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After the Dragons Danced (A Rhaena Targaryen SI) -- 07. Agendas and the Disgraced
🕑 Added 2024-09-14 09:00:00 +0000 UTC7th Day, Seventh Moon, 131 AC | The Red Keep - King’s Landing
BAELA
“What a fucking shitshow!” Baela said as she walked into the Queen’s apartments that she now shared with her sister. Aegon and four of the newly appointed Kingsguard were following them. She shut the door and slumped into a settee in the lounge area of the antechamber once inside, the four shadows taking their places outside the door.
“Baela, language!” her sister chided her lightly.
“Come on. Our father cursed all the time, and we turned out fine,” Baela reminded her sister in a teasing tone.
She turned to see tears glistening in her brother’s eyes.
“What’s wrong Aegon?” she asked, alarm plain on her face.
“I thought… I thought you said I did well,” he whined.
Baela fought the urge to roll her eyes. Thankfully, Rhaena took the burden of comforting their little brother off her shoulders, “Yes Aegon. You did very well. The shitshow Baela is referring to was Alicent Hightower’s outburst.”
“Oh,” he replied weakly.
Rhaena took a seat on the lounge chair, her lilac eyes, that she shared with her, looking deep into his brother’s dark violet ones. She spoke with all the sincerity she could muster, “You did very well valonqar. You were the very image of a king, and in only one session of court, you set a firm system of succession, something the six monarchs before you did not, while honouring your mother at the same time by posthumously granting her the status of queen. I’m sure she’s looking at you from the great beyond with nothing but pride.” At that, the tears in his eyes began to flow, and her sister continued to reassure him as they embraced each other.
“You were masterful today. Continue in the same vain and you shall be great, greater than even the Conqueror. And, of course, you shall have your wonderful sisters to help you in any way you need.” They stayed locked in an embrace for a few moments as Aegon composed himself. A dirty glare sent her way by her sister told her to join the hug, which she reluctantly did.
“Thank you, truly. I don’t think I would have had the strength of doing what I did today without the two of you.”
“Always Aegon. We will never abandon you. Not now, not ever.”
Soon, but not soon enough in Baela’s opinion, her brother had calmed down and composed himself. He propositioned her twin sister into a game of chess, a game Rhaena had invented from the knowledge of her memories. Aegon had been obsessed with it every since he had been introduced to it, and as a gift for his ascension, Rhaena had had an exquisite chess board and playing pieces made. It was on that board that they were playing now. Baela’s interest in that game was mild compared to her siblings, but she would learn it, for the noble reason of beating Rhaena in it, the fact that she invented the game notwithstanding.
For her part, she went inside the bed chambers. Hells, she needed to get out of this gown. How Rhaena had conscripted her to wear it, she did not understand. But no longer. She would attend the evening feast in her preferred garb, thank you very much.
She stripped herself of the garments and took her time to look at her naked body in the mirror, as she seemed to always do nowadays. What she saw gave her mixed feelings, as it normally did. Aye, the weight she had lost during the starvation she had endured as the usurper’s captive was slowly returning. Soon enough her body would return to its true form, or so she hoped. Expecting it to also gain the womanly shape her sister’s body was recently gaining, the womanly seductive shape that Rhaenyra had, was too much to ask for.
And then there were the burns. Her hands gingerly lightly traced the twisted, uneven patchwork of skin below her breast. Patches of it were uncharacteristically darker than the pale flawless skin on the rest of the body, pulled tight in an unnatural way. Upon healing, it had gone numb. She pinched it now on impulse, and she felt nothing but the skin resisting the pull. But the echoes of the singularly most bone-chilling pain she had ever experienced were still there. Moondancer had just died from the duel that would go on to kill Sunfyre, and she was struggling to unchain herself and escape the usurper’s dogs.
That traitor Alfred Broome had been the first to come upon her. He had every intention of beheading her. Marston Waters had been the one to stop him. She had thought it a mercy to be saved from certain death by Alfred’s blade. Only, Marston's goal was to make her suffer. He had dragged her mottled flesh across the pavement, the nightgown she had worn while battling Sunfyre almost entirely torn apart. The following weeks in the dungeons of Dragonstone had been the worst in her life, the usurper disallowing maesters from attending to her until he had deemed her sufficiently cowed.
She pulled herself out of that abyss. The usurper was dead, thanks to her grandfather’s efforts. Alfred and Marston were dead as well. The former had been thrown onto the spikes of the dry moat below Maegor’s Holdfast and lingered in agony for two days before the stranger took his soul, while the latter had been roasted slowly by the breath of her beloved Silverwing before she ate him in one bite. Her twin had revealed the plots and treasons he would end up being involved in in the coming years, and that had sealed his fate.
