Chapter 51
"There's no time to debate. I'm not accepting objections." -From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 5
Laena was delighted to soon be arriving at Golden Tooth. As she flew on mighty Vhagar, she couldn't help but smile, musing on her designs. They depended in part on Daemon proving victorious in the tournament, but there were few who could match him. It seemed an outcome safe to assume for a first option.
And if my Rogue Prince does not succeed, we have other options.
She had confidence in her lord husband. For the Master of Tyrosh, Lord of the Stepstones, and brother to the King felt the touch of time but lightly. The latest maiden from Lys had rekindled some of his waning ardor, and though she was oft overbold, indulging her had left Daemon in fine form before they departed their city.
Caraxes let out a screech of draconic fury and joy as they drew ever nearer to the Westerlands. Once they made their grand entrance, the King would welcome his brother. Should Daemon prove victorious, he would ask for a boon: the release of his niece from the Vale to be restored to Dragonstone.
He has been advised to ask it on behalf of the King's grandchildren, so that they may see and be with their mother again. It will tug on the heartfelt desires of familial bonds our King so strongly values.
Laena was also thrilled to see Maegor once more. Her son would be six, and though the letters they sent tempered her yearning for him somewhat, they did not suffice. That was the second portion of her plan. She wanted Maegor back with her; the fostering had been long enough. Daemon did not want him, unable to look past his physical defects, but he also wanted a male heir.
It frustrated her that Maegor would not be considered, her only son, Daemon's own blood and kin, but it was his domain to pass to whom he will. The proposal she would give to him was that they try once more for a son that he would accept, but if she could not give him one, then they would convince Rhaenyra to have Daemon adopt Aelyx. Maegor, bless him, the only trueborn son and fruit of their union, could thrive on other paths in life. She could hope to grant him that at least. With Rhaenyra freed by dint of Daemon's skill at arms and persuasive plea to the King, she would be in their debt enough to make a push for all to be satisfied.
I do fear what has become of her in the Eyrie. My brother has said there were difficulties still, and that Rhaenyra would not see sense. I am hopeful she still loves us as dearly as she did before her departure. Much of Daemon's designs on Westeros depend on Rhaenyra cooperating with his desires once she becomes Queen.
With them were their daughters, Baela and Rhaena, both riding atop Thraezarys. Moondancer was still too small to ride, much to Baela's dismay. Little Visenya was to remain behind. At three, she could have made the journey on Vhagar, the sheer bulk of her beloved draconic partner shielding the harsh winds, but it was still an arduous journey for one so young. Her egg never did hatch, and a replacement was something she wished to secure from Rhaenyra in time.
Elaena was growing to be a formidable and mighty lady. Beyond the wealth and power of founding a new city, she was thought of fondly by most of the nobility, as well as the smallfolk. Daemon still was vexed with her, as was Laena, but Laena understood. The war would have been costly, and she truly believed it was not personal.
She has grown to be such a fine young lady, and Seven help me, her hair. It's simply a blessing to behold. Not to mention her enthralling intensity when she gets serious, it almost reminds me of Daemon at times. Why I…
She saw Caraxes bank down toward the bones of the new city. It was progressing nicely, and already some portions were complete, but it was far from done. Laena could not help but admire the sheer audacity and boldness of the design. Years of increasing responsibilities in the administration of Tyrosh had raised Laena's appreciation for such things, to say nothing of the pleasing aesthetics. It would not be as large as King's Landing, but it would dwarf Gulltown and hold beauty to rival the Free Cities. The wide roads leading to it from multiple directions could even be seen from dragonback. Plentiful gardens and fountains would certainly keep it smelling better as well.
Caraxes descended with a great cry that Vhagar echoed, announcing their presence. Three other dragons answered back from nearby, one of which was visible, the Red Queen, Meleys, her mother's dragon. It would be good to see her again. The roar of the other dragons sounded like Vermithor and Silverwing, but she couldn't be certain.
Surely there should be more dragons. Perhaps they are sleeping or hunting, or too unsure of themselves to answer the call of the greatest of their kind.
A massive set of red and black flags denoted a place for dragons to land, and despite Caraxes veering off, Laena directed Vhagar to it. Caraxes rejoined her, and they landed with their daughters. Men in Lefford heraldry, the blue and gold designs prominent, greeted them and had both horses and wheelhouses ready.
She was impressed by how well-disciplined the mounts were. The scent of dragons caused instinctual fear in most horses. Even when the trained steeds of knights held firm, they whinnied and showed signs of nervousness. These did not, though the reek of dragon would cling to Laena's riding leathers.
They were welcomed by Lord Lefford, his son, and Elaena. Bread and salt were provided, and the Lord of Golden Tooth spoke highly of the honor of hosting the King's brother and conqueror of Tyrosh.
"Will my esteemed guests be wishing to be given rooms near Ser Laenor and Lord and Lady Velaryon?"
Laena nodded. "That will be well. Now, forgive me, but it has been a long flight. Show me to my quarters, have the servants draw a bath, and then let me see my son. It has been too long since I've set eyes on Maegor."
Rhaena said happily, "Yes, we want to see him too. I want to take him flying."
"I am sure you were well versed in caring for your passengers, but if you are to do that, I insist on checking the saddle chains." Elaena offered mildly, brows raised with a sense of calm and amused indulgence toward her young cousin's outpouring of excitement.
"Sure!" Rhaena nodded without a hint of concern, even though Daemon's face clouded. Then he tilted his head and upturned his lips for the briefest moment, before speaking.
"As you will, but I must see to the King. I am surprised he was not here to greet me."
Lord Lefford gestured, "Come, my lord, surely you wish to get refreshed first? The King holds court even as we speak, but I am sure he will be eager to meet with his beloved brother."
Laena watched as Daemon, ever so delightfully troublesome Daemon, insisted on interrupting court, and greeting his brother directly there. Humfrey Lefford was taken aback, but quickly agreed to the request.
Golden Tooth had far more portraits, banners, and heraldry of House Targaryen as of late. Laena smiled at the sundry portraits of Elaena. Her niece had finally found some of her family's wonted haughtiness. Not that it was undeserved, she was quite fetching.
After a luxurious bath that was delightfully near scalding, she felt like a new woman. Maegor was brought to her, and she felt her heart beat faster, a heaviness in her throat as her boy rushed toward her in a deceptively agile waddle. She took him into her arms and lifted him.
"Mother, I've missed you!" His voice had the purity of a child and it made Laena's heart ache.
"And I've missed you my sweet, sweet boy. You have grown so much. Come, I want to hear everything."
***
Jace sent Vermax ever higher at Baela's urging. His betrothed sat behind him, and although the chains might have fastened her to the dragon, she held him tight regardless while she screamed in his ear. In truth, her childish cries were beginning to wear at him, but he was committed to being the gallant future husband. It was important that the eventual King and Queen of Westeros were bonded closely.
Thraezarys, her sister's mount, had difficulty keeping up with the smaller and lighter Vermax. Jace gave a command and Vermax headed back. He did not want to engage in a race whilst little Maegor was riding Rhaena.
