Chapter Text
Once the first century of the Targaryen dynasty came to a close, King Jaehaerys First of His Name, the Conciliator, the Wise, the Peacekeeper or now more widely known the Old King, called for a Great Council to be held. With his health nearing its timely end and both of his heirs dead and buried, a new heir had to be chosen amongst the family.
Many succession claims were heard, from bastards, through Valaryons, Baratheons and even Celtigars. All of those who carried the Targaryen blood in their veins. But only three claims were truly considered.
Her father’s claim was one of them.
Rhaenyra remembers it well, as even at eight, she stood at her parents’ side. Her mother’s belly was round with child, and her father’s hand was sweaty in Rhaenyra’s palm. They stood together, opposite the other two successors, with the old withered King and his white guards separating them.
Princess Rhaenys Velaryon, rider of the great red she-dragon Meleys. Daughter to Jaehaerys’ heir, Prince Aemon Targaryen and Jocelyn Baratheon.
And right next to her and her Lord Husband, Corlys Velaryon and their children, stood the third successor.
Prince Baelor Targaryen, son of Aemon and Jocelyn, younger brother of Rhaenys. He had no dragon to his name— she heard someone say that unlike Rhaenyra’s golden egg, his did not hatch in his crib—, held no honorary titles just yet, as he was but ten and eight. Still, he already stood as tall as his sister’s husband, his eyes sure and mismatched, one brown and the other sharp violet, the only hint of his Targaryen heritage. As with no dragon, nor the pale hair, young Baelor looked more like a stag than a dragon.
Same could be said of his sister Rhaenys, she too, although greying early and prettily, resembled more Storm and Sea, than Fire and Blood. Still, she had a dragon, and two bright violet eyes that cut through all that gazed upon her. While Baelor stood stiffly at her side, his face betraying nothing. No stress, no superiority, nor anger or joy. There was just… neutrality, a sense of calm amidst the chaos.
Rhaenyra’s own paler lilac eyes, gazed at the older boy. Not quite understanding why her father was sweating like a sheep in the dragon’s nest, while a boy almost half his age acted like none of it fazed him.
She remained staring at him, as the Old King read out the Lord’s decision, as her father’s name echoed through Harrenhall, as Rhaenys looked at Viserys with betrayal blazing through her eyes. And as throughout it all, Baelor Targaryen merely nodded to himself, offering his sister a soft look of support.
He was a boy, young Rhaenyra thought.
He was a boy and he was steps closer to the throne than his sister or her father even was, and yet, he offered sympathies to Rhaenys and his hand to Viserys. Truly an odd boy, Baelor Targaryen was.
Only two months later King Jaehaerys passed in his sleep, allowing Viserys to succeed him.
The coronation was a grand affair, with tourneys, hunts and feasts. No expense was too great, especially when it was made known that Queen Aemma began her labours. Everyone rejoiced, speaking of how it was a good omen from the Gods, to have an heir born during the coronation festivities.
But all too soon, the jolly voices were silenced and prayers were muttered instead.
Queen Aemma, passed during her labours. The new King was left without a Queen and heir, instead he had a daughter and a crown. A tragedy in its own right, or an omen that the Gods were displeased. No one dared to say it outloud, but all thought of it during those dark days.
Two years later, at only ten years old, Princess Rhaenyra was named the King’s Heir. The Lords bowed down to her, eyes weary, jaws clenched. Only Princess Rhaenys and her family seemed to play into neutrality, as whispers followed her. The Queen Who Never Was, bowing to The Little Queen Who Will Be. Although that neutrality could only be said about her and her brothers.
Corlys Velaryon, Rhaenys’ husband, while still on his knee before the Princess and the Iron Throne, loudly proclaimed that he was stepping down from his position as the Master of Ships.
The damage was done, and loyalties finally fell apart. Because, while the Great Council shook them, it was Viserys’ decision that truly broke them.
A year after that, King Viserys gained a new Queen, Lady Alicent Hightower. Who months later, bore him a son Aegon. And yet. No loud corrections were made to who the King’s heir now was, only whispers and speculations.
Because how foolish it would be, to keep a girl as heir? When already one Queen was denied her throne.
| Ten years after the Great Council |
Syrax cut through the wind and clouds, her golden scales glinting in the sunlight as if they were the one and the same. Rhaenyra laughed, her arms stretched out to the sides, mirroring her dragon’s movements as her red and gold cape fluttered behind her.