The fact that the Baela from Rhaena’s memories had allowed a cur like Marston Waters to remain on the Kingsguard, let alone remain alive after enduring that much suffering by his account, she did not understand. To add to that, that accursed man had been there when her cousin had been burned by dragonfire and had done nothing to stop that.
The Baela in Rhaena’s memories was not real, just the ludicrous imagination of some scribe who had written about their world. That was the conclusion she had come up with upon hearing the full account of their lives and that of their descendants from Rhaena. It was the only plausible reason. Leaving the largest remaining dragons in the world riderless and out of their control, letting ambitious regents dictate their lives as if they were not scions of dragonlords, and most of all, the dragons becoming stunted, malformed, and going extinct in less that two decades. None of it made sense. They would never have been that careless.
The burns she had suffered would not be in vain. The losses they had endured would not go unanswered, she swore once more. The four of them; her, Rhaena, Viserys and Aegon would restore their house to where it belonged, and no grasping lords would bring it down from its zenith. Whatever contrived nonsense that scribe had dreamed up, all for the purpose of tearing down their family and leaving nothing but two exiled children begging off the streets and selling themselves into slavery, would remain that, tall tales, that those from the world that Rhaena’s memories had come from would read for entertainment.
Their house, the real House Targaryen, would never end up that way, she vowed as re-dressed herself. This time she wore in a pair of exquisitely made pair of breeches, an undershirt, and an overcoat that was sown in the same style that the ridiculous gown was made in; red, with black dragons embroidered on it.
She rejoined her siblings to find Rhaena beating Aegon in their game of chess. Gaemon Palehair had joined them and once he had taken out another board from the shelf, Baela proceeded to beat Gaemon senseless as well. Elinda, now formally appointed as the head of their household, joined them soon afterwards, four of her assistants serving them a modest luncheon.
She had been in a perpetual jolly mood since her beloved brother, Robin Massey, was to be appointed to the Kingsguard. He was quite the capable knight, but above all, he was loyal, like his fellow sworn brothers. In fact, of the seven White Swords, six of whom had been appointed today, only Willis Fell had served the usurper. By the virtue of Kingsguard serving for life, the pardons offered to all those who fought in the war, and Ser Willis having been appointed by Uncle Viserys to the Kingsguard, they had no grounds to dismiss him. Not without diminishing the importance that Queen Visenya had intended the sacred brotherhood to possess.
Regardless, Fell would serve as Jaehaera’s sworn shield, protecting the daughter of the usurper while being nowhere close to their brother. Aegon’s six other defenders were leal men, as confirmed by Rhaena. It was her that had proposed Ser Corwyn Corbray be made the Lord Commander, a proposal he had eagerly accepted. Apparently, in her memories, Rhaena had wed Corwyn as the regents had asked her to.
How she had assented to their demands honestly left her gobsmacked. Rhaena was the only Dragonlord in the world at that time, and according to Morning’s growth rate thus far, a powerful one at that. The Rhaena in those memories was not real, she reminded herself once more. Certainly the Rhaena she knew would never accept such an unreasonable and ergrigious match, no matter her fondness for the man.
Alongside the Kingsguard, two-score more men that Baela herself had chosen from the northmen Cregan Stark had left behind had also been assigned to guard their royal persons. They would remain behind once she and Rhaena left for the Stepstones to get their brother back and obliterate the Triarchy once the moon turned.
Oh, how she would relish that. Even now, her beloved’s body, as it had been when it was dredged up from shallow waters of Driftmark after he and Vermax had died in battle, was clear in her mind. There were arrows jutting out of his head, stomach and legs. A particularly gnarly-looking bolt had penetrated his throat, almost severing his head clean off the rest of his body. Baela, like her father, had never been one to weep, but she had wept that day as she dismissed the Silent Sisters and prepared Jacaerys’ body for the funeral rites herself. She had wept as Moondancer had burned his pyre. She had wept as she interred his ashes in the catacombs of Dragonstone.
Moondancer had been much too small for her to join her beloved in war, and she had cursed her for it. Guilt welled within her once more. If only she had claimed a formidable dragon instead of waiting a decade for the egg Rhaenyra had given her when she was two years old to hatch. Why had she and Rhaena not done so anyways? She brought herself out of those harrowing thoughts.