Not that she would risk him. She seems more level-headed them some her age.
"Is Vermax tiring already? Don't embarrass your poor dragon, Jace." Baela's tone held a mocking tint to it, and Jace steadied himself, remembering that it was Daemon who was her father. The Rogue Prince had a reputation for a sharp tongue, and there was no doubt now that his progeny had inherited it.
In truth, though Maegor was startlingly well-behaved, some of his comments were occasionally sharp despite his youth, and no one would ever claim that his mind was as thick as his body. The boy had, embarrassingly enough, already beaten him at Cyvasse.
"I do not wish to leave behind your sister and Maegor, nor do I wish to encourage her to try to match Vermax," Jace shouted over the roar of the wind.
Flying was always a pleasure, but it had felt less freeing than normal as of late, with stress hounding him so. Upon return to the ground it was time for him to make ready for the events of the day. The early morning flight had been meant to reinvigorate him and ease some of the tension, which only grew instead as the tourney's impending start loomed like the Dragonmont over his mood. A dour, forbidding shadow indeed.
"Will you win today, Jacaerys?" Baela asked, something unreadable in her questioning tone.
There were to be several minor events, some not even martial, such as the glee telling contest. The main attraction was the squire's tournament, and that was mostly due to the various princes participating. The true joust and grand melee would be occurring in the following days.
Jace looked away. "Aemond and Aegon are both my elders, it will be difficult to overcome them."
"You are the son of the Dark Storm, surely that must count for something. I want you to win," Baela demanded, well, rather petulantly.
Rhaena gave her twin a shove. "It's his first tournament, and Aegon is what, five years his elder? Jace shall do well, but he is still three years from his majority."
Baela stuck her tongue out at her sister. "Just don't embarrass me," she turned to Rhaena. "At least my betrothed is allowed to compete, yours is still on Dragonstone."
Maegor was still stroking Thraezarys, not seeming to be interested in the conversation. Jace was concerned however.
"Is Maegor safe being so near your dragon?"
Rhaena nodded. "Oh yes, I've taken pains to ensure he knows humans are not to be harmed. I've even let bold retainers and guards do the same. I want to take my dragon with me everywhere, and having that be a danger to smallfolk would be awful."
Jace had mixed feelings over the matter. His father had always impressed upon him that dragons were not truly tame. They were their bonded partners, who had volition all their own.
Perhaps it is caution begot from the slaughter Seasmoke has wrought. Save for the three that came with Aegon, has any dragon ever spilled as much blood as my father's? Does such capacity merely depend on each dragon's own temperament, or has it to do with the strength of bond to the rider? Is such restraint truly reliable to train?
Elaena's Viktoriya is said to have been calm and unhesitatingly obedient from her hatching day onward, and that gentler dragon has never flown to war. Does my father's fathomless wrath drive Seasmoke's will, where instead Aunt Elaena's serenity might soothe such instincts in Viktoriya? Could thoughtful and patient Rhaena be more alike to her, and Thraezarys of a less wild heart..? Still, I am loath to set aside lessons from the Dark Storm so quickly, and it all makes me uneasy.
There was no time for further delay, and Jace, with the aid of others, prepared for the lists. The armor he wore was as knightly as any other, just sized for him. He was not short for a boy of three-and-ten, but still, shorter than almost all fully grown men.
First came the gambeson, the padded attire important to lessen the impact of potentially harsh blows. A knight's armor, save for the weakest portions near the joints, was nearly impregnable. Even more so as the lances were made of light wood as opposed to castle-forged steel.
After the gambeson came the hauberk. Hundreds of interlocking rings of metal formed an additional barrier. The weight of it settled over him, and Jace twisted his neck to the right and the left, trying to ease some of the disquiet that was causing his neck to stiffen. There would be thousands watching: his father, his grandsire the King, his betrothed, so many.
The breastplate was the final layer of defense for his vital organs. It was polished to a fine sheen and proudly bore the heraldry of House Targaryen. His father's house would be upon his shield, but the breastplate was the three-headed dragon. The breastplate was not the last piece of armor, as the pauldron, greaves, steel gloves, gorget, and helm all came after. His helm was not yet on him when his father visited.
"Clear the room, squires."
Which they promptly did with but a few backward glances of awe at the one who gave the command.
"Father, I thought you would have already been in your seat."
The Dark Storm took him by the shoulders. "And miss the opportunity to give you some last pieces of wisdom? Perish the thought."
Jace knew he was not his sire by blood, but in every way that mattered to him, Laenor Velaryon was his father.
"Don't fall off the horse? I believe I have that part down."
He chuckled. "You have the details of jousting down. Joffrey, Harwin, and I saw to that. No, my purpose here is to remind you that this is just a tournament. The stakes are tongues wagging for a time, and then there will be another, and another after that. The attention and sentiment of the populace is fleeting. Relax," he said with a smile, "and enjoy the spectacle."
Jace swallowed. "Thank you, father." He gave a hesitant grin. "I shall."
Several minutes later, he was astride his steed and waving to the crowd. It felt so much louder and more intense while he was in the center. Almost every important noble in Westeros was there. Jace knew it was not all of them. The Hand was still in King's Landing, and many of the Northern Lords had stayed in their wintery domains.
His opponent was a boy two years his senior from the Riverlands. Jace felt his breath come too quickly, and focused on his last interaction with his father. He felt a calm suffuse him as he commanded his horse forward. Hundreds of hours of practice came to the fore, and by pure rote repetition he followed what his instructors had taught.
Shield firmly affixed, eyes on the enemy lance, his own lance aiming for the enemy shield, slightly off center. Legs braced for the impact.
Wood splintered, his body reeled backward with a sickening feeling of disorientation. For one fateful fraction of a second, he thought he was falling, but no, his legs were still tightly gripping the horse's flanks. The same could not be said for his opponent, who had been smashed into the dust.
He had done it! He had won his first tilt in a tourney! Smiling like a madman from within his helm, he enthusiastically waved to the cacophony of cheers. As he trotted his destrier away from the field to make room, he knew he shouldn't be celebrating too grandly. The pairings had been created purposefully to have him not contend with his uncles until the later, more final rounds. That would be the real test for him.
***
Helaena's father sat in the royal stands, and beside him was her mother, the Queen. Elaena sat to mother's left, and Kevan had been beside her. Helaena didn't like all the noise, both kinds, and so had Kevan and Elaena switch seats, so that Kevan sat next to the Queen as opposed to Elaena. Helaena did enjoy Kevan's company, but she wanted to be beside Elaena.
Daenora was eagerly clapping beside her, and was proving to be quite the chatterbox.
I just hope my dreams were wrong.
In the several months since Elaena had been aiding her, much had improved in Helaena's life. She recalled her dreams less now that she had removed some foods from her diet. Nuts, fish, and chicken were no longer things she consumed.
When she did dream, the ability to have someone quickly write it down had calmed her as well. She no longer felt as much fear upon waking. Elaena now had a record of all she ate, the times she dreamed, what she dreamed, and how much sleep she received. Her energy throughout the day improved, and she could focus more, though in times such as this, that was not always pleasant.
