Chapter 7: Uncle and Niece

Crossing her arms, Princess Alyssa Targaryen's sea-green eyes were dark with irritation. Standing in the middle of their dressing chamber, she glared at her husband, currently picking out the proper scented oil to rub into his hair. "Are you just going to ignore me, husband?"

"I don't see why you are so perturbed, my dearest?" Pouring small drops of the chosen concoction imported from Myr on his hands, he rubbed it into his silver locks. "It's just my brother."

"That's exactly the point. You refused to inform me of this until an hour ago… and you had a servant tell me."

"Well of course, I was quite busy with Murmison and Ser Damon at the Sept of Remembrance," Aenys said without anger - Alyssa could count on her fingers the times she'd seen him truly angry or upset. "I am a very busy man you know, being the heir to my father's throne and all."

Alyssa sighed, she couldn't deny him that. "Aye, I know, but you still should've told me at least yesterday that we were to sup alone with your brother." The last almost spat out, but she refrained. Alyssa Velaryon Targaryen was no trollop, uncouth and crass.

He began checking his perfectly-groomed mustache for any errant hair out of place. Contrary to court rumor, Aenys wasn't vain. Alyssa knew he didn't truly have a selfish bone in his body… he simply wished to please and part of that was looking the perfect Targaryen Prince. It was endearing… except in certain times. "And what is wrong with supping with my brother? I haven't seen him in years."

Another sigh. The royals had returned the night before from Winterfell - Rhaenys was not among them, but Maegor was and she was not happy about it. "You're the heir," she finally said. "Not he, and yet he always took the torch."

Chuckling, Aenys turned and took his wife into his embrace. "No need to be jealous for me. My brother and I… we compliment each other. He the warrior, myself the cultured ruler. When I sit on the throne, he'll loyally serve and provide my reign with the steel it needs."

"I do not doubt that he is loyal." She hated lying to her husband, but the real reason she disliked his brother was… not proper to voice out. Try as she was to be kind to everyone, seeking approval and adoration all around her, for the life of her Alyssa couldn't do such with Maegor, not after… No. Without thinking, she cupped the slight swell in her abdomen of the growing babe… one she wouldn't let Maegor's brutishness and wild ferocity corrupt as it did himself.

The door opened to reveal the young Jeyne Westerling, one of Alyssa's ladies in waiting. "Your Graces, Prince Maegor is waiting in the foyer."

Aenys broke into a wide smile. "Perfection! Let us go to him!" Alyssa rolled her eyes, steeling herself for what would be an arduous night.

Sure enough, waiting in the antechamber of the manse was the towering form of Prince Maegor, who immediately wrapped two strong arms round his brother and lifted him in the air. "Gods, you're even more of a dandy than I remember!" Maegor boomed, squeezing Aenys affectionately.

The movements that brought the brothers together masked the true looks of the younger Prince, but Alyssa could piece together her memories with the parts of him visible. His time in the North had been kind to Maegor, filling him out in the proper places and slimming him down in others. He had taken to shave his beard and crop his silver hair close to his scalp, and it suited the strength in his swagger and build. Alyssa knew just how powerful he was, and the feelings it brought out in her were quickly extinguished before it troubled her.

"It's good to see you too, brother." Aenys clapped Maegor on the back once set down, face almost splitting open from how wide he smiled. The relationship between the brothers always baffled Alyssa… Maegor out of his glower and Aenys almost boastful, but there was no denying they were close. Being raised together from the cradle, not a surprise. "I hope you'll have some fun for once."

"The North is plenty fun."

"I know what that means, charming the Wintertown maidens… or the Wildling maidens?" He would never make such a suggestive jape with anyone but Maegor.

Before they knew it, the younger brother had enys in a headlock, ruffling his hair with a fist. "You're more a maiden than they, Aenys."

"Are you quite done?"

Finding Alyssa's scowl, Maegor let his brother go, the rambunctiousness of his youth leaving him and the brooding scowl returning. "Goodsister. You look well, very healthy with my niece or nephew."

"Thank you, goodbrother." She eyed him… distastefully - which Aenys didn't notice. He had quite selective vision… or was unabashedly optimistic. Maegor's eyes were happy, yet guarded. Don't fool me, goodbrother. I know the true you . The hostility was returned, though he hid it. "Have you concluded acting like a child? I would like to entertain two princes of the Realm."

Still have a stick up your ass? "I missed my brother, much as we have little in common." Southern ladies truly bored him after the earthy northern wenches, but his goodsister was something else. A strong woman, but a different sort of strength. One he hated in anyone… crafty and sneaky. "But I do wish to catch up…

He was cut off as Alyssa screamed, backing up as two guards came forward to protect her. "What in seven hells is that?!"

Having wandered back from where she was sniffing an indoor garden, Sȳndor trotted next to her master - towering at his stomach height. "Sȳndor, sit." Maegor smiled sheepishly, offering silent apology to his brother, who looked equally startled. "This is my direwolf… a gift from my hosts. She surprisingly took to me."

Calmed down, Alyssa laughed. "I know I teased you about not having a dragon, goodbrother, but I never thought you trying to patch the inadequacy by obtaining a replacement."

This made him scowl. "She is no replacement, and you will show her respect." The direwolf's ears pulled back, yellow eyes menacing as they took in Alyssa.

"That's enough," Aenys interjected. "Such is fascinating though, brother. I do wish to know this story."

"But this beast must be kept in the central gardens. I won't have it in my dining chambers."

Sighing, Maegor whispered a command in Valyrian. "I'll be fine with that, but I must also ask where are my niece and nephew. Last time I held Rhaena, she was but a babe and you were pregnant with her younger brother."

Before Aenys could answer, Alyssa spoke up. "They are at their nighttime lessons. Perhaps another time?"

"I would like to see them."

Always ready to please, Aenys nudged Maegor with his palm. "After we sup, I'll take you to them. Let's not let the food get cold!" Only too cheery, but both loved him.

Turned out, Aenys had toned down his usual zeal for a garish party whenever something truly happened that was worth celebrating. His beloved younger brother returning counted, but the meal was simple fair. Braised pork roast with potatoes and carrots, a grain soup and bread off to the side with plenty of Arbor gold to wash it all down. Maegor had had simpler fares, but the fare was easy on the palate nonetheless.

"So how is Rhae?" Aenys finally asked. "Is she happy?"

"She seemed happy," Maegor replied. "It didn't look like she was putting on a front. I'm sure I could tell if she was."

He nodded, nevertheless still curious and worried. "Your friend, Brandon. He's a kind soul, correct? Not like that brute that trained you in the North?"

"Brandon Snow trained both of us, and he was harder on Bran due to the blood relation, honestly." He shrugged. "They seemed captivated with each other, and yes, he's the best man I know."

"Praise the Seven," Aenys smiled. "Hopefully we can count on many Stark nephews before long."

"Half-Targaryen, half-Stark, quite novel in my opinion," Alyssa remarked, daintily cutting a slice of pork. "What would they bond to, a dragon or a direwolf?"

Searching her for ill intent, Maegor was mollified that she was simply curious. "Perhaps either, or perhaps both?"

"A highborn that holds the symbol of ice and the symbol of fire? Gods, he would be destined to rule over all," Aenys said, chuckling. "Murmison should be able to show a prophecy to see if it would happen."

"Old Loren Lannister or half the Riverlands would probably keel over in their seats at the picture of a dragonriding Stark," Alyssa added. "I heard from Jeyne that the Lord of Casterly Rock is not happy that his Grace consummated the Pact of Ice and Fire with Lord Torrhen. Few actually expected it to happen."

Aenys furrowed his brows. "Father never makes a promise that he intends to break. That is uncouth and dishonorable."

"While I avoided dealing with it while I did, I am not here a day before politics rears its ugly head." Things were simpler in the North, if no less cutthroat - they were just more forthright about it. "You can tell me something, brother."

"Anything," Aenys smiled.

"Kepa alluded to this, but am I here solely to obtain a bride?" His eyes narrowed.

Aenys smuttered into his goblet, while Alyssa smirked. "Aye, that's exactly what this is."

The Prince cursed under his breath. "Just perfect… I don't need this right now."

"Oh? Have a sweetheart in mind?"

He scowled. "No one that would make a proper bride, care for her though I do." Ultimately, there was no escaping this. "I wish they had talked to me earlier about this directly."

"Mother and father love you, brother," Aenys said. "They want a good match for you, but they need to make you a match… believe me, they do."

"Why? I haven't exactly been hotly in demand or I wouldn have been recalled from the North quite a while ago."

"Look." Alyssa leaned forward, hands folded together. "The consummation of the Pact of Ice and Fire did anger some - more if you consider my marriage to Aenys. None of our children are of marriageable age, so you are needed to wed an Andal maiden and calm tensions."

It made sense - it was perverse, but he couldn't deny the logic. "Anyone in particular I must try and get to know?" If it goes wrong, I can always bring Ralla from Winterfell to share my bed.

"Lord Royce has a daughter, as does Edmyn Tully. I'm sure Loren will suggest someone, while anyone from the Reach would work out in terms of alliances. It's selfish for you not to think of your family, and I'm sure their Grace's will select someone that is both advantageous and palatable to you. They are sentimental that way."

"Yes, yes they are." That was little reassurance, and the delicious food tasted like sawdust for the rest of the meal.

"Take that, Black Harren!" Dragon figurine aloft, Prince Aegon Targaryen brought it down in a steep dive right atop the wooden assembly representing Harrenhal. "Boom! Boom!" With a sweep of his hand he collapsed the hall of a hundred hearths, along with the walls. "Victory to the Targaryens!"

"That's not how it happened, brother." Rhaena pulled off the wall where she was forced to wait, since 'Grandmother Visenya wasn't part of the defeat of Black Harren.' "The towers of Harrenhal were melted, not destroyed."

Aegon, the seven nameday-old with his hand on his hips, glowered. "Says who?" he spat at his older sister.

"Says all the histories… and grandfather himself."

Her younger brother wasn't moved. "Stop be a fuddy-duddy like grandfather's men."

Rhaena's cheeks flushed. "I'm not a fuddy duddy!"

"Are too. I'll play with Vis… he's funner than you." Turning his back, Aegon ignored her - the two loved each other to death, but there were times where he just couldn't take criticism. When their parents did it, he couldn't say anything, but Rhaena was different. She huffed and stormed out of the nursery, having much to say but being unwilling to actually say them.

Sighing, Rhaena leaned against the lip of the pointed-arch window - an angled huff blew a strand of silver hair from her forehead. Perched on the high bluffs of the hill, she could see down into the bustling city, teeming with life even at night. Down among the citizens, the subjects of house Targaryen, living their lives amongst each other. Why can't it be that easy? To live among them, with friends and those that truly enjoyed her company?

Larissa wasn't there, taken by her father to Evenfall Hall to seek suitors for her hand. Of all the young girls her mother paraded before her, she had been the only one Rhaena felt confident enough to speak with, largely due to the familial relation. All others… closing her eyes, the Princess was close to tears in frustration and loneliness. Why couldn't she make friends? Why did she simply seem as an outcast among them. Unable to penetrate their own cliques and established bonds? I am a Princess!

But hide behind her mother's skirts and father's robes she did.

It wasn't as if she had her siblings to count on. Rhaena loved them, truly she did, but Aegon let the comparisons all made of him being their grandsire's splitting image go to his head sometimes. Viserys was too young and wild, and even if her mother birthed a girl she'd be far too young to be a proper companion.

Looking up, she saw a hummingbird flutter onto the windowsill… followed by another. Green feathers resplendent in the sun, she smiled softly, holding out a finger. "At least I have you, little ones," Rhaena cooed as the birds perched on her finger. At least among the animal kingdom she could count many as her friends.

Suddenly, a shadow caused the hummingbirds to dash off into the gardens.

"Where are you going?" Rhaena called out, only to turn and yelp - startled. There, waiting in the middle of the manse's corridor, was a large black… thing. Almost like a wolf, but far, far bigger than even the biggest wolf or dog Rhaena had ever seen in her eight moons upon the earth. But she was not afraid, only curious. "Hello. Who might you be?"

The wolf, fur black as a moonless sky, cocked its head. Two yellow eyes peered at her, ears up and alert.

To most, this beast the size of a pony would lead them to scream and make a run for it, but Rhaena was different. She had been around enough dogs to know when one was dangerous and this one was docile… and in truth she was fascinated. Dragons she knew, but this beast was one she didn't. "I'm Princess Rhaena Targaryen, you?" The wolf barked, which made her giggle. "I don't speak wolf, but that's fine. May I touch your fur?" Slowly, she reached out her hand.

Stepping forward, the black wolf sniffed the hand with her snout before licking the fingers… then bounding up and nuzzling her entire furry head against the girl's body. She looked like a pup, and smelled similar to her master.

The giggles poured out of Rhaena as she was almost forced to the floor by the suddenly affectionate beast. "I knew you were a big softie." Again and again her fingers tickled and scratched along the furry skin, drawing another bark before the wolf began licking her face. "Stop, that tickles…" That did force Rhaena to the floor, to which the wolf laid upon the stone tiles as well, both locked in an embrace.

"Well, I see you've made a fast friend." Upon hearing the authoritative - if kind - voice of a stranger, Rhaena tensed. Instinctively, she buried her face into the wolf's black fur, eyes closed and hoping for the stranger to go away. "So who is… ah, I see. You like making my life interesting, Sȳndor?" The wolf barked in response.

Feeling the furry tail wagging against her legs, Rhaena opened her eyes. Canines only did that to those they liked, so if this precious wolf liked the stranger… Slowly, she raised her head from the fur and gazed upon the man with the voice through the haphazard locks of hair fallen over her forehead.

First to register was the smile, a kind one. Second was the silver-hair, the same color as her father's but close-cropped like her dear grandsire. He was tall and broad-shouldered like the King, but much younger like most of her guards. A powerful warrior that none trifled with. "You must be little Rhaena."

"Princess…" she squeaked. At his blink, she almost dove back into the wolf's fur. "Princess Rhaena." Her mother taught her to always be mindful of formalities, but her shyness made it almost apologetic.

The man took it in stride. "Forgive me, Princess Rhaena. But I hope I can be more informal with my dear niece."

"Niece…?" Her eyes widened. "Uncle Maegor?" Gods, this was her uncle? She had heard about him and his exploits, but he was practically what she imagined her grandsire was during his prime. Rhaena stared up at him in awe.

Maegor laughed merrily. "I gathered you wouldn't remember my face, given you were bout wee big when I last saw you." He gestured his arms to be about a cubit apart. "I can see you met my direwolf."

That confused Rhaena. "Direwolf?" She looked at the beast, whose tongue lolled out in the silliest of expressions. "But you're my uncle… not a Stark."

"Smart girl," she heard him murmur. "I know, but Sȳndor took to me anyway. Right girl?" She barked, enjoying their joint attention as he ruffled her fur.

"Maegor!" Rhaena gulped at hearing her mother. "I thought I told you to tie that monster in the courtyard…" A scream carried Alyssa right to Rhaena's side, snatching her away. "Rhaena! Back away from that monster."

Rhaena blushed in embarrassment. Somehow she realized she wanted to make the best impression on her famous uncle, only for her mother to ruin the moment. "Mother… I'm fine…"

That didn't stop Alyssa from clucking all over her. "You seem unharmed… thank the Seven. Gods, what were you thinking? Its teeth are razor sharp!"

Rolling his eyes, Maegor willed for Sȳndor not to growl at the Crown Princess. "If Sȳndor were a threat then there is nothing anyone could do, goodsister."

"That's not funny, Maegor." Alyssa's glare could melt Valyrian steel.

"Believe me, she's fine. Sȳndor's treating her better than she ever treated me when I first bonded with her. My niece has a gift with animals… just wait till she gets her dragon."

Rhaena's eyes widened. Me, a dragonrider like grandmother? She started to get excited at the thought.

But Alyssa scoffed, ending that dream. "You don't even have a dragon. Butt out of my daughter's affairs." She heard Maegor sigh, shrugging. "Time to sleep, Rhaena."

"Yes, mother." As she was led away, she looked back to see her uncle watching her, hand stroking the direwolf's fur. He met her eyes… and winked. Rhaena turned the corner and he was out of sight.

Not before he managed to see the small smile on her face.

Rolling his shoulders underneath the ceremonial red velvet cloak strewn over him, Maegor wished he was back with Ralla, or sparring with the Kingsguard, or hunting with Sȳndor… or at least sitting down. The tight boots bit at his feet, while the official outfit of a Westerosi princeling made him feel like a peacock rather than the dragon he was. "You must act the person you are, my son," echoed the wise words of his father. "Your brother will need a warrior, but he will also need a peacemaker and sturdy voice in his council. You must live politics as well as war."

Visenya's sentiments were much less lofty. A thump of his shoulder with a growl that she better not hear that he pawn his duties off on another courtier. Truth be told, his mother scared him more than even Brandon Snow. His former teacher and current mentor would have been offended but Maegor always felt Brandon's flippant view of the Targaryen Queen as just sort of mad.

"My Lord." Maegor dipped his head in respect as Lord Edmyn Tully fell to one knee. "You may rise."

Signature red hair greyed with age, the Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Riverlands still looked spineless and insecure. "Thank you, my Prince." Off to the right were Daeron and Gargon Qoherys, the latter's bruises from the now famous run in with the King having healed, but not the bitterness it spawned in the brutish giant. Tully's displeasure seemed quite obvious since most found displeasure in Gargon, but Maegor detected something deeper in it. They were always weaker than many of their bannermen. "I am grateful that their Graces extended their hospitality to me for this most important occasion."

Summoning a servant with a tray of bread and pewter bowl of salt, Maegor still didn't know why the Lords Paramount were being summoned. He felt it had to do with him, but he wouldn't speculate. "Of course, and we offer you guest right as befitting of a host."

Edmyn tore off a chunk of the bread and dipped it in the salt. His lips scrunched a bit, too much salt upon the bread as it hit his tongue, drawing amusement from the Targaryen loyalist courtiers. Maegor was forced to bite back his smirk until the Lord made his exit, followed by Lord Daeron and Corlen Blackwood. He didn't fail to notice how they talked almost down to him. Father and mother better worry about potential power plays in the Riverlands. Who knew if Edmyn would try and assert his dominance, or one of the others try and usurp his position?

Gods, if only he could sit down. The irony of a man that trudged all over the lands north of the Wall being killed by standing wasn't lost on Maegor, but that didn't make it any less true. Protocol was protocol however, and stand he must. No second son could sit on the Iron Throne, it was an affront and challenge to Aenys' legitimacy and Maegor wouldn't do that to his brother. So he grinned and beared it.

In all fairness, perhaps it would be more tolerable had his mind not twisted into knots over the matter of his niece. Rhaena… She was the spitting image of his muna, if without the power and certainty of purpose. Alyssa shelters the poor girl, that bitch. It was truly a damn shame.

"She's my delicate little flower," his brother had said. "I can't let her be chewed up and spat out by the brutes of the world." Maegor loved him, but when he spoke in such a manner the younger Prince wanted to fling him in a pile of horse dung as he had done once when they were younger.

A dragon deserves to fly free. To fight and be strong. Rhaena had it in her - she approached Sȳndor without a lick of fear. She just needs that little push to break her shell. But how?

"I admire your patience with that little shit." Maegor was pulled from his musings by his uncle, who smacked his remaining hand upon his shoulder. "I would've split his head open with my warhammer."

Maegor rolled his eyes at his uncle Orys. "No you wouldn't. Aunt Argella would have your stones." With some, crude and bold was how you spoke to them. Orys Baratheon was one of those people and Maegor didn't hold back.

Laughing, the older Lord Paramount and bastard Targaryen appreciated it. "True, but I almost did split his head open back before Black Harren was a soot stain on the walls of his keep. Everyone thinks he was so bold and brave by leading the other Riverlands houses in declaring for your father, but the worm did it so that Corlen Blackwood or Humfrey Bracken wouldn't beat him to the punch."

"Hmmm, I did not know that."

"We like to downplay it to keep the peace, and Rhaenys found it hilarious when we dropped old Quenton right on his lap." While he laughed uproariously, when it died a look of sorrow crossed his lips and eyes. "Forgive me, but I still miss her."

Maegor nodded, a sad smile on his lips. "I never knew her, but I hope she would have loved me." From what many said, the only thing the two of them would share was the Targaryen temper.

Orys crushed his nephew in a one-handed hug - he shrugged off a fake hand for the one he lost in the Dornish Wars for the most part. "She would've. She'd have made it her personal mission to make you have fun and frivolity. That's what she did for both your parents, much as they would rather brood and fight." The thought was both amusing and sweet… and blocked out by the trumpets of the herald. "Oh fuck, the Hightowers."

"The Hightowers?"

"This is gonna be a fuckin' joy." Orys' sarcasm was obvious, if confusing to Maegor. I suppose I'll see why soon.

While Edmyn Tully had three houses more powerful than he in his own domain, Lord Theo Tyrell of Highgarden didn't have that problem. No, his problem was a bit better and worse at the same time. Located at the only great metropolis in Westeros - Oldtown - House Hightower was arguably one of the wealthiest and most powerful in terms of reach and reputation. They ruled the great city, they commanded the most men, and they were the protectors of the Faith of the Seven, whose holiest sites not in the ruins of Old Andalos were in Oldtown itself. This gave them a sort of royalty complex beyond even the former royal families, and in their elaborate dress and large retinue it showed.

With the rainbow cloaks and elaborate armor of the Warrior's Sons joining them, Maegor knew that the High Septon accompanied his nephew the Lord of the Hightower. Now he knew why Uncle Orys had been in such a foul mood.

Nevertheless, Lord Manfred, the High Septon - Gerold being his given name - and a young woman in equally fine attire of the latest fashions all bowed before him. The High Septon staying on his feet while the other two bent the knee. "House Hightower pledges fealty to House Targaryen," Lord Manfred said, not reluctantly but still rotely.

Maegor extended his hand. "Rise, Lord Manfred." Before saying anything else, he ordered forward bread and salt, this time two new loaves to be mindful of the High Septon. "I am glad you have made it my Lord, your High Holiness."

"It is fortuitous, Prince Maegor," said the High Septon, a jovial old man with deep conviction but little fight. "I am only glad to heed the summons of his Grace, but also come time to consecrate Septon Murmison's role in the Sept of Remembrance. Hugor could do it, but he is too low for such an important ceremony."

"Not to mention him being a dirty bastard," Manfred scoffed. "Forgive me uncle, but I don't know what you saw in him."

"I forgive his baseborn origins for his brilliance," the High Septon shot back. "Now where is Murmison?"

Maegor cleared his throat, still processing the obvious divide over Hugor Flowers - Maegor didn't like the man on general principles shared on most Septons, but this merited further inquiry. "I believe he spends most of his free time with my brother, the Crown Prince. I could fetch a litter to carry you to his manse."

"Thank you, Prince Maegor, but perhaps after a nap and a meal."

"My Prince." Maegor shifted attention to Lord Manfred. "I hope for an audience with her Grace, the Queen. You see, I have brought my beautiful daughter Ceryse with me." Proud, he urged the young maiden to step forward. "She is only twenty namedays, but I hope could be a wonderful lady in waiting to Queen Visenya."

All attention on the daughter of Lord Hightower, Maegor studied her. She was striking, a tall, curvy figure with plump lips and light brown hair. Surely a maiden that knights would battle hard to crown the Queen of Love and Beauty. Two green eyes sparkled as they met his, Ceryse smiling invitingly at him.

His trousers suddenly grew tight. "I am certain both my parents with to speak with you in a private audience, so such could be arranged for the afternoon."

"That would be splendid, and thank you." As the Hightowers and their religious guests were guided towards the guest quarters of the Aegonfort, Ceryse and Maegor's glances met one last time. She was quite pretty, sultry even.

A thought occurred to him. Mayhaps she was here not for his mother's benefit, but for his own?

An immense cacophony filled the air - tens of thousands of screaming, writhing bodies packed the central streets of the great city to watch the spectacle. To hear the roars of the victor. For those that held a stake in the great game, such was a chance to cheer and celebrate or to lose oneself in revelry as mitigation for loss depending on which faction one found themselves. For the vast majority, the poor and the enslaved, none cared. They simply wished to enjoy the festivities.

For Volantis had concluded its two-week long election process. Emerging out of a city spellbound by a particularly contested processes that nearly plunged the great city into chaos unparalleled since the Doom, finally there was a victor - a changing of the guard, in fact.

After five decades of peace under the Elephant faction, the warlike Tigers had retaken control not held since the Century of Blood. Backed by the wealthiest and most august families of Volantis, they spared no expense in exulting their victory for the populace. The procession from the Long Bridge was tradition, and the revelers were greeted to the most amazing of sights. Jugglers, fire-spitters, snake charmers, and every sort of musician entertained the crowd. Large War Elephants - undoubtedly a form of appeasement to the defeated faction - and row after row of snarling tigers dazzled adult and children alike, while massive coin expenditures provided free food, free chariot races, and free intimacy from the hundreds of teardrop-tattooed whores to satiate the hungry masses from across the Long Bridge. They loved it and heaped praise on the Tigers.