She had Silverwing now, the largest dragon in the world, and the Triarchy would know her wrath. Her father had avenged her grandmother and Lucerys by killing that one-eyed monster. Her grandfather had avenged Rhaenyra by poisoning the usurper. She would be the one to complete that cycle of vengeance. Baela would be the one to bring retribution for the death of her beloved.
“Baela!” her sister’s voice snapped her out of her musings.
“What…” she asked, startled.
“Are you alright?” her sister enquired worriedly, “you were drifting again.”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” Baela replied.
At Rhaena’s questioning glare, she repeated once more, “I’m fine, really.”
“Very well,” Rhaena told her, her tone doubtful, “you haven’t broken your fast today. You have to eat.”
The games were set aside for the meal Elinda had brought. Steaming joints of duck, roasted with honey and peppers was accompanied by cheese and egg-fry bread together with a salad made up of spinach, fruits and plums. There were also delectable pastries, most of them being lemoncakes that Aegon had so enjoyed before the war. These days, he had to be reminded to eat. To wash it down was juice for the boys, and sweet, watered-down wine for both her and her twin. A light meal by all accounts, for the feast that evening was going to be twenty-one courses of mouth-watering goodness.
“Did you find Viserys?” asked Aegon, his perpetually melancholic eyes looking at hers in hopeful inquiry.
Baela nodded, “He’s in Lys to be sure. At the beginning of the next moon, Rhaena and I will be heading there to rescue him, while also punishing the Triarchy for the attack that killed Jace.”
His eyes sparkled with joy, but only for a moment, before the ever familiar sadness returned to them, “Do the both of you have to go?”
Rhaena’s reply came faster than what she was about to say, “We do. Two dragonriders are needed for that endeavour. One to stay and guard the camp of our army while the other goes to retrieve Viserys. We plan on also getting reparations from all three cities of the Triarchy and annexing the Stepstones in order to make sure we control the trade routes of the Narrow Sea.”
“Alright. Please fly Viserys back as soon as you find him,” Aegon pleaded.
“Of course,” Rhaena replied.
“Remember not to reveal to anyone anything concerning Viserys and our desire in rescuing him, are we clear?” Baela firmly asked those around them.
“I swear Princess,” Elinda was the first to affirm.
“I swear,” Gaemon added his shy, childish voice to hers.
Aegon only gave a nod.
“Your Grace, you have lessons to attend to,” said Elinda once their meal was done.
“Even today?” Aegon replied, whining.
“Aye. You already missed your lessons thrice this week.”
“I think he can take a break for today,” Rhaena came to her brother’s defence, “it’s his wedding day. He’ll have time enough for lessons after the celebrations end.”
Elinda only nodded. Baela fought the urge to sigh. Rhaena coddled Aegon too much, in her honest opinion. They had argued about it once. Aegon had watched his mother get burned by dragonflame, she had said, he was fragile and needed to be treated accordingly. Baela had also seen their mother being burned by dragonfire. It had taken many years for that scene to cease being what she saw when she went to sleep, but it did not mean she had forgotten. That memory was the earliest thing she could remember, the only secret of hers that she did not share with her twin, and she would keep it that way.
“Aegon,” her sister told their brother suddenly, “to celebrate your ascension, we have a gift for you.” In so saying, she went into their chambers, and came back carrying the brazier that contained the dragon’s egg Baela had collected from Bitterbridge. The smoking brazier was placed on the table, and her sister opened it.
“Is that….” their kingly brother exclaimed, his mind seemingly slow on the uptick. The dragon egg’s amethyst scales gleamed in the light, with the golden flecks all along it only serving to add to its beauty.
“Aye, a dragon’s egg,” Rhaena replied, “you could have another Stormcloud, Aegon, or a dragon with another name, depending on what you decide.”
“No.. No… no, no, no, no, no, no, no!” Aegon said, each no growing louder and more distressed than the last, “No. Never again! Never again!” This time his breathing got more and more strained, his pale skin turning red in a mix of emotions Baela could not name. Then, their kingly brother began to shake, “Never again. No more dragons!”
Rhaena was with him in a flash, trying to comfort him, trying to ease his panicked state, but his brother only grew more enraged, and more resolute, “Get that fucking creature out of my fucking sight!” He screamed. Ser Corwyn burst into their chambers, two of his sworn brothers in tow, swords drawn and at the ready to defend their liege from the assailant that was attacking him.
After recovering from her apparent freezing at the scene in front of her, Baela took the brazier in her hands, covered it with its lid once more, and returned it to their bed chamber where it had been safely ensconced before. Even from the depths of the closet, she heard the door to their apartments slammed shut. She reemerged to find Rhaena sitting by herself, a frown on her face.