Flying meant freedom to Rhaenyra, there were no worries or responsibilities. Just Syrax and the endless sky, filled with possibilities for an adventure. And how much she yearned for an adventure of her own, to fly past the narrow sea, to taste their food, drink their wines and dance to their music. To see and learn as much as she possibly could, much like—
A shadow came overheard, briefly dampening her mood and stilling her heart, as she leaned forward, grasping Syrax’s reins as the dragon whined in distress. She looked up, ready to call upon her dragon to attack or escape, but as her eyes focused on the giant bronze belly hovered over them, she immediately understood.
“Vermithor…” Rhaenyra whispered in absolute awe, relaxing in her saddle yet again, as she watched the giant dragon flap his wings and smoothly twist around, moving below them. Rhaenyra urged Syrax even lower, so that they could fly closer to the rider and above Vermithror’s wing.
The old beast had a temper, it was a well known fact, but he did not seem to mind Syrax. His massive chest rumbled with a greeting that shook Rhaenyra’s bones, while Syrax whined back at him.
She briefly patted her dragon’s golden neck to keep her calm, and then leaned sideways in her saddle. Finally she was close enough to see the rider, and found him already looking straight back at her.
“Baelor!” Rhaenyra waved, but he just nodded down at his own hands, steadily resting upon the saddle and its bronze reins. The young Princess rolled her eyes and shifted to be seated properly, her hands held firmly in one place much like Baelor’s were.
“I swear, he keeps his spear up his arsehole.” she muttered, but the sound was lost to the wind and sky.
Baelor then tilted his body to the side, while still looking at her, clearly showing his intention to escort her back to the city below them. A rebellious part of her wanted to refuse, to take Syrax further away and have him chase her, like Daemon would. But it’s been two years since she last saw him properly… so with a sigh, Rhaenyra nodded and followed after him.
The bronze and golden dragons descended from the clouds together, one battle worn and old, the other spoiled and young.
They landed at the Dragon Pit. Rhaenyra led Syrax to the entrance, while Baelor allowed Vermithor to only crouch in the courtyard. Given the dragon’s size, it wasn’t possible to safely land him there.
Baelor slid off his beast with skill and elegance, before waving it off, allowing Vermithor to seek a spot outside the city. He would probably end up near the Red Keep anyways, on one of the beaches, halfway in the sea. The Bronze Fury never liked being parted from his rider, some say that he was more loyal to Baelor than he was to Jaehaerys, but it could be just rumours.
Rhaenyra watched Baelor approach her, while still sitting on Syrax. He looked different from when he last visited court. His brown hair reached past his ears, thick and wavy, while his jaw was covered by a light stubble, his skin richly tanned from the sun. Last he came here, his hair was in a low pony tail, with no hair covering his handsome face and he was undoubtedly paler.
He passed by the Dragonkeepers, as they stood on the sidelines in their red and silver scaly armour. As he neared her, he held out his arms, a flick of amusement shining in his mismatched eyes as he greeted with respect. “My Princess.”
She smirked and lowered herself out of the saddle, sliding down Syrax’s side, until Baelor caught her around the waist. It was far from the first time that he’s done it, and Rhaenyra doubted that she would ever stop indulging in his chivalrous acts.
He placed her safely on the ground, and her smirk softened into a smile as she replied. “Baelor.”
Baelor returned her smile and all too soon, his hands disappeared from her waist, as he stood back. Keeping an all too proper space between them.
Rhaenyra hated it, she instantly decided.
“It would be wiser if you stuck closer to the ground, Rhaenyra.” he said, watching as she turned and kissed her dragon, petting it smoothly. “Syrax is fast, but she’s still too small to safely reach such heights.”
Rhaenyra huffed, turning towards him, “We were both doing fine, thank you. Besides, there’s no danger up there in the sky, unless you think that a common seagull can take us down?”
Baelor smiled, shaking his head, “No. But she’s as lazy and spoiled as a house cat.”
She made an offended sound and kissed Syrax’s neck loudly, only causing Baelor to shed his riding gloves and shake his head.
“You’re only proving me right, my Princess.” he commented, glancing high up at the sky, “There are still wild dragons roaming the lands, Rhaenyra. Kings Landing is a buffet for them, loud, bright and full of meat. It’s best to be careful, rather than to be sorry.”
