Into the sea, out of the fire - Chapter 35 - SoundWave0 (2024)

Chapter Text

Guards positioned on the eastern towers of the Red Keep, keeping close watch over the waters of Blackwater Bay, saw the yellow dragon when it sank below the clouds. There would be no forewarning, no time to prepare the king; his daughter had returned.

Rhaenyra would land in the outer yard. The lack of sleep from her travel across the Narrow Sea did not show in her flurry of steps to the throne room. “The king?” She would ask no particular guard who was stationed outside the building.

“In court, princess”

Viserys would hear Syrax's screams rattle the walls of the throne room. His gaze shifted from the petitioner at the foot of the stairs to the entryway opposite him; everyone in the room spun toward the noise. A momentary panic ensued as the dragon's screeches evoked fear. Syrax had turned violent in the past two years, to the point where every major naval vessel had to re-route around Dragonstone.

The grand doors leading inside the throne room were open due to the incoming and outgoing of small folk and lords, searching for aid. He half expected his brother to be by her side, but no, Rhaenyra stood alone. Her appearance was still too distant for him to perceive the features on her face clearly. Still, he could distinguish her preferred color palette of wares. From head to foot, she was dressed in black and red—no gold, not her rings that were at times forged out of the precious metal; even the sword she carried at her hip made of the same material had changed; the handle of this one was dark.

Bodies parted to the sides as she walked down the middle of the room. The first words he would hear from her after five years would be soft-spoken, yet their faint tone would not disguise the clear animosity, nor would the look she gave him in saying them be anything less than disdain.

“Five years... you've made me waste” She stepped closer and closer to the throne's stairs.

Viserys tilted his head toward his Lord Commander, Ser Harrold Westerling, both sharing a look of disquiet.

Syrax was rampant outside; her deafening cries became clear when the main doors leading inside the building were opened to permit some passersby, who were in the outer yard, inside in search of some protection. His daughter persisted in retaining her defiant glare at him, her chin leaned rigidly upwards. Even when the doors of the throne room shut, there were sporadic shrieks from Syrax that still penetrated the thick stone walls.

“Rhaenyra” The king called out.

“No!” She suddenly raised her voice. When coming too near the throne, Kingsguard drew tightly together to impede her pass, on seeing she wasn’t going to stop. Ser Willis Fell and Ser Criston Cole would be the two guards at the center of the lineup. Criston would draw his sword as a warning, and Rhaenyra would unsheathe hers and strike with none. Metals crashing into each other echoed down the quieted hall, with the first parry. A collective gasp of shock came from the huddled lords and small folk inside the throne room, not at the sudden violent action. But who it came from—this was the princess striking the Kingsguard, whose sole responsibility was to defend her father, the king.

On the second hit, she slid her dark blade along towards the tip of his. The scrape of metal was unpleasant to the ears, yet she freed herself of the steel barrier and showed she fought like no knight.

Ser Willis Fell's instinct would have him pull out his sword; being the closest, his desire to defend his Kingsguard brother would have him acting without thought.

On the third hit, Rhaenyra struck high, with the design of having Ser Criston's lower torso exposed. She would kick him with a force that would knock the wind out of him and make him stumble back, a sight she did not relish, for her sword was already bouncing off of Ser Fell's. By then all Kingsguard had drawn their weapons.

Rhaenyra's next sword lash would fall on an old friend, Ser Lorent. His interference made her focus dwindle, causing her weapon to lower enough to say she wouldn’t attack again. At least not the man who had done no wrong by her and who had saved her numerous times while out in the streets of King's Landing.

“Enough!” Viserys hailed. The Kingsguard heeded the order. Rhaenyra did not, swinging with fineness her sword to the right. Just as Criston was standing, the tip of the dark steel pointed to his throat.

“You forget yourself, Criston” She pushed the blade against his skin. Her head turned slightly right to peer at the knight swallowing dryly. Ser Lorent spoke out, as did her father, to release him, perceiving her blade had set deeper into his neck, drawing but a small drop of blood. “You're meant to be one of the best swords in the seven realms?” She asked snidely.