Her brothers were doing well. All had won their first couple of jousts. Daenora was thrilled with each and every clash of wood and steel, but Helaena grew ever more nervous. One of the few recurring dreams of late was that of a dragon, the coloration changing in different iterations of the dream, stumbling and collapsing as a leg became twisted and bent.
Helaena's heart hammered in her chest as Aegon took the field again. His opponent was a bastard from Dorne and had ridden exceedingly well earlier in the day. She gave a cry as lances splintered and Aegon was thrown to the ground. Elaena's touch calmed her almost instantly, and she breathed out a sigh of relief as Aegon stood up and waved to the throng.
My love is uninjured.
"They are dreams, Helaena. You knew the joust could lead to injury, and that real and worrying fear caused your mind to circle it. 'Tis all they likely are, just dreams." Elaena said soothingly, shifting closer as her sister's hand found hers.
For a time, she merely closed her eyes, eyelids fluttering on occasion as she savored the placid humming tones emanating from Elaena's presence.
Helaena wished she could believe her mo- ...her dearest sister's words, but try as she might, she didn't believe it. Elaena could be so convincing, so sure and confident, but in her heart of hearts, Helaena knew there was something more to them.
Alas, for how do I know what is true and what is false? How do I know if a dragon represents a dragon or a member of my family? What would the shifting colors mean? Is it even for this joust, or a joust yet to come with my brothers? Or is it something that will not come to pass for centuries? Elaena asks me these questions, and I ponder them, but I also feel the urgency in ways I cannot express in words to her. I simply do not know.
Helaena wanted to leave and comfort her beloved brother, Aegon. She knew that her husband would be disappointed in his loss. She was held back by propriety. It would be an insult to the other competitors to withdraw, and Aemond and Daeron were both still competing. She kept her seat, a dutiful princess.
As the matches grew closer to the finalists, there were four competitors left. On the yard were Jacaerys and Aemond. Aemond was not in position, for he had steered his destrier around toward where they were seated.
"Princess Elaena, as hostess and fairest witnessing my coming victory, I would be honored to wear your favor for this joust."
Daenora giggled, and Helaena realized this was all rather unseemly. No squire tournaments that she had ever witnessed involved this. It happened during proper jousts between knights, especially in the finals, but for these lesser events it simply was not done.
Elaena took it in stride and drew forth a handkerchief emblazoned with the heraldry of House Lefford and tied it to Aemond's lance. Aemond's brow furrowed when he saw the sigil, and Helaena saw that the two locked eyes for a moment or two.
Turning back to his spot, Jacaerys looked hesitant as to what to do. He looked over where his own betrothed was sitting and seemed to think about heading over. Instead, he remained where he was, and his mount gave a whinny.
Then the two were charging at each other. Aemond's lance moved higher than it should be almost a full second before the clash, but at the very last moment it was brought down perfectly. His nephew had shifted his shield, and it was not as steady as it should be, and the clash sent Jacaerys twisting off his horse.
He hit the ground hard, and a cry went out from the downed prince. Helaena felt a chill take her.
"He was the dragon wounded in my dream," the words whispered to herself.
Elaena's eyes snapped to Helaena, and then she stood abruptly and hastened down from the stands toward Jacaerys. A path cleared for her like clouds split in the wind, and Helaena caught sight of a small hand gesture, which prompted an escort of silvery-armored guards to fall in step beside and behind Elaena. Other knights and squires were already on the field, and Laenor had vaulted down instantly. Daenora was standing on her tiptoes, trying to see over them from the stands.
"Is he dead? Did Aemond kill him? Is this going to start more fighting?" Daenora said in a tone that Helaena found off-putting.
"No, it is just his leg."
A stretcher was being called for, and they caught a glimpse of Jacaerys. He was in pain, but he raised his hand to wave to the crowd. Helaena saw a Maester trailing after them.
Daeron won his tilt, and Helaena saw that neither Elaena nor Laenor had returned to their seats. The final round would pit brother against brother. The two boys had been at odds ever since Aemond declared his contempt for the Faith of the Seven.
Helaena found the whole contention rather silly, but in an exhausting way. Both extremes were unpleasant, and their loudness only compounded it. Had they both no mind to accept room for the unknown, to acknowledge not knowing? As if they were the only ones who thought themselves right above all others, despite knowing so little?
She herself was reminded every night that she must accept not knowing, to confront mystery, to glimpse hints of the world being so much more. What did they know of gods and magic? What did they know of dreams that came true, or came from what seemed to be the depths of some hell?
She could almost envy how assured they felt about what was real or not.
But for all of it, at least she had this Aegon, her Aegon to love so dear. His loudness and turbulent thoughts she found herself wishing to soothe, as Elaena had so often done for her. As Elaena had done for them both.
Was it so wrong of her to feel as if Aegon's distress were a call, a tie that drew her ever toward engulfing him in her arms, sharing with him her comfort? When instead her other brothers felt like waves repelling her, their loudness trying to drown her under their own self-centered sound?
Helaena was mostly just relieved that her love was unhurt. She again wished she could go to him, but first she must watch her kin vie and clamor with noisiness.
The two figures raced toward each other, and both lances were split upon each of their shields. Daeron nearly fell but managed to gamely stay mounted. Aemond shouted something to his brother that could not be picked up, as the roars of the watchers drowned it out. Fresh lances were fetched, and they clashed again.
Aemond's horsemanship, lance placement, and stature proved sufficient for the win. Helaena nervously dug her nails into her palms. She wished Elaena were with her, but she had not returned. Kevan leaned over and patted her on the back. His gentle presence helped, at least a little, that reminder of her sister's reassurance.
"Look, he's coming to his feet; your brother is unharmed." Kevan's voice was kindly, and Helaena was glad to have gotten to know her good-brother over these last months.
It was true, and Helaena was grateful. She watched as Aemond sent his mount circling the yard. He removed his helm.
"My victory was due to my skill! No hand of the Warrior guided me. Today my brothers may be given knighthood, but I reject the title. I am a Prince! I am a Targaryen; I bow to none save the King of Westeros!"
Several cheered, almost certainly not fully understanding what Aemond was saying, but others did and either remained silent or muttered amongst themselves. Her father rubbed at his forehead while her mother had gone three shades paler, her face frozen solid to avoid showing her displeasure.
Her father stood. "If you will not swear the oaths of a knight, you will not be a knight. Congratulations on your triumph, my son. I will, however, knight Aegon, Daeron, and Jacaerys. Tonight will be an evening of contemplation for them, and ere the sun rises next morn, they shall take their knightly vows!"
***
Laenor's heart had leapt into his throat when his son fell. His years of knightly training, and countless tournaments observed, told him it was grievous. The way the leg was twisted sent his mind racing through the possibilities as he reached his son's side.
"I'm here, Jace, I'm here." Laenor's voice was made steady for his son's sake, though inwardly he was wracked with disquiet. He could not fully tell how wounded he was due to the armor, but the leg was misshapen.
