an unusually diffident shrug.
"Daemon is blood of Old Valyria. I suspect that he leans on his natural gifts and does not train so rigorously as Cole. Either can win," Aemond answered.
They settled in to watch and the jousters shattered four lances upon each other's shield. Daeron noted the skill in horsemanship. These two knights were the pinnacle of martial prowess.
And yet, what purpose does martial glory in this life serve when you are damned for your sins to the Seven Hells? Come on, ser, show the court that virtue and honor mean as much as skill!
Daeron was pleased to see his prayers answered as Cole's fifth lance struck inwardly and Daemon failed to adjust his shield properly. His uncle careened off his steed and lay still for a moment. The smallfolk cheered, and Daeron heard the twins cry out in unison, joined by Rhaenyra and Laena. Squires rushed to the field, but Daemon stirred, removed his helm, and spat blood onto the ground.
"COLE! Dismount and fight me. Give the people here a worthy spectacle." Daemon shouted his challenge.
Ser Criston looked to Daeron's mother, who nodded her head. Ser Criston dismounted and a squire ran up with a morning star while Daemon's bore to him Dark Sister.
In front of Daeron at the lower seat, Elaena rose. "Ser Criston has won, had you wished to face him afoot, you should have joined in the melee, uncle." Elaena's soft voice somehow seemed to carry through the noise of the crowd.
"It is no matter, princess," Cole replied, "I would be happy to face the Lord of the Stepstones."
"It matters to me, ser, you two mislike each other, and I will not have those who love me weeping over you or him at my wedding," Elaena replied.
Ser Criston looked back over to the Queen, while Daemon began striding forward toward him. Daeron's father finally stood up.
"This is my daughter's wedding, Daemon, stand down."
Daemon obeyed, but even Daeron could see the look of loathing on his face. His gaze wasn't directed at Daeron, but just based on the angle, Daeron could clearly see it and feel the weight of the hate behind it. He shivered.
Do not look at my sister that way!
Tension rose among his siblings, but Daemon turned away in anger and left the arena. Ser Criston, as was his wont, declared the Queen of Love and Beauty to be none other than Queen Alicent herself. His mother accepted the flower crown with good grace, but she looked troubled.
Daeron leaned over to Aemond, "Why isn't she happy?"
Aemond eyed him and then answered in a lowered voice. "Ser Criston accidentally slaying Daemon in a duel would rob the Blacks of the power of Caraxes. Pay attention, little brother, because this was our mother acting upon her own volition and signaling Cole to not just accept the duel, but to kill. Turning a joust into a bloodsport at a wedding celebration? Neither Elaena nor Helaena would approve. Even our grandfather was displeased by it, and he despises Daemon.
Daeron swallowed thickly. That was not how a knight should behave! Slaying a vicious degenerate like Daemon Targaryen was an act of goodness, but only if it was done with open intention. Attempting to turn a wedding celebration duel into an act of murder was base and loathsome.
I will light seven candles at the sept this evening and give thanks for not having all my 'formative years,' as Elaena calls them, occur here in King's Landing. For while I miss her daily presence, this place twists the heart and imperils the soul!
Chapter 42
"By considering the possibilities and how they might unfold, one can make necessary preparations. I've had the importance of planning drilled into me at both military academy and war college… -From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 13
Despite the ugliness at the end of the joust, Viserys considered the day a grand success. The feast afterward had been a delight. Prince Qoren was eager to assure Viserys that he shared his enthusiasm for peace. He welcomed additional trade, and several marriage arrangements were already in the works with houses in the Reach and even one in the Stormlands.
Viserys had been surprised to learn that Alan Beesbury was marrying Alina Dayne, sister to Artyr Dayne. Ever eager to share good news, Viserys toasted the hall. Old Lyman's grandson quickly became the center of attention as the Essosi representatives flocked to him with their well-wishes.
I wonder if it is some sort of custom in Essos to overly fawn over someone when nuptials are announced. They even pulled up chairs to where he sat at the feast table!
The best was yet to come, as he had extended an invitation to Jason Lannister, who would soon be arriving at his chambers.
"Your Grace, what was it you had need of me for?" his good-son, Laenor, asked with calm and deference.
"A passing amusement. You won't need to do much – just stand here where the light doesn't fully reach you. When I say your name, move forward and answer my query."
"As you wish."
Viserys frowned as he studied the man, a perfect mask of gentle compliance on his good-son's face. "No, that expression won't do. Put on something fiercer."
For but the briefest moment, confusion reflected in eyes of Westeros's most sanguinary young lord. It was soon replaced by a flash of recognition and his expression fell to something markedly more weary.
Was it that exhausting for him to keep up his mask of civility?
