88

"That's such a nice and impregnable castle you've built. It'd be a shame if something happened to it."

-Lines of Aegon the Conqueror in the play 'The Greatest Conquest'.

114 AC, White Sword Tower, Red Keep

There was something intimate about getting dressed.

First on was a thick gambeson with a pair of matching trousers. The long knee-length coat was padded with linen and covered with a layer of hard dragon leather shedded from Bell's mount Balefyre the last time it moulted. Chainmail had been integrated into the garments, strategically placed such that a layer of fine metal rings would cover anything not protected by her plate armour. There were steel plates integrated atop the lower parts of the maille, essentially a skirt of metal sheets, protecting her waist from harm.

Bell grunted as she tugged the last straps into place, then pulled on a pair of thick woollen socks. Her feet then stepped into a pair of boiled leather combat boots. Unlike most boots made by cobblers, which were constructed solely of leather, these boots had thick soles of hardwood— with grooves carved underneath to ensure grip—nailed beneath the leather and steel-tipped toes tips.

Tucking her trousers into the boots, Bell laced her boots and then pulled on her first piece of armour.

First and foremost was a steel codpiece, a thick piece of metal that covered her groin with a thick layer of solid steel. Despite what many men seemed to think, as a woman, it still hurt a ton to get hit in the groin.

Next was a pair of greaves. Jet-black steel encased everything below Bell's knee, integrated sabatons sitting flush atop her boot's top and leaving only her soles uncovered by the dark metal.

A pair of cuisses made of the same metal were clasped around her thick thighs. The cuisses were fastened onto hoops on the waistband of Bell's codpiece, almost like garter belts. After the curisses came the kneepads, a clever series of straps and fastenings allowing her to connect the curved metal pieces to both the cuisse above and the greave below.

Her lower body fully covered in steel, Bell moved onto her upper body. Grunting, Bell put her right arm through the armhole of the breastplate, then one-handedly pushed her rather weighty breasts under the chest armour. Bell was indisputably the most well-endowed among the female Dragonseeds, which unfortunately meant that even though she wore wrappings around her chest, she had to get armour specifically made to fit her womanly assets.

A lot of breastplates already had bulges in the front, such that blows that struck would be more inclined to deflect or slide off instead of hitting the armour at a flat angle, causing exponentially more damage. Those bulges also helped make armour more fitting for beer-bellied lords. As such, it was a relatively simple modification to the standard template for the castle smith to accommodate her breasts. 

Satisfied that her breasts were secure enough, Bell snapped the hinges on her breastplate shut and securely fastened the straps underneath her left armpit.

The hinges and straps were a distinct improvement over the traditional laces that secured most armour to a warrior. It allowed Bell not to require a squire to aid her into her armour, allowing her to perform what had once been a two-person job by herself.

Pauldrons came on after the breastplate. Great pieces of metal large enough that they could be used as bucklers or a targe, they were engraved with the likeliness of two fearsome dragons wrought in steel. The gorget clasped tight around her throat, and though it was uncomfortable and rather suffocating, Bell did not complain. She'd seen enough men killed because they'd neglected to wear armour around their necks.

Pulling on a pair of leather gloves, Bell tucked them into her sleeves, preventing any skin from being seen, before sliding on thick gauntlets. The fingers were vicious claws, and the many small pieces of metal that made them up were equally sharp and jagged, almost like the scales of a dragon. Pulling the straps around her wrists tight, Bell flipped the integrated elbow guards out and connected them to her pauldrons.

She tightened a thick leather belt around her waist, strapping in her sword, several backup dirks and knives and a pouch at the back of her waist full of odds and ends, including her moneybag.

Her warhammer came off the weapons rack on the nearby wall. A relic of House Targaryen, it was a massive and heavy beast with a head of solid dragonstone and a long handle of Fyrewood. It weighed so much that a strong man would struggle to lift it with both hands.

Bell picked it up like it weighed no more than a dagger and causally strapped it onto her back.

Her helmet was shaped like a dragon, with horns and teeth made of actual dragon teeth. The helm sat flush atop Bell's gorget, fully encasing the knight in a shell of steel that hid all skin from sight.

The white cloak was the very last thing Bell would don. A simple thing of white wool, stretching from her shoulders to her knees. Though longer than those worn by all of her sworn siblings, Bell had been explicit that the length of the cloak not be so long that she'd constantly trip over it in a swordfight.

Bell gingerly fingered the white wool, for one instant seeing the snow-white cloth stained red with blood.