“I take it that did not go as well as you hoped,” Baela said, and if there was just a smidge of sarcasm in her voice, it was warranted. Her twin breathed a heavy sigh, before shaking her head in response.
Baela resisted a chuckle, “And to think you were to gift him the egg during the feast in front of the whole realm.”
“I thought… I hoped he could overcome his fear if he hatched this egg, that he would feel whole once he was bound to another dragon.”
Baela only shook her head in a muted response, “the egg would serve Viserys better.”
“No. Not Viserys.”
“His egg has not hatched in the past seven years. Perhaps he was just not meant for it. Maybe he was meant for this one. And also, are you sure what you have planned for him will work? What if the plan fails? What if he is harmed in your hair-brained scheme?”
Rhaena’s eyes met her own, with nothing but surety and confidence filled within them, “It will work. It worked during the war, and from my memories, it was common practice.”
“For unruly dogs, cats, horses and lions, not dragons.”
“It will work Baela, trust me,” she reassured her, “If Aegon will not have the egg, it shall be reserved for the fifth child born to either of us.”
“The fifth?” Baela asked, dumbfounded, “where will the other four get dragons from?”
“Sheepstealer is in the Vale, and shall remain there for the next five years at the very least. We’ll get him back in time, once the Dragonpit is repaired and rebuilt, I think. Once we do, he shall be reserved for the heir to the throne. There are also the three dragon’s eggs that Elissa Farman stole from my namesake and sold to Braavos. Those eggs were most likely laid by Dreamfyre and sired by Balerion, meaning they will grow incredibly quickly as a result, quicker than even Tessarion, Shrykos and Morghul did.”
“You know how the Braavosi are, they’ll most likely not agree to give them back,” Baela pointed out.
“We’ll buy them back. They were entrusted with a large part of the royal treasury by the usurper. They can keep a part of it in exchange for those eggs. I’m sure the sum they’ll ask for shall be much, much more than what Elissa Farman sold those eggs for. And if they refuse entirely, we can take them back. You have Silverwing after all.”
“They have Faceless Men. Even though Father trained us to see through glamours, war with them will still be incredibly dangerous since they can be disguised as anyone at any time. Tis for that reason that our great-grandfather did not simply burn their city down and retrieve the eggs,” Baela replied.
“We will cross that bridge once we get there,” Rhaena affirmed, “the Sealord’s son has come as a representative of Braavos for Aegon’s wedding and crowning. I shall speak to him before the celebrations end. His father is not the same Sealord that sent Faceless Men after us. He actually killed that Sealord and his entire family. That, at the very least, should work in our favour.”
“Very well,” Baela agreed, “Another thing. If we are to fulfill our plans, I still don’t understand why we let Aegon wed the usurper’s daughter.”
Rhaena explained, “Many reasons. For one, we can’t change too much yet, or else the knowledge I was blessed with will become useless. I am worried that we’ve already done so with you claiming Silverwing. No one can predict the hidden effects our actions will have.
“Also, the agreement that our grandfather made with the unruly Great Houses after he killed the usurper included that marriage, to unify both the Greens and the Blacks and end the war. If we were to do away with Jaehaera right now, those houses might rise in rebellion once more, and even if we are assured of victory against them by the virtue of you having Silverwing, continuation of the war will not be conducive for us to carry out our other plans and secure our house and the realm.
“We need to rescue Viserys as soon as possible. I’ll feel much better once he’s back and by our side again. We need to annex the Stepstones too, to make sure our trade routes can’t be cut off on a whim. The Iron Islands are still in open rebellion, despite you flying a dragon in their skies. Aliandra will have her Dornishmen will invade the marches soon. Wildlings will invade the North and the Vale. A plague will decimate the kingdom. And in the midst of all this chaos, schemers lie in the shadows, plotting to seize power for themselves.
“It’d be better to wait until we have control of the regency and our hold on power is consolidated. Once that is done, we’ll end the usurper’s bloodline for good and both of us will marry Aegon and Viserys. There’s no need to rush. Both of them are far too young for marriage. Waiting can only be a good thing.
Rhaena got up from where she sat and walked towards her, leaned down and looked into her eyes, “Trust me Baela, when the time is right, you will be queen of the Seven Kingdoms just as Father, Rhaenyra and Grandmother always wished you to be. But not yet.”