"Oh, for the love of the Seven…" Laenor's tone was far from his usual courtly mien of respect. "Viserys, you are the King. You have no need to use me to terrorize your lords." Laenor looked thoroughly aggrieved.
Viserys held up his hands. "'Tis a lark, nothing more. Now come – my daughter is being wed tomorrow. Let a father have his moment in the sun."
Laenor acquiesced and moved to where one of the lanterns had been put out, effectively placing him in the shadows, near completely obscured behind the great diorama of Old Valyria.
Perfect!
Soon enough, Jason Lannister arrived.
"Your Grace, I am honored by your invitation. I've brought wine from the Arbor, from the very year you were crowned, as gift."
"How thoughtful," Viserys agreed. "This is quite illuminating, really. It shows you choose when to be thoughtful and when not to be."
Jason looked hesitant. "Your Grace?"
"Did you think I would forget the disgraceful way you purposefully tried to shame my daughter?" Viserys let his voice rise.
"I thought that was behind us," the Lord of Casterly Rock said smoothly. "I have punished my lax servants for their errors and even helped fund…"
"You think I care for your pittance, Lannister?" Viserys sneered. "Do you count me for a fool? Do you think I am in my dotage and do not understand what games you play? Do you think I do not have loyal lords, knights, and servants who report to me the comings and goings of the Seven Kingdoms?"
Jason now looked suitably alarmed.
"Your Grace, clearly, I have failed to make amends. What would you have of me, your loyal servant?"
Viserys enjoyed seeing the man sweat before him. He leaned in close. "I'd have the truth from you. Why did you seek to shame my daughter?"
Jason twitched. "Your Grace… I am telling you the truth. If I am guilty of anything, it is of not taking Princess Elaena's visit with the seriousness it deserved. I swear by the Seven, that is all."
"Oh, you swear, do you?" Viserys backed away. "Laenor, what say you, do you believe that is the truth?"
Laenor, right on cue, stepped forward into the light. Viserys unexpectedly swallowed when he saw the cast of the Dark Storm's expression.
"You sought to deliberately shame Princess Elaena?" Laenor's voice was almost a hiss, the kind pushed through bared teeth. His entire body tensed as if about to strike, his jaw clenched, and his eyes wide—an admixture of shock and disdain.
Jason Lannister stumbled backward and then looked at the King beseechingly.
"Gods be good, I beg you, Your Grace, please, I admit I wanted her humbled as petty vengeance against Rhaenyra for rejecting my betrothal offer. That was all – a game of low stakes, that is all. Please, Viserys the Merciful, I will make amends!"
A game? Low stakes? My most beloved daughter - low stakes?!
For the instant Viserys was distracted by a sudden spike of wroth, Laenor stepped forward and grabbed Lord Lannister's tunic, still wide-eyed.
"Laenor!" Viserys suddenly shouted in alarm. As much as the feckless Lannister had stirred his ire, he didn't want bloodshed!
"Lannister," Laenor growled, "listen well. Should you act against Princess Elaena in any way, your end will be unfathomable. This is not me threatening you; I am just explaining, for your sake, how not even the Gods will keep you safe if you do anything of the sort again."
Lannister's whole body was trembling as he nodded frantically and Viserys physically stepped in and grabbed Laenor by the arm.
"Enough!"
Laenor let go and backed away, then bowed. "As you command, Your Grace."
Viserys felt his heart thumping and realized that using the Dark Storm this way had its own perils. For all the man's courtly presence, he should never forget that the blood-drenched inner beast could not always so easily return to docility.
"You may go, my good-son." Viserys commanded and Laenor did so.
Lannister watched Laenor go with wide-eyes and a ghastly-pale complexion. Viserys turned on him.
"You finally admit it. Really, Jason, you played these petty games with a child who had done you no wrong. My child." He let his words hang in the air. "Go on, then – propose your amends to Princess Elaena for your shameless trespasses, and then to me for daring to lie."
"I'll pay for all of it. The wedding, the tourney prizes, and I'll make welcome Princess Elaena and Ser Kevan with a vast gift. My ears report she is improving the river road, Lannister gold will pay for that as well!"
Viserys just stared, thinking that this was far more than he would have demanded had he simply handed down a punishment and fines for the man. This was to be the grandest celebration, perhaps in the history of Westeros, after all. Only a few houses in the world could hope to pay for it all, let alone even more! Evidently the Lannister thought the silence was a sign that it wasn't enough.
"I've opposed the Dragon Bank, but no longer. It can open a branch in Lannisport. I saw your daughter's companion at the feast – she's her handmaiden, Selene Falwell. I'll arrange a match with one of the male heirs among the Westerlands houses."
Viserys nodded. "Good, good. Now that is an apology. Make the arrangements, and we need not ever speak of this again—nor allow a repeat occurrence."