“You worry far too much.” she replied, abandoning her dragon to the Dragonkeepers and the pit. Crossing the distance between them, she slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow. Baelor dutifully accepted her touch, resting the palm of his other hand over hers. “Better tell me how’s Dorne. I heard that you’ve been stuck there for weeks, surviving the vipers, spears and the scorching sun. And you did all that with Maekar for a companion, all while I ate cake and stared out into the sea.”
At the mention of his younger brother his expression soured and twisted in a funny way. The two brothers loved each other dearly, but it was no secret that Maekar was not meant for such delicate tasks. He’d much rather pick up his mace, ride his war horse or dragon, bringing pure havoc with him.
“The Martells were gracious hosts, and the sun was not as unpleasant as I was led to believe.” he stated, nodding to himself as he said it, “They’re willing to trade with us, they might even be open to achieving peace between our people. But it’s still a long path ahead, before any of it happens. The wounds remain too raw and deep on both sides.”
Rhaenyra hummed, “Seeing Vermithor and Silverwing, surely didn’t help.”
Baelor’s smile thinned, “No, it did not.”
“And Maekar?”
He sighed deeply, “Best not to speak of it. But the Dornish have a… different sense of humour than most of our Lords do. Most of them found him to be a great companion during feasts.”
“Hm, maybe he should be taking care of all our diplomatic issues. I could speak with my father about this.” she proposed, making him chuckle.
“I pray for the poor souls that step in Maekar’s way, should that even happen.” he comments, before finally looking down at her, “Alas, it’s good to be back. So aside from filling yourself with nothing but cake and dried lemons, how do you fair, Rhaenyra?”
She laughed but turned away from him, her hand briefly squeezing his hard arm, seeking comfort as she quietly admitted. “Alicent began her labours this morning. And I found myself thinking about my mother… about how she passed.”
Baelor stiffened underneath her hand, grief over his late Lady Wife’s passing still fresh in his heart and bones. The last time they saw each other was during Jena’s funeral.
A sickness claimed her, when she was still recovering from bringing Matarys into this world. Baelor remained away from the capital for that time, staying close with his sons and Maekar’s family at Summer Hall. That is until both Princes received summons to go and treat with the Dornishmen.
If Rhaenyra had it her way, she would’ve sent Otto Hightower, instead of a grieving man. He was the Hand after all. But her father would not allow Otto to leave his side, if he could help it, so he sent Baelor and Maekar to represent the Targaryens and the Crown. It was a wise and proper choice, she had to admit it as both Princes had gained quite a reputation in the years since the Great Council.
Four years ago, there was a battle in the Stromlands. Invaders came from the other side of the Narrow Sea, hoping to raid and pillage their lands.
While King Viserys struggled with the right plan of action, Baelor and Maekar both proved themselves to be great leaders. The brothers left the Summer Hall and led the Storm Lords in battle, refusing to use their dragons and instead kept them as a last resort.
Neither Vermithor nor Silverwing had to be used in the end.
Rhaenyra remembers when Otto Hightower tried to twist this victory into an act of rebellion from the sons of Aemon. Daemon too… but her father waved them both off, received the two Princes in the Red Keep and publicly thanked them for defending their lands from strangers.
“Let us not forget that we are of the same blood and the same land, dear cousins. As your King, I thank you for acting so swiftly and honourably.” her father said, his voice echoing through the throne room, the entire court watching as he stepped down and patted both men on the shoulder. “Let it be known, that the blood of the dragon stands united against all threats. Now, let us go and celebrate this victory.”
Hammer and Anvil, the brothers were called. Riders of two of the biggest dragons around, chose to fight on horseback, in the grass and mud with the rest of their men.
Rhaenyra never understood it, when the battle maneuver was explained, pinching the enemies in the middle, the brilliance of the quick minds that planned it and executed it without fail. Why do it all, when they could’ve had the same result on dragonback? Why scheme and plan, when fire and blood was at their fingertips?
“Why would you expect a common stag to act like a dragon?” Daemon once told her, smirking and leaning against the railing, his pale hair gleaming in the moon light.
Glancing at Baelor, she saw none of that. He was not smug, but rather humble. His shoulders were heavy, not relaxed with well honed arrogance. His eyes only Valyrian in half, his hair kept shorter and unmistakably dark…
A Stag with Wings, Daemon called him.
Yet the people called Baelor after the dragon that claimed him. Flying from Kings Landing upon Jaehaerys’ death, Vermithor the Bronze Fury, bowed to none other but Baelor Targaryen the Bronze Prince.
No dragon was born to Baelor, yet one chose him unprompted, as if it was the will of the gods themselves. A bronze dragon, for the bronze Targaryen. Afterwards none would dare to argue if he were of the storm or fire.
Unless, of course, you were Daemon Targaryen…
Daemon never liked Baelor, he tolerated Rhaenys and if pressed he’d say that Maekar was his favourite, but that too would be an exaggeration. He warned Rhaenyra about them, told her that they were scheming, waiting for Viserys to turn around so that they could take back the throne. That all Baelor thought about when he went to sleep, was—
“—his dark haired arse on the Iron Throne, and all of us stuck in our own beds with slit throats.” Daemon told her darkly, as he sat on the Throne drinking wine and staring into the distance. It was the day before his wedding to Lady Rhea. He grabbed Rhaenyra and took her with promise to allow her to taste real wine. “They want my brother dead. And you dear niece… Maybe they’d take you for a bride, for Maekar to smooth over the grief of your father’s murder, with a cock up your cunt… Maybe, even Baelor himself would take you, sire bronze bastards for you to raise.”
Rhaenyra was sceptical about Baelor afterwards, but felt too curious to stay away. On Daemon’s wedding day, she finally approached him and his beloved wife Jena. He was gracious and kind, nothing like Daemon claimed him to be.
The rumours drew her attention, but it was Baelor himself who made her stay. Causing an unlikely friendship to form between them, pulling her away from the Rogue Prince whenever the Bronze Prince was visiting.
What drew her in the most was the way Baelor listened to her, unlike Daemon who was fun… but rarely saw her. Too caught up in his own head and ideas, in plotting and scheming to stop others from doing the same.
Baelor felt like a true ally. He helped her when she needed it, listened when she spoke, was kind, patient and never truly boring. Despite the fact that they rarely did anything fun. A simple conversation was enough to sustain Rhaenyra and her curious mind.
Besides Elinda, her friend and lady in waiting, Baelor became someone she truly trusted with her true thoughts and worries.
“What happened to your mother was a tragic event. No mother— no woman, should be subjected to such barbaric treatment…” he whispered, his words bordering on treason but Rhaenyra wholeheartedly agreed. When she was later told how her father ordered to cut out the babe from her mother’s womb. How she died, covered in bloodied sheets in her own bed, with no dignity or comfort… it took a long time for Rhaenyra to forgive him.
Yet still, she never forgot about it, nor was she intending on forgetting it.
“But you should put your worries aside, my Princess. Queen Alicent had no issues with her first babe, and this will be no different.” he said, stopping to face her and squeeze her hand lightly, “At the end of the day, you shall be made a sister yet again, just as I was made a brother long ago.”
Rhaenyra looked away, glaring at the ground, “I am not worried about Alicent.”
Baelor merely looked at her, “You were friends once, ‘tis natural to not want an old friend to die, Rhaenyra. Whether you like it or not, she is a part of your family. And the Septons bid us to love our family. Not to want them dead.”
She only glared harder, not liking how much Baelor actually knew her. How much of her secrets he kept like a second skin.
“Well, I am not worried for her.”
“Very well.” he said, but his tone suggested that he didn’t believe her, “After I am done speaking with your father, perhaps you’d like to take a walk to the Great Sept with me? Light a candle in memory of your mother and my Jena?”
The mention of his late wife, made her soften and look up at him, “You know, I don’t share your beliefs.”
While Baelor was a believer of the Faith, Rhaenyra stayed true to the Valyrian customs. She made offerings to her dead mother out of blood and fire, while Baelor kept to whispered prayers and lit candles.
Still, he just smiled, “And you know, that you are welcome either way.”
Rhaenyra couldn’t help but smile at him, “Alright… thank you, Baelor.”
His thumb caressed her knuckles lightly, as he replied, “There is no need for thanks, not when I truly could use some pleasant company.”
That reminded her, “Where are your sons?” Rhaenyra glanced towards the sky briefly, not seeing a silver dragon anywhere, “And Maekar? I thought you would fly in together.”