Baela only nodded solemnly in response. She did not need to tell Rhaena her doubts concerning that. Yes, she had been groomed to be a queen since she was four years old, but what she had desired above all was to be Jacaerys’ queen. She could not remember a time before she had him in her life, a time before she loved him with her entire being, yet now he was dead and burned and she was meant to live the rest of her life without him. Deep feelings of betrayal brought themselves to the surface at the thought of being queen to a king that was not her beloved. She could not stomach that, let alone trying to move forward without him.
How her sister had moved on so swiftly, she did not know, so she asked, “Do you think of Lucerys often?”
Rhaena sat back down before she replied, “Every day. We may not have been as close as you and Jace were, due to him being with Grandfather on his voyages often, but I miss him all the same.”
“How have you moved forward then?” Baela inquired of her sister.
“I haven’t really, if I’m being honest. I remind myself that all that we are doing now, we are doing for them. I am grateful for these memories, and I will use them to make sure tragedy like we’ve endured doesn’t happen to our family again. I think of how he died, torn to pieces by Vhagar and sent tumbling into the sea by that monster, and I know we have to do all we can to make sure our children and their children and their children after that don’t live to know that kind of devastation.”
They sat there for a long moment, just as they had ever since they were little girls, neither of them saying anything. Nothing needed to be said. Her father had told them once that the bond between twins was the only thing that came close to the bond between a dragon and their rider. Twins shared one soul, a soul that just so happened to be split into two people, he had claimed. She knew that Rhaena thought the same.
“I have to go check on Aegon,” her sister said, “will you be okay?”
“Aye,” Baela responded, before adding, “you coddle him too much, you know. He is the king.”
“I coddle you too, and you are a princess,” she replied with a smile as she left, leaving Baela alone with her own thoughts.
MAEGORO PAENYMION - THE VOLANTENE
A feast to celebrate the king’s wedding and ascension to the Iron Throne should surely be more robust than this one was turning out to be, Maegoro thought, as he took another sip of his wine. Or perhaps he was just biased; the feasts, celebrations and even bacchanals in the Paenymion residence in Volantis were legendary whenever they were held. This was quite the muted affair compared to those. Aye, there were some in good cheer, but there was no one who could be said to be particularly rowdy.
“You need to get yourself one of these Westerosi lasses Maegoro!” his cousin Aemon told him. Said lass was sat on his lap, her eyes closed and head pointed to the ceiling, while his hands snaking up her gown. He heard her moan.
“Aemon,” Maegoro chided, his voice coming out sharper than he intended it to be, “this is a Westerosi feast. We’re not back home where you can have any number of whores you want.”
“Relax Maegoro,” Aemon told him, his voice dismissive of his worries as always, “she seems to like it.” He continued, pointing to the lady on his laps with his chin. Said lady was now shaking, her muscles spasming. They were lucky the hall was crowded, meaning her gasps and moans of pleasure did not carry across the room. The next moment, the lady attacked Aemon’s lips with her own, no shame visible on her features at all.
Maegoro sighed. He loved Aemon just as he did the rest of his cousins and siblings, but his unchecked desire was quite an undesirable vice. Still, it was a bit of a relief knowing that he would never have relations with a woman who did not desire it themselves. It was one of the virtues that Saera Targaryen, their grandmother, had instilled in them since they had learned what a woman was. She herself had gone through that, decades years ago when she used to work in pleasure houses, soon after the glorious king that was Jaehaerys the Conciliator disavowed her as his own daughter and cast her aside.
Despite how much unadulterated vitriol he held towards his great-grandfather, the relations between House Paenymion and House Targaryen had been quite advantageous for them thus far. The Paenymions were of ancient Valyrian blood themselves, their lines traced back to that of the Dragonlords of Old Valyria. He had studied their history extensively.
After the Ghiscari wars ended, dozens of the dragonless cadet branches of the exalted Forty had formed new families and moved to rule as colonists in Volantis, the new city they had established. Said branches had never married anyone save for each other for thousands of years afterwards, maintaining the purity of their blood. To add the blood of a true Targaryen into their family was one of the many accomplishments his grandfather, Aerion Paenymion, a blood purist if there was ever one, had achieved.
By the time his children, Jaehaerys and Rhaella (Maegoro’s parents), Maegor and Daella (Aemon’s parents) and Viserra were adults, they were undoubtedly the wealthiest family among those of the Old Blood. His grandfather saw no reason to align himself with the other Volantene houses when he had no need for them, and therefore, he instead made marriages that would preserve their Targaryen blood. Only Aunt Viserra had married outwards into House Maegyr, their closest ally.
Apart from just obtaining Targaryen blood for their own, House Paenymion’s relation to House Targaryen had been very useful for them thus far.