Jason Lannister lowered his head deeply. "Yes, Your Grace, thank you, Your Grace, I wouldn't. Just keep him away from me."
***
Kevan was all smiles on his wedding day, and his heart remained thundering in his chest. The High Septon's sermon droned on a bit too long, but he was too practiced a noble to show his impatience. He was marrying Elaena! Elaena, the Realm's Blessing - his blessing! If standing there for a full day and night listening to the old man speak was what it took, he would endure that and far more for her.
These last few moons only made his resolve more plain, as he watched his betrothed - his wife, in mere hours now - take to the Golden Tooth as if it were a dull gem to be polished into the unrivaled envy of kings and queens. The depths of her ideas left him breathless as he slowly realized more and more of how wide their scope truly stretched.
Elaena, of course, looked beyond radiant. Her wedding dress was predominantly gold, with silver accents, and the entire gown glittered with tiny diamonds sewn into it. Similar adornments had been woven into her hair, which was affixed half up in crown-like styling while the rest fell over her shoulders and down her back.
The silver-gold and silken luster of Elaena's hair almost seemed to blend with the shades of her dress, drawing the eye wherever it flowed, reflecting and glimmering with all manner of lights as diamonds sparkled about her face like a frame of golden starlight. Kevan's own ashy-blonde shone like dull gold ore in comparison, himself like the ground below the light of her sky.
The jeweled hairpiece curving around from behind her head and holding the styling together was made in the silver shades and image of Viktoriya as if about to take flight, argent wings hovering protectively about her temples all the way to grace the corners of her eyes and accentuate the brilliant blue hue of her irises.
Kevan could scarce bring himself to look away, but all the same, he had to now and then if only to keep an intense blush from flourishing on his cheeks the longer he saw the way she looked back at him with that ever-calm, serene gaze.
Helaena's green apparel, adorned with the red sigil of House Targaryen, was far more subdued, though Kevan's soon-to-be good-sister seemed quite content with her own attire.
Still, as stunning and eye-catching as his betrothed's clothing was to Kevan, it made less of a stir in general than Princess Rhaenyra's and Lady Laena's outfits.
They wore black with red gems at their wrists, ears, and throats. The style was supposedly Essosi, and Kevan suspected it was from Lys. Those outfits left precious little to the imagination. Nearly every man's eye traveled over their bodies openly, to the point where Kevan feared that Ser Laenor or Prince Daemon would be forced to punish the gawkers.
It was perhaps an... unwise decision from them, and Kevan had a hard time comprehending why they would choose to dress so at their beloved princess's wedding. From his time on Dragonstone, Kevan knew that they both cared for Elaena deeply, as a sister by blood or choosing, so he remained confused as to why their actions were so ill-considered regarding her feelings.
During the lengthy sermon, he allowed some surreptitious confusion and concern for his betrothed to show with a pointed glance to the two, but Elaena only gave him a single unbothered raise of her brow. Helaena just continued listening with a contended, almost blissful smile.
The Queen seems more affronted than either bride. Does anyone understand this family? I fear I am still out of my depth every time I am here. Thank the gods for Elaena, but I will be glad to return home.
After their vows and ceremony were completed, sealed with a chaste kiss that left something in Kevan feeling floaty as the memory of her lips lingered on his, it was time for the feast and the dance. A great many toasts were made, and he gladly took Elaena onto the floor of the feast hall for their first dance as husband and wife. Kevan held her close and savored the way a faint tension faded from her impeccable courtly demeanor when it was just the two of them, delighting in the way her eyes shined up close with a piercing intellect and interest. She glided through it with easy grace, and when the music changed, they disengaged, and the King danced with his daughter.
A line had soon formed, waiting to interact with Princess Elaena, the Realm's Blessing. The bride which today of all days had both humbled Kevan and sparked a fierce pride in knowing was his.
She begged off their advances and returned to her seat at the high table next to her half-sister Helaena, the other half of the wedding. It wasn't long before she returned and chose her next partner, rather than waiting to be asked. Lord Beesbury affably twirled her a few times before Aemond cut in during a pause. Kevan watched his now good-brother speak with Elaena as they danced, and then it was another's turn.
Kevan couldn't help but admire the utter poise she maintained regardless of her partners, and would have gone to her, worried for her comfort or fatigue had she not mentioned beforehand wishing to use the dances for a few private conversations.
"Ser Kevan," Jason Lannister said as he approached. "I've a gift for you, a grand sum that will be delivered to the Golden Tooth as gift to you and the princess."
Kevan wondered what his game was, but nothing followed. No requests or demands for action – just an open-ended promise to send gold to him. One which he gracefully accepted.
How odd. Elaena would say that the generosity itself could be leverage for obligation or reciprocation, but Lord Lannister only looked... worried? I'll have to talk to her.