They took his helm off, and his pale face was slick with sweat. His son's eyes were pained, but even so he waved to the crowd, signaling his good health. Laenor knew his son. He knew that Jace would be concerned about appearances. To act with such poise while in such pain made him proud.
His attention was fully fixed on his son; that was probably the only reason he saw Elaena's hand swiftly brush Jace's cheek. Laenor's eyes widened as his son's expression grew more relaxed, and less pained.
Seven have mercy, is there naught that she cannot do?
He was grateful, but still ever fearful. No one, save for his Joffrey, knew just how deadly dangerous the 'Realm's Blessing' truly was. Rhaenyra did not know her peril. His wife risked all over a pettiness. Worst of all was that Laenor held partial responsibility. It was he who took the message of what Rhaenyra had planned to do, to Elaena. It had been the right choice, but he feared now the discord between the sisters.
Maester Faldon was the Maester of House Lefford, a virile middle-aged man who had an impressive chain, especially for one not gray of hair.
"Quickly, milk of the poppy, and removing his armor will be extraordinarily torturous," Faldon barked toward one of his assistants, who ran off to fetch it.
"Time is of the essence," Elaena's clear voice said firmly, "my nephew is made of sterner stuff; it will be removed now, and he will endure it."
Jace gave a nod, and, while he did wince in pain, there were no screams or writhing.
Faldon shook his head, and muttered to himself, but Laenor heard his words. "Orwyle's treatises on Targaryen exceptionalism may hold more truth to them than even he surmised."
Laenor's teeth clenched as he saw his son's wounded flesh. His thigh to knee was an utter ruin. Bone splinters poked through shredded skin, and the flesh around the knee had swollen painfully. He heard Faldon curse.
"My lords, my Lady," the Maester spoke quietly but with urgency behind his words, "we may need to remove the limb. The damage is severe, and the risk of corruption would be great."
Jace shook his head in mute horror.
"No," Elaena said simply. "While there is risk, it can be mitigated." She looked at Jace. "I assume you would rather keep your leg?"
"Yes." Jace replied with a hasty hiss.
Faldon shook his head. "My Lady, your knowledge of construction and architecture rivals that of an Archmaester, but I have made a study of the healing arts. The risk is too great." He turned to Laenor. "Ser, your son may survive if we do not cut, but the risk is exceedingly high, and it will never fully work properly."
Laenor looked at his son and then at Elaena. "Speak true," he said, while keeping his voice even, "can you promise he will live if we try to save his leg?"
Elaena tilted her head ever so slightly. "Nothing in life is guaranteed, but I would say that it is as assured as your victory over the Stepstones pirates was all those years ago."
That is as good as an oath to the Mother.
He turned to the Maester. "Repair the wound, do what you can. I trust my good-sister's judgment."
"But…"
"DO AS I SAY!" Laenor roared, and one of Faldon's assistants fainted in terror. The Maester himself was of heartier stock, but still he flinched from the unexpected shout. Elaena directed a glance toward the fallen assistant and then pinned Laenor with perhaps the most quietly wry expression he had ever seen on her face.
He shuddered on instinct and looked away. Only to meet eyes with another assistant, who promptly quailed and trembled.
Gods preserve me.
Milk of the poppy was given to Jace, and the work began. Elaena took the place of the Maester's fainted assistant and used her own hands to adjust the broken bone and flesh back to some semblance of order. It was only Laenor's faith in the power Elaena wielded that he believed there was any hope of Jace avoiding becoming a cripple.
Joffrey has found his happiness even with his ailments, but it took many years of bitterness. I would not wish that fate upon my son.
At one point he rose, as his mother wished to speak with him. Elaena had forbidden any additional individuals who might 'further contaminate' the area. Laenor stepped out, and his mother embraced him.
"How is he?"
"The Maester fears corruption, they have packed the wound with tinctures to prevent it, but he has given grave warnings."
"Is the injury so severe? I could not tell from where I was sitting."
Laenor grimaced. "Aye, the Maester wished to cut my boy's leg away from fear, but I believe all will be well in the end."
"Laenor… tongues are wagging, you were heard. Some buffoons are saying that the wound is worse than what was believed, and that you ordered the Stranger to stay his hand. But among the less foolish, it is believed you simply gainsaid the Maester's judgment. Please, my son, do not risk him over your desire to see him match you as a warrior one day!"
Laenor was taken aback and rubbed at his eyes.
Of all the-
"Mother, it isn't that. Though worry still twists my heart, I am convinced he will survive and not be maimed either."
She searched his face, her own lined features still stern as ever, and then she nodded. "You believe that," she exhaled heavily. "Then that is enough for me. May I see him?"
He shook his head. "Not yet, but I will have someone fetch you when the wound is sealed."
The bones had been placed together, though parts were missing from the whole, and the flesh sewn, and the limb braced. Jace had fallen unconscious and the Maester arched his back and wiped his brow.
"I will leave instruction to be fetched if there is any sign of fever. That is the worst possibility. The wound will be examined every few hours, but we cannot see inside the leg. Should the worst come to pass, we may still need to remove it. I wish to give you no false hope."
Laenor lightly grabbed the Maester by the shoulder. "You have done good work; fear not, if anything should happen to my son, I will not look to you as responsible. Thank you for what you have done for me and my family."
As he said the last, he had caught Elaena's eyes, and her chin lowered by a subtle fraction before returning to its level height. No doubt Elaena would not leave his son's side until her prediction proved true. Jace would survive, and though it was of lesser importance, Laenor suspected he would joust again as well.
If only his heart would cease worrying over how he once more owed Elaena a debt he could scarce hope to ever repay, all for aiding his family yet again. The same family who kept wronging her with their pettiness and foolishness even as she worked nigh-miracles time and time again.
The gods are cruel, but it is Elaena's patience turning to wrath that I fear more still. Rhaenyra may yet be the death of me, and all the sooner should my heart give out from the stress!
Laenor all but collapsed onto a nearby bench, dropped his head in his hands and sighed like life itself fled his lungs.
Chapter 52
"I have to respect their free will, yet I still find it unfortunate." -From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 2
Alicent felt not joy at her son's victory. He defied the Seven, the Warrior specifically. Her son's dismissal of the Seven hurt her more than she could express in words. Even should the very worst of her fears be realized, and Rhaenyra ascend to the Iron Throne and put her family to the sword, she knew that the Mother would grant mercy to them after their deaths. But for Aemond? After his repeated blasphemies, she feared the lowest layer of the Seven Hells awaited him.
Where did I go wrong? I sacrificed so much to be a good wife and mother. I raised seven children and it has caused me nothing but grief.
The daughter of her heart was not even at the festivities. The King had asked Ser Kevan, and he had responded that she felt obligated to tend to her nephew. Alicent could not even take joy in Baela loudly complaining that her betrothed had not only lost, but had gotten himself injured. Oh, how that would have rankled Rhaenyra to hear!
It made for an awkward night, though at least it kept Laenor away from the table as well. Her husband jested with his brother and the Lord of Golden Tooth, while Alicent sat quietly. Daemon was less dangerous than Ser Laenor but a greater aggravation. Her husband loved his brother despite his constant vexation, and when Daemon acted in brotherly companionship, it could only mean he was plotting…something.