———

114 AC, Tourney Grounds, King's Landing

"Gentle Mother, font of mercy,

save our sons from war, we pray,

stay the swords and stay the arrows,

let them know a better day."

Naerys had a beautiful singing voice. So high and so clear in the way only young girls could accomplish. Like the beautiful trilling of a bird or the lovely chimes of a bell.

For a moment, nothing happened, but then her hands lit up with radiant light, flesh reknitting under their shine.

Susurrations of awe rippled through the stands, and Bell heard the fervent prayers of those moved by the sight. She idly wondered how many would be so starstruck if they realised that what Naerys wielded was not Miracles of the Seven, but in truth healing magic— Natural, yes. But one which was grounded in Valyrian sorcery.

"Gentle Mother, strength of women,

help our daughters through this fray,

soothe the wrath and tame the fury,

teach us all a kinder way."

The light intensified for a brief moment before fading into beautiful motes of iridescent rainbow.

"Thank you, Naerys." Bell gravelled as she clenched her fist once, twice, thrice, before delicately flexing her fingers of her freshly-reattached right arm. Naerys' healing was perfect, with not even a scar to mar her skin. 

"Anything for a sister." Naerys beatifically smiled. "Think nothing of it."

Just then, Aemon approached them both. Bell's younger brother held Blackfyre in his hands, offering it up solemnly to Rhaenyra.

Unbidden, Bell knelt as her cousin drew the famed blade of Aegon the Conqueror.

"Lady Bell." Rhaenyra the Dragonqueen declared. Her voice was soft, yet sorcery allowed it to ring through the air, such that none in the audience could fail to hear her. The entire grandstand was quiet as a graveyard, everyone staring in rapt attention.

"In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just." She said, tapping Blackfyre on Bell's shoulder.

"In the name of the Mother, I charge you to defend the young and innocent." Blackfyre tapped the other shoulder.

"In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.

In the name of the Smith, I charge you to be strong.

In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women.

In the name of the Crone, I charge you to keep your Lord's secrets."

As she invoked each god, Rhaenyra moved Blackfyre between Bell's shoulders. Before finally placing the point beneath Bell's chin and slowly raising her head, careful to avoid accidentally cutting her. "In the name of the Stranger, I charge you to slay the wicked."

Rhaenyra's words seemed to ripple in the air, ringing with finality. Bell shuddered as she felt the commands sink into herself, branding itself red-hot onto her soul, permanently marking her.

"It seems fitting, that you be the one to knight me." Bell whispered, looking up at her cousin.

"It is equally fitting, that you be the very first person I knight." Rhaenyra agreed, tears of pride or joy glistening in her eyes.

Tears which pooled in Bell's eyes as well. She resisted the urge to sniff. She hadn't cried since she was two, and yet now the tears just threatened to spill out.

"Arise, Ser Bell Fyre, a Knight of the Seven Kingdoms." The Dragonqueen declared, helping Bell to her feet as the crowd thundered their applause.

Archsepton Eustace then bustled over and swiftly administered her vows as a Kingsguard. But once he'd finished and the applause died down once more, Rhaenyra stepped up.

Behind her, Shaeterys and Rhaegar set down a large crate.

"As congratulations for your ascension to the Kingsguard, I have a gift for you, Ser Bell." Rhaenyra declared, gesturing to the crate. "And it is one, I think, that you will find most poignant."

Before a crowd of two thousand, Bell plodded over to the crate, noting that it was too large to contain any weapons, which meant it wasn't a Valyrian steel blade like Peregrine. That had been her first guess when Rhaenyra mentioned a gift. Unable to think of any other viable options, Bell shrugged and pulled off the lid.

And immediately stumbled backward, hand falling to the hilt of her sword instinctively before she realised what was before her.

Behind her, the oldest amongst the crowd let out wails of terror, remembering days when the worst tyrant seen by Westeros reigned. A man who massacred tens of thousands of innocent smallfolk. A man who cut down any lord whom defied him, or whose lands, wives, or riches he coveted. A man who hunted down the Poor Fellows and Warrior's Sons like vermin. If there were ever an avatar of the Seven Hells on Planetos, it would be him.

The suit of armour was empty and dusty. But there was no mistaking that black and twisted steel, with runes painted with blood on the underside of the plates— enchantments laid by Queen Visenya herself to ensure that her son would be ever victorious and ever triumphant in battle— and engraved with countless dragons on the metal, with gemstones looted from defeated foes set as the eyes of the many dragons. The massive breastplate alone was imposing enough, but the helm was the worst. A snarling and monstrous dragon so lifelike that children openly wept in fear at the sight of it.