Looking back upon the court, he noticed that a few lords and ladies wore the colors of their houses, but most either wore black or green. The black-clad wedding guests were more abundant. It seemed to him that the Queen's importance was fading, and now the realm looked to the next generation, seeking to curry favor with Rhaenyra.
And yet… I've already heard seven different comments on how brazen the heir was to try upstaging her sister's wedding with that dress. Some from those who wear the black! I know Elaena must have noticed, but she still seems without a care?
Still, Kevan would admit in the privacy of his thoughts that he much preferred Elaena's choice of dress and her striking look, the way every ornamentation was tasteful and served to enhance her elegant silhouette. The flow and tailoring of soft fabric with her natural beauty only embraced her frame and provided a graceful, understated emphasis to every gentle curve - of her hips, her waist, her shoulders, the healthy swell of her chest.
Gods, his wife was impossibly beautiful, and so much was her natural countenance and movement, the way she held herself, the clarity and near-radiance of her skin. It almost discomfited him to feel how much more enticing, alluring it was to see subtle suggestion in his wife's every natural motion where the Essosi dresses shamelessly flaunted and revealed near-fully.
Pulling his mind to the present, Kevan accepted another set of well-wishes and congratulations, this time from the Tullys. They were his neighbors, and a great many goods flowed along the road their ancestral homes shared. In the past, the two houses had been cordial but not overly friendly; Elaena wished to change that. Kevan gave his enthusiastic thanks and requested the opportunity to visit Riverrun within the year, which was granted with gladness.
His father was having a wonderful time. He had always been a significant player in Westerlands politics, but had no great role in the wider political scene. Today, his father had the great and powerful speak with him and lavish him with praise for his house's good fortune and for having a son worthy of the princess.
The sentiment is one I would know perhaps better than any, for I truly count it the greatest of fortunes to have Elaena deem me worthy of her hand. A worthiness I hope to prove ever more in our years together.
The dancing continued, and then one of the knights in Elaena's service signaled him. It was time to go. Elaena had no wish to participate in the bedding ceremony, and rather than cause a scene, it was decided to slip away quietly. Kevan would leave first, and then Elaena. Given that they were now four hours into the feasting and celebrating, this drew little suspicion, for attending to the privy after drink was common.
He saw Aegon emerge from the same door and nodded in his direction.
"I shall see you again in a few months, most like."
Aegon nodded. "To Golden Tooth then?"
"Yes, Elaena has spoken with whom she needs to speak, and is anxious to continue several of the projects she is working on."
"I envy you two, envy your chance to be together without the suffocating expectations of the court. Enjoy the ride on Viktoriya."
Elaena soon exited, and the two made their way to where Viktoriya would be saddled and made ready for their departure. The King would soon announce their leaving, but by that time, they would already be in the air, off to begin their life together as husband and wife at last.
***
Selene Falwell found the dual marriage the most incredible event she had ever witnessed. The music, the food, the beautiful dresses, and every great knight in the land come to pay their respects.
And I was able to see it all, and even help with preparing Elaena!
She wished for the day to never end. Princess Elaena continued to shimmer and draw many eyes, but it appeared Selene herself had caught a few as well. A finely dressed noble with a heavy limp approached her, and Selene knew she was now speaking to a member of the small council!
Larys Clubfoot, the Master of Whisperers, was a man many would disdain as a cripple. However, as the son of a former Hand and with an incredibly powerful position, his lot in life was far different from that of most impaired individuals. He was not exactly easy on the eyes, but his attire was immaculate. Selene noticed how people moved aside as he approached, some even bowing in respect!
"My lady, you look radiant today."
"Thank you, my lord." Selene responded with a polite smile. Her own dress was a subdued complement to Elaena's, smooth blends of golds and silvers with clever hints of her own house colors woven in. It flattered her hair and figure quite nicely, and Selene was well-pleased both with it and the symbol of Princess Elaena's favor that it signified. The silver dragon embroidery upon her breast and over her heart could not be mistaken.
Even those who knew her not, now knew of her and took notice that Lady Selene Falwell held status in the retinue of the Realm's Blessing, chosen to be at her side at the grandest of all weddings. Such notice was only further evidenced by her current company, who doubtless understood the significance.
"You are to be commended for Princess Elaena's dress. It draws the eye in," his lips curled into a slight smile, "…an enchanting way."
"I helped but a little, 'twas already designed before I came into her service," she demurred from taking any credit that wasn't hers.
"Tell me, how do you like Golden Tooth? There seems much afoot in Lord Lefford's domain."
That was true. The large number of Tyroshi former slaves had been given several tasks to complete. Fresh construction and the foundations of large buildings were being set. Work was underway to improve the road and create tributary paths branching in other directions. New smithies had also sprung up with haste.