“Valarr is to sail with Rhaenys from Driftmark, as he was visiting his cousins. While Matarys will be arriving with Maekar and his family in a carriage, I was flying over them for a while but eventually left Silverwing to guard them. They should arrive within an hour or so.”
“Since when does Maekar shy away from his saddle?” Rhaenyra asked, raising her eyebrow causing Baelor to smile.
“Since his Lady Wife is with child.”
Rhaenyra’s lips slipped open, “Again?”
Baelor laughed at that and nodded, clearly happy for his brother. “This land will see plenty more of Maekar’s children, Gods be willing. And I sincerely doubt that anything could rip him away from Dyanna’s side at the moment.”
“So he’s not entering the lists?” she prodded, frowning lightly. Maekar was always in the lists, one way or the other, much like Daemon was.
“Dyanna would not have it. For a good reason.”
“And you?” she asked, watching him with big eyes, as he merely hummed and tilted his head. “Will you be riding?”
Baelor allowed his eyes to rest upon the Princess for a few moments, before he asked, “Would you like me to?”
Rhaenyra nodded eagerly, her pale braid swinging from the force of it. “Yes!”
A small smile graced his face, as he looked down at her, “Then I shall, my Princess.”
She grinned wildly, an idea striking her swiftly as she tugged on his ringed hand, “Let me be your squire! I am tall, I can lift up your shield and lance! Daemon showed me how—”
“Absolutely not.” he cut in, without heat, just plain seriousness, “You will stay at the stands, you are the Heir, Rhaenyra. You’re meant for far more, than to raise shields and lances as splinters fly and men throw up in their helms.”
“If I were a Prince, I would squire for—” she tried to argue, but he shut her down, with a hand cupping her jaw.
“Alas, you are a Princess.” he gently reminded, there was no mockery in his tone, just the truth, “There is no shame in it, but there is duty, Rhaenyra.”
Rhaenyra glared at him, turning her head away from his hand. Baelor sighed and dropped his arms, leaving her cold and alone without his burning touch.
“If you wish to help me, prepare a favour for me to carry, so that I may win in the name of your new brother or sister.” he offered, clearly seeking peace from the younger Princess.
It worked, as her lilac eyes lifted up to meet his brown-violet ones.
“If I grant you my favour. You shall win this tourney for me.”
Baelor bowed down his head, a hand coming up to rest upon his chest. “For you, my Princess, I shall unhorse any Lord that stands in my way.”
“Daemon is in the lists.” she informed him, only making his smile stretch into a grin worthy of a dragon.
If Daemon despised Baelor, then the feeling was more than mutual. Although, Baelor was much more elegant in his hate.
“Then he too, shall taste my lance.”
Back at the Red Keep, Baelor left to find the King at the council chambers.
“Find me later, should you need a reprieve from anything.” he whispered to her before leaving, making her nod and her friends almost swoon, as they watched on from the sidelines.
As Rhaenyra stayed back, Elinda Massey along with her other ladies in waiting, Anette Fossoway, Sybil Strong and Florrie Tyrell, surrounded her, giggling and whispering. All four girls were different from one another.
Elinda was the shortest, while Sybil was the tallest. Florrie’s hair bordered on blonde, while Anette’s was pure black, with the rest having different shades of brown. They wore dresses in the colours of their houses; Elinda covered in red, blue and white, Anette in red and bronze, Sybil blue, green and grey, Florrie in green and gold. But one thing connected all of them, as Rhaenyra’s Ladies in Waiting.
They all wore silver necklaces with rubies and amethysts, a clear sign of their friendship and loyalty, which lied with the Realm’s Delight.
“Gods, he looks so Dornish!” Elinda whispered into Rhaenyra’s ear as Baelor walked up the stairs into the keep, his black shoulder cape flowing behind him.
Rhaenyra’s cheeks turned pink as she nodded eagerly and joined hands with Elinda, “I know!”
“Who knew that he could get so tan!” Sybil added, glancing between the other ladies.
“You think that his brother looks similar? Imagine, silver hair and bronze skin!” Anette asked, all three ladies watching their Targaryen Princess as she barely concealed her grin.
“I doubt it. I saw Daemon try to tan once… he looked more like a pig than a dragon.” Rhaenyra whispered back, the girls bursting into a fit of laughter, all imagining the Rogue Prince looking as described.