In 115AC, when Maegoro was just three years of age, Daemon Targaryen and his wife Laena had landed their dragons atop the black walls of Old Volantis. While many had feared that their city was under attack, their family had instead guested them in their resplendent manse, in a move that reinforced their bonds of kinship through Grandmother Saera. At that time, Daemon was searching for willing allies to help him hold the Stepstones, the islands at the junction of the Narrow and Summer Seas, whose geographic positioning made them the most value trade route in the world.
After being shunned and sent away by his kingly brother, Daemon had to search for allies among the Free Cities to help keep the Stepstones away from the predations of the Triarchy; the nonsensical alliance that the Three Whores at the heel of Essos had formed. House Paenymion had been one of those that had agreed to aid him in this endeavour by pledging some ships from their enormous fleet to provide peace-keeping services in the Isles.
In exchange, him and his wife had promised two things. The first being aid of their dragons in obliterating Lys, Myr, Tyrosh and their Disputed Lands should they try and reassert their claim on the Stepstones or attempt to expand their borders eastwards. The second was a vast reduction on the tolls the merchant ships of the coalition he was forming had to pay to cross the those isles. The alliance between Daemon, Volantis and Pentos had worked quite well; the Triarchy had been cowed for the next decade and a half and The Stepstones had remained unmolested with him as its undisputed ruler.
Daemon and his wife Laena had visited Volantis numerous times in the following three years, bringing along their children, Baela and Rhaena. He remembered playing with them when they were little more than babes. At that time, his grandmother had been angling for a marriage between him and his older brother Rhaekar with the Dragon Twins.
Alas, it never came to be. Daemon returned to Westeros when his wife died in childbirth to prepare for the war they had recently won. He and his daughters had visited Volantis only thrice more in the following decade. Another marriage between House Targaryen and House Paenymion would be quite unlikely at this time; Rhaekar had already married Aunt Viserra’s daughter, Maegelle Maegyr and had a child on the way already, while Maegoro’s own betrothal to Aemon’s elder sister, Maera Paenymion, had been decided, the two of them set to be married at the end of the year. To add to that, Baela and Rhaena were princesses of the realm, princesses who were currently heirs to the Iron Throne and the only remaining Dragonlords in the world. Westeros would be in uproar should they entangle themselves with nobles from foreign lands. No, what House Paenymion hoped for now was a partnership of mutual benefit.
For the first time since the Century of Blood, two Triarchs from the tiger faction; the more militaristic party in Volantis’ politics, controlled two of the three Triarch seats as the absolute rulers of Volantene territory. His father, Jaehaerys Paenymion, alongside Jaenor Maegyr, both from the tiger party, had secured a majority of the Triarch seats against all expectations in the elections held this year. T’was a testament to the power and majesty that their house had gained. And House Paenymion would not let this opportunity go to waste. They would use it to ensure their name rose higher than it had in a century and they knew the way to do it.
Volantis had not waged a proper war of conquest since the last time the Tiger party had secured majority of the Triarch seats, almost two centuries ago now, soon after the Lands of Always Summer had been obliterated. At that time, they had wished to annex the other Free Cities and rebuild the Freehold in their own image. Those dreams were turned to ash when Aegon the Conqueror had destroyed the Volantene fleet that was to attack Lys using the fires of the Black Dread. But that was a century go.
They intended to go to war once more, to regain the territory they had lost in the Battle of the Borderland, and conquer the Disputed Lands in full. This time, they desired a willing ally in House Targaryen; or at the very least to make sure that no Dragonlord nor Westerosi polity interfered with their conquests as the Conqueror and the Storm King had. That was why Maegoro was here specifically. His father, Triarch Jaehaerys Paenymion, had entrusted him with that mission.
The bothersome alliance known as the Triarchy had fallen, with each of them blaming the other for the difference in the losses they suffered when they joined the dragon war. Lys still had most of its navy intact, while that of Tyrosh and Myr were almost entirely decimated. The admiral who led the attack on Driftmark had been a Lyseni by the name of Sharako Lohar, who was accused by the rest of the magisters of preserving his city’s forces while sending Myr’s and Tyrosh’s to their death.
Sharako had been slain by the Myrish soon afterwards, and his entire family either shared his fate or were sold into slavery. Word had reached them that Serenei, Sharakor’s daughter and heir to the Lohar fortune, had been sold by the Myrish to the Black Swan as a pleasure slave. Myr was undoubtedly preparing for war with Lys. Seizing the opportunity provided by the war coming between Myr and Lys, Tyrosh had decided to re-assert its claim on the Stepstones once more. The pirate admiral who had troubled Daemon for many years, Racallio Ryndoon, was preparing a fresh invasion force to retake those isles.