Several of these projects Selene had been expected to engage with and inspect, apparently to both further her understanding of the Princess Elaena's efforts and to improve her own command of Valyrian dialects through experience. After the heart-stopping demonstration with Viktoriya, Selene had given her best effort at meeting those expectations with all the grace and seriousness she could muster.
"Yes, Princess Elaena is quite satisfied with the new folk who have come from Tyrosh. She often says that slavery is quite the abomination, and that the ability to pursue one's economic aspirations will create a stronger work ethic, nurture talent, and lead to many inno… innovations. I have enjoyed my time there and hope I can stay on for many more years. Princess Elaena is very kind, and the Leffords have made us all feel quite welcome."
Larys was nodding politely. "That is pleasing to hear, but I also wish to carry a warning to you, my sweet lady."
"A warning?" she asked nervously.
"Aye, beware the Lannisters. They may mean Princess Elaena no little harm, and I suspect they will try to use you to reach her."
Selene looked around warily. "In… in what way?"
Larys leaned in close to her and whispered, "Not all whispers come to fruition, and this is still but a shadow of a shadow. I simply wish to warn you to be on your guard." He pulled away from her. "Such a lovely flower as yourself should not be played the fool." Larys then lifted her hand and planted a kiss on the back of it – an act rather forward given their positions – before turning to limp away.
The fear, I feel, can be examined another day. I will not discount his courteous warning, but nor will I allow it to spoil this most wondrous day.
She drank more from her cup and then had a pair of nobles from the Riverlands speak with her. After pleasantries were exchanged, they asked what she thought of the heir's dress.
"A bit bold for my tastes, but she looks lovely in it," was Selene's reply.
"Does the princess share your opinion?"
She stilled. This was the sort of talk that could lead to problems.
"I have not spoken to her of it, oh excuse me, but I see someone I simply must speak with." Selene hastily withdrew with a smile of contrition.
She stood and left the two in order to approach Ser Medrick.
"Excuse me, ser, but you are Medrick Manderly are you not?"
"I am, and 'tis my shame to say so, but I know not your name."
"Selene Falwell." She gave a curtsy and flashed a tiny coy smirk, one hand not-so-subtly resting on and drawing attention to the silvery draconic iconography adorning her ample chest, "I am one of Princess Elaena's ladies-in-waiting. She has spoken much about you and suggested that you would make a fine dance partner."
"She is quite kind to say so, and I will endeavor not to disappoint." Medrick gallantly held out his hand, and soon they were dancing in time with the drummers, flutes, and strings.
The princess had said that all five of the other previously primary suitors for her hand would make wonderful husbands for any of them. She could make no guarantees that a match could be made, because, of course, the two handmaidens still not betrothed were not from the greatest of houses. However, it was pointedly mentioned that such that should not stop them from considering the possibilities.
Held close to him and his strong figure, as well seeing his splendid expressions and gentlemanly behavior, Selene agreed most heartily with her princess's assessment.
I'm not sure if the cold would suit me, but he would.
***
Darius Vellaris, elected Triarch of Volantis, had come to King's Landing to see for himself this rising power in the West. Other than hired sellswords, he had taken no one else from Volantis to preserve his reputation and elevated status. As an Elephant, he welcomed the thought of additional trade. He was also wary, for the displayed might of King Viserys, with his demonstration of dragons, had been a sight. No matter the strength of Volantis or the might of its people, with their tremendous legacy and traditions, they alone could not stop that many dragons.
His first impression of the city had been contempt, for even above the smell of the sea, as he neared, he could detect the stink of the city. In some ways, Westeros was as primitive as the Dothraki. In other ways, they challenged even the most civilized parts of Essos.
Their dominion is too large. Some of their people have never seen snow, yet others see it even before winter comes. They have all come to pay homage to their Dragon King and his daughters – so many people of differing views and customs, bound by the rule of dragons.
Darius had heard stories of Princess Elaena and her lengthy tour across of all of Westeros to find the man most suitable for her hand. There was a certain arrogance about it that reminded him of the commonality in their roots. Old Valyria was many things, but it was never humble. Darius was a man who did not concern himself with the politics of Westeros, though he had been told much during his voyage to King's Landing.
The color of the dress symbolized something, just as her half-sister's green symbolized support for the Queen's faction against the Heir's faction. The Blacks and the Greens. He found it rather primitive, for what do colors truly represent? In Volantis, the Elephants represented wisdom, and the Tigers represented ferocity. That made sense, not this color foolishness.
Gold and silver. Silver and gold. It flew in the face of the clear factions. She was marrying a man who was heir to a place called Golden Tooth; perhaps it was in homage to that.