“Still, the Rogue Prince is a handsome one… I’d have him even if he were as green as a stem.” Florrie sighed dreamily.
All girls nodded in agreement, as it was no secret that Daemon Targaryen was as handsome as he was charming. Still, as the girls kept on whispering, Rhaenyra’s eyes ventured towards the entrance, where Baelor spoke with Ser Harrold Westerling. The two knights laughed at something, and she couldn’t rip her eyes away from the Bronze Prince.
As he too, was as handsome as he was charming.
Together, Rhaenyra and her ladies followed Baelor inside the Keep. But instead of looking for the King, the girls went to the royal wing and Rhaenyra’s chambers.
It was the sunniest set of rooms in the Red Keep, high up and facing the sea, where ships sailed day and night, and Dragonstone loomed in the distance. It is said that Queen Alyssane remade the chambers for one of her daughters, bringing the gold of the sun and the blue of the sea into it, extinguishing the red of fire and the black of smoke. Matching the room with the view outside of it.
That made Rhaenyra love it even more, as the blues reminded her of her own mother and the Arryn coloured dresses that she always wore, honouring her heritage. So she changed nothing inside her chambers, instead just added some of her purple here and there, making it her own space.
As the group came through the door, they noticed a flock of servants scattered around, pulling out garments, shawls, jewellery and shoes, to allow the Princess to have her pick for tomorrow’s tourney. In the middle of it all, supervising stood Rhaenyra’s handmaiden, Kiki. She was tall and lanky, with red hair and freckles scattered across her exposed olive skin.
“Princess. My Ladies.” Kiki greeted, her freckled face brightening when she saw Rhaenyra, “Would you like some refreshments to be brought?”
Rhaenyra shook her head, removing her cloak and throwing it over a cushioned chair, “No. I need you to go and find me a goldsmith. Bring him here, tell him that I have a commission that cannot wait.”
“As you wish, my Princess.” Kiki blinked but curtsied all the same, hurrying out and bringing the servants with her.
“A goldsmith?” Sybil asked, moving over to sit down on the sofa along with Anette, who asked.
“Are you thinking about a new jewellery set?”
“A tiara perhaps?” Florrie added, while Elinda simply watched the Princess with a growing smile.
Rhaenyra shrugged and went to look through the jewellery that was already set out for her to choose and wear tomorrow. “Not quite.” She picked up a heavy amethyst necklace, watching as the violet stones caught the light in an exact way that Baelor’s right eye did. Grinning, she set it aside and said, “Baelor asked for my favour. He will enter the lists on the ‘morrow.”
The four girls stared at the Princess, before cheering for her in excitement, making her grin proudly.
“What are you planning?” Elinda asked, coming to stand next to her with a smile.
She picked up a bracelet from the table, it was thin and gold, with pearls. Rhaenyra put it on her wrist and watched it, as she shared her vision “A bracelet, bronze and thick. With a golden Syrax and a copper Vermithor circling each other in an airborne dance.”
The ladies voiced their agreement, nodding and giggling, while Florrie asked.
“So you are not making him a garland?”
Rhaenyra took off the bracelet and let it fall back on the table, as she moved to grab a red shawl instead, “I am. But I want to give him something more personal as well. Baelor rarely fights in tourneys, not since his sons were born. But he is doing it for me and so I want to express my gratitude.”
“I suggest using laurel leaves as a base, they will match him well.” Sybil stated, earning nods from the others.
“I heard that his armour is black and bronze, so maybe orange ribbons?" Anette proposed.
Florrie nodded along, “For flowers, red gladiolus, symbolising victory and strength.”
Elinda smiled and added, “And a kiss for luck.”
Rhaenyra’s cheeks burned while the girls laughed yet again, she rolled her eyes and turned away, keeping her eyes on the sea, trying not to focus on the fluttering in her heart.
The Princess entered the council chamber not too long after that, dressed in a golden gown and her hair re-braided. The men around her father’s table grew quiet, Baelor being one of them as he sat next to the King’s Hand.
“Rhaenyra, my dear.” her father greeted with a smile, the others nodded at her, bowing her heads as they sat. Her father beckoned her closer, “You’re late. King’s cupbearer must not be late, it leaves people wanting for cups.” he kissed her cheek, frowning briefly as he sniffed the air. “You went riding?”