Even after over half a century since his death, Maegor's spectre was enough to cause men to quiver.

"My gift to you, Bell, is the armour of Maegor the Cruel." Rhaenyra grinned, and it was a savage and vicious thing. All fangs and malice. "As a little girl, you once said you wanted to be as big and strong as him. Though far more valiant and kind.

"I give this armour to you, Bell, as a reminder of that. You earned your place in this Kingsguard through the murder of your predecessor, and I know better than most that such an act is but a step on a truly slippery slope." Rhaenyra looked Bell straight in the eyes, indigo meeting lilac. "Remember thus: Strength without limits is mere violence."

Bell gulped as she felt a tremendous and crushing pressure descend upon her shoulders. The world seemed to fade away, leaving behind only Bell, Rhaenyra, and that monstrous helm.

"This was once the armour of the greatest warrior Westeros has ever seen." The Dragonqueen declared. "You will be worthy of it, Ser Bell. For better or for worst."

———

114 AC, White Sword Tower, Red Keep

That moment passed, and Bell mastered herself once more.

Throwing the cloak onto her shoulders, Bell clasped the cloth with a pair of rondels—the right inlaid with a great bell, the left bearing the chalice that was Ser Wingood's personal heraldry— the only part of the armour that had not once belonged to Maegor. And though they were relatively light, compared to all the steel she was wearing, Bell could not help but feel as though they each outmassed the Black Dread itself, for they were reminders that it was her that would redeem this armour, not be corrupted by it.

Dragon's maw snapping shut as the visor came down, Ser Bell strode out of her quarters. A beast clad in unyielding black steel, ready for her very first day as a Kingsguard.

———

114 AC, Dragonstone Countryside

"There are three steps to any spell." Rhaenyra recited to the three children before her. "Formula, will and execution. Repeat after me: Formula, will, execution."

"Formula, will, execution." Aegon and Helaena obediently chorused, but Aemond merely scowled and sat back sullenly in his seat.

After the wedding, there had been a slow but gradual thaw between Queen Alicent and Prince Rhaenyra, especially after it came out that Nyra was pregnant.

Already, they had announced before the entire Royal Court the betrothal of Rhaenyra's unborn child to either Aegon or Helaena. Moreover, should the child die in infancy or be stillborn, Rhaenyra had confirmed Aegon as her heir apparent.

And as part of the improved relations between the two royal ladies, Rhaenyra had offered to tutor her younger siblings in sorcery personally.

"You are a bit too young for the formulas. So it is will I shall teach you first." Rhaenyra continued. "A lot of magic can be done if you believe that it can be done."

The Crown Prince flicked her wrist, casually levitating Bell's mace off of the ground and making it spin in the air without any visible support, to the oohing and aahing of the kids.

Another flick of the wrist saw the mace return to Bell's hands, and Nyra turned to face her siblings once more.

"Now you try." She instructed, picking up three pebbles and setting them on a nearby rock. "Lift those pebbles without touching them."

Even as the kids began waving their wands at the pebbles, Queen Alicent leaned over to speak to Bell.

"I thought magic couldn't be done without a dragon nearby."

"The more power-intensive spells." Bell shrugged. "Lifting a pebble hardly qualifies."

"Hmm… and can a non-Targaryen also learn magic?" Queen Alicent frowned.

"I don't know." Bell answered truthfully. "I'm technically of the Dragon's blood but can't even use a glass candle. Just don't have the knack for it."

"It takes a lot of training." Nyra replied, plopping down into the seat beside Alicent. "It's why I started them young. If they're too old, their minds become too stiff and obstinate to perform sorcery easily."

"Did you just call me senile?" Uncle Viserys amusedly accused. "That's lèse-majesté, young lady!"

"No, I never called you senile." Nyra drawled back. "I just called you old and slow."

"You forgot fat and stubborn, my dear." Alicent added, both ladies laughing as Viserys spluttered in offence.

"Typical." Uncle Viserys griped to Bell with a dramatic sigh. "The one thing those two agree on is mocking me."

Bell grunted noncommittally, deciding that discretion was the better part of valour and keeping out of this little spat. Instead she turned her attention onto the three kids, who were decidedly failing at levitating their pebbles.

"This is impossible!" Aemond finally yelled, throwing his wand aside in anger. "You lied to us! Magic isn't happening!"