Or… is it a sign of her loyalty to her patron over both the Queen and the Heir? What has gold always represented throughout history? Wealth. Money. She is this Lord Beesbury's creature. But is she a rabble, or is she an elephant?
He thought in terms of Cyvasse. While technically the dragon piece was more powerful than the elephant, he had a natural inclination to use the elephant to symbolize an important asset over the more common dragon. The rabble was but a tool, but an elephant – still moved by the player – has power and intellect of its own.
Never one to avoid confrontation, he boldly approached Lord Beesbury. The man was standing against one of the walls, speaking to a lord with a roaring lion upon his doublet.
Lion… ah, they rule the great port on the other side of Westeros farthest from our shores.
"Might I join the two of you?" Darius asked.
"And you are?" the lion-sigil bearing man asked.
"Darius Vellaris, Triarch of Volantis."
The man's eyes widened slightly. "Ah, you are most welcome in our realm. I am Tyland Lannister, Master of Ships, and this is Lord Lyman Beesbury, Master of Coin."
Darius gave a polite nod of respect to the Lannister and then bowed more deeply to Beesbury.
"Lord Beesbury, it is my profound honor to be in your presence. I offer heartfelt congratulations on your grandson's betrothal."
The mighty authority behind the Dragon Bank did not look so powerful in person. But Darius knew that looks could be deceiving. Qarth believed that much of Westeros viewed him as nothing more than an affable lord who served his King faithfully. The look of confusion on Tyland Lannister's face confirmed that for him.
"My thanks, Darius. I trust you had a peaceful and safe voyage?"
A warning, I have overstepped and inadvertently partially undone his careful deception.
"It was," he said smoothly, despite the sudden chill in his spine, "and I hope the return voyage will be the same. Please know that any words spoken that may cause confusion are due to my lack of use of this language. I pray that you will forgive any accidental errors."
Beesbury let out a small laugh. "Nonsense, you speak the tongue just fine."
Ah, such cruelty. He is letting me know that there will be no forgiveness if I lapse again.
Darius was an orator, but words failed him for a moment. He recovered and said, "I will not take up much of your time. Our city is eager for friendly relations with Westeros. Typically, your merchants arrive at our shores, but we are open to sending our captains to you, should you wish."
Beesbury considered before nodding, "We would not be opposed, but any slave who sets foot in King's Landing will not return to Volantis. We do not agree or participate in that practice."
Darius was taken aback. He knew the Westerosi disliked the practice of slavery, but he had not thought that sentiment to come from such a wanton man as him.
No, this makes sense. He never said they would be free, only that they would not return. Magic requires sacrifice, he would use their bodies and souls to fuel his sorceries. Is that the price of trade with King's Landing? They are powerful, but we have our pride, no one can just dictate human sacrifices as a condition of trade!
"I see, it will have to be discussed; in Volantis, I am but one of three, and our elections are mere months away."
Tyland raised his voice in interest, "That's right, you people don't have a King, you actually have people vote every year on who will rule."
"What an odd practice," Beesbury mused, "I've always found that the stability of a single ruler is much more effective."
Not one to share power, are you?
"It is our way," Darius said, feeling the need to defend his city but not to argue with him. "It is known that Princess Elaena often speaks your words regarding the functioning of the Dragon Bank. Will her marriage change that?"
Beesbury shook his head. "No, not at all. The Dragon Bank will continue its function, for she cannot abide to be away for long. Should you desire to borrow, or take part in our business ventures, we shall be here."
Some sorcerous tie that compels physical proximity to him? Such a thing seems far-fetched and beyond the ken of magic as we in Volantis know it. And yet, he speaks it without a hint of boast. I fear it is but the unvarnished truth. He did look delighted to have the princess dancing within his grasp, while she yet remained utterly stoic and disciplined, like a graceful puppet on what should be her joyous wedding day. Is that why the young Prince Aemond looked so disgruntled when he interrupted them? To have ensorcelled the King's own daughter! Is the King in a similar situation, or is he ignorant?
Suddenly uncomfortable fencing words with the dark mastermind, Darius bowed low, lower than before, and thanked him for his time. He was used to being around warlocks and sorcerers. They had their tricks, sometimes with scents that could make eyes see things that were not truly there. Other times, they used minor glamours that could not withstand the touch. Some used powders and the like to make flames dance in queer ways. They all put on airs and showed the world some outward proof of their sorcerous nature.
What did it say of the Arcane Apiarist that he had no need of such games?
We must never cross him.
***
Aemond was in an ugly mood the day of the wedding. He had difficulty defining why to himself. Perhaps it was because Elaena was clearly marrying below her station. Perhaps it was because 'the great and the mighty' acted like uncivilized peasants in a dirty brothel when laden with drink. Perhaps it was because Rhaenyra and Laena had made pitiful attempts to upstage Elaena and Helaena on their big day.