One of the lords offered a prayer to the Mother and a toast to a swift recovery for Prince Jacaerys, and Alicent's stomach churned again. She feared a reminder that it was Aemond, the boy who had mocked the Warrior, who had caused the injury. Her husband did not seem to blame the boy, thankfully.
Lord Reyne spoke with curiosity, "Has there been news? The way he fell I fear for the use of his leg."
Alicent saw Daemon lean back in his chair. "Did you cheer when Prince Aemond struck with his lance, my lord?"
The Westerlands lord cast an uneasy look at the Rogue Prince. "I, well, it was a well-struck blow. Half the realm cheered. Not for the prince's injury, of course."
Can they not change the subject?
"Lord Lefford," Alicent began, "this dish is remarkably savory, but I cannot quite place from where it originated."
The genial lord was nodding. "Thank you, Your Grace. We have begun including some Tyroshi ideas in our feast preparation. My good-daughter recommended we expand our palates in this time of widespread trade and prosperity, and we always have enough traditional dishes for anyone who finds it disagreeable. This particular…"
I chose well. He does like to go on. A harmless man who has become fully enchanted by Elaena. Thank the Seven I was able to raise Elaena properly. Back then I did not have so many children. It was easier to be more focused, and that made the difference. Elaena and Aegon have turned out well. Helaena disappoints at times, and I fear she will never wear the crown well, nor do much aid to Aegon's cause beyond her dragon, but she has not even come close to committing the follies that Aemond and Daeron have. It wasn't my fault; it was that I was overburdened!
Despite what she told herself she could not help but feel she had failed Aemond.
The source of her despair weighed in. "It seems, much good has come from the taking of Tyrosh. Labor for the various improvements across Westeros, my uncle's realm expanding to a proper Paramount Seat, and now even our dining has been enhanced. Imagine what more and greater riches could be won were we to further liberate more of Essos."
Her husband's face clouded over. "Aemond, you have covered yourself in glory with today's events, but my policy is clear. I desire peace with Essos, not more conflict. The only reason we went to war with Tyrosh is because of their heinous attack and attempted assassination of my good-son."
Aemond was nodding. "Yes, you have made that clear, but have you forbidden free discourse on the matter? My sister, Elaena, is not here, but–"
"Because of you," Rhaena muttered, but Aemond continued on.
"–she often discussed with me and our other siblings the scourge and foul nature of slavery. She viewed it as very inefficient. Ask the freed people of Tyrosh, some who are serving in this," he raised his cup toward Lord Lefford, "welcoming hall. I wager they would enjoy learning that their brothers and sisters in Lys and Myr could throw off their shackles as well."
My son thinks himself clever. But even in his cleverness, he cannot stop his true nature from bleeding through. I could well believe gentle Elaena had strong views on the abomination that is slavery. She would call it inhumane, an affront to dignity, and cruel. And yet he calls it inefficient!
Viserys looked annoyed, but it was Daemon who spoke up.
"Our King has made his view known. Should he change his mind, I would be the first to agree with you, nephew. Often escaped slaves from Lys flee in makeshift vessels of the crudest kind in an attempt to find succor on our shores. I constantly have to remind my lady wife that while most have truly escaped their masters, some are clever ploys to get close and attempt to slay us." Daemon glanced at his brother, then back at Aemond. "Convince your father in private councils and Caraxes will gladly fly beside the Bronze Fury, but this is a feast, not an open council to make pleas and arguments before the Protector of the Realm."
Alicent looked between her son and good-brother and felt disquieted.
What is going on? Daemon hates all of my children. What is this?
Viserys nodded. "My brother has the right of it; it is unseemly to have this talk at this table. Private council or no, I have made my guarantees to Lys and Myr. We do not seek further conflicts. All of Essos has extended the hand of friendship to us, and trade has flourished. Myr has even signed agreements to help the North produce more glass gardens for dangerous winters."
"As you wish, Your Grace," Aemond bowed his head, in uncharacteristically humble submission.
Talk continued of a more frivolous nature, but Alicent was more discomfited than ever. She needed to talk to her children, and yet she failed to see the purpose at times. Ever since she had tried to forbid Daeron from seeing his dragon, before his exile to Gulltown, she knew her writ over them all had waned thin indeed. It was a mixture of pity and something else, something that chilled their gazes and made even smiles feel distant. Aegon had told her to consider it alike how one would describe colors to a man blind man from birth. That was the difficulty in explaining to a non-dragon rider what foolishness she had tried with Daeron.
But the mistake aside, the explanations aside, it did her heart no favors to see the change in the way her own children looked at her.
***
All night, Daeron had prayed to the Seven. His entire mind and attention were upon the seven aspects. His affinity for the Smith, or the nature of knighthood being that of the Warrior, did not change how he approached his prayers. He gave equal time to each of the seven aspects, and to Him who embodied them. It was acceptable to devote one's life toward a particular face of the Seven, but he would honor them all, for the oaths of knighthood were sworn to all.
Without drink, food, or rest, he held his vigil until dawn was nearing. The septon had brought the oils to anoint him, and the one who would knight him drew near. Daeron had long considered who would do so. A part of him had wanted it to be his father, but his father, the King, had failed in his duty to the Gods and to the realm. Instead, it was Ser Harrold Westerling, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
The venerable old knight was honorable, leal, and a true knight through and through. His white cloak a symbol of the purity. Daeron knelt as the Kingsguard touched his shoulder with his blade.
"In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave."
I will never fully retreat from what I must do. Though, Lord Arryn taught me that a tactical retreat was not a surrender of principles.
"In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just."
Justice must reign above even love of family or personal favor.
"In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent."
Those who have not committed the sin are not responsible and must be protected if at all possible.
"In the name of the Maiden, I charge you to protect all women."
Women are the sacred carriers of our bloodlines; they must be protected.
"In the name of the Smith, I charge you to be strong."
I will be strong, and when justice is done, I will create edifices to bring honor to my creator.
"In the name of the Crone, I charge you to be wise."
Wisdom must temper my path, boldness is necessary, but a rash, even if honest word that allows evil to prevail is foolish.
"And in the name of the Stranger, I charge you to remember that all men must die, and that your oaths are held until that day."
Daeron swore the oaths with every part of his essence.
"Then arise, Ser Daeron Targaryen."
He did so. More important than being a dragon-rider, a prince, or a Targaryen, he was now a knight, an oath-sworn servant of the Seven, a higher power than even that of the King. He felt a sense of peace and purpose within him. He would live out his oaths every day to the best of his ability.
Daeron soon sought out his brother, Aegon. The dawn had pierced through the fog of the morn, and in like manner he needed to lift the pall his rash words had cast over his family.
"Ser Aegon," he said with a smile.
"Ser Daeron," the elder brother couldn't help but reply back.
"About the other day, regarding you and Helaena. That was uncouth of me. I allowed my frustration, and my fear of Aemond sitting upon the Iron Throne, to press you with a hasty suggestion. By all accounts our sister is a worthy wife, and she does not deserve the accusation."