The Stepstones were quite important to the Targaryens and their realm, Maegoro knew, and because of the dragonlord war they had endured and the oncoming winter, Maegoro was not sure whether Westeros had the strength to hold them on their own. Volantis and Pentos, the Free Cities that had been part of Daemon’s coalition, were hesitant on making good on their threat on Tyrosh since Daemon had unfortunately perished in a dragon duel.
Maegoro hoped they could help each other achieve their ambitions. At worst, he could get his childhood acquaintances not to intervene in their battle against the Three Whores, and at best, he could get a dragonrider to aid them in their prospective conquest of the Disputed Lands. In exchange, he could lend Volantene aid in Westeros’ dominion of the Stepstones, just as their house had done when Daemon was King of the Narrow Sea. Aye, he was quite hopeful in this. Baela Targaryen, the rider of the largest dragon alive at this point, had an axe to grind with the three cities of the fallen Triarchy, since they had killed her betrothed when their fleet attacked Driftmark.
A particularly loud squeak from lady on Aemon’s lap broke him out of his musings. He looked to see that she was bare from the waist up, the bodice of her dress torn apart and hanging loosely at her sides. One of her bare breasts was in Aemon’s mouth while the other was being kneaded by his hand. Maegoro sighed. Gods he hoped his Targaryen cousins would not take his behaviour as a slight on their hospitality. It would be quite bad if the agreement he hoped to make to fell through because of Aemon’s behaviour.
“Aemon!” he whisper-shouted at his cousin as the music was quieting, “how about you go to your quarters and continue with your… escapades… there?”
“The first good idea you’ve had for the entirety of our time here,” he replied, smugly. He then lifted the girl and placed her above his shoulders like a sack of corn. He lathered kisses on her bottom as they walked away, the lass laughing the entire time. Good riddance.
The hall now was entirely quiet, as Baela Targaryen stood up, with a cup in hand to make a toast, “Brother, as tribute to the beginning of your prosperous reign, Rhaena and I have a gift for you,”
At that, the grand doors of the hall happened, and two serving men walked into the hall carrying a wooden box. They reached the foot of the high table and set the box down, one of them moving to open it. Baela came down from her place on the table and took the gift out of the box.
It was a sword. It’s pommel was ornate, being in a dark charcoal grey, carved into the shape of a dragon’s head, with a gleaming red ruby set in the place where the dragon’s eye could have been. Even from where he was sat, he could recognise the dark ripples of Valyrian Steel that seemed to drink all the light in the world. He knew Valyrian Steel intimately, he wielded a spear made of the same metal after all. The hand-and-a-half sword was beautiful, he had to admit.
“Tis Valyrian Steel, to match Blackfyre,” Baela said, “worthy of a king.”
Said boy king, who had been glum and melancholic for the entirety of his wedding celebrations, seemed to perk up a tiny bit as he came down from the high table and took the sword in his own hand, gave a few lazy swings and returned it.
“Does it have a name?” the king asked in a small voice.
“Yes,” his other sister Rhaena, answered, “Reign.”
“Reign,” the king repeated.
“A fine addition to our house’s legendary swords,” Princess Rhaena proclaimed.
“Yes,” the king replied, “thank you for this sisters. Tis indeed a fine sword.”
The hall broke out in muted applause at the gifting. If there were other gifts to be presented, Maegoro knew that those to present them would think otherwise. No gift could beat a Valyrian Steel sword. He was curious at where they had found it. As per the knowledge supplied to him by his grandmother, House Targaryen only had two swords, Dark Sister, that Daemon had wielded, and Blackfyre, that the king normally wielded. Dragonsteel swords were quite rare in Westeros. He shrugged. A third sword would add more prestige for them.
The music restarted at the princess’ beckoning, and this time, he took time to observe the royals. The king was sat at the center of the table, his melancholy returned once the sword was taken away. His little queen sat at his left was utterly expressionless. Her eyes were dead. That made Maegoro shudder; he had never seen a child be that emotionless. At the little queen’s left, there sat a woman with blonde hair and blue eyes. The queen’s grandmother, Alicent Hightower, from what she had heard. She was quiet too, her face was blank but her eyes were full of anger. She wore the most ostentatious gown Maegoro had ever seen, and he had seen quite a lot since his own his own grandmother favoured those quite a bit.