Or all of the above.
To make matters worse, Viserys, his oh-so-wise father, thought it best for the children not directly involved in the wedding to sit together. Aemond had been instructed to sit with Daeron, Daenora, and Uthor. Across from them were Jacaerys, Lucerys, Aenar, Baela, Rhaena, and Aelyx.
I've seen battle, by my age I may be a child, but by my actions I am not.
Baelon and Maegor were there as well, but being taken care of by servants at the far end.
Daeron prattled on about the blessings of the Seven and his prayer for Elaena to have a fruitful marriage, setting Aemond's teeth on edge. Jacaerys pointed out various heraldry, quizzing his younger brothers. Above all, Aemond was simply bored and annoyed. He had stolen one dance with Elaena, but beyond that, he only wished for the feasting to end. The single, brief conversation he'd had with Elaena about herself and the wedding had provided more stimulation and interest than the entire rest of the feast combined.
His father rose and announced that the happy couples had thanked everyone for attending and invited them to continue eating, dancing, and celebrating. Some in the crowd seemed put off by the absence of a bedding ceremony, but their complaints were ignored as the wine, food, and entertainment flowed on.
"Good," Daeron said, "the bedding ritual is a barbaric tradition and offensive to the Faith of the Seven."
"Why's that?" Aenar asked innocently, and to Aemond's ears seemed truly curious.
Daeron scowled. "Typical."
Jacaerys matched Daeron's scowl. "And what do you mean by that?"
"Look at how your mother is dressed; it's no wonder that even young children raised on Dragonstone have already grown inured to the sight of naked flesh being paraded around."
Aemond thought Daeron was being ridiculous, but at least it promised to be entertaining.
Aenar just looked confused as Jacaerys explained it to him. Meanwhile, Lucerys had clenched his fists.
"Don't talk about my mother, she's the heir to the Iron Throne!"
"And dressed like a… no, I won't say it to avoid profaning this celebration," Daeron replied.
Jacaerys stopped his brother from rising and then addressed the table.
"Stop, all of you, and let's just enjoy the feast."
Aemond almost let it go. Almost. But the thought of returning to the endless tedium of this table was too much for him.
"I would, but the sight of the grotesque has made me lose my appetite. Really, whose idea was it to bring that monster to the feast?" he said, gesturing toward Maegor.
"He's not a monster, take those words back!" Lucerys growled, his voice low and tense.
He laughed. Aemond couldn't help it. The thought that he should fear a boy not yet ten was ridiculous.
Daeron put his hand on Aemond's shoulder. "Brother, that was uncalled for. Maegor is innocent in all this; he is an instrument of punishing the hubris of the Rogue Prince. The Smith made him with a purpose."
Daenora also raised her voice. "Aemond, don't be mean. Maegor isn't even living with Daemon anymore." She waved in the direction of the twin daughters of Daemon and said, "Elaena is now fostering him."
"At least he will be away from court, though it pains me to learn that my fair sister must be in its company. We are Targaryens; only the best should be present here. It is a disgrace if the people see a Targaryen like that. But I tire of this discourse; you children do not understand such matters."
In truth, I would rather this conversation cease before it grows larger and Elaena learns of it later.
Jacaerys sat up straighter. "I understand more than you think, Aemond. Under my rule, Maegor will be just as valued as any other family member."
Daeron snorted, "You? Rule? You aren't fit to rule, and the Seven will never allow you to ascend the throne."
Aemond grabbed Daeron's arm, whispering harshly, "What are you doing?"
It was one thing to speak ill of a deformed embarrassment, or mock someone's attire, it was another to imply that the firstborn of the current heir would not sit the Iron Throne. That stepped the line over into treasonous talk.
"You dare?" Lucerys said, growing even angrier.
"Anyone with eyes would come to the same conclusion," Daeron said with contempt. "Your mother has made a mockery of the family far more than even Daemon has. She may be heir, but her lack of wisdom and propriety makes her unfit to rule. The obscenity of it..."
Lucerys jumped from his seat and lunged across the table, falling onto Daeron who was still seated. The chair rocked back and they both tumbled to the floor. Aemond stood and grabbed Lucerys, pulling him off the stunned Daeron. Around the table came the elder brother.
"Let him go," he demanded as he charged at Aemond.
Aemond laughed and threw Lucerys to the floor and then caught Jacaerys by the jaw with one hand and pushed him onto the table.
"Now, now, little prince, don't do anything rash." Aemond taunted.
A serving of butter sailed toward him, thrown by one of the twins, and he flinched away from it with a narrow dodge. Jacaerys seized the moment to slam both hands down onto Aemond's, breaking his grip. He tried to hit him again, but Aemond was too quick, and simply avoided the blow before shoving Jacaerys into Lucerys, who had just begun to rise. He winced as he saw the back of Jacaerys' head slam into his brother's nose. Drawing blood had not been his intent.