Rhaenyra sighed and got back to her feet, a flick of her wrist calling the wand Aemond had just thrown into her hands.

"Rule number one of magic: Nothing is impossible." Rhaenyra stated.

The Crown took a single step forwards… and suddenly appeared right behind Aemond, ten feet away.

"Case in point: Teleportation is theoretically impossible under the laws of magic…"

Even as the kids and adults yelped in surprise, Rhaenyra suddenly vanished once more, reappearing near-instantly atop one of the seven great stone obelisks surrounding them in a ring.

"And yet I have found a way to do it practically."

Rhaenyra casually jumped straight off of the fifteen-foot obelisk, reappearing out of thin air back right behind Aemond.

"So do not speak to me of impossibility, valonquar." The Crown Prince scornfully replied, slapping the wand back into her brother's hands.

Aemond turned red and looked like he was about to throw a tantrum before Alicent intervened.

"Now, now. They are still young children." The Queen placated, stepping between the oldest and the youngest of the royal siblings. "Mayhaps another demonstration is in order.

"Show them how it's done, Rhaenyra." Alicent suggested.

"As you wish." Rhaenyra acquiesced, squaring her shoulders and closing her eyes as she took a deep breath.

There was pressure in the air now, like ozone before a storm. Both the King and Queen backed away involuntarily, and Bell had to consciously force herself not to move as power was gathered within Rhaenyra. So much so that even someone as sorcery-blind as Bell could feel it.

Bell shivered as coolness spread through the stony clearing they were gathered at, like the deepest depths of a pond that never saw sunlight. She wasn't alone, the warm afternoon immediately vanishing as all heat seemed to be sucked out of the air.

It felt like the world itself was inhaling. Waiting with bated breath for Rhaenyra to move.

A heartbeat later, the Dragonqueen let out her breath in a single whoosh. Eyes snapping open, Rhaenyra thrust her arms out in a sweeping movement.

The three pebbles rose into the air.

As did the boulder they rested upon.

As did every single rock on the stony ground around them.

As did all seven of the massive stone obelisks surrounding them.

As did Rhaenyra herself.

The Dragonqueen rose thirty feet in the air, all the stones rising with her. Tons and tons of rock orbited her like rings around a planet. Swirling and spinning around her in utter defiance of gravity.

"Seven Hells." Viserys cussed in awe, his wife nodding in stunned silence instead of chiding her husband for his language.

The children were quiet as the grave, staring up at their elder sister with no small amount of fear and reverence. Even Aemond, whom despised Rhaenyra with all his being, seemed cowed by this wondrous display of telekinesis.

"There are no limits to your power; save those you place upon yourselves." The best mage on the continent—and potentially, the world—proclaimed, voice ringing with eldritch might and ancient knowledge. "Know thus: It is only impossible if you believe that it is impossible."

Rhaenyra slowly drifted back down to the earth, all the stones landing gently back where they started the instant her feet touched the ground.

"Now you try." She encouraged, pushing her three siblings forward with a winning smile.

Three seconds later, the children were laughing with glee as their pebbles rose into the air.

———

114 AC, Red Keep

"It is my great joy and pleasure to announce that, like my stepdaughter, I am with child." Queen Alicent announced to the royal court to great cheers and fanfare.

After the applause had died down, Rhaenyra stepped up. The Crown Prince had started wearing dresses more often these days, for her belly had started to swell.

"Most excellent news, my friend." She smiled. "When is the baby due?"

"Two or three moons after your own, Rhaenyra." Alicent replied. "At the end of this year or the start of the next."

"Daeron." Rhaenyra softly said. So soft that even though Bell was beside the Crown Prince, she nearly missed the word.

"I would request something from you, my stepdaughter."

"And that would be?"

"Will you be godmother to this child?"

Gasps spread through the Royal court at Queen Alicent's stunning declaration.

"I would be honoured." Rhaenyra smiled, walking up and throwing her arms around Alicent. "My dear stepmother."

For a moment, it felt like time was standing still, the entire world watching on with bated breath as the Queen Bitch of the Blacks embraced the Queen Bitch of the Greens.

And for the first moment since King Viserys' marriage, Bell could not smell war in the air.

———

114 AC, Tower of the Hand,

"The detente is holding." Laena noted in surprise.

"Indeed it is." Rhaenyra agreed as they both sipped hot cocoa— Rhaenyra had been fastidiously abstaining both wine and coffee ever since the wedding for some obscure reason— under moonlight on the crenellated balcony atop the Tower of the Hand.