Aegon nodded solemnly. "Thank you, Daeron." He paused in evident thought. "If I were to ask you to swear upon the Seven not to repeat what I am about to tell you, a thing that may ease your concerns, would you do so?"
Oaths to the Seven are not taken lightly, but Lord Arryn had taught him that knowledge is power. To chart the best course, one must first know the currents.
"I swear it upon the Seven that I shall hold what you tell me in confidence."
Aegon stared at him for a long moment, and then said, "We have not consummated our marriage. We are waiting until Helaena is older, that she might face the birthing bed with greater confidence. Elaena suggested it, despite our grandfather's urging that we try for children immediately. However, we intend to begin soon. So, please, no more talk of setting her aside."
Daeron's eyes widened in surprise. If Elaena said younger women faced harder hardship in birthings, then he would trust in her judgement. It was not what the Maesters had taught him in the Citadel, but while they were learned men, they did not know all.
"Thank you, brother. That does lift my spirits. I pray that she proves fertile and gives you man sons to carry your name and preserve the kingdom from the nightmare that would be Aemond."
***
Forrest Frey found Lord Lefford's hall a grand place. Golden Tooth was more ostentatious than the Twins or Riverrun, but it was done with an elegant flair. Not that he particularly cared overly for such things, but his wife's complimentary commentary on the matter sat well with him.
To join the House of the Dragon as husband to the Realm's Blessing would have been a high honor.
But it is hard to feel dissatisfaction when such a woman is now at my side.
Sabitha Vypren was different in a number of ways from Elaena. Her features were sharp, her hair dark, and her tongue far less polite. Forrest enjoyed her directness, even if her statements were oft harsher than necessary. She was a match for him in wit, and even in arms. Forrest had been shocked when Sabitha said she wished to train with him. He had won, but she proved quick and able, and fought with a desperate and effective cunning that was difficult to teach.
Forrest had no desire to hold her back from the training yard, and woe be unto any man who spoke a contrary word to it. They were not so far from the North, which had women warriors at times, and nor should any Frey so hastily dismiss an opportunity. It was simply not in Forrest to wish his wife less capable.
What fascinated him as well... was that Sabitha had said she would be eager to gratify his marital rights, but also that she would gladly ignore any of his dalliances were she permitted to have her own – with other women!
The princess may lose her poise if someone told her what Sabitha got up to! I almost wish to tell her of it, just to see if that perfect serenity she wears so well can be cracked.
"Show them why the princess should have chosen you on the field today," Sabitha had teasingly instructed him, the look in her eyes stirring him greatly.
Forrest had laughed. "If it were down to skill at arms, Ser Baldric Selmy would have been chosen. But nonetheless, my lady love, I shall endeavor to impress."
The tourney was full of some of the greatest knights of the realm. Not quite so many as at The Twin Weddings of Gold and Silver, but still a respectable showing. The tourney organizers had done what was typical – arranged the lists so that the greatest participants fought the unknown and weaker entrants. The purpose was not to curry favor, but to ensure that the final matches were the most anticipated.
His first joust had him bring down a hedge knight with no name. His next was a young lad from the Vale. It wasn't until later in the day that he faced his first challenging foe, Ser Arryk Cargyll of the Kingsguard. They splintered two lances against each other before he signaled Sabitha with his lance and then rode like the winds of the Seven Hells were upon him. His lance splintered perfectly upon his foe's shield, and Ser Arryk went careening into the dirt.
His next was the aging Lymond Mallister.
The Lord of Seagard may well be thrice my age. Certainly, has been participating in these tourneys longer than I have lived.
Forrest winced when his elder went down, but the man was hardy and raised his hand, signaling he was well, as his squires helped him to his feet. The man nodded toward Forrest with respect, and he was now within the top eight.
The other seven included Ser Criston Cole, Prince Daemon, Ser Steffon Darklyn, Ser Willis Fell, Ser Gyles Belgrave, Ser Jon Roxton, and Ser Artyr Dayne. Forrest had a few moments to exchange words with Artyr.
"You are up against Ser Criston, do you think you can win?"
The talented knight from Dorne gave a slight shrug. "He is skilled, it can go either way. I will need to ride flawlessly. What of you, you have already unhorsed one Kingsguard, will you succeed against Ser Steffon?"
"I have a lady to impress, so yes, I must."
"Fortune and the Seven favor you then, ser."
Forrest watched in admiration as Ser Criston and Ser Artyr broke seven lances against each other's shields. He could not tell who would prove the victor when it came to the King's judgment.
"Such a clash of valor! Well done to the both of you, but there can be but one victor. An impossible choice, but needs must. Ser Artyr Dayne is the victor!"
There was polite applause. Many of the knights from the Marches and the Reach did not like the Dornish, to put it lightly, though their bloodthirst had waned somewhat as the King's grip and influence over Dorne grew more pronounced with the passing years. Forrest saw his old suitor-rival, Ser Alan Beesbury, applaud enthusiastically for his good-brother, and loyalty made Forrest do the same.
Most like, my dear wife will scold me for cheering so prominently for one of the Dornish.
Prince Daemon overthrew Ser Jon, and Ser Willis defeated Ser Gyles. Then it was Forrest's turn, and his lance struck the chipped shield of Ser Steffon with a fury. Incredibly, the knight retained his horse despite being almost fully twisted around, but he called a pause before the second pass. A squire raced over to him, and they conferred for a moment.
It was announced that Ser Steffon had twisted something in his shoulder and could not properly continue. Forrest exhaled in relief; the man was good. With a groan, he realized he was now up against the Rogue Prince, the Lord of the Stepstones and Tyrosh, and one of the finest riders in the realm.
Grimly, he spurred his horse forward, and Daemon struck flawlessly. Stubborn defiance roared in Forrest, and he willed himself to stay seated despite the dizzying force. His squire handed him another lance, and they galloped toward each other. This time, Daemon's lance moved at the last second, striking obliquely to the left of his shield. He didn't get it properly set this time, and Forrest felt a momentary sensation of flight before slamming against the ground.
Ser Artyr proved the victor in his match, and now the finals were between the two of them. A short intermission was called for a new tandem competition, arranged by Lord Lefford, or more likely Princess Elaena. It was not the chaotic fury of the grand melee, nor was it like a duel before the Seven. This was a fight between pairs, where they could and should, if he understood it correctly, work together as opposed to individually.
He saw little of it, for his squires had to help him remove his armor, yet he caught the tail end as he made his way to Sabitha's seat.
"I hope you are not too disappointed."
"Nonsense, Forrest, you performed extremely well and brought honor to House Frey." Sabitha gave him a welcoming kiss before continuing. "Your esteem is raised, and if I quicken with child, mayhap the match you sought will be found pleasing."
Having been freshly wed, Forrest hoped for a child soon. If it were a boy, perhaps a match with Visenya; if it were a girl, then a match with Fraedrik would be most welcome. His desire to wed into the House of the Dragon, by another name or no, was still something he strongly wished for.
The final joust was about to start, and he heard some of the nearby lords betting. The sun was setting soon, so it was fortunate they got on with it. Both Daemon and the knight from Dorne rode impressively. However, Daemon seemed particularly ferocious, and on the third tilt, the knight of House Dayne fell from his steed.
Viserys was up, cheering for his brother, and the strength of House Targaryen.
"My King!" Daemon bellowed. "I humbly request a boon to mark this auspicious tournament."
Forrest saw his wife's gaze turn sharp as she studied the two brothers.
"Within reason, perhaps," the King shouted back down.
"My nephew suffered a grievous wound. My lady wife tells me that the Maester even suggested the limb be removed, but was overruled by my good-brother. Family is important, my brother; I see that now more than ever. I say to you, Rhaenyra should be here, for her children, for the sake of Prince Jacaerys, who even now lies with a frightful wound. End her time in the Vale, or at the least, let mercy move you and allow her to visit her wounded son!"
Forrest's wife tilted her head. "How interesting. We all heard rumors and knew Rhaenyra's extended visit to the Vale was a punishment by her father, but it is still quite tawdry to speak of it so openly."
The King looked conflicted and a hush fell over the stands.
"You speak well and have honored our house this day. Rhaenyra should be sent for and allowed to visit her son. I will then speak with her and see if she still wishes to continue her studies in statecraft with Lady Arryn."
"My thanks, Your Grace." Daemon bowed his head and then saluted to the crowds to some significant cheering. The Realm's Delight may not be as popular as the Realm's Blessing, but she was still the Heir, the wife of the Dark Storm, and the mother of a wounded prince.
"Explain it to me," Forrest asked.
"Rhaenyra did something to upset the King. Likely the business with the Iron Isles, Tyrosh, and the Stormlands. My ears have not been able to pick out the details, but the rumor had it that she was being sent into exile much like Prince Daeron for his rather treasonous accusations that marked a scandalous end to the Twin Weddings of Gold and Silver." Sabitha explained.
"You would think the North would prove a more punishing exile than the Vale," Forrest quipped. "Is this then a setback for the 'Greens' that you have oft warned me of?"
"Perhaps, or it is more rope for Princess Rhaenyra to hang herself with. The hearts of Targaryens are difficult to uncover. I suspect there is a faction pushing for greater expansion into Essos. Led by Daemon, Laena, and the Dark Storm. Ironically I think Rhaenys, despite being the mother of Laena and Laenor, is opposed, as is Elaena and of course Viserys."
Forrest scratched at his chin. "I'd not enjoy opposing Ser Laenor, but my house will side with Elaena if our opinion is asked for."
She tsked and shook her head. "Better not to venture any opinion at all. The ground shifts too quickly for that. If you wish to speak privately with Elaena and make our position known, well and good, but be careful in your cups at the feast."
"You know I am."
She clasped his hand. "I do, but I would also caution you against even speaking with Elaena of it. Rhaenyra is the Heir, and she will be the one who charts the course of the Seven Kingdoms. And if even some of the Greens, like young Aemond, desire war, it would not be good for our house if we are seen as laggardly in joining the drumbeat."
My wife is wise, but I must follow what I deem is right. Peace has brought untold prosperity to the Seven Kingdoms. I do not fear war, but I would rather not have to fight one. Especially if it's on the bloody waters of the Narrow Sea!
***
Rhaenyra was ecstatic at being free. She knew she owed a debt of gratitude to Jeyne and Jessamyn. They had vouched for her to her father and had been pleasant dinner companions. She wished they had been more accommodating as a distraction, but in truth, they both paled compared to Laena's beauty. They were clearly in love, and she did not resent them for staying true to their own relationship, but it had been disappointing all the same, as she had so little to do in the Eyrie.
The Eyrie was a lonely place, and even with Jessamyn's explanation that Jeyne did not want to deal with frustrating lords who kept pressuring her to marry, it did not change her circumstance. The time away from her children and her lovers had been terrible, but it had given her much-needed perspective. Perspective enough for her to say all the right words to her father, who had rescinded her exile in full. She had been polite with her sister. She had missed her, but some things could not so readily be forgiven.
For too long I have followed in my father's footsteps. My generosity has been taken advantage of time and time again. Now things will change.
Most importantly, she had seen to Jace and thanked the Gods that Laenor had stopped the Maesters from doing something foolish. Mellos had infected so many of his order with black pessimism. Her son could have been maimed for life!
Arriving with everyone back on Dragonstone, she was greeted by her other precious children alongside Laenor, Harwin, Lyra, Laena, and Daemon. After a great many hugs and tears, she told her children she had to speak with the others.
Lyra went to leave with the children, and Rhaenyra was glad she had not needed to ask her. When they left, Daemon walked forward, and she thrust out her hand, placing it against Daemon's chest.
"Save it. I have something I must tell all of you." She glanced at Harwin. "You must stay, my protector and leal knight, but these words are not directed at you. Unlike the others, you have done naught but love and defend me."
Harwin looked confused but bowed his head. "Always, my princess."
Daemon was taken aback. "Rhaenyra, what is this? I thought I was clear in the letter – the only reason you are free from the land of sheep-fuckers is due to my actions. I had to play the humble courtier and win a tournament just for the chance to see you freed. And now I am greeted with this?"
"You are!" Rhaenyra replied, fire in her voice. "You, and so many others, have taken advantage of my good nature, my generous nature. I have done so much for this family, for all of you, and have received precious little in return."
Laenor looked confused. Laena appeared hurt. Daemon was angry. Harwin, her steady rock, merely looked troubled and concerned.
"Laenor. I have done more than any wife in the Seven Kingdoms would do. You married into the royal line, and yet I let you have your passions with Joffrey, even when it risked my inheritance. I could have easily cast you aside once I learned of your… nature. But I did not, nor do I regret doing so; you have been a father to my boys." She moved closer to her husband and took his cheek in her hand. "I cherish you, husband. But I have done favor after favor for you, even letting a man maimed be my Master-at-Arms, just because I care for you and wanted to give your lover purpose."
"Rhaenyra," Laenor's voice was aggrieved as he began, "Joffrey fulfills his duties well. Our boys respect him, and he has taught them well."
"That is not the point, Laenor. The issue is that I did that for you, where others would not. I tell you true, I do not regret it! What I regret is that I receive no gratitude for it, no respect from you. You think it right to advise me to forgive slights from my sister, to give away a dragon egg after she wronged me. You were wroth and cross with me after all I have done for you."
Laenor opened his mouth, with Elaena's name on his lips.
"Do not speak to me about my sister! I love and cherish her dearly, but the wound she has done to me was grievous. She is another who lacks gratitude. It was I, all those years ago, who hectored my father to let her fly on a dragon. Alicent would have forbidden her from flying until she had reached her maturity, and our father was weak enough without a counter-voice to allow Alicent to run roughshod over him."
Rhaenyra felt moisture at the corners of her eyes. Everything was so unfair. It was as if her family did not know or acknowledge any of the efforts she had made over so many years.