At the king’s right sat his sisters, the famed Dragon Twins, the only remaining dragonriders in the world. Said sisters were engaging their kingly brother in conversation as much as they could. On the sisters’ left sat Corlys Velaryon, the twins’ grandfather, now appointed Hand of the King and the foremost among the boy king’s regents. Apparently he had killed the usurper and was instrumental in bringing an end to the war. Corlys joined in the conversation between the princes from time to time but for most of the occasion he sat by himself, quiet, his eyes staring but unseeing. He was far, far away.
Maegoro had never witnessed as much grief as there was around this table. It reminded him of his family when his grandfather had died, eight years ago now. But, House Paenymion was quite large still, and that was without taking into account his family’s cadet branches, the scions of his grandfather’s brothers, sisters and cousins. There were only four Targaryens remaining, five if he counted his grandmother, although she might disagree with that. She had disavowed the Targaryen name and all its trappings just as much as her kingly father had disowned her.
If he was to make his move, he’d better do it now, Maegoro decided. Getting up from where he sat, he downed the cup of wine he had been drinking and made his way to the high table, making sure to put on his most contrite demeanor.
“Your Graces,” he greeted the king, the dead-eyed queen and the seething dowager. He then turned to the other side of the table, “My Princesses, Lord Hand, on behalf of the Paenymion family of Volantis, I wish to congratulate the king for his ascension to the Iron Throne, and look forward to his reign. You will be a great king indeed.”
“Thank you, my Lord,” the king replied.
“Maegoro, you came!” Rhaena called to him excitedly. She still recognised him. Good, “I had heard that a delegation from our Paenymion cousins was coming for the wedding. I am glad to see that it was you.”
“I am honoured to be here princess,” he replied.
There was a mischievous smirk on the princess’ face, “Are you here to ask me for a dance?”
His tongue was tied for a moment, before he answered, “Of course princess. Please, may I have this dance?” he asked after he recovered.
Thankfully, he had been taught Westerosi styles of dancing, so he did not do too badly. Rhaena however, was flawless where he was good. After a time, he let her take the lead.
“I see your dancing has markedly improved,” she teased once the song ended.
Maegoro affected a wounded look, “My dancing has always been spectacular.”
“That is a lie. You have been lied to by whomever told you this.” she replied, followed by the shake of her head, as they left the dance floor.
“So, how are your siblings and cousins? There were ten of them if I recall correctly.”
“Yes princess. And a niece or nephew on the way too. They are well. Grandmother bid me to greet you and Baela, and send condolences for all the losses you’ve suffered due to the war.”
There was a sadness in her eyes as she replied, “They have been received gladly.”
“I wished for a private audience with you and your sister to discuss matters that would be mutually beneficial to both our houses.”
“Straight to business as always I see,” Rhaena teased once more.
Maegoro chuckled, “Tis what brought me all the way here princess. My father sent me as an envoy and empowered me to negotiate on Volantis’ behalf with the Iron Throne.”
This time, she even rolled her eyes, “Of course. I had the same intention, but on the morrow, once the celebrations are done and the wine has left our minds.”
“Oh,” said Maegoro, looking sheepish. Rhaena had the gall to laugh once more.
“Tonight is for dancing cousin. We are celebrating new beginnings” she told him, “enjoy yourself, as I saw Aemon doing.” His ears were burning with embarrassment on behalf of his slut of a cousin.
Luckily, Baela came to get his sister for some purpose or the other and rescue him from his absolute shame.
“We shall meet with you on the day after tomorrow at noon to discuss business,” Rhaena said, once Baela had finished whatever she had been whispering into her twin’s ear, “a servant will come to fetch you.”
After a greeting from Baela and a goodbye from Rhaena, Maegoro left the feast altogether and made his way to the quarters the Paenymion delegation had been alloted in the Red Keep, his mind set on one thing; he was going to kill Aemon.
House Paenymion of Volantis:
Author’s Note:
I hope you’ve enjoyed the chapter and a glimpse into the twins’ plans, Volantene politics and what became of Saera Targaryen, the disgraced daughter of Jaehaerys the Conciliator. Yeah, the irony of that last part is not lost on me either. If you’re wondering which sword the twins gifted Aegon, it is Lamentation, the ancestral sword of House Royce that was lost during the Storming of the Dragonpit. The twins had the rubble cleared so that the remains of Dreamfyre, Tyraxes, Shrykos, Morghul and Syrax could be taken to Dragonstone, just as Vermithor’s, Silverwing’s, Seasmoke’s and Tessarion’s were in chapter 5. In the process, the sword was recovered and repomelled. You can be sure Daemon is looking at his daughters with pride from the great beyond after them sticking it to the Bronze Bitch’s family.
