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Chapter 71: Chapter 48: The Blacks and the GreensChapter Text

"At the opening feast, Queen Alicent wore a green gown, whilst Prince Rhaenyra Targaryen dressed dramatically in Targaryen red and black. Note was taken, and thereafter it became the custom to refer to "Greens" and "Blacks" when talking of the queen's party and the party of the prince.

-Excerpt from a textbook published in 200 AC

111 AC, Skies above Lannisport

Lannisport had been built thrice, with three different names. The third largest city in Westeros first began as a loose grouping of sleepy fishing villages in the vicinity of the great mountain of Casterly Rock, plying the fertile harbour for its abundant fish. Though when House Casterly started up, the fishing villages were expanded and combined, with ports and piers raised to export the gold out to foreign ports. Casterly Town, was it's first name, back then.

The second time Lannisport had been built, was after the Ironborn had sacked and razed Casterly Town to the ground the very first time, back in the early days of House Lannister. A few maesters had theorised that the reason why Lann the Clever wound up as Lord of Casterly Rock was because old Lord Casterly's sons had all been killed by the Ironborn during this time, allowing him, the son-in-law, to succeed as Lord of Casterly Rock. Tales claimed that of Casterly Town, only the ports were left unscathed, for the Ironborn required anchorage for their ships. The truth of the matter was debatable, though none could deny that the harbours were the oldest part of the city.

Regardless, Casterly Town was rebuilt under the orders of House Lannister, with tall walls raised to encircle the town. Forges, shipyards and barracks were also built, and the Lannister Fleet and Lannisport City Watch created to prevent further Ironborn incursions. Institutions and buildings that still remained till this day. With the Old Districts being the beating military heart of modern Lannisport. It was during this reconstruction that the Lannisters renamed Casterly Town Lann's Port, in honour of their founder.

The third and final time Lannisport was built was when the Andals came to Westeros. King Tybolt I Lannister met the invading Andal warlords on the field of battle, and by and large made quite the good showing, considering that he was fighting iron with bronze. Alas, his short-lived heir, King Loras I Lannister was a drunken wastrel and sot, whom promptly blundered the campaign so badly that Andal armies were able to sack and destroy Lann's Port.

The Old Districts remained, thanks to their walls, but the city had expanded significantly over the millennia. And a combination of mismanagement and corruption meant that few fortifications had been raised to protect the outliving districts.

In response, King Loras' younger brother, King Tyrion III Lannister, executed him and usurped the Gilded Chair. The shrewd king then played Andal warlords against one another, getting them to war against each other instead of against Casterly Rock, before offering the Andals whom lost lenient terms of submission. Those whom knelt and became his vassals, would find Lannister gold available to them to fight their rivals.

It was during this time that Lann's Port was raised anew. Built larger and stronger with Andal technology. While most remembered the Andals for bringing iron across the Narrow Sea, many forgot that they had brought many other innovations as well. These were a people that had grown up in the shadow of the Free Cities, and they had learnt lessons from those. Sewers. Paved roads. Cisterns. Proper planning. A hundred and one other things that separated a town from a city.

An error in translation saw Lann's Port rechristened Lannisport by the Andals, and the name stuck, as the Old Tongue was forgotten in favour of the Common Tongue of the Andals. Regardless, the truth of the matter was that it was the Andals whom were the founders of modern Lannisport, and none could deny that.

"It is a fine city." Daenys muttered, as she looked out the skycart window. "But I must say I prefer Oldtown."

"It's better than King's Landing at least." Shaera opined. "Far more organised and well-built."

"I know. I know." I sighed, turning to face my cousins. "But it's not like I can just order half the capital bulldozed just to raise it again in an orderly manner."

"You're Hand of the King." Shaera bluntly stated. "You can order it done."

"Ah, but just because I can, doesn't mean I should." I pointedly stated, glaring balefully at her. "Like just because a certain girl could usurp the Lady of Highgarden, didn't mean that she should, Lady Tyrell."

It had been over half a year since the debacle that was the Tyrell succession, and even now Lord Regent Otto was still putting out fires across the Reach.

We'd done it methodologically over the past half a year. First releasing 'evidence' that implicated Shaera, then having a couple of catspaws bring the matter up to the Lady of Highgarden, asking that she 'deny the vile slander'. Which was when Shaera— under my sorcerous enthralment—cheerfully confessed to the crime. The court had been stunned silent when Lady Tyrell spoke, but when Shaera taunted all the assembled nobility, the court went mad with rage.

Were it not for her dragon Lady, the mob might very well have torn apart the Lady of Highgarden.

And even then, a good many knights were visibly considered attempting to become dragonslayers, foiled only because Otto and I had managed to wrangle the court into a semblance of order.

But despite overwhelming pressure, neither of us could execute Shaera. Though horridly disappointed and angry at Shaera, she was still kin, and Viserys was unwilling to order her put to death.

As such, Otto, Alicent and I—And god was that not the weirdest alliance ever— proposed a compromise: Otto Hightower named as Lord Regent of the Reach, to rule until Lord Lucas Tyrell came of age. Lady Shaera Tyrell would be allowed to live, but two hundred legionaries of the Second Legion assigned as her personal guard. Both to shield her against any of her furious vassals, and to execute her should she be too unruly. As part of her punishment, I'd stripped Shaera of her dragon. I didn't make her blow the dragonhorn to sever their bond, but I had Lady sent back to the Dragonpit. Far far away from Highgarden. Should Shaera want to fly anywhere, she'd have to call a skycart.

And her older sister Daenys given mandate by the Crown to follow the Lady Tyrell wherever she went. To watch her for any undoing. 'Lady Overseer' was her title now, though everyone knew that it was just a polite way of saying 'Gaoler'. For one, the legionaries obeyed Daenys over Shaera, and most of the Lady Tyrell's new household as well.

As Lady of Highgarden, Shaera was expected to have a personal household larger than her mere handful of servants, but as most of Lady Relena's former servants wanted to shank the girl, we'd been forced to bring new servants in. Recruited from the families of the two hundred legionaries sent as guard, Lady Tyrell's new household were all Stormlanders, chosen because unlike Reachmen, they wouldn't try assassinate Shaera for her usurpation of the Reach.

The fetters that bound Shaera was beautiful works of art, commissioned in the very city we were currently flying over.

Golden chains, each no thicker than my little finger, bound the Lady of Highgarden. The chains were long and loose. Beautiful enough that one might have believed them for jewellery. Rather tasteful jewellery, in fact. They didn't inhibit the Lady Tyrell's movements, and were more a symbolic reminder of her confinement than anything else, on the surface.

The chains ended in manacles around her wrists and a choker around her neck. All three were slender and elaborately engraved, inlaid with the pattern of golden roses, songbirds and bees on the outside, hiding the magical glyphs inscribed on the inside of the gold bands.

A magical siphon, first and foremost, that drained Shaera's own magic to fuel the enchantments Daenys, Rhaegar and I had designed. Inside the fetters were series of other spells that temporarily allowed Daenys to pull on the leash we'd put onto Shaera all those years ago. Of the three layers binding her, Daenys could only access the first and second— I alone retained the authority to activate the third— but that was more than enough to force Shaera's compliance.

Then there were the other, lesser affairs. Not one, but three independent tracking spells. A spell that detected damage to the shackles. Another enchantment that made the shackles strong as steel. An eavesdropping spell. A health monitor spell. And finally, the most elegant of spells we'd ever crafted: A sleep-linkage spell.

Beautiful work, really. This little spell essentially linked up Shaera and Daenys' sleep cycles. When Shaera got sleepy, Daenys correspondingly tired. Should Daenys be wide awake, so would Shaera. And if Shaera woke up in the middle of the night, even if it were just to stumble half-asleep to the privy, Daenys would also be woken up.

This meant that any attempts that Shaera might have made to evade Daenys while she slept were essentially futile.

Shaera was furious, of course, and promptly went about scheming new ways to evade Daenys, but that was largely pointless. Not when Daenys could pull on the leash and outright force Shaera to confess her schemes, before using said leash to wipe her mind of any memories of said conversation and then replacing them with false ones of idle small talk. A routine she did at random intervals.

Mind control, I mused, truly was an OP power.

Of course, I had no illusions that Shaera would remain under control forever. For one, Daenys simply was too valuable to be permanently assigned to babysitting duty. For another, repeated usage of the leash would allow her to build up a resistance to it. It was why I didn't outright slap compulsions onto the Lady of Highgarden. Sooner rather than later, she'd break free. It'd be short-term gain and long-term loss. Rationing out the mind control was necessary. And that meant that Shaera had to have free will for the overwhelming majority of the time.

Annoyingly enough, Shaera was right. She was currently too useful to be killed. I wasn't going to pass up an opportunity to get House Tyrell under my thumb.

Which meant that I had to devise a new method to leash the unruly Lady Tyrell. A few options came to mind, and one in particular seemed most promising in terms of potential applications. I thought as I eyed Rhaegar Fyre.

The skinchanger was silent, his eyes glazed over as he flew around us in the bodies of ravens. He could speak through them, I knew. And was the main method of communication between us within the skycart, and our driver— Laena.

Rhaegar was no Bran Stark, but he was roughly in the same ballpark as Jon Snow. More or less. But unlike Jon Snow, Rhaegar was both eager and willing to be taught sorcery, which had allowed him to greatly enhance his skinchanging powers. We'd threaded First Men magic with Valyrian sorcery, and allowed him to come close to Bran's league.

It wasn't that Valyrian sorcery made him more powerful, oh no. But the spell formulae allowed Rhaegar to refine his technique, allowing him to do more with less, even as he improved the precision and removed drawbacks.

The best analogy I could give was that—magically speaking—Bran Stark was like the Mountain. In terms of raw power, there was no superior. Rhaegar on the other hand, was like Oberyn Martell, whom used skill and technique to close the gap and fight evenly with Gregor Clegane. In fact, the Red Viper had the Mountain dead to rights, and would have won if he didn't insist on showboating.

It was the same with Daenys.

Daenys was about as good a skinchanger as Sansa Stark, which is to say; not at all. She could have lived her entire life without ever knowing of her latent talent. But thanks to our experimentation and teachings, she was now able to use the power, though I highly doubted that she'd ever surpass even Robb Stark in skinchanging.

Not that it mattered, in the end. To Daenys, her skinchanging was little more than a parlor trick, and she preferred to rely on Valyrian sorcery anyway. A field in which she was singularly talented at, being second only to me in terms of sorcery.

Unfortunately skinchanging was a trick that was patently impossible for me to learn.

First Men magic was an entirely different branch of sorcery, with zero overlap and a bloodline restriction on it. And I didn't have nearly enough First Men blood in my body to qualify. Oh, I had some—the Arryns had intermarried quite a few times with the Royces after all—but I would consider it lucky if even 5% of my genome was First Men.

Regardless, the skinchanging and greenseeing were a child's mimicry of the primordial magics wielded by the Children of the Forest and the White Walkers, spiced with an entire truckload of mysticism and shamanism.

While it was true that in terms of greater workings— Like the wards that held up the Wall— they were unmatched, Valyrian sorcery was infinitely larger in terms of breadth and flexibility. It also helped that unlike First Men magic, Valyrian sorcery didn't have a bloodline restriction on it. Any and everyone with sufficient magical talent could learn the spells, making it far far more practical.

But now though… maybe there was value in reevaluating such a conclusion.

———

111 AC, Casterly Rock

The last time I had arrived in Casterly Rock, it was in the dead of the night, to adjudicate between two rival claimants. This time though, it was to a Prince's honours.

Legionaries stood in neat rows on either side of the summit, creating an avenue of steel for us to walk through. Above them flew banners, tall and proud. The red VI on black for the Sixth Legion, the peacock of House Serrett, the golden rose of Highgarden, the falcon of House Arryn, the lion of House Lannister, the tower of House Hightower the seahorse of House Velaryon, the red dragon on black of House Targaryen and the black dragon on red of the Dragonseeds.

And above them all, two banners flew higher than the rest.

The three-headed-dragon, quartered with the Arryn falcon. The personal standard of Queen Aemma, and my de-facto banner, for I had yet to formally choose a heraldry.

The three-headed-dragon, quartered with the Arryn falcon and the Hightower. The personal standard of King Viserys. It had been the same as Aemma's once upon a time, but after his remarriage, my father had swapped out one of the falcons for the Hightower.

Something his Canon daughter would also do, once she wedded Laenor Velaryon, replacing one of the falcons with his seahorse.

I wasn't inclined to follow in either my father or Canon counterpart's footsteps, but it wasn't like I had any better ideas yet. I suppose I could use my previous life's heraldry—A coiled eastern dragon, gold on black— but it felt like I'd be copying Aegon and Sunfyre. Plus, the eastern dragon didn't really fit the theme.

"Hail!" The Legionaries saluted, as we descended from the skycart. Lord and Lady Tyrell. Lady Arryn. The entire expanded Small Council. The Velaryons, four of the five oldest Dragonseeds, and last but most certainly not the least, myself.

"Father." I respectfully greeted, wincing as he crushed me in one of his signature bear hugs. I'd hoped that the metalworking of a Westerlands-style dress would mitigate the squeeze, but apparently that wasn't the case. All that meant was that my body was now being crushed against plates of gilded metal.

"Nyra!" He enthused. "It's been too long."

He then turned an imperious eye to Shaera.

"Shaera." Viserys coolly greeted. Which for a man as gregarious and friendly as him was the equivalent of spitting in disgust at the sight of her.

"Uncle." Shaera bowed politely, shying away from his surprisingly intense glare. It hadn't escaped my notice that Shaera was wearing white today, much like my mother did, once upon a time. But if she were hoping that playing up her resemblance to Queen Aemma would make Viserys more forgiving, then she was barking up the wrong tree.

My father had been livid once Alicent and I broke the news to him, about the fact the Shaera was manipulating him. And blind, deaf and dumb Viserys might be, he at least knew that neither Alicent nor I liked the other. Which meant that when we both agreed on something, it was serious.

The man had nearly cancelled his progress right there and then, but I'd talked him around. Eventually.

As things stood, the King had toured most of the Westerlands already. After this tourney, he'd be sailing to the Iron Islands. After which, he'd sail back to Seaguard, visiting the northern Riverlands before going up North. I wasn't too sure if he wanted to go Beyond-the-Wall, but on his way back down, he'd stop by the Vale of Arryn before returning home to King's Landing.

"Alicent." I greeted, stepping out of Viserys' grasp and pecking her on the cheek.

"Rhaenyra." Alicent greeted back, cooly but hardly her usual vicious hiss.

We'd agreed to keep ourselves civil for as long as Otto and I were in a truce, which meant that Alicent didn't throw a scathing remark regarding my femininity at me, and I didn't respond by subtly bringing up her affair with Daemon for the umpteenth time.

The battle lines had been drawn, but I had no illusions that either of us weren't sharpening our fangs and claws. Taking advantage of the ceasefire to prepare for the next conflict.

———

111 AC, Royal Quarters, Casterly Rock

"Oh my! You've all gotten so big!" I laughed, ruffling hair and hugging the little ones. Gods, the kids really grew up so fast. When I was in boarding school, returning only for the holidays, I always felt that the most visible representation of the passing of time was my neighbour's youngest daughter.

When I left, she could barely crawl. Then when I came back for Christmas break, she was walking. Come summer holidays, and she could remember the names of her entire family. Before I knew it, she could run and jump, and mostly pronounce my name.

Seeing how fast she seemed to grow up was jarring. I never noticed my younger brother or daughter growing up, as I saw them pretty much every day, but when you've been gone for a little while… next thing you know, they're so much bigger than when you last saw them.

Aemond could walk and talk now, which was just amazing. Even if he couldn't pronounce my name and glared balefully at me constantly, which I felt was unwarranted. I hadn't telekinetically poked him in the stomach even once for over a third of his life now. Which wasn't saying much, considering he was only twenty months old. But still, it was the thought that counted.

Helaena seemed to have nearly doubled in size, last I saw her. She was nearing three now, and seemed to be growing endlessly bigger.

Aegon had grown strong, and nearly bowled me over when he ran into my arms. Four-year-olds could run and jump, and were surprisingly heavy. Which meant that when glomping a person, that was quite a bit of force behind the projectile.

"How have you been kids?" I asked the three of them solemnly. "Have you been good children?"

"Yes! Yes!" Aegon and Helaena chirped enthusiastically.

Aemond simply glared at me and growled 'No', pounding a tiny fist onto my leg rather pointlessly.

"No?" I asked quizzically, looking at the little guy.

"No." Aemond agreed, trying and failing to punch me in the shoulder. I mean, the hit connected, but I'd been hit harder by bugs.

"Don't do that." I told him, batting away his next attempted punch with contemptuous ease. "Good boys don't hit people. Especially girls."

"No!" Aemond insisted, trying and failing again.

"I think that's enough, my little dragon." Viserys chided, scooping up the toddler before he could hurt his fists.

We relocated over to the table, and sat down over dinner. There was a small squabble between Aegon and Helaena over whom got to sit on my lap, which was settled when I picked Helaena. Not because she was my favourite sibling, but because she was a damn sight lighter than her older brother.

"I've noticed that the entire Small Council has come along to this tourney." Alicent pointed out, as we helped ourselves to pieces of freshly-baked bread. "If they're here, who's ruling in King's Landing."

I fed Helaena a small piece of buttered bread before I answered the question.

"This was part of an experiment to test our new appointments." I informed my stepmother. "To see just how well the bureaucracy would function without our constant oversight.

"It would be rather pointless to build up a government if it would fall apart right after we stopped holding it together." I pointed out, eating my own piece of buttered bread.

"Most wise." Viserys noted, tucking into the lentil stew. "I'd feel rather bad if I was off enjoying myself while the Small Council was slaving away back in King's Landing."

"Isn't that what you are doing, with this progress?" Alicent snippily asked.

"Alicent, I will have you know that the King touring the Realm is a duty of utmost importance." I overzealously told her. "His visiting of the Lords and Ladies has allowed me to shore up a great amount of support for my reforms."

"Hear hear!" Viserys enthused, turning to face his wife. "You see? My holiday really has a purpose besides my own relaxation."

I smirked unrepentantly as the Queen gave me the stink-eye.

"You know, Alicent, if you're tired of this progress, you could always return to the Red Keep." I offered. "There's space in the skycart."

Temptation warred with suspicion across Alicent's face.

She knew that Otto and I had sworn an armistice, which meant that she could probably return to King's Landing and actually expect not to get murdered immediately. But on the other hand, I was the one offering it. Was it really worth taking the risk that I still wouldn't just kill her anyway, damn the consequences?

"A kind and most tempting offer." Alice finally replied. "But I do not think that my children would want to return home just yet, and I shall not leave them."

"Not going home!" Aegon agreed. "We're on an adventure!"

"Adventure, yay!" Helaena enthused.

"No!" Aemond insisted. "Bad! No!"

Ah kids. They were just so amazingly adorable. It was really soul-soothing and calming. I turned Helaena around and kissed her on the forehead, my baby sister giggling happily at that.

We spent the rest of dinner like a happy family, laughing at each other's stories and making small talk. And after the meal was finished, we sat together in the living room and continued spending time with one another.

It was only when Aemond began snoozing on the carpet that Alicent decided to put the children to bed. In the spirit of being a cool big sister, I scooped up a dozing Helaena and held a bleary Aegon's hands while leading them to the bedchamber, Alicent walking beside me, Aemond in her arms.

The silence was deafening, as we entered the nursery and placed the children down in their beds.

Helaena insisted on a story before she slept, and I indulged her by retelling the tale of how Laena and I went to claim Vhagar.

"And the big old dragon bent her will, allowing Laena to ride her." I dramatically recited. "And they flew back across the sea. Back home to the Dragonpit in King's Landing, where they lived happily ever after."

"That's nice." Helaena sleepily said, before her eyes closed and she fell asleep. Tired out after a long day.

I gave her a goodnight kiss, and flicked my eyes over to the other side of the room, where Alicent nodded. The boys had also fallen asleep. Silently the two of us crept out of the nursery.

"You love them." Alicent noted as soon as the door shut.

"Of course." I agreed. "They're my siblings."

"Many others would disagree." Alicent replied. "Few love their half-siblings like you do."

"Children are blameless." I told my stepmother. "They're innocent of the sins of their parents. I mean, Daemon attempted to rape and murder me, and his children are my closest confidants."

"A more conventional lord would have ordered them put to death or sent to the Faith to prevent usurpation." Alicent told me.

I resisted to urge to snort in a most unladylike manner.

"Why would I need to fear usurpation from them, when I have Aegon?" I asked.

"Aegon is the rightful heir by the rules of Gods." The Hightower sternly told me. "You are only the rightful heir by the rules of Men."

"Thou shall not commit adultery. Thou shall not covet thy neighbour's wife." I quoted from the Seven-Pointed-Star. "Do not quote the rules of Gods, when living in a glass house."

Alicent purpled as I brought up her affair with Daemon for the umpteenth time. She didn't believe in religion any more than I did. That we both knew. And I was not above using theology against her, should she try to do the same to me.

"But do you yourself not preach about how the most skilled should be given the most rewards?" Alicent asked. "Should Aegon be the better ruler-"

"I am not my father." I sternly interrupted. "Your viceroyalty scheme shall not deceive me."

Honestly, how could that ridiculous notion have been anything but a rigged game? Aegon got the wealthier and more populous kingdoms, while I got the leftovers. Sure, I had land, but that wasn't profitable and well-developed land. The judges were biased as well, and even by some miracle Aegon lost, what was stopping him from using his larger and better-equipped army from seizing the throne forcefully?

I wasn't beneath playing with a handicap for a challenge. But at the same time, I wasn't willing to let myself get scammed in such a high-stakes competition.

"Then can we discuss the terms a bit more?" Alicent asked. "The impartial judging body can be negotiated. What say you about a triumvirate of judges between the Legions, the Faith and the Citadel?"

"No."

"Then how about a Great Council? To settle the inheritance once and for all?"

"You misunderstand me." I told my stepmother. "I am unwilling to hear of any such plans."

I turned to face Alicent Hightower, slamming my hand on the wall behind her and pinning her to it. She was older and taller than me, but I was physically stronger and a trained killer, the Queen shied backwards as I leaned over her.

"When my father passes, I shall inherit the Iron Throne." I declared in a matter-of-fact tone. "There shall be no compromises, no negotiations, no elections and no viceroyalties. The Iron Throne will be mine, with no ifs ands or buts. Make your peace with it, for I shall not hesitate to serve fire and steel to all whom would rebel against my rule and jeopardise the safety and sanctity of the Realm, be they my friend, sibling or even my own child."

I released my stepmother, stepping backwards.

"Goodnight, Alicent." I finished, pecking her on the cheek. "Please do not make me go to war against my beloved siblings."

And on that note, I left her behind, heading to my bedchamber.

———

111 AC, Casterly Rock, Great Hall

The tourney to celebrate the fifth anniversary of the wedding between King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower would be held in the grounds between Lannisport and Casterly Rock. A mile of black earth and grassy fields, now covered with a sea of tents in a rainbow of colours.

While the tourney was the main event, with the first prizes for the joust, melee and archery competition being the honour to don a white cloak and call themselves Kingsguard, there were entertainment aplenty.

Plays. Acrobatics. Boat races. Bullfights. A fishing competition. Another one for hunting. Horse races. Several ball games. Feats of strength and speed. And even one special event, the first of its kind since the Doom of Valyria; A dragon race. All paid for by House Lannister.

The wealth and splendour of House Lannister was in full display here, the Lions showing the Realm that despite the tumultuous ascension of Lady Cerelle Lannister, House Lannister was just as powerful as ever.

Hundreds had come to compete in the games, and thousands more had come for the profit of such a great gathering of highborn, the spectacle of the event or even just to reunite and catch up with old friends.

As such, the great hall of Casterly Rock—a grand cavern the size of a cathedral— was packed with the assembled nobility from the breadth and span of the continent.

Lords wearing polished suits of armour, clothes of velour and doublets of velvet, bearing ornate swords and daggers on their waists. Ladies bedecked in gold and jewels, draped in silk and satin, each and every one competing to outdo their rivals in beauty and charm.

"All kneel for King Viserys Targaryen the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm." The herald announced, trumpeters signalling my father's arrival. "And Queen Alicent Targaryen, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Light of Oldtown."

Light of Oldtown? Really? I always knew Alicent was vain, but really? Styles, titles and honours were bestowed by other people, not by oneself.

I rolled my eyes, deliberately averting my eyes from the tacky eyesore that my father wore, instead turning to his wife. A smile tugged at my lips as I saw what Alicent was wearing.

"Yes." I mused. "It really is only proper. There is no story about the Dance that does not mention the Greens and the Blacks."

The Reach could be broadly divided into two fashions. The northern fashion, set by House Tyrell. Or the southern fashion, set by Oldtown. While the northern style were the scandalously sexy numbers that Margery Tyrell rocked, exposing large amounts of skin and practically oozing seduction, the southern fashion was that stereotypical Disney style princess dress, with large puffy shoulder pieces that exposed the arms, broad and shallow neckline exposing just enough breasts to be alluring but not sexy and a voluminous bottom, with many layers of petticoats and a large billowy skirt. The kind of thing that'd one would see Snow White or Cinderella prancing about in.

Spun from verdant green velour, the hem of the sleeves and skirt of the dress were set with milky white pearls, matching the necklace of pearls and moonstones around Alicent's neck. The bodice was intricately detailed with silver filigree, depicting the Hightower on the sternum, and on her strawberry-blonde hair sat Queen Alysanne's crown. The seven jewels sparkling like stars.

Beside me, Laena let out an involuntary sigh of appreciation, and I couldn't help but agree. Today, here and now, Alicent look liked a young princess straight out of the fairytales. No wonder why they never failed to ensnare the hearts of Prince Charming. Whom could look upon their beauty and not be enraptured? After them, no other woman could compare.

"Presenting Prince Rhaenyra Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, Hand of the King and Heir to the Iron Throne."

Oh, that was my cue.

I stepped forwards, clad in an imposing Targaryen style dress. Asymmetrically cut, with billowy sleeves and wraparound layers, it was essentially a kimono in all but name. It bore a thick sash as a belt, Dark Sister tucked into it. Spun from black silk, with crimson dragon embroidery around the sleeves and neck.

There were a few gasps at the sight of me, and I couldn't blame them.

Targaryen female fashion tended to follow that of the more progressive and liberal Queen Rhaenys. The Conqueror's Younger Sister kept the Valyrian asymmetrical cut, but ditched the kimono and belt for a more western design, with a kirtle over an underdress. It still looked Valyrian enough, but it was somewhat diluted, looking more Chinese than Japanese. It made Rhaenys seem more personable and less foreign, making it easier to accept her as Queen.

On the other hand, the more conservative Queen Visenya went the whole traditional route with her wardrobe. The Conqueror's Older Sister never abandoned the Valyrian style of kimonos, rocking the look of Valyrian Dragonlords of old with sleeves that draped an entire foot down, thick belts and occasionally actual armour layered onto the dress itself. Visenya never bothered to integrate with her subjects, and didn't hide that she was a foreigner Queen.

When Rhaenys kicked the bucket, Visenya switched to dressing in the late queen's style, in the hopes of recapturing her husband's love and affection and making herself seem more motherly to young Aenys. Results were debatable, but regardless, what was undeniable was that it was due to Visenya that Rhaenys' hybrid style went down as the fashion for Targaryen Queens. Adopted by Queen Alyssa and later by her daughters Rhaena and Alysanne.

Of course, after both Aegon and Aenys kicked the bucket, good old Visenya ditched any pretences of niceness and went back to her true self as Queen Bitch of Westeros. This included shedding Rhaenys' clothes and redonning her old wardrobe.

So when I stepped up in full traditional Valyrian regalia, my hair in braids and bearing Dark Sister, I looked like Queen Visenya reborn, with all the horror and dread that implied.

Alicent stood on my father's left. Standing beside him as his wife and queen, clad in green and beauty. I moved to flank him, standing at his right. Taking my rightful place as his right-hand woman and enforcer, clad in black and steel.

Almost immediately the room parted, the paradigm shift almost a physical thing, lords and ladies moving to take the sides of their preferred candidate. The battles lines had been drawn, and now we'd raised our banners, all of Westeros trembling beneath them. The middle ground was fast vanishing, leaving behind a no-mans-land that would become a warzone the instant our armistice expired.

I took in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of a brewing civil war. And beside me, Alicent did the same. She too could feel the gravity of our acts today. The repercussions that it would send reverberating through history.

The Blacks and the Greens had come at long last.