"I lauded her with praise to all who would listen! I urged all of you to protect my sweet, gentle Elaena." She whirled on Daemon. "Have I not constantly defended her when you seek to bring up the specter of her loyalty to the Queen?"
Daemon frowned. "You have, much to my disappointment, for you foolishly still believe her wedded to your cause."
Rhaenyra shook her head. "AGAIN! It is not my purpose to discuss the nature of my sister's loyalties, only that I have ever defended and protected her from others. But is there gratitude? She gave wise counsel, which you convinced me to ignore, but what does she do when her way is not met? She whispers in Father's ear, and I am trapped in the Vale. Where is her loyalty? Where is the gratitude?"
Daemon smiled. "We are of a like mind; she has been utterly ungrateful."
Rhaenyra stared daggers at him. "Oh, but I have not yet come to you, uncle."
Daemon moved to speak, but Laena touched his arm. "Let her share what she feels. She has been away long in a place where you have few friends, my love." Laena's beautiful lips curved in a half-smile. "Please, Rhaenyra, unburden yourself and tell us your thoughts in full on where we have wronged you."
Rhaenyra gave a bitter laugh.
"Ah, sweet Laena. You have such a way with words. You and Daemon have been the largest recipients of my blessings. If it were not for me vouching for you both, you would still be in Pentos! If it were not for me, who knows what would have happened in the birthing bed? I flew faster than I had ever done before and brought my personal Maester to tend to you! When Daemon left you with bitter words, whose shoulder did you cry upon?"
She turned away lest they see her come undone. Rhaenyra breathed and wiped her eyes and turned back toward them.
"And you both sought to humble me, me! The Heir! The future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms! You made me beg to have you in my life again because I did not dance to the tune you had set for me. And when I danced to the tune, who ended up bearing the brunt of it? Was it the one who orchestrated it? No. You were forbidden from your war, and the counters of your coppers suffered, but you stayed with each other, your children. It was I who was exiled from everyone I cared for!"
Harwin went to soothe her physically, but she shook her head and he stepped back.
"I am not finished. Daemon, I have done more for you than any other. I protected you when you bruised my sister. It was I who convinced her to sing pretty words to father on more than one occasion. It was I who opened my home to you. And you disrespect me, made me grovel, even after I gave you what you wanted! Where is your gratitude? Where is your respect for your future sovereign?"
Rhaenyra could tell Daemon was furious, and she saw Laena's hand on his arm. She wondered what silent communication was passing between them.
"You feel misused," Daemon said finally. "No doubt that bitch in the Vale spoke with you, and she slanted your view of every one of my actions and every possible slight. The truth is, I do the same with you that I attempted with my brother. You are right in that your too-generous nature has led you astray. You are weak. You need someone to protect you, someone to make the hard decisions that you cannot. Take heart in the truth that I do want what is best for you and that I will ensure your reign will be greater than the Conqueror's! The entire world will be laid at your feet – but only if you give me a free hand and let me!"
Rhaenyra stared at her lover. Even now, his vibrant confidence sang to her heart. This was a Targaryen, this was the Rogue Prince, the swagger, the boldness, all the things she had fallen in love with. Were she any other noble lady, his protection and guidance may well be necessary.
But I am not a gentle Elaena. I am not a cautious Rhaenys. I am the Heir! The Blood of the Dragon runs through my veins as thickly as it does Daemon's.
"You do not see me as a Queen. You see me as a tool, but I am no man's tool. I am Rhaenyra Targaryen, first of my name, rider of Syrax and one day Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. You will either learn to respect that, or you will be banished from my presence, and when I am Queen I will find a more fitting Lord of Tyrosh!"
Daemon looked at her, fury etched on his face. Harwin took a small step, placing himself closer, ready to intervene should it become necessary. Ever her loyal knight.
"You speak of ingratitude, but who was it that freed you from the Vale?" Daemon asked, heatedly.
Rhaenyra nodded. "I pay my debts. Laena requested the last remaining unclaimed egg, the same egg that my sister Elaena wishes for. For your noble efforts in securing my release, you will have it."
Laenor sighed, and Rhaenyra glared at him, but he said nothing more for the moment. Laena stepped forward, reaching out to embrace her. She let Laena's hug envelop her. "Thank you, my cherished one. Visenya deserves a dragon of her own. Thank you."
Rhaenyra did not return her affection. "Laena, you are the softest velvet to my uncle's Valyrian steel. I will always harbor affection for you. You are welcome in my bed, as is he, provided you both understand that I am Queen. But I cannot trust what your honeyed words say; you are too good at what you do. You will never advise me again on any matter. I wonder, will you still seek out our idyllic nights together if you know it will not profit my uncle's desires?"
That look of hurt on your face… is it genuine, or another game you play? Gods, I was so angry at my father for what he did, and still am, but I needed the time away. Laena's soft touches and glib words are deadlier than Daemon's tantrums and demands.
"Of course, Rhaenyra, unless my Lord Husband says otherwise, I will always relish time with you, within the bed and without. You are my dearest friend, always."
Daemon was still on the cusp of speaking, but it was Laenor spoke first.
"My lady wife, you believe you have been misused. For my part, I cannot recall every word I spoke to you, but I never meant for you to feel that I am not thankful for the arrangement we came to. I know Joffrey is eternally grateful for his position, and from the depths of my being, I appreciate what you have done for him."
His gaze held hers. "Nonetheless, I believe your view is clouded by the recent hurts and your longing for your family. Before you make any rash decisions, such as what to do with a dragon egg, you should take time to pause and reflect. Whatever you–"
"Laenor!" Laena cried. "Why would you deny your niece a dragon?"
"Because it would mean denying Elaena's son the same, and she made the request first. Rhaenyra may have defended Elaena, but Elaena has done the same! It was she who summoned the Maesters so quickly that they saved my life. It was she who suggested placing the egg beside me when I was in the embrace of the Stranger. I owe her a debt, sister."
Daemon shook his head. "It is already decided, and there is more. Laena has struggled with the birthing bed, and we will attempt but once more, as I would not see my wife follow in the footsteps of my brother's. Should I not have a proper son born, then I would ask to adopt Aelyx to be my heir."
Rhaenyra blinked. "I have just been reunited with my son and you…"
"And that decision would be more than a year away!" Daemon roared, his temper already thinly held now coming to life.
Rhaenyra felt a spike of her own rage surge. "And this is exactly what I am speaking of! You beg favor of me and then you yell at your future Queen? Kings have mounted heads on spikes for such an offense. Control yourself, or I may well reconsider giving Visenya an egg."
She shook her head.
"No. I am to be a Queen, and so I will be. I have already made my decisions. Visenya will have her egg, and I will hear no more of it from anyone. As for my son, I will consider it once I am assured you have learned proper deference, uncle."
Laena's nails were digging into Daemon's wrists, and the prideful man finally lowered his head a fraction of an inch. "Your Grace, I must see to Caraxes."
The dragon's roar could be heard, and Rhaenyra granted him leave to depart. "You may all leave me. I wish to be alone with Harwin. The rest of you can sup with me on the morrow, and you can let me know if you see me as your Queen or if you wish to depart."