She glanced at Baelor, and smiled brightly at her father, “Yes. I thought that it would be a kind gesture to escort Prince Baelor to the pit. He is our guest, is he not?”
“I am sure that Prince Baelor could manage without your help, Princess.” Otto commented, looking straight ahead, instead at the Bronze Prince at his side.
“As right as you are, Ser Otto.” Baelor started easily and without heat, “It was an honour to be received by the Princess.” he ended, smiling towards Rhaenyra. Then his eyes focused on the King, as he bowed his head slightly, “I thank you, your Grace. For the most gracious welcome.”
Viserys waved him off with an easy smile, while Rhaenyra stepped away to retrieve the wine, “‘Tis nothing, cousin. We are family, the Keep stands open to you and your brother as always.”
“Thank you, your Grace.” Baelor bowed his head again, while Otto Hightower turned stiff beside him. The Hand has always feared Aemon’s sons and their proximity to inheriting the throne. He was as paranoid as Daemon was.
It’s a wonder that the Hand and the Rogue Prince do not get along, when they seem to be cut from the same cloth.
Rhaenyra poured the wine, while the men made plans, tuning in only once Baelor started speaking of Dorne.
“But while all is well considering the slow breach of the rift between our kingdoms, I fear for something else, your Grace.” he warned, making Otto finally look at him and Viserys to lean in his chair. Baelor pulled out a map from underneath the table and spread it out, pointing at the shipping lanes on the water. Rhaenyra leaned over his shoulder in curiosity, ignoring how the Lords narrowed their eyes at the closeness.
It wasn’t customary for a cupbearer to lean over maps and plans discussed in the meetings. But Rhaenyra was the Princess of the Realm, the Heir to the Iron Throne. She could very well sit in the middle of the table, should she wish it.
“Qoren Martell has shared troubling news with me and Maekar, regarding the issues Dorne has been having with piracy on their waters—”
Lord Lannister chuckled, “What do they wish for us to do? Slay them in their stead?”
Baelor’s mismatched eyes flickered to the man, his violet one almost burning with intensity. Yet when he spoke, he was as calm as the sea outside.
“No, my Lord. They mean to warn us, sharing the news as a courtesy, now that we are to become trading partners with Dorne. And in order for the trade to prosper, the waters must stay clear of rogues and pirates.”
Lord Lannister leaned back at that, looking thoroughly scolded.
Rhaenyra has to bite back a giggle, hiding her lips behind her hand. No one noticed, or so she thought, as a moment later, Baelor’s foot lightly tapped hers.
A soft warning. But a warning all the same.
“These pirates are the product of the growing alliance among the Free Cities. They have formed a group that has taken to styling itself the Triarchy. They have massed on Bloodstone and are presently ridding the Stepstones of its pirate infestation—”
“Pirates killing pirates.” Otto muttered, shaking his head as if it were no great news.
Viserys nodded in agreement “Well, that sounds suspiciously like good news, cousin.”
“It would be. If they were leaderless and rogue, which is far from the case. A man called Craghas Drahar has styled himself the prince-admiral of this Triarchy. They call him the Crabfeeder, due to his inventive methods of punishing his enemies. But that is no matter now.” Baelor points towards the Stepstones, “If those shipping lanes should fall, it will beggar our ports. It won’t allow us to trade with Dorne as intended, leaving only the exchange possible through the land, which would be costly.”
He sighs and points at the Stormlands instead, between Stonehelm and Weeping Tower, “My brother and I believe that four years ago, the invasion that started right here in the Stormlands, was led by what now we know as the Triarchy.”
“But you killed them all.” Rhaenyra spoke suddenly, brows furrowed together. “Did you not?”
Silence filled the chamber, as Baelor turned to look at her. With him sitting down like this, they were almost of the same height, their eyes on the same level, allowing Rhaenyra to admire them more easily.
“We did.” he confessed, staring at her a little bit longer, eyes flickering down briefly until he turned back to the men seated at the table. “They were from the Free Cities, that much was clear to us. But Maekar and I noticed a pattern on their weapons and clothes, it made little sense to us back then, but now…”
Baelor turned the map on the other side, where a strange symbol was drawn in ink. It looked like one letter, to Rhaenyra, but way different from Valyrian for example.
“They all carried this sigil, before we thought that perhaps it was something from their joined culture. But Prince Qoren informed us that this is no simple sigil or mark.”
“What is it then?” Lord Strong questioned with a frown.
The Bronze Prince glanced at the King, as he shared, “It’s a combination of letters, laid one on top of the other. It spells out the name, Drahar.”
“Same as this supposed… Crabfeeder?” Viserys asked.
“Not exactly. It seems that during the Battle of the Redgrass Field in the Stormlands, we slew his brother as he led a rogue battalion of Craghas’ army.” Baelor admitted, looking troubled for the first time. “Drahar was his name. And after his death Craghas the Crabfeeder, incorporated his brother’s name into his own, and carried on with making it the banner of the rising Triarchy. All as a way to honour Drahar and his defeat on our shores.”
“So it’s revenge that he’s after.” Viserys confirmed as the others around the table nodded.
“It seems so, your Grace.” Baelor agreed, his hands moving to twist the ring on his finger as he fell silent for a moment. His hand stilled, and that is when he spoke once more, “After I returned home, I went to visit my son Valarr as he was staying with my sister on Driftmark. I mentioned what I have said here, to my good-brother Corlys Velaryon. He says that he too noticed something being amidst on our waters, more shipwrecks and missing traders or sailors—”
“Then the Seasnake should’ve made mention of it to the Crown.” Lord Lannister cut in, looking frustrated as the Master of Ships, who it seems, knows nothing of what’s going on with said ships.
“He says that he did.” Baelor simply stated, looking at Otto as he said it.
The chamber grows quiet once more, but the Hand seems unnaturally calm despite the blatant jab.
“Otto?” Viserys said.
“He sent a vague raven, your Grace. That is all that Lord Velaryon provided.” Otto simply said without flinching.
Viserys nodded, while Baelor’s hand clenched on top the table, still when he spoke, he did so calmly. “Your Grace. Lord Corlys sails with my sister and son to Kings Landing to take part in your festivities, I believe it wise to speak with him on the issue. He’s a seasoned sailor and he rarely stays on land, he may have more to offer than I do at this time—”
“The Crown thanks you, Prince Baelor.” Otto cuts in, as Viserys looks troubled, “But you do not possess a seat on this council, nor a role in running the kingdom. Leave the decision making to us, if you may.”
Baelor’s hand clenched so hard that his tan knuckles went white, yet his face remained neutral as he nodded humbly. Rhaenyra, cannot say the same for herself.
“You must be jesting.” she all but hissed, looking at her father, who looked oddly lost at all the news that Baelor had brought before them.
“Princess.” Baelor warns under his breath, but her blood always ran hot. She was fire and blood, made flesh and she would not be silenced.
“You dare silence him, when he has done nothing, but bring valid information to us. He went to Dorne, representing the Crown. He spoke to Lord Corlys, enquiring about the validity of the information about the Triarchy. He even fought for our lands, while the Crown sat back, playing with its thumbs and drinking wine—”
“And it was his fighting that now endangers our realm, Princess.” the Hand cut in, his voice scolding her, as if she were a child. “Prince Baelor received his thanks, multiple times. And he has done all that, because it was required of him. He did us no favours or offered a great kindness. We sent him to Dorne, and we asked for his report, he did his duty—”
“No.” she cut in, glaring at him, “He did your duty, Lord Hand. Mayhaps, you’ve grown old and the Crown is in need of a new—”
“Rhaenyra!” her father roared, slamming the palm of his hand on the table. The lost look was gone, replaced by shame and shock. “You will not speak to Otto this way. You are my daughter, but you will heed your words and find respect—”
“I will find respect for him, when he finds it. As it seems he has lost it some time ago—”
“You are out of line—” Viserys yelled again, but was cut off as the Maester rushed into the room with a smile that did not fit the room.
“You Grace!” the man called out, not noticing the tensions rising, “The Queen has provided you with a daughter! A new Princess for the Realm.”
The table echoed with congratulations, only Rhaenyra stayed silent, until her father’s eyes returned to her.
“Go.” she said, oddly quiet but no less angry, “Mayhaps, this daughter will turn out to be more respectful.”
With that, she spun on her heel and left the chamber. Leaving only the soft clicking of her small heels in her wake, as the Keep started to be filled with the sound of a crying babe.