The Tigers were completely content with this. Every free morsel they ate or cunt they defiled was energy not expended on opposing them… or tearing apart the system limb from limb. Safely passing within the Black Walls to where the only ones that mattered lived, they would need the smallfolk quiet and the slaves docile for what they had planned.

If only Trianna Vhassar could identify what that was.

Within the Black Walls, matters were more formal yet no less festive or debauched. Highborn nobles of the Old Blood of Valyria scarfing down gluttonous portions of fowl, fish, and pastry while leaping upon whatever young maiden or serving girl tickled their fancy - men and women both. Beast shows and fire maeges entertained the guests at the new lead Triarch's manse, while a captive Wyvern from Sothoryos drew great interest.

But for the three triarchs, Trianna included, the festivities were convenient to withdraw to their host's solar to discuss business. To ensure the new order would be imposed and respected. Let's get this over with.

Quiet and with only a large hearth providing light, the simple atmosphere overcame the plush decorations of Catoyn Maegyr's solar. A thin man with piercing eyes and a long nose, he poured three glasses of Dornish red for the three of them. "A toast, comrades. To Volantis and the Old Blood, may they prosper."

"May they prosper," Trianna toasted, drinking the sour liquid. Granddaughter of the original Elephant triarch that held her name and ended the Century of Blood, she held the Valyrian beauty apart from a pair of olive eyes of her Dornish mother. The sole Elephant returned in the elections, it was her duty to keep the city from collapsing into war yet again. "Now, what did you bring us here for, Maegyr. I truly miss being pawed at by your drunken boon companions."

"No doubt, no doubt." Catoyn chuckled. "Given the… unpleasantness of the last two weeks, I hoped we could seek an accord."

She raised an eyebrow. "What unpleasantness?" Neither was dumb enough to deny what transpired. Volentine elections were filled with bribery and corruption, but Catoyn Maegyr undid all past candidates to seek power. The Tigers trod a path of open racism, nationalistic fervor, anti-Westerosi fearmongering, and sheer threatening of the wealthy classes that rigged the 'Valyrian Assembly.' Gangs of Tiger thugs and sellswords roamed the streets to keep Elephant supporters from attending the assembly, and both the slave janissaries and the Fiery Hand - both suspected to be bribed - refused to interfere to restore order. Trianna would have been enraged, if not more curious as to why Catoyn would stoop so low in order for power. Why now? What is his angle? "I just wish for peace and prosperity."

"As do I, but such can only be accomplished by achieving our destiny as the true inheritor of Valyria's glory."

"You'll never get me to support war, Maegyr."

While Catoyn looked affronted, Daario Baldarion scoffed. "We are in no shape to go to war. Not in the manner you think we are suggesting."

"Oh?" Tigers that weren't raging warmongers… odd for her observation.

"Aye." Daario was unlike Catoyn. Thickly-muscled and with ice-blonde hair, he looked a proper dragonlord conqueror… if not for the nose, bulbous and so obviously that of the Norvosi his family were descended from. "We're reliant on sellswords and slave armies, none of which are prepared for combat. They can't even fight off the skirmishes over the disputed lands."

Trianna nodded. "You defeated my former superiors over their failure to subdue Lys and Myr's raids on our commerce - in this I wish to find a solution." With merchant trade suffering from these naval raids, Trianna's control over her faction would solidify if the merchants had unrestricted shipping back. "But how do you propose to do this? Building an army takes time." Their only solution will be military.

Catoyn smirked. A dark, knowing smirk made all the more severe by his massive nose. "If we can't make an army yet, we buy one."

"Sellswords are unreliable."

"Not them, the Unsullied."

This surprised her. "The Good Masters will never part from the Unsullied."

"They will if the price is good enough, and your predecessors kept the coffers full."

"Sellswords and sellsails are one thing, but an Unsullied led force would subjugate the Three Daughters. Westeros won't like it - neither would Braavos or Pentos, but they don't have dragons."

"We have a plan for the Targaryen upstarts," dismissed Daario, waving his hand.

Trianna hoped she hadn't just walked into what would be their doom.