The commotion had drawn some of their minders, but the guards were hesitant to lay hands on a prince.
Daeron took a thrown plate full of honeyed apple slices to his cheek and neck. The plate shattered and he tried to wipe away the sticky substance angrily.
"Which one of you bastards threw that at me?" he demanded to know.
"WE AREN'T BASTARDS!" Lucerys screamed, some blood dripping down from his nose.
The music had still been playing, but now a cry went out that a child was bleeding. Aemond felt a sinking feeling come over him as he replayed what had just happened in his mind's eye.
His mother pushed her way into the scene. Only a moment later Daemon jostled into it as well, nearly hurling two onlooking nobles out of his way.
"Someone called you a bastard?" Daemond's tone carried clearly through much of the hall. "Tell me who and I'll have their tongue."
Daeron stumbled backward and his mother sneered.
"Why is it Daemon, that every time I see you, you have found yourself in a quarrel with a child?"
Daemon drew his belt knife. "Child or no, the penalty for speaking slander is the same. Now which one of you is it?"
Daenora had started crying and Alicent moved to comfort her.
"Oh, fret not, Daemon is all bluster. He would not dare lay a hand upon any of you."
The crowd tightened around them, forming an almost impenetrable wall. Daemon advanced, but Aemond's mother stared him down. A cry rang out to make way for the King, but it still felt distant.
Aemond hesitated, unsure of what to do.
"Go no closer to my mother or sister, it was I," Daeron said, his voice somber.
Daemon looked at the boy, and then the crowd parted, people falling over themselves to get out of the way. Laenor Velaryon stepped through, several feet of space to his right and left. The change that came over his resolute and unflinching mother was immediate.
"Laenor," Alicent's voice quivered, "they are children," she fell to her knees between Laenor and Daeron. "Wait for the King, please."
The Dark Storm's expression was utterly unreadable as he stepped forward. Aemond heard his mother cry out in fear, but Laenor did nothing except help Lucerys to his feet and inspect his nose.
"You've had worse in the training yard. Now, will someone tell me what transpired? I heard nothing but shouting and the crowd forming."
Everyone started to speak at once, and before anything clear could be discerned by the new arrivals, the King arrived.
"What is the MEANING of this, at the WEDDING OF MY DAUGHTERS!?" The King of the Seven Kingdoms roared, fury exploding with his words and writ across his face.
He fixed his gaze on Daemon. "Put that thing away, brother, and speak – what has happened?"
Daemon re-sheathed his belt knife. "Daeron Targaryen stands accused of treasonous slander. I know naught else."
Viserys turned to look at the boy. "Well?"
Aemond watched his brother take a deep breath. "The Father compels us all to speak only what is true. I was struck by a plate of food. I did not know who threw it, but, in anger, I asked what bastard threw it at me."
Aemond's mother, who had regained her feet and was still between Laenor and Daeron, broke in, "Yes, do you see? It was a childish insult, with no accusation behind it. This is a childhood squabble and brawl, let that be all this is."
Daeron's face hardened with stubbornness. "The Father compels us all to speak only what is true. Father, it is obvious to all that your daughter's children are nothing but baseborn pretenders, who—"
Daemon moved toward Daeron and two of the Kingsguard blocked his path instantly. Ser Criston looked almost eager.
"Stay your hand, Daemon," the King commanded, and then turned to Daeron. "Boy, who has poisoned your ears with such words?"
"It is not my ears who have learned of this, but my eyes." Daeron replied.
"Be silent," the Queen commanded, desperation in her voice as she grabbed Daeron by the arm.
Aemond saw Viserys, his father, try desperately to master his anger. The feast hall, still teeming with people, had grown eerily silent.
"You are a boy, so you shall receive a boy's punishment. I would not see you maimed, my son, for repeating the lies fed to you. But my patience is at an end. Who has fed you these calumnies?"
More guards and Kingsguard had arrived. Daeron just stared at his father.
Laenor opened his mouth to speak, and that simple movement had the guards flinch away and the Kingsguard hastily draw their own blades and step in front of him. A look of grim determination etched on each of their faces, including Ser Criston's.
"Seven Hells, I was only going to suggest that this is not the place for such a discussion," Laenor said, his voice tinged with exasperation and irritation.
The King looked around, and something heavy fell across his eyes.
"Gods, what a wretched end to this damned celebration. Clear the hall, the feasting is over."
Aemond knew not what would come next, but he had never seen Viserys, his father, appear older or wearier than he did now. Rage had drained from the man, replaced by a deep melancholy. Aemond feared that whatever happened next would cast a long shadow for years to come.