Viserys stood from his throne; at this, his daughter's eyes moved back to him, yet kept her head pointed at Ser Criston. “Let him go, Rhaenyra”

“This man draws his sword as easily on your daughter as an enemy” She narrowed her eyes. “I've wondered if it's plain incompetency or perhaps my father gave them the order, to do so… You’ve come to allow such plain impudence time and time again, as many other things” Grudgingly she lowered her sword; today would not be the day to rid herself of vermin as the likes of Ser Criston. Every hour she wasted here would be another moment away from Alicent, and already she's been away for too long and for absolutely no f*cking reason whatsoever.

Despite lowering her sword, she did not sheath it.

The king began. “You've returned, with many questions” His daughter reached out for Ser Criston's white cloak, cleaning her sword on the pale fabric, staining it with his own blood. This antagonizing nature of hers was unbeknownst to him. It was a quality that sowed only problems. He stopped his next utterance, as the door behind him, only used by those who belonged to the small council and members of the royal family, was opened. Viseyrs didn't need to glance over his shoulder to know it was his hand.

Rhaenyra flickered her stare to the side, her sword handle rotated in her hand a few times. She watched as Otto came around the melted swords at the bottom of the throne and came to stand on the lower platform by the king. She knew this would be a day that masters would record in their voluminous books of history and would be given a new title to add to the many she would earn throughout her life—depending on whom you asked, they would reveal an array of good and bad. In a single day and no less the day of her return, she launched an assault against the king and the eldest house of the seven realms, on her own.

By sundown, she would earn the title Rhaenyra “The Audacious” Smallfolk would quip that they would have given her “The Bold” However, her grandfather had beaten her to it.

She shook her head. “I have no questions, for you, only words, your grace” She stepped back and away from the Kingsguard. The choice to switch to the common tongue was made deliberately so her remarks and threats would not be misheard or misinterpreted and be perceived by all.

There needed nothing else to be said. The cutting of ties was done; she wouldn’t bow when turning her back on the king and, for one very last time, the throne.

On opening the door leading to the outer yard, Syrax's head darted in her direction, mouth ajar, ready to crush and burn. Rhaenyra quickly realized, her dragon's screams had terrorized every single living soul inside; there was no one in the outer yard, no patrol roaming the perimeter walls, no one in the connecting outer pathways crossing buildings. Even the guards outside the throne room were no longer there. It was almost as if they were bracing for an attack. Her climbing down the staircase stopped midway, taking a moment to regard the emptiness. Did they truly believe she would attack the Red Keep? She snickered as she resumed her approach of Syrax.

The Red Keep didn't need to be engulfed in flames; Rhaenyra was sure of it. She knew that her father would do it all on his own.

With a heavy sigh, she readied for another long journey and mounted Syrax. Despite never being south, she knew how to get to Oldtown. During the past, excursion to the Stormlands with Laena to deal with House Cafferen for lumber. In one of the hosted dinners by the castle lord, he would mention how his house dealt even with the distant ones as Highgarden.

Their facilitator was a major river called Blueburn that bled into the broadest and longest of the seven kingdoms, called Mander. Which led directly to Highgarden; once she flew over House Tyrell, all needed was to follow the direction in which the Roserode led, and that was going to guide her straight to Oldtown.

Rhaenyra would push Syrax, across the Kingswood, passing House Cafferen, and begin the pursuit of the river of Blueburn, south; both rider and dragon were fatigued, bordering on exhaustion. She hadn't slept in almost two days, and the last time she laid in bed, there was no proper rest; she'd been far too excited and eager for the hours to dwindle until midnight and return home. Syrax had flown the previous night at a steady, brisk pace, intending to arrive during the early hours of today.