Bell herself was not with the two lovers, but she was close enough to overhear.

"I'm surprised it worked."

"Reconciliation was never impossible." Nyra shrugged. "You see, Alicent and Otto's most overriding goal is the acquisition of power. Their blood on the Iron Throne. Given the number of dragons at my disposal, they know that a war to seize the throne would end poorly for them."

"Girls whom cannot become queens should aim to become influential ladies, such that their daughters may try again in their stead." Laena quoted contemplatively. "If Aegon outright inherits the Iron Throne from you, that satisfies their agenda. Better even in some ways… more legitimacy."

"Agreed. I have no intention of marrying again or birthing any more children." The Heir to the Iron Throne nodded. "And I've promised so to the Greens."

"And you don't break your promises." The Heiress to High Tide nodded back. "You will still get suitors, though. Hundreds if not thousands of them."

"Isn't that what I've got Bell for?" Rhaenyra joked, and Bell couldn't help but crack a smile from her hidden alcove behind the tower door. "I'd dearly like to see how pushy my suitors can be when I've got her looming right behind me."

Laena laughed pretty heartily at that, and the conversation lulled.

"But what of the Faith? I wouldn't put it past some people to influence the High Septon into making some proclamation that a land without both King and Queen is a land doomed to fail. And either way, they'll raise a fuss if you're unmarried."

"I've got a few ideas around them. Probably make the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms into an actual office with real power. Fold the Hand's authority into theirs. Shape the role into an actual co-ruler the way Grandmama intended instead of being just a ruler's wife."

"You're serious?"

"It's how some places did it back home. Most countries that I can think of off the bat had vice presidents or deputy prime ministers. While some were primarily ceremonial, others had real power second only to the person in the high seat."

"Interesting. Then what did they call the ruler's spouse?"

"The First Lady. Or First Gentleman. It denotes respect, though very little real authority. It's basically the role most queens have had in Westerosi history."

There was a long and pregnant pause.

"Will you name me Queen?" Laena hesitantly asked.

"Oh god no. You're definitely not the type of person I want as my vice-president!" Nyra fervently denied, Laena letting out a soft sigh of relief at that. "Completely wrong temperament."

"Agreed. So who are you considering?"

"My child." Nyra softly answered, placing a delicate hand on her swelling belly. "When I think them ready to serve. It'll be great experience before they eventually inherit my crown and allow for a smooth transition of power."

"That's still gonna be quite a long while, though."

"Yeah. In the interim period, I'll probably name Helaena or Aegon my Queen or Vice-King."

"That's still gonna be quite a long while before they're ready to rule."

"It's still gonna be quite a long time before I drum up enough support to pass that reform." The Dragonqueen countered. "Alongside all of my other ideas to make the Seven Kingdoms into a properly functional constitutional monarchy."

There was a long pause.

"I thought that you said democracy was overrated."

"It totally is, and you know it!" Nyra pouted. "But this is different. We'll still be on top, but the lords and commoners will be getting a lot of superficial legislative power and rights that will make them believe that they have real power in the going-ons of the Realm."

"Ah, bread and circuses." Laena smirked. "So what will you give the people to bite into, to keep them happy?"

"The Great Council is going to be a permanent thing, no question about that. I'm currently debating how many people will be in that body and how to divvy up the seats, but there'll be at least a few people to represent each of the Kingdoms. The Small Council can stay, but I'm also considering reforms there. We'll also have to decide on a constitution and a Supreme Court to ratify that.

"There will be no more private armies in the Seven Kingdoms, and the sale and trade of weapons will be heavily restricted. The Legions will be the only armed force in Westeros, and will be massively expanded via conscription, in order to field enough men to see to our internal and external security."

"They won't like that last one."

"Then it's a good thing you're a very persuasive woman, O rider of Vhagar."

"Point taken."

"But for all I know, I might only install all of those policies when I'm a year or three away from retirement. Don't want to tie my hands too early into my reign."

"Retirement? You mean to abdicate the throne?"

"I never intended on reigning unto death." Rhaenyra shrugged. "I always intended on passing down the Iron Throne to a younger and more vital leader once I've had my fill of ruling."

There was a long pause, a silence broken only by the soft sips of cocoa.

"And what then?" Laena finally asked. "What would you do?"

"Head back for Singapore, probably." Nyra shrugged. "If Daena's reports are accurate, the House of the Undying should allow me to find my way back home."

There was a very long silence at that.

"Do you think you'll succeed?" Laena finally asked.

"Hell if I know. But it'll definitely be an interesting way to spend my retirement."

———

114 AC, Hull, Driftmark,

Godsdamnit why was Aerion firing arrows at an unarmed girl?

Nyra had been very explicit about their orders to bring her in unharmed.

Regardless, the petite teenager was pretty quick, despite being three moons pregnant, slipping behind a row of crates and letting them eat the arrows for her.

She dashed out of the other end of the alleyway, agilely sliding between Aemon's outstretched arms, before shoving Bell's squire and younger brother in the back such that he nearly took an arrow in the eye.

"Aerion, quit shooting!" Baela yelled. "You're gonna get us killed."

"Fuck off!" Aerion yelled back. "It's not my problem you're too slow to dodge!"

At that, he unleashed another volley, uncaring that there was an entire crowd of people in the line of fire.

Cussing, Baela unslung her own bow and fired half a dozen arrows in an instant, shooting down half of Aerion's arrows midflight. Of the remaining five arrows, Aemon on the street tackled a couple of laundresses out of the way of a pair of arrows before cutting down another two with his sword. Unfortunately, he was too far away to stop the last two arrows, which buried themselves in the backs of two unfortunate fishermen.

They went down with cries of pain, not that Aerion cared.

Bell's younger brother simply dashed on, rooftiles cracking under his footsteps. He easily leapt over a large avenue in a single bound, landing on the other side already poised to fire.

The bloodforged arrow was loosed, arrowtip shining bright crimson. Their target's eyes widening as she realised that she would not be able to dodge in time.

She didn't need to, for Bell immediately jumped in front of the arrow, wincing as the arrow sprouted from her back.

"Marilda of Hull." Bell got out between gritted teeth as she grabbed the teenager's wrists, gently but firmly. "You are under arrest."

A second arrow thudded straight into Bell's back, causing her to stutter. A third caused her to drop the handcuffs in pain. Marilda immediately countertwisted out of Bell's grasp and took off sprinting down the alleyway. The fourth would have taken Bell in the spine had another arrow not intercepted it midair.

Leaping off a rooftop, Baela fired two more arrows while in midair, intercepting two more of Aerion's shots. Her boots landed on Marilda's shoulders, knocking the teenager down.

Despite that, Marilda was somehow back on her feet a second later, only to quite literally run into Aemon. Bell's squire was more prepared this time though, and was able to swiftly grab ahold of Marilda and slap handcuffs onto her before she could escape once more.

"Aerion, stop firing!" Baela yelled. "We've got her!"

"Not quite." Aerion grinned, nocking yet another bloodforged arrow and firing it straight at Marilda.

An inch before the arrow would have taken Marilda in the throat, a small hand snatched it out of the air.

Deftly twirling the arrow in his hand, magic swirling around the small projectile, Daemon Junior bent his shoulder backward before throwing the arrow like a javelin. The projectile flew true, unerringly sailing straight through the air and slicing straight through Aerion's bowstring before punching into the boy's left shoulder.

"And that was done one-handed." The nine-year-old smugly boasted, waving young Addam Waters around in his arms as behind him, Aerion went down with a shout of pain.

———

114 AC, High Tide

Aerion choked as Bell one-handedly slammed him up against a wall.

"What the fuck was up with today?" Bell hissed, steel-clad hand closing around her brother's throat. "We were ordered to bring Marilda and her son in unharmed, and not only did you nearly kill her on several occasions, but you also shot two innocent bystanders!"

"He also shot you, thrice." Daemon Junior drawled from behind her. "And would have hit you another three times had it not been for Baela."

Bell grimaced at the reminder. Rhaenyra had healed Bell up after the fight, but the cursed arrows had done a lot of damage. The Dragonqueen was somewhat surprised that Bell had not only survived long enough to reach her, but was still on her feet the entire time.

Baela had japed that Bell had been too angry to die, which Nyra had laughed at before she left to room to speak with Lord Corlys.

And speaking of which…

"How can this be anything but a betrayal?! We had an agreement, you and I!"

"My son is dead! And you didn't spare a thought to save him!" 

"I've already explained why I could not to you! Our agreement still stood, even after Laenor's death!"

It was rather telling how angry the Dragonqueen was that she'd forgotten to put up the usual privacy spells, allowing the Dragonseeds whom had captured Lord Corlys' mistress to hear the entire conversation.

"Whew, Rhaenyra is pissed." Daemon whistled. "Then again, she always did have a temper. Little spider hates it when her puppets don't dance to her tune."

There was the sound of something shattering. A vase or a wineglass.

"So how does Lord Corlys having a pair of bastards anger Nyra so?" Baela asked.

"It's because of their prior agreement." Aemon revealed. "He keeps quiet that Rhaenyra is sleeping with Laena; she keeps quiet that Laenor was sleeping with Joffrey Lonmouth. And as an added benefit, she makes him her Hand of the King and marries his son."

"Except now that Laenor has kicked the bucket, ol Corlys is reconsidering the deal." Daemon Junior grinned. "If he reveals dear Rhaenyra to the Faith, her rule would go down in flames."

"Laena will also go down with Rhaenyra, depriving Lord Corlys of a much-needed heiress to his holdings. Which Rhaenyra assumed would have stayed his hand." Aemon added. "But now that he has another child…"

"Ah, I see." Baela snapped her fingers. "Legitimising young Addam would be a trivial gift from the Greens once King Aegon ascends the Iron Throne."

"As fascinating as this is…" Bell growled, throttling Aerion, whom was rapidly turning blue in the face. "But what should we do with this rabid dog?"

"Don't kill him." Aemon warned. "Rhaenyra didn't give you permission to kill him."

"After all the friendly fire and collateral damage today?" Baela asked. "I'll be surprised if she doesn't murder him herself."

"Still, you don't want to be the next person the little queen takes to task." Daemon languidly shrugged, lazily flopping a hand at Bell. "So drop him."

Bell snarled but reluctantly agreed with her siblings. She released her hand, allowing Aerion to fall to his knees, gasping and coughing from the rough strangulation.

She gave him one last kick to the side, enjoying the sound of ribs cracking, before stomping back to the rest of her siblings and plopping down onto a couch.

"So what now?" Bell asked. "Will House Velaryon no longer number among the Blacks?"

"Unlikely." Aemon shook his head. "Their wealth and influence is without peer. They represent a significant pillar amongst the Blacks."

"But Rhaenyra's Westeros Trade Federation is growing ever-richer by the day." Bell's youngest brother countered. "She might well decide she doesn't need Lord Corlys anymore and ditch him."

"The WTF merchants are skilled, yes." Baela conceded. "But I doubt that she'll so callously discard such an important ally. She'll probably make him lose a few fingers as a penalty, but she won't outright break with him."

"That's assuming Rhaenys doesn't outright murder Corlys for cheating on her." Daemon laughed, the nine-year-old's face splitting into a truly vicious grin. "She's the very picture of that fiery Targaryen temper."

———

114 AC, Red Keep,

"And as such, I shall acknowledge young Addam Fyre and his unborn sibling as my late husband's children, with all attendant rights and privileges as a bastard of House Targaryen, and welcome Marilda of Hull into the Fyrepit." The Dragonqueen proclaimed before the entire royal court.

At the close of the session, Bell, Nyra and Lord Corlys found themselves in a locked room with Marilda and her young son. As per her role as Rhaenyra's foremost enforcer, Bell immediately stood behind her liege, doing her best to loom threateningly over everyone in the room.

"Remember thus: No more second chances." The Dragonqueen warned, accusingly jabbing a finger into the Sea Snake's chest to punctuate her point. And though the man looked livid, he did not talk back to the Hand of the King.

———

Three years.

That was how long truce had been struck between Blacks and Greens.

Lord Otto had not been idle that entire time, having successfully consolidated much of the Reach under the Green banner. Meanwhile, Lady Cerelle Lannister had managed to wrangle her many vassals into a semblance of order. Much of her opposition had been sent up North in the Sixth Legion in an unofficial banishment, allowing her the full run of the Kingdom. The Westerlands were now a powerful and unified bloc, even moreso than the Reach itself.

Already, the Lady of Casterly Rock was negotiating for greater concessions from the Greens, angling for her son to snag a betrothal with Princess Helaena.

Queen Alicent had not been idle either. While the terms of the truce prevented her from outright bartering her children's marriages, she'd still been able to send subtle overtures to the Great Houses.

Old Lord Boremund, though now bedridden and dying from crabs-in-the-belly, had all but secured a betrothal between his granddaughter and heiress Cassandra with Prince Aegon. With such a commodity, odds were good that the Stormlands would flip Green once the half-brother of the Old King passed.

That was not to say that the Blacks had sat idle. Shaeterys' marriage to Lady Jeyne— purely political, much like Rhaenyra's own marriage, for Jeyne too preferred women— ensured that the Vale would be a united bloc behind their Lady Paramount.

Lord Jonas Blacktyde's sweeping successes with the Gold Fleet's voyages had seen him propelled to near-mythological levels amongst the Ironborn. The Iron Islands backed him, and the Iron Throne by extension, and were loyal in a way never seen before.

The North and lands Beyond-the-Wall had always been loyalists to Rhaenyra, but with the discovery of the New North and subsequent cultural exchange, their devotion had been turbo-charged with a renewed vigour and near-religious fervour. Indeed, thanks to her many deeds and accomplishments benefiting the Northern Kingdoms, a great number of people, lords and commoners alike, in those lands now considered Rhaenyra half a god.

The canals and the development of Harrenhal as the financial hub of Westeros had seen the Riverlands reap a great many rewards, and business in the region was booming. While the Kingdom had always been the most divisive and fractious of the lot, with no real central unifying authority—given House Tully's relative weakness—it could not be denied that Rhaenyra was exceedingly popular amongst the Lords and Ladies of the Riverlands. If she called the banners, theirs would undoubtedly be unanimously Black.

Dorne was a different story. Despite all of her efforts to buy their love, no man in the street would willingly support the woman whom conquered them underfoot. Still, even deeper was the notion that a firstborn daughter inherited over a secondborn son. Dornish history was filled with many such examples, of grasping younger brothers and scheming older sisters, and many of the Ladies of Dorne could not help but feel a certain kinship with Rhaenyra. Still, it was dubious that any real power in the region would send even a single man in support of Rhaenyra's banner. It was even more dubious that they would send help to Aegon, of course, and so their neutrality was neither good nor bad.

But then, Rhaneyra flipped the board.

Betrothing her heir to either Aegon or Helaena was a masterstroke of realpolitik, as was Alicent naming Rhaenyra godmother of her own unborn child. Before the entire Realm, the foremost ladies of both Blacks and Greens were openly making amends.

It was a common sight now to see the Dragonseeds taking the Princes and Princess out to play. For Rhaenyra and Alicent to spend entire afternoons chatting amicably in the gardens. For Rhaenyra to be seen reading aloud bedtime stories to her younger half-siblings, and Alicent doing the same to Rhaenyra's stepson Addam. Or for Ser Gwayne Hightower to spar and train with aspiring Kingsguard Aemon Fyre even as Bell drilled Aegon and Aemond on how to strike with practice blades.

There was even a rumour that since Rhaenyra and Corlys had a bit of a falling out, Rhaenyra was now openly shopping for a replacement for the Sea Snake as her Hand of the King. It was also rumoured that Otto Hightower was the foremost candidate for the role.

The smell of civil war in the air was fast fading. And now, instead, people smelt reconciliation and mending.

That would not do.

Larys Strong had not spent decades scheming just to see his beautifully laid plans fall apart all around him. Chaos was a ladder, and House Strong would climb it all the way to the top.

Just then, the door to his private quarters opened.

"The Prince and her retinue have set out." His sister Alys replied.

"Are you sure?"

"Lord Commander Darklyn and Ser Bell were among the group. And Rhaenyra still carries Dark Sister, despite her pregnancy." Alys shrugged. "Unfortunately, I could not perform a scan to double-check, but one would have to be blind not to feel Rhaenyra's raw power."

"That's her, then." Larys nodded. "Visiting an orphanage in Flea Bottom like the perfect Princess she is."

"She might survive, you know." Alys cautioned. "Rhaenyra is a highly competent war-mage; it's not out of the question."

"That works too. She won't take an attack like this lying down." Larys shrugged

They left it at that, the two of them gazing out of the window at the sprawling city beneath them. They spent the next hour of two in utter silence, moving not a muscle.

Long enough for the royal retinue to cross the city.

Long enough for Rhaenyra and company to reach Flea Bottom.

Long enough for the Crown Prince to dismount and play with the orphans.

Long enough for the long truce between the Blacks and the Greens to come to an end.

And at precisely three seconds after the truce ended, a brilliant ball of green fire burst into existence in Flea Bottom.

A massive green explosion, devouring three city blocks and the Royal retinue instantly.

———

114 AC, Flea Bottom

Dark Sister clattered to the ground, blackened and burnt. The only survivor of the blast.

Everything else was buried in a sea of ashes and flickering green flames.

Notes:

Dun dun dun!