Chapter 8: A Princess for a Prince

Opening his eyes, the King of Westeros found himself standing. Stranded in the middle of an empty field… it looked much like Dragonstone, but the ocean wasn't in sight. Just an endless expanse of black, ashy soil.

"Hello? Is anyone there?" Aegon heard nothing but far off echoes, to which he drew Blackfyre from his scabbard. "Show yourselves!"

"That isn't the sword I wished to see, but I do like the battle look about you."

That voice… he would never forget that voice no matter how much time passed. Sword hand dropping, Aegon wheeled around and his breath hitched. "Rhae?"

The image of Rhaenys Targaryen still in her prime smiled at him, eyes sparkling with joy and tears at their reunion - even if but momentary. "Greetings, dear brother-husband." It was then she couldn't wait any longer and leapt into his arms, lips crashing on his. "Gods… I missed this."

"I missed you," Aegon replied, breathless. "It hasn't been the same without you, Rhae."

"I know, but I have been comforted that you and Vis have had each other." She smiled and caressed his neck. "How the two of you admitted your love for each other, I saw it all. I'm proud of the both of you." A tiny smirk curled on her lips. "You couldn't have done it sooner, cause our intimate hours would have been far more pleasurable based on what I've seen."

Aegon groaned. "You were always a lecher, Rhae."

"Both of you loved it." Her smile shifted to one of sadness. "I would give anything for you to stay beside me for eternity, but I can't do that to Vis. She loves and needs you too, for her life is far more stressful than mine." A nod of understanding came from Aegon, his shoulders slumping from an invisible weight upon them. Rhae truly wished for both her siblings to be beside her, but she could wait. She had time. "It's not your time yet, Egg. Your reign must continue."

"I've done what I could to unite the kingdoms. There isn't much else."

"There is… our sons, Egg. Aenys and Maegor, you cannot leave them just yet."

He raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

Rhaenys reached up to cup his cheeks, kissing him softly before resting her forehead against his. "You cannot let any division form between them. Only together - my blood and Vis' blood - will what we built survive."

"I understand…"

"No. You have to promise me, Egg." But before her, he began to fade. "Our time is soon done, please promise me. Promise me…" she begged.

He squeezed her arm. "Aye, I promise." Before they were torn apart, Aegon resumed their kiss, making her moan…

And then he was gone again, the spirit of Rhaenys Targaryen left alone. Wrapping her arms protectively around her, Rhaenys let the tears fall. She knew it wasn't his time, but still missed him…

"Be strong, Egg. Be strong, Vis… do what you need to do, then we can be together again."

Pulling the silken sheet back, Aegon held a small smile on his lips as both of his sons' expressions changed upon seeing the masterpiece before them. "Behold, my sons."

Aenys and Maegor were a study in contrasts. The Crown Prince was dressed in pure finery that suited his more slender frame, silk and cotton waistcoat and outer robes imported from Myr and Tyrosh, inlaid with gold trim and dyed purple. A black sash kept it together, while the robe was lined with red felt - he still kept the Targaryen colors. Maegor on the other hand reveled in the colors of their House, a black cuirass met red trousers and undertunic, blade sheathed at his back completing the far simpler outfit. He even wore his hair short like his father, while Aenys grew it long and lustrous.

As different as brothers could be, they still stood close. A united front, much to Aegon's delight. "You have to promise me, Egg." He remembered his dream, but what did Rhaenys worry about? Aenys loved his brother, and Maegor was absolutely loyal. He didn't need to be incredibly perceptive to see it.

"What is this, father?" Aenys asked, taking in the large model resting atop a stone table.

Maegor peered at it. "It's a keep of some kind, brother. But I have seen no other like it."

Clapping his hands, Aegon stepped in between his sons and clasped their shoulders. "This, my sons, is the future." The keep clearly rested atop a hill. Red sandstone lined the outer walls, with large towers topped with conical roofs stabbed into the air - much as the design of Highgarden, though combining both functionality and style. "A perfect mix of our heritage and our new domain." The inner keep departed radically from the outer design. It resembled Dragonstone, black as night and with tall, imposing walls. Extending out of it towards the far edge, connected by a large colonnade, was a high-vaulted hall inlaid with large windows. "This is the new keep to be built atop this very hill."

Both of his sons looked at him, eyes widened. "You mean to replace the Aegonfort?" Aenys breathed.

"Yes, my son. This… thing may be suited for a military expedition, but it isn't befitting for the inheritors of Old Valyria's power."

Nodding along, Maegor traced the edge. "It is quite impressive, but where are the dragons to roost?"

Aegon waved off the concern. "We'll find a place for them, don't worry." Proud of the design, to which he consulted himself on, the King pointed to the ornately windowed far edge. "This is where the Iron Throne will go. This is where you will rule the Kingdoms from, Aenys, and your heir after you."

"Father, while this is most impressive… this keep has to be bigger than Dragonstone. Bigger than Highgarden…"

"Or Winterfell," Maegor added."

Aenys looked at his brother with an amused expression. "Aye, sure." Winterfell may have been an ancient, august keep, but far too dull and drab. "I find this both awe-inspiring and aesthetically pleasing father, but what of the cost?"

A snort. "I don't intend to build it in a day, Aenys, but the cost is the least of the worries. We have enough coin to see it happen."

"But father, an overly elaborate keep would be a needless antagonization of the other Lords?"

The King narrowed his eyes at his son. "We are Royals now. I am disgusted with those that claim we live in squalor while Lord Hightower or Lord Tyrell or Lord Lannister live in true glory. We need a keep deserving of our new station - Lords of Dragonstone we are not anymore, my sons."

Clearing his throat, the younger son interjected. "Father, I believe that what my brother means is that we risk looking like Black Harren if we devote too much time and coin to this project to the exclusion of all others." While a different man - or woman - could be insulted at his weighing in, Aenys smiled at his brother. The man truly held no guile.

"A worthy concern, Maegor. Such is why I intend to build it in stages… as well as recoup a favor from the Starry Sept. We built the Sept of Remembrance and refurbished their domains in Oldtown out of our own pocket. Time for them to recompense."

Aenys beamed. "I am sure Murmison would gladly loan the same glass-blowers that created the colored window displays for the Sept."

The doors opened at that moment to reveal two Kingsguards… flanking a tall woman in a red-black gown. "I see you're showing off your little project, husband." Visenya gave each of her sons a kiss on the cheek before pecking Aegon's lips. "Truth be told, I think our daughter only went willingly to Winterfell so that she need not be bothered with him harping about it."

"It wasn't that often," Aegon replied, scowling.

"Only morning, noon, and night," Visenya laughed, rubbing his hand. "Now, I believe you are late for your daily spar, husband. There are many knights and martially-inclined Lords that I think need a demonstration of your youth and vigor."

He couldn't argue with that. "Alright, let's go."

Maegor moved to follow his father, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. Turning, he faced the smiling face of his mother. "Muna?"

"Egg," Visenya called out to her husband. "Start off with Ser Robin. I need to borrow our son for the moment."

Nodding, Aegon waved his hand. "Take all the time you need, my love." He took Visenya's hand in his, kissing the back of it sweetly. "I'll see you soon, Maegor. Do watch over your mother."

"I will, kepa." He patted his blade. As his father left the corridor towards the sparring courtyard, Visenya looped her hand in his arm. "So, what is it you wish to speak to me about, muna?"

"You've grown considerably, my son. Matured greatly." They walked along the corridor, moving towards the battlements of the inner keep. "No longer do I see the same strains of anger or entitlement you held in your childhood. The North and the Starks made you into a man and I cannot be prouder."

Bowing his head, Maegor couldn't help but puff out ever so slightly at his mother's praise. "When you struggle to survive north of the wall, the taste for combat quickly becomes a sour taste. I have my duties, but tourneys and melees no longer hold appeal to me."

Visenya nods. "While many a marriage or knighthood has been forged through victories at tourneys, such isn't a concern for a Prince, is it?" She reached up, cupping his cheek. "And I think I have found the right betrothal for you." Visenya stifled a laugh when his eyes widened in a resigned horror. "No no, she isn't someone you do not know, and due to her age you'll have enough time to truly come to terms with it… and to get to know her better."

Gulping, Maegor looked out to the outer courtyard, to the palisade and the city spread out beyond. "Whom shall I marry, then?"

"Your niece, Rhaena."

Scurrying in on what was clearly her first day in the role, the serving girl blushed madly at seeing the great King Aegon seated in his private table - dressed down in a tunic and trousers, his still powerful physique obvious to all. "Your dinner, your Grace," she curtseyed as other servants placed other platters upon the table.

A smile on his handsome face, Aegon nodded. "Thank you, my dear." Her blush grew darker, curtseying again before departing. Leaning back with an amused smile, it fell as soon as the King's gaze landed on his wife beside him. "Vis?"

"Must you do that?" she replied, crossing her arms.

"Do what?" He shrugged, smirk barely suppressed on his face. "I have nary a clue."

Visenya rolled her eyes before slugging him in the shoulder, hard. "Being your handsome, charming self. If I have to threaten yet another woman who makes an offer to be the 'King's Mistress' I'll smack your face next time." The Queen was very protective of what was hers. Dorne endured her wroth when Rhaenys was taken from her, and Aegon had endured her fury when a flirtatious highborn maiden pushed her into jealousy… though he hadn't minded at all her reaction when he was concerned. Best couplings of my life.

On in years they might have been, Aegon imagined that Visenya would have jumped him where he sat had it not been for… "No, I can see it, your Grace." Torrhen Stark's shit eating grin was, on the other hand, quite irritating to the King. "You do still possess that Valyrian charm that sends maidens into a fit. Perhaps her Grace should lock you into your chambers on Dragonstone so this doesn't happen again?" He grabbed a chicken leg from one of the platters and bit into it, grinning all the same.

A smile curled on Visenya's lips as well. "That actually seems a proper suggestion, Lord Hand. Do you think so, dear husband?" While Rhaenys had a rather convincing innocent expression, Visenya's was almost eternally devious.

Smirk wiped off into a frown, Aegon grumbled and reached for a carving knife - slicing off a slab of ham that he ate with a fresh roll, still hot. "Let's get back to it, then."

Taking her own roll and dipping it in an auroch stew she fancied, Visenya snickered at her husband's signature brooding reasserted itself. "Alright, Lord Torrhen. Let us spare the King of our double envelopment upon him.

The matters of the day concluded, the King and Queen still held quite a lot on their plate only for their own eyes - and that of the Hand of the King. As such, a working supper was the remedy, something that was quite common for Aegon and Visenya. "Taking the kingdoms was the easy part," mumbled the King after an hour, long since the leftover meal went cold. "Keeping them is reliving Wailing Willows daily."

Torrhen pursed his lips - while he didn't regret the decision to bend the knee as it was the right decision, he needn't be reminded of it. "There are some regions that are in less of a flux than others. Lord Tyrell for example, if anyone's loyal he'd be."

"He owes his entire domain to us," huffed Visenya. "If he wasn't loyal then I'd be surprised, though it isn't out of love." She was a quick study of people. Rhaenys had been, and in the interceding years Visenya had to take up such duties for the good of the Realm. "Without our support then the Hightowers would gobble him up."

"Manfred Hightower is such a plotter, though he's more a tourney knight than a warlike one." Aegon had bested him in one such tourney early in their reign - before Dorne. There was a mutual respect. "His brother the High Septon is even more soft, it's the other one that troubles me."

The Hand knew whom his sovereign was speaking of. "Hugor Flowers, the bastard of Mern Gardener. He's been a quick rise through the ranks of the Faith. Was part of the Most Devout younger than any septon in centuries, quite a favorite in court among the ladies… and your son."

"Yes… I've heard of Aenys' acceptance of the expansion of the Faith Militant. A… tolerable solution to the raids on the Stormlands."

"He was sponsored for higher position by Sharra Arryn, though." Torrhen knew the former Queen of the Vale was not the sort of person to be trifled with. Unlike the weak and pleasure-seeking Lord Ronnel, Torrhen could see through her airs… and her second son Jonos was exactly like her. "We need to preempt his rising any higher. High Septon Gerold is getting on in years."

"Archsepton Tolland is an agreeable man," Aegon observed. "He could be groomed as a potential successor to Gerold."

Visenya shook her head. "I doubt the Starry Sept would heed our counsel. They're still smarting over Hightower's predecessor allowing us free reign during the wars." She could see it in their eyes… the hate. The disgust at their union. It took everything for the Queen not to have Vhagar burn them all.

"Perhaps another Lord… one that is loyal but of the Faith. Argella Baratheon perhaps? Her father still is well regarded in Oldtown for his defeat of the Volentines during the end of the Century of Blood."

Glancing at his wife, she nodded. "Aye, make it happen, Lord Hand."

Torrhen bowed. "As you wish, my King."

Several matters were discussed after, namely royal charters for new mining operations for Lord Reyne of Castamere, concerns over further Dornish infiltrations orchestrated by the notorious Wyl of Wyl that were straining the resources of the marcher lords of the Reach and Stormlands, and the current feud between Lord Bracken and Lord Blackwood over the set of hills known as the Teats. As to the latter, the King was tempted to just award it to Daemon Qoherys as a pox on both of them, but Torrhen talked him down to just split it down the middle - wouldn't please anyone, but didn't look as favoritism. The royal charters for Lord Reyne were granted in order to serve as a counterweight against House Lannister, while Wyl of Wyl drew out some… hard feelings from the King and Queen.

"Set a bounty for him," Aegon growled. "I don't care how high, I want his head."

"I wouldn't advise on that, your Grace," Torrhen replied, his desire to avoid rash decisions but knowing how the man that chopped off their half-brother's hand would not bring out the best in his monarchs.

"If it's finances we're worried about," Visenya said, eerily calm, "then just tell me where to find him and I'll fly Vhagar there personally."

Torrhen met the Queen's gaze. "Dorne and the crown are finally at peace. We cannot afford war there, for it could tear the Kingdoms apart."

Visenya admitted he had a point. "We can't just do nothing."

"Perhaps deploying the Faith Militant to the border," suggested Aegon. "If the High Septon and Hugor Flowers wishes to expand, then let them do something for the Realm while they're at it." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's late, Lord Hand, and we're tired. You have our leave to go."

Nodding, Torrhen rose and bowed. "I am at your command, your Grace, and many thanks for listening to my counsel." Truth be told, the call of a warm bed and Jocelyn snuggled against him was more tempting at the moment than further discussion - that could wait till tomorrow.

Alone at last, Visenya sighed. Her shoulders slumped, eyelids fluttering shut. "Gods… it wasn't supposed to be this way." Leaning forward, she propped her head up with her palms, elbows resting on the table. "You, Rhaenys and I were to unite the Seven Kingdoms underneath our banner, a new Valyrian Empire to herald a new era of greatness."

Heartbroken at his strong wife's dejection, Aegon moved his chair next to Vis and wrapped his arms around her. "Battleplans do not survive contact with the enemy. We knew the risks of trying to subdue the proud Lords of Westeros. In some matters, we held providence. The First Men could have put up far more of a fight against us, but here we are with one as Hand and future grandchildren half-Stark."

Looking up to him, her violet eyes were dim. Sunken in. "Can we trust him? Lord Torrhen?"

"Why do you ask that? He's loyally served us and his heir is our goodson."

Visenya smiled sadly. "Oh Egg… you've always been the most forthright and noble of us and I love you for it, but few in this world are of your attitude." She had learned it the moment a knight sworn under the chivalric code of the Andal Warrior tried to rape her in the corridors of the Hightower - he had gotten Dark Sister shoved into his throat, but served as an important lesson. "All of these Lords have sworn to us and the Starry Sept anointed us as their sovereign, but we still face their duplicity."

Aegon knit his brows. "So what you're saying is that we can only trust ourselves? Not even Lord Torrhen?"

"I trust him more than others… considerably more than others, but we cannot pull wool over our eyes. Only when House Stark is ruled by one of our blood can we consider them of our family."

"I understand." He kissed Vis' neck, smiling as she relaxed in his arms. "So our sons, daughter, grandchildren, our Velaryon cousins, Orys, and Daeron Qoherys of those we can implicitly trust. For the mostly loyal, House Stark, House Celtigar, House Blackwood?"

"And House Tyrell, if by necessity rather than choice. Perhaps House Royce." She frowned. "No other. They are all potential threats unless proven otherwise, which is why I do not wish to betroth Maegor to someone to seek peace or accord."

Blinking, Aegon knew she had picked someone for their son. He could tell. "I feel that is something you've wished to tell me for a while, my love."

She chuckled. "You know me so well, husband." Visenya cupped his cheek. "I think Rhaena would be perfect for him… when she comes of age of course."

"That's not the way things are done in Westeros. They will look down on any marriage not done for political gain… let alone one of 'incest.'"

"Those that complain about the latter can take their anger to Balerion and Vhagar. Of the former, I believe we need to entrench ourselves. Marshal our strength and protect our blood against those that wish revenge for our victories in our youth." She leaned in and kissed him. "Please tell me you agree, my love."

Aegon sighed. "I haven't endured all of what I have not to know that your instincts are the right ones." She smiled brightly and kissed him again.

Rhaena was confused.

Well… more than confused. One moment she had been stuck in her boring lessons with Septon Murmison and the next, once her mother and father had departed on their duties for the day, her uncle showed up and removed her from the manse. No one was willing to stand against Maegor Targaryen, especially with a sword slung over his back and direwolf at his side. Rhaena had stood there, befuddled with a look of innocent confusion. What was happening? What was her uncle doing?

And now here she was, seated in front of him atop his horse as they trotted alone towards unknown places. Beside them jogged the immense black wolf, plenty for their protection against any troublemakers in the city, not that there weren't any. No, Rhaena wasn't afraid.

She was simply confused.

"Are you comfortable, dear niece?" Rhaena heard from behind her.

In spite of the sudden situation she was in, her uncle's voice calmed her. She knew she was safe with him. "I'm fine, uncle… just where are we going?"

He ruffled her silver locks. "Somewhere that I believe you need to go."

"Will I be back before mother and father come back?"

"I assume so. This shan't take too long." There was a silence, only interspersed by the occasional cry of support from the smallfolk. Maegor had a hood draped over his head, but Rhaena's silver hair was uncovered. Uneducated as they were, they weren't stupid. "Don't worry, they won't hurt you. Our House is loved here."

She blinked. "Really?" Rhaena could count the times she'd been outside the grounds of the manse or the Aegonfort not in a wheelhouse on one hand. The city seemed to her like a dangerous place. "Mother says there are dangers."

"There can be, but not in this part of the city. Those that would do us harm live closer to the Sept of Remembrance."

"The faith support us," Rhaena replied, confused again. She heard her uncle sigh.

"Nevermind, perhaps you'll learn when you're older and can understand." Pursing his lips, Maegor thought of something she had said. "Rhaena, have you been taught High Valyrian?"

Blinking, Rhaena looked up to the curious gaze of her uncle. "Is that the strange language grandmother and grandfather often speak? Mother says it's not important."

Maegor muttered something unintelligible under his breath, mindful of the innocent soul seated in front of him. The girl who would be his bride upon coming of age… Fuck, my bride. It was quite surreal, slightly terrifying - but it drew his protective side out, especially as it seemed that his goodsister was intent on raising her to be a septa. "You are of dragonblood," he ended up saying. "You should learn High Valyrian."

"Would you teach me, uncle?" Her eyes were wide and innocent.

He sighed. "I could. You could also always go to your grandmother. She'd drop everything to teach you the ways of our House." Visenya did that with him when he was young and in truth, it was the happiest time of his life aside from swordplay with his father. "You can start by calling your parents by their proper Valyrian titles - muna and kepa. Mother and father."

" Moo… na and… kep-pa…" she began, finding it slipping off the tongue rather fluidly. "Muna and kepa."

"That's it. I'm proud of you." Rhaena didn't know why, but the praise of her uncle made her heart warm. "Ah, we're almost there."

Looking up, the Princess noticed the Aegonfort looming above them ominously from the highest point in the three hills of King's Landing. "We're going to grandmother and grandfather?"

"No, to the cliffs. I believe there is someone that you have to meet." The lack of learning High Valyrian was but a new symptom in what he saw to be the deficiency in his brother's raising of his children. Maegor loved his brother, his childhood companion and beloved elder, but he couldn't turn a blind eye to his shortcomings - how everything in him was a front to please whoever stood before him at the moment. Rhaena's shyness is an affront to our family, and it is time that someone address it. Maegor felt this since meeting her weeks before, but from what his mother told him the day before he now felt it his duty to ensure she embrace their house's words.

The dragons made their roost on the cliffs behind the Aegonfort. No one approached unless of Targaryen blood, which was why Maegor's way was not stopped by guards as he turned the corner of one of the cliffs. In the distance, the large scaled forms came to view. He smiled. Both dragons were well remembered from his childhood, kepa and muna never denying him the chance to see them, touch them, ride with them in the heavens.

Distracted by the sparkling waves of Blackwater Bay, Rhaena didn't turn to look at the dragons till they were quite close… and there was no denying the existence or size of the royal mounts. At once her eyes widened and body trembled in fear. "Uncle… that's… that's… that's the Black Dread." Her eyes were locked on Balerion, spread long across the grass in slumber.

"Aye, that is." He chucked her shoulder. "You're not frightened, are you? Aenys has taken you to see Quicksilver, no?"

Her trembling only increased as Balerion stirred, yawning and exposing his razor sharp teeth the size of a human arm. "Quicksilver isn't as big… Quicksilver…" Didn't burn Harrenhal… In front of her was the legendary beast that forged the Iron Throne and united the kingdoms through fire and blood. It was more than a little intimidating, and Rhaena was susceptible.

Pulling on the reins, Maegor halted his horse. "You are a Targaryen, dear niece. You are fire and blood, no need to be afraid before any dragon not ridden by a foe." Swinging out of his saddle, Maegor reached up and lifted the frozen Rhaena from where she sat, causing her to tense. "Don't be afraid, little dragon," he murmured.

"Please uncle… I can't help being scared," she replied quietly, shrinking into his side as Balerion awoke, neck reeling high as if stretching the kinks from his bones and muscles. A gesture he had often seen his kepa do whenever he awoke from a nap. The bond between dragon and dragonrider. Maegor knew not the feeling, so he couldn't be sure.

Kneeling, he place a hand on Rhaena's cheek. "It's alright to be scared of the unknown, dear niece. I've been afraid plenty of times."

She was shocked at that. "You have?"

"Aye, plenty of times. But you have the blood of Aenar Targaryen, Daenys the Dreamer, of the conquerors Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya. You are strong in your very blood. Targaryens obey neither man nor god, and you need to embrace your fire as the future heir of this throne."

Hearing her uncle, hearing his words of her strength and fire - feelings she had never felt before - Rhaena was hesitant. He said one thing, the dark pit in her stomach churning and screaming said another. But a furry snout poking at her side drew her attention. Sȳndor whined softly, her eyes boring into her soul as she continued to nudge her towards the great dragon. Rhaena swallowed, feeling cold in spite of the tepid temperature of the day. "Will you be by my side, uncle?"

He smiled. "I'll never stray."

Sleep shaken from his system, Balerion shook his neck, eager to spread his wings and break his fast among the shoals of fish and pods of dolphins that swarmed Blackwater Bay. But his senses made him look down, only to fill him with a contented joy. Blood of my blood. He would know the scent of his rider's son even among a mob of millions.

Maegor chuckled, approaching the great dragon. Aye, I'm here. It's been quite a while, my friend. Before he sailed for the North in his last time in King's Landing, Aegon took him for a dragonride astride Balerion. A happy moment between father and son that he never ceased to cherish. F orgive me for not visiting sooner. I've been… quite busy. Balerion tilted his head, as if questioning. No need, you know how kepa can scold for not doing one's duty.

A snort left the dragon's large snout. No need to tell me, little brother. His amber eyes shifted to the little girl waiting by the furry creature. You brought a hatchling? Yours?"

Shaking his head, Maegor smirked. "No, brother, this is my niece. Aenys' daughter Rhaena." Rhaena heard the Black Dread snort again, as if annoyed. "No, do not speak of him like that," Maegor replied, as if understanding the dragon. Much as her father… no, her kepa spoke to Quicksilver. "I wanted to bring her to meet you, to find her inner fire." No snorts, but rather Balerion dipping his head to right in front of her uncle. Maegor reached out and stroked his snout, leading to a growl… almost a purr.

"Uncle?" she asked.

Rubbing up and down the warm scales, Maegor looked back. "Come on, it's alright."

Weak, like her father.

Stop it.

Hesitantly, Rhaena took a few steps forward - urged to walk quicker by the black direwolf, though Sȳndor calmed her with sweet nuzzles and licks of her hand. Silver hair whipping in the wind, she buried her hand in the fur of her uncle's wolf, letting it ground her. I can hug a direwolf, sharp teeth at all. This is grandfather's dragon… grandfather's dragon… grandfather's dragon…

Out of nowhere, Rhaena yelped as Maegor hefted her into his arms. Even at eight namedays she was small for her age, but Maegor could handle her without effort on his part, strong as she was. In them, she felt safe, even as she came eye to eye with the Black Dread. "Uncle… what should I do?"

"Stroke his nose scales. He likes that."

"But he's too warm." Warm was an understatement, his breath was scorching - almost like a dozen roaring hearths.

"You have the blood of the dragon, trust me."

Biting her lip, Rhaena's eyes stared into one of Balerion's, hand up but hesitant… until a sudden urge welling from deep within her closed the gap and pressed her palm against the scales.

It was smooth. It was warm… not burning but an almost comforting warmth - like a bath or a fuzzy blanket. She started to smile softly. "I'm… I'm doing it, uncle."

"You are, dear niece."

Hmmm… she is fire. Just like muna.

Rhaena's jaw dropped. "You… I can hear you."

I see not why. You are a dragon as she is. Balerion seemed to lean into her touch. Your uncle is right. You should embrace it… perhaps you'll have a dragon of your own.

Time slowed for Rhaena. The wind mattered not, the chatter of the city did not matter… only the warmth of her grandfather's mount.

And the strong arms of her uncle as he protected her.

Drumming his fingers on the table, a bored, brooding King Aegon soon felt a slender yet strong feminine hand cover his. "Nervous my love? Or just bored?"

He looked up to see Visenya's smile. "Mostly the latter, though irritated as well. You know how I hate these things." Around them, the sounds of feasting filled the circular dining hall with the shouts of lordly revelry. With the King and Queen at the head and the delegation of the Faith across from them, the other Lords and delegations were each given their own table. Lord Torrhen had one, as did Ronnel and Sharra Arryn. The Hightowers and Qoheryses rated their own distinct from the Tyrells and Tullys respectively to the ire of the other houses. Each, however, brought a young maiden with them fitting according to all Westerosi traditions as a proper bride for Maegor, and so kept silent. "Auctioning their own daughters just rubs me off the wrong way."

"Such is good, for you should only prefer that I rub you off." Aegon looked at her quizzically, to which Visenya gave an impish smile. "I am his, and he is mine according to the vow, correct?"

"That sounds like something Rhae would say." A smile tinged his lips.

"She and I are sisters, are we not? We are very much alike." Her grin widened as he leaned down to kiss her.

It was quick, but filled with promise. "Let us just end this and flee to our chambers, wife. I hunger for you."

Her eyes glazed over. "After this… then you shall have the chance to remind me of our wedding night." He nodded, smiling as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles. She shivered. Gods, perhaps I can't wait that long. Searching for an out, she found it in their children. "Ae… Aenys seems to be enjoying himself."

The Crown Prince had half a dozen crowded about his table, laughing as they engaged in animated discussion. "Aye, he's always been the life of every feast as his muna was." Aegon frowned as he watched Maegor. "Our other son on the other hand…"

"He was always more like you or I. Quiet or reserved less taken out of his shell, and only then by one he trusts."

"His brother should include him."

"Mayhaps he dislikes his brother's company?" Septons, tourney knights, and pampered Lords… he wouldn't be caught dead with such types unless needed. Aegon rolled his shoulders. "Let's get it over with." Almost instantaneously upon standing, the hall quieted down as the revelers scurried to their seats. "Greetings Lords and Ladies of the Realm. Thank you for making the journey to King's Landing as our guests, and we also thank you for your patience."

"You are most welcome, your Grace," the High Septon announced, the only man at the feast with enough clout to address Aegon with any sort of equal footing. "What is the pressing matter of the realm that you wish to discuss with the Lords Paramount that necesitate my presence?"

Inhaling, Aegon forced a placid look on his face. "As you are well aware, my daughter the Princess Rhaenys has married the son and heir of Lord Stark, my Hand." He gestured to Torrhen, who nodded in respect. "Given that my heir, Crown Prince Aenys, is already wed to the Princess Alyssa formerly of House Velaryon, only my second son remains unwed." He looked at Maegor and offered a comforting smile. The Prince looked half-brooding, half-wishing for death. "I have gathered you here tonight to find a proper betrothal for him worthy of his station."

While Lord Stark sat out since the family held no female heir to offer - and they were already bound in marriage to the crown, House Velaryon sitting out for the same reason - a free for all began as the various families tried to shout over each other for the prospect of a royal betrothal. A half dozen maidens cast the Prince flirtatious or seductive looks to try and catch his attention and favor.

All but four. Visenya caught it, the Hightowers, Lannisters, Arryns, and the Faith keeping silent. Planning something… perhaps they had united around someone. Whatever it was, the Queen didn't like it and rose. "Honored Lords Paramount, I would like to make my suggestion for the Prince's betrothed." There was a hushed silence - the Queen's word was usually law, and if she came to a conclusion there was no doubt it was likely to come true. She turned to her son and his wife. "My son, gooddaughter, I ask you leave for the hand of Princess Rhaena for Prince Maegor."

One could hear a pin drop in the hall. Most seemed stunned, some were approving, the Faith began to whisper among themselves, while Archsepton Hugor leaned forward in interest. What is in your mind, Archsepton? But the worst reaction seemed from the parents. Aenys was completely stupefied, jaw dropped as if not ever expecting this. While Alyssa's was similar at first, anger soon replaced. "No."

Visenya blinked. "Excuse me?"

With everyone around her, Alyssa gulped but stood. "Apologies, your Grace, but such a betrothal is inappropriate. My daughter is but eight namedays."

"Girls younger than that have been betrothed before," huffed Lord Tyrell. If not his own daughter, then supporting the Queen's choice would serve him well. "What should your girl be any different?"

"Because she is a Princess and blood of the dragon," Alyssa hissed back.

Visenya rolled her eyes. "I assure you that any wedding wouldn't occur until she comes of age. But such a betrothal would serve to preserve the blood of House Targaryen."

"And yet you married your daughter to a Stark." Alyssa saw what was going on - Visenya sought to put her son as King by using her own daughter. Her brutish, vile son and she wouldn't have it. "I believe this is impudent and against the best interests of the crown."

"Do not tell me about best interests, gooddaughter."

"Your Grace… if I may?" Archsepton Hugor rose, his handsome features and rather plain robes made him look dashing and intelligent - a commanding figure in a position oft worn by either lazy fools or raving zealots. "It is the duty of our oaths to help bring amity to all under the Seven, and I believe I would be the perfect person to prevent discord within the royal house."

Looking at Visenya, Aegon turned back to the High Septon. "Does he have your leave to speak, Your Holiness?"

"Aye," High Septon Gerold responded. "He does, as I happen to agree with his suggestion."

Free to speak, Hugor continued. "His Holiness' niece, Lady Ceryse Hightower, is but one year elder to Prince Maegor and is well educated in both the learned arts and that of court life. As the daughter of the Lord of Hightower, she is of the most august blood and station."

Alyssa saw her chance. "I agree. Lady Ceryse is a perfect match, and can marry the Prince now."

Sensing Maegor silent, as if not knowing what to say, Aegon looked over at his elder son. "My Prince, I ask as your King and as your father. Are you willing to betroth your daughter to your brother?"

Truly the most conflicted of them all, Aenys looked out to everyone. His mother's eyes bored on him, his wife's too, pulling him in different directions. What should he do? The Prince merely wished to please his friends, his family, and his subjects. What sort of ruler could he be if he brought them misery or anger? But his own daughter… "I… she is too young for this. I was young like her when I married, and it was hard for me." Such was true, though Alyssa and he fell for each other. "I do not believe she is ready."

Aegon sighed. "Alright." How could he go against his own son? This… was not foreseen, but what harm could there be in Lady Ceryse. "Subject to my official decision, Lord Hightower, I accept your offer of betrothal."

"Then it is proclaimed then!" Lord Hightower rose from his table and walked to where Maegor sat. "Goodson! A toast to you and my daughter, may your marriage be true and fruitful."

Maegor, his eyes flickering between Lord Hightower, his parents, and the Lady Ceryse, felt his mouth open with nary a word leaving. There was just so little he could say, little he could comprehend, that he was relieved when Aenys stepped beside him. Pulling him from his chair and raising his hand high. "To my brother and goodsister! May their marriage be true and fruitful!"

All around the tables, the various Lords and Ladies held their glasses high in toast, the merriment and feasting soon returning. For why not? The matter had been dealt with, and the Prince was blessed with a strong match befitting his station. Many Lords present would have slit their mother's throat in order for a betrothal with the lovely Ceryse Hightower. For those that were loyal to House Targaryen, this only solidified the hold of the crown. For those with… alternate loyalties, their will had been achieved as well.

Herself quite happy, the aforementioned highborn maiden crossed the well of the hall. She had no reason not to be happy - all her life Ceryse knew she was to marry for the glory and advancement of House Hightower. A fat old Lord or dull young knight was the face of her future for the longest time, but now Ceryse had the most eligible man in the Seven Kingdoms. Prince Maegor Targaryen. Powerful, wealthy, the best of blood.

And absolutely gorgeous - otherworldly so. Approaching him where he spoke to his equally handsome brother, Ceryse bit her lip at how lucky she had ended up. Gods, his muscles… She would enjoy being his Princess.

Aenys noticed her first. "My Lady," he acknowledged.

Ceryse curtseyed. "Your Grace." She curtseyed to Maegor, this time with a sultry smile. "Your Grace."

"Oh pish," Aenys chortled. "You two are betrothed now. No need to be so formal." He grinned, smacking Maegor on the back. "Shall I leave you two alone?"

"Brother…"

Chuckling, Ceryse shook her head. "No, now is far too… open to discuss what I wish to discuss with my betrothed." She met Maegor's eyes, violets finding green. "Only that I am quite eager to marry you, my Prince." With that she curtseyed once more and headed back to the Hightower retinue.

Maegor could only stare back, watching her retreating form. Gods help him if he wasn't a bit eager to marry this beautiful girl as well.

It was a good match, and there was definitely a connection. "What are you thinking, brother?" When Maegor glanced at Aenys, the Crown Prince grinned. "Has the wild one's heart finally been trapped?"

He snickered in spite of himself. "Perhaps, brother. Perhaps."

Elsewhere, the King pushed his way through the door to the hallway. "Visenya!" Waving his Kingsguard away, he bounded down the corridor and turned the corner, finding her storming towards their bedchamber. "Visenya, wait!"

Racing after her, just as he was about to touch her shoulder Visenya swiveled around. Aegon stopped in his tracks. This woman had been in battles, killed many larger and stronger knights. Burned half of Dorne to the ground atop Vhagar. But never had he seen the amount of pure hate and anger in her eyes, almost black with it. "Do not touch me," she ground out.

"Vis… I'm sorry… but…"

She held up a hand. "No excuses… Just get out of my sight." She left Aegon standing there, heartbreak on his face as she stormed off.