So when a large enough field appeared by the river, Rhaenyra brought down Syrax. She'd wandered away from her dragon, grunting when stretching and hearing the bones in her back cracking. The rush of water was close, beckoning her to visit, and rinse her face in the frigid temperatures, craving a push of wakefulness. They were not alone, scattered on the grass-covered landscape cows fed, as did a small group of sheep. “Go on, indulge, Syrax”

Leaving the dragon to her banquet, Rhaenyra went towards the river, took off her gloves, brought her hands together, and dipped them below the water's surface, bringing them up to splash water in her face. Over her shoulder, Syrax was making quick work of the sheep; as she was burning, she was crushing the four-legged animals in half with her teeth.

Rhaenyra knew better than to drink river water, despite being parched. Before standing, she washed her face, passed a hand over her untidy hair, and wet her chapped lips. When examining her dragon, who moved on to the cows in the field, her mind went to Alicent. If her wife saw this, she would stress how this small meal Syrax relished would cost them a small fortune.

Her hand abruptly went inside her coat; she'd forgotten her wife's letter, that was left for her arrival. She ripped the wax seal roughly, and reached inside the envelope to bring out a single page; the writings almost filling it completely.

Rhaenyra,
You've returned; you are at last standing within the halls we call home. How we've longed for the day, yet I will not be the one to greet you or embrace you first. I know you well, wife, and I am aware that you are beyond furious with me for permitting you to remain ignorant in Pentos. You must comprehend that your return prior to your punishment being served was a decision not taken lightly.

Your return would have caused harm to the place that, for the most part, protects us and houses those we love. Look out at Blackwater Bay, my love. Those ships that surround Driftmark are part of a naval fleet that has been growing over the years. House Velaryon is growing stronger, but we cannot halt its progress in any way. Not when you look across the bay and also see a naval fleet that passes our current number of ships, whose sails carry the crests of House Lannister, my own and even yours. Those who see us as adversaries.

With this being said, House Velaryon is under the assumption my words to you will be one of caution, to react with measured restraint. My dear wife, they are painfully mistaken.

You have served your five years patiently and done what was asked of you, but still, your father has broken his word and has taken not only one mother from their children but both. I was strong enough to endure your absence, even the taking of the dragon eggs. But no longer are we the sole recipients of this punishment. It has been handed down to our children, Rhaenyra. They, too, are now struggling with absence. I'm uncertain how I'll manage without the two of them, or how they'll get by without me. Our children were the ones who forced my head to leave my pillow in the mornings; they were the only two who eased the tightness in my chest.

Still, I do not grieve their loss, as I will see them again because you will come for me. Vorian will not give us up easily; he has my father's blessing and the king's protection and will feel fortified within stone walls. We’re more likely to be kept as prisoners than guests in our ancestral home. I’m sure of that. We’ll never be allowed to leave the castle's grounds.

May the gods, forgive me for what I am asking you to do, but your rage is no longer one-sided. You will force his hand, not by threatening to burn the city or the docks. I will not have you stain your hands with the blood of innocents. Only a few others in this city can compel order like that of the king and my father, and those are the High Septon and Grand Masters.

Oldtown is a large, ancient city, and much of it is preserved in books and small bottles. That is why you will threaten to burn down the citadel. This will prompt them to take your demands extremely seriously. The citadel is located within the city walls, up the river called Honeywine that parts Oldtown into two halves. The order of masters spreads across both sides of this body of water, with a myriad of buildings connected by stone bridges. You will not be able to miss it, as the citadel gates are flanked by a pair of tall green sphinxes.

They will think you are bluffing; prove them wrong. Start by burning the buildings at the edges; they have the least value there until all that remains of them is pyres. Every day I shall stare out my window, waiting to see smoldering flames rain down. So, my dear wife, know that my letters to you will turn impersonal, as I will not have a moment's peace; I'm sure of that, too. Always, a handmaid or guard will be over my shoulder.

Know, I've not forgotten you, Rhaenyra in this past year. I still love you as devoutly and ardently as the day I first saw you, for wife, we are one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever.

Return to me, Rhaenyra.
Yours, Alicent

She lowered the letter, folded it neatly back into its envelope, and tucked it inside her breast pocket. Then walked back onto the open field. Syrax was leaving no sheep or cattle alive; her appetite due to her size was steep. Nothing of the livestock will survive but charred bones. She paced back and forth, waiting for her dragon's feast to end. Thinking, Alicent was choosing the same as she: fire and blood.

“Quickly, Syrax” She would speak out when only two cows of the dozen remained. Her dragon's neck spun around. Rhaenyra expected to get grumbled at for rushing; however, Syrax's head lifted toward the sky.

The pale silver-grey dragon, passing over them, Rhaenyra would recognize without mistake. Seasmoke flew across the field and did a turnaround when reaching the opposite end, from where she and Syrax stood. Rhaenyra shushed Syrax when the two dragons regarded each other across the field. Seemingly, neither of the riders had stepped forward to meet in the middle.

Laenor, slid off his mount, patting Seasmoke to calm down as he passed beside him. A hand would be raised to greet Rhaenyra, lessening apprehension. He would be the first to walk out into the open field.

She would quiet, Syrax, and go on to meet him, stopping mere feet away. “I don't know if I should strangle you or embrace you, Laenor”

“For the sake of our wife, let it be the latter” He responded, getting Rhaenyra to sigh, and drop her head with a light shake.

She lifted her gaze with a faint smile. “It's good to see you well, Laenor”

“And you, Rhaenyra” He wrapped his arms around her, both of them tucking their chins above the other's shoulder.

“What happened?” She whispered, seeking an explanation. “Why didn't you?” Her tone came off perhaps too harsh wanting answers, he pulled away.

“Do something about it?” Laenor rubbed his brow, throwing his hands in the air, laughing dryly. “Did you think we didn't? That I didn't? Daemon went twice to King's Landing, asking for your punishment be cut short; the second time was when Lucerys and Jacaerys dragon eggs were taken. He was told that perhaps he would join you” His tone became combative.

“I don't blame you, Laenor” She added, hushly. Going on to rotate one of her rings and have something to do.

“Good” He responded sharply, then repeated it another time, gentler. “Good”

He then made a gesture for her to wait, while he jogged back to Seasmoke, who kept a close eye on Syrax. In turn, the yellow dragon lay down, unbothered by the hostile stance of the other. Syrax's belly was full and felt serene from large quantities of food; a moment's sleep was more in line with Syrax's concern.

On returning, Laenor tossed her a small oval porcelain container, followed by an apple. “Water and food” Waving off the unimpressed look of the princess, examining the small apple. Yet, Rhaenyra didn’t voice any complaints and uncorked the bottle, downing the fresh water. He lowered his shoulders. “I did try, Rhaenyra... to get her back. Despite the strong, opposition from my house, I went to King's Landing and spoke with the king”

She lowered the container from her lips and cleaned the running drops from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. “He knows, doesn't he?”

Laenor gave her a firm nod. He knew what she meant by the resignation in her tone. “Your father knows you can bear children... He knows Lucerys and Jacaerys aren't mine. Why he held the courage to take the dragon eggs, in the first place, but only the one belonging to Lucerys and Jacaerys. If he had taken Baela's or Rhaena's, you would have returned to a short war. House Velaryon wouldn't have allowed it, by any means”

This point made Rhaenyra's mood turn aggravated. “By any means, only when it comes to real Velaryons”

Laenor bit the inside of his cheek. “I'm sorry I couldn't do more, truly, Rhaenyra”

“I know you did all you could, Laenor, you’ve always had” She took another long drink from the oval container, before asking. “What precisely did my father say when you asked for Alicent's return?”

He cleared his throat, scratching the side of his face. “The conversation took place in the throne room. Kingsguard were the only ones present. No Otto. No queen. No small council. No crowd. He alluded to it, plainly if I may add, saying Lucerys looked just like you at that age”

“Does the boy resemble me that much?”

“A mirror reflection” Laenor proudly confirmed. “Then asked if I loved Alicent and if I missed my wife in Driftmark. I said yes to both. After, he said something rather... revealing. If she approved of my affairs?” He got a raised brow look from Rhaenyra, then saw the piece click in her mind.

“He had you followed in Driftmark or you f*cked someone who told”

“The first” He took the empty canister offered. “Already been dealt with”

A gush of wind passing, had the surrounding trees harmonize in their rattle of dry leaves. The young Velaryon sat on the grass as Rhaenyra took the first bite of apple.

“You're not supposed to be here, Laenor” She said between bites, looking over to Seasmoke who finally, laid down, eyes focused, still cautious of Syrax.

“I know” He smiled upwards, shrugging his shoulders. “What are you going to do?”

“Go back to Driftmark, Laenor”

He plucked at the grass between his legs, sighing. “I can't be seen anywhere near the fires, but still, Rhaenyra let me be of help. You and Daemon…” He threw the gathered dried grass at the princess's boots. “Always insist on doing things on your own; knowing together, we work well”

“If you're seen, it will be war, Laenor. House Hightower will have grounds to retaliate, which my wife and your whole family have adamantly sought to avoid”

“And what you're about to do isn't? It will fall on all of us”

Rhaenyra shook her head, taking the last bite of apple, savoring the sweet, bitter notes, before tossing the carcass of fruit aside. “I'm leaving Driftmark, Laenor. So what I am about to do doesn't fall on your house but only on my shoulders” She moved to grab the riding gloves from behind her waistband.

Laenor stood up, quickly, brushing grass that stuck to his pants. “Syrax is worn out from your crossing of the Narrow Sea; she won't be able to do two trips from almost end to end of the realm and still attack Oldtown” He motioned to his dragon. “Seasmoke isn't as quick as Syrax, but he is rested. I can take Alicent first and come back for Gwayne” She tightened her gloves, thinking it over. “You know I'm right”

Already, he'd let her go alone once into peril up north against the Ironborn, not twice; she would go south accompanied. There was guilt in his heart for not doing further, even if he truly couldn't do much, and whatever little he could, was attempted. The harsh truth was House Velaryon wasn't willing to go to war for Alicent.

There was also a profound shame, for there were days he would speak up during the small council meeting, after returning from a visit to Oldtown.

“We must interfere; this offense has gone long enough, father” His gaze would drift around the table; only his sister ever supported his call to action. However that evening it was different, something had changed.

The rejections came as before, focusing more on the new naval forces that arrived from House Lannister and Hightower in Blackwater Bay. The numerous ships swarmed up and down the coast, proving unnecessary; they weren't under invasion, yet the message was clear for House Velaryon. They could rebuild and even catch up, but ultimately, they relied on themselves. Dragons gave them security, but they did not bring prosperity. What would happen when they needed to trade with other houses? Needed medicine, meat, and produce. Those houses were loyal to King Viserys, not them.

Laenor tightened his jaw, hearing the table move to the next subject. He rarely got angry, and never to this degree. A fist slammed down on the table, shaking pieces of silverware. Advisers and family members turned their heads in his direction. Laenor narrowed his eyes on the table before him, slowly hiding his clenched fist under the table. “She is thinner than I last saw, her; she is not sleeping” Raising his head, he peered across to Rhaenys, his mother, and muttered. “There are bruises on her arms, mother. Patience has run its course; we must do something. If not, I will go to King's Landing myself and demand”

Daemon leaned forward and grabbed his wine cup, feeling his wife's look dig to his side as he tasted the dark bitterness. He'd known the abuse Alicent went through in her childhood and was aware she'd go through it again as an adult in Oldtown. Alicent had known that too, yet she had gone, for peace and her children's safety. Patience was all they had to spare until his niece returned. So he stayed silent and watched Laenor stand, his chair knocked back with force, on hearing no action was to take place.

Now, as Laenor stood in the middle of the field, waiting for Rhaenyra's answer, he recognized the moment she saw Alicent, there would be a need of getting both Hightowers out quickly. “Between Highgarden and Oldtown are farming villages, plenty of deserted land, no one will know, Rhaenyra”

After, a few deep breaths, and looking over to Syrax, she accepted. “You'll need to be far, Laenor” He reassured her that Seasmoke would never be seen, giving her a tap on the upper arm, humoring her to keep up, then jogging back to his silver-blue dragon.

She stood, observing him climb to the top of Seasmoke and take flight. “Let us go” Syrax's amber eyes blinked slowly. Her gloved hand came to rest on her snout, feeling the warmth even through the black leather. “You've become lazy in these five years... hmm. We’ve rested enough, Syrax”

The yellow dragon began to rise from the ground; her tail lashed from left to right, wings stretching. Rhaenyra would assess the damage left behind; her pockets carried no coins to pay the unfortunate farmer, whose primary livelihood was consumed in less than an hour. However, she always paid her debts, regardless of how; her fingers dug into the nearest hot coals of an animal carcass, enduring but a pinch of discomfort in the kindled bones, and buried a small dark metal ring. When said farmer came to investigate what remained, he would find a ring band made of gold and dark metal that was only mined in Essos.

Pushing against mounting fatigue, they flew hour after hour to arrive at Highgarden by nightfall. They soared high between the clouds; their dark silhouettes were too obscure for those on the ground to know they belonged to a pair of dragons. When the source of light from Castle Highgarden became but a fragment in the darkness behind them, they would fly for another two hours, passing farming villages and cultivation fields. Laenor eventually brought Seasmoke to land on soil growing barley. Rhaenyra would meet him to talk about the last details of their arrangement.

“Take Alicent first; no matter if she pushes for Gwayne, understand” She looped her sword belt around her waist.

“I'll have Gwayne ride east, and not take the main Roseroad when he reaches me—avoiding any patrol retaking him to an unknown location” His response was a simple hum of acknowledgment. Laenor, from experience, knew she was focused and turned quiet before the battle. Fighting from above held its own challenges; but it was just as physically demanding as fighting on foot, relying on constant use of strength—from arms, legs, and center—to keep balance. Dragons held an immense pull of force when weaving direction; if they pulled left, you would pull your body right, to maintain a semblance of equilibrium and not be tossed off your saddle.

Rhaenyra double-checked the fastening of her riding gloves and sword belt, before remounting Syrax. Adrenaline began to triumph over exhaustion when the city of Oldtown lights materialized in the dark. Never before had she attacked a city, and never before had she attacked structures made of stone. Wood, flesh, and metal plates of armor were all Syrax had melted; this would be a first for both of them. There were valuable lessons to be learned.

She instructed Syrax to fly low, following the main Roseroad until reaching the eastern city's primary gate. At a height, merely clearing treetops. Guards set out on top of walls surrounding this side of the city, spotted a dragon coming. They would not think it was Seasmoke even at first glance; the size made them share looks searching for validation of the inaccuracy and implication. The prolonged deep ireful shrieks were the confirming factor that told them the dragon approaching belonged to no Velaryon.

The need to speak her demands required landing meters away from the gate. She waited atop Syrax, sneering, observing them close the massive wooden doors, denying entry to a small line of wagons from nearby villages in search of trade. Rhaenyra sighed as she waited; her body slouched forward, pressing her brow on the saddle, her eyes closing a moment.

When she lifted her head, the massive gate on the left side opened. A bannerman carrying the Hightower crest on a wooden pole appeared behind another knight, both well-armored. She decided as she slid off Syrax, that the one holding the banner would be the first to die in these late hours. Her heart rate began to increase as she walked towards the two racing horses who were going to meet her, in the expanse of open pasture beside the road. Syrax could feel her unease; her growl became deeper. The pull from dragon to rider was not of exertion but of impatience and frustration at being denied her natural behavior, yet again.

Steps slowed, finding the distance from Syrax far enough for the knights approaching not to fear. Her hands rested on the dark sword pommel, taking a deep breath as the horses came to gallop just feet away. Rhaenyra regarded them both with more heed now, as they came to a stop. The knight at the front looked down at his lap, seeming to read off a parchment of paper.

“Lor-” The knight stopped when he saw the princess raise her right palm at him—gesturing for him to go no further.

She pointed at him and then the ground. “Get down from your horse, when you're addressing me” Her manner of speaking was gruff.

The knight glanced behind, before coming down from his saddle. He cleared his throat, resuming his written message. “Lor-”

Rhaenyra again raised her palm, interrupting his narration. “Send a message to Vorian Hightower, and see to it the masters are present as Septons when you are announcing my words. For every moment, starting now, Alicent and Gwayne Hightower aren't outside the city's walls, unharmed, the citadel will lose its structural integrity. They better pray, it’s not built out of the same stone Harrenhal is, for I will not stop until they are released” She then stepped closer to the knight, her hand reaching out. “Give me the parchment”

Her eyes skimmed over the words, grin broadening when reading her father's title being used as protection. “Good, so he knows what I seek” She folded the paper and tucked it inside her coat. “I suggest you start hurrying back, to deliver my words. Your pace will influence how many men die in the next hour” Casually, her gaze went to the man who was carrying the banner, still on top of his horse. “I'm sure you'll be remembered as brave for coming out into the open, before a dragon. A respectable death”

She then half turned, looking once at Syrax before speaking out to the knight on foot. “Go, impart my message” The knight jerked around, fumblingly mounted his horse, and, with a kick to the animal's side, hastened back to the gates.

Rhaenyra caught the stare of the knight who remained, unsure what came next for him. Saying nothing, she strode in the direction of her dragon; the next phrase uttered was a duplicate of one delivered hours before, just as Syrax was to eat the livestock. “Indulge, Syrax” The ground, below her, shook as her yellow-scale dragon crawled swiftly past. She didn't look over her shoulder; instead, closed her eyes. The knight's horse buckled, and then the crushing of bone and metal was heard. Finding the cries of pain the animal was making repulsive, she turned back and said. “Dracarys” Fire consumed, and silence followed.

She walked toward the fire, unsheathing her sword. The knight pinned under his horse was missing his left leg; Syrax had taken part of the upper hip as well. Before today, she didn’t think of houses as Hightower and Lannister as enemies—a bother, yes, but an opposing force, not truly. She now did, meaning there would be no mercy, no restraint; she would treat them as those in the Stepstones, with cruelty.

Her steps, on scorched grass, were resolute. Uncaring for the heat on the soles of her boots, the dark blade she held came down and beheaded the knight. Rhaenyra would take the head off every man she killed—a barbaric act, but one that would reach the ears of Otto Hightower and the king. A taunt on her part, stating to them that she would take the head of any man again.

Putting away her sword, she mounted Syrax, her jaw tightening as hands wrapped around the reins a few times fiercely, with legs clutching the sides of Syrax and feet placed securely inside the stirrups of her saddle. The ascend into the sky was done with a snap of wings stretching wide. Guards on the wall didn’t see the dragon fly over them; rather, it just gained height until no one could see where it might have gone; the darkness of night made their loss of sight immediate.

Everyone looked up, their eyes scrutinizing the few clouds the moonlight revealed. After a minute of not one guard spotting the dragon in the clouds, a thick fear settled, and a stillness which made the sounds of the city streets on the other side clear. They were able to hear the wheels of wagons on cobblestone and the occasional shouts of drunks and laughs. Only those who lived close to the city gates would have heard Syrax's screams when first arriving; everyone else would be oblivious and wake to the torrential downpour of streaks of flames and screams of terror outside their window, as Alicent would.

“Behind! She’s behind” Someone yelled out, pointing at the structure that rose above the rest of the city. Its highest point, displaying a single glowing flame, serving as a beacon for guiding ships to harbor. “Seven hells” They could see the streams of flames from half a city away, circling House Hightower.

Syrax would fly around the lighthouse, three times, two of those times she would blaze the skies. Her flames would be brighter than any burning beacon; she would light the way. By then, both sides of the city would know they were under attack, or so they thought.

Rhaenyra, pressed her body against the saddle, as Syrax closed her wings, the fall from the highest point of House Hightower was done without trepidation. Alicent's description of her ancestral home’s altitude did no justice; this was by far the tallest building Rhaenyra had seen, above the Red Keep, above the Dragon Pit, above anything else. Just before they met the water's surface, Syrax would open her wings and glide up the Honeywine River, leaving those who caught the fire searching for the dragon in the clouds.

When the first stone bridge came into view, linking the two sides of the city, Syrax would clear it just about, and then gain height facilitating her search for the citadel. Oldtown was twice as large as King's Landing; the many torchlights spanned both sides were countless, each shining an alley, street, or bridge. Rhaenyra was quick to forget her house wasn’t the only ancient one, with grand accomplishments; Alicent's home was striking in beauty; her house was mightful, they did not have dragons yet had survived them, over and over. Not many did; in truth, no other did; they eventually molded to what the fires prompted them to, but not them.

Jaehaerys Targaryen had personally traveled to the city and bowed to their religion. Maegor Targaryen had come to burn their city, only for them to open their gates to him and have the city remain undamaged, surviving what many other houses in the reach hadn’t at the time. Aenys I Targaryen was much like her father in not having the backbone to stand against House Hightower and this city, which was home to the religion that would inevitably be his downfall. Despite having the number of dragons on his side, and being backed by one of the women who conquered the entirety of these lands, Visenya, and yet... Oldtown remained untouched, and House Hightower stood proudly. Lastly, Aegon I Targaryen, the conqueror, seemed to be the only one who brought them to kneel, for he and his sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys were serving examples from north to south of what happened if they didn't. The three didn't change their ways and stayed true to the house words: wherever they traveled, fire and blood followed.

Rhaenyra would be the next in the long line of Targaryens to come into conflict with this city and the oldest house in Westeros. House Hightower. Only she had different aims than all before her: she would not bow to their religion, nor would she burn the city to ruins; and in the end, she didn't want to rule over them; instead, her sole goal had been decided the night of her exile. Gwayne and Alicent would be the only ones to pass their house linage down; every other Hightower, Rhaenyra intended to behead.

The citadel wasn't hard to miss, as Alicent had written. Spherical ceilings and height that towered above others around it made the location distinctive. A pair of stone-shaped sphinxes flanked the outermost portion of the colossal building, an entrance.

Syrax would land without concern for who was in the way in the vast plaza, killing on impact an apprentice, who was leaving the citadel in the late hours. Her head would be directed to the tunnel that led into the building, her mouth opening and exposing her bloodied teeth, readying for the command. Rhaenyra could see inside and predicted it taking a concentrated surge of flames to cause irreparable damage—all of Syrax's fire channeled into the ground level of the citadel.

How many books would burn? How many lives would be lost from injuries such as burns or smoke inhalation? She'd done it many times before in the Stepstones to smolder those hiding in the caves, by having Syrax bring her head close to the entrance, and just unleash unyielding wrath. Rhaenyra shook her head. Alicent had never stepped inside the citadel; she couldn't; women weren't allowed; yet, her wife still respected the knowledge it possessed and asked her not to burn the important.

“Turn the flame green. Raise the banners” Vorian ordered, hunching over the table, his eyes trained on the flicker of a candle in front of him.

The room was crammed with masters, septons, captains, and council members of his house. He veered his head to the right, following the screams of a dragon on the other side of the stone wall. Many of his advisors wished for their talks to occur in the underground tunnels. Vorian, however, understood the princess wouldn't attack his home head-on, not with the danger of burning his sister as well.

One of the city captains looked down at the map. “My lord, the closest house is leagues away. House Beesbury, even coming downstream by boat, would take them several hours to reach us. The same goes for House Bulwer”

An older captain raised his voice. “Hours at a cost we can't afford, the princess from the last report from our scout states she's taken each of the towers, here, to…” His finger would drag over an Oldtown map, at the center of the table. “Here, reports are sporadic, for the distance men must traverse; as of now, every tower of the citadel on the west side has sustained a hail of fire. Inevitably, by the time our next scout comes with an update, she'll move on to others”

“How many of those towers have fallen?” An Archmaster questioned. His metal chains rattled as he stepped forward, joining the huddled captains around the table. His colleagues and septons had their own small group off the side, discussing.

“Out of the seven, four” He paused, unsure of how to reveal the next piece of information. The captain scratched his beard, inhaling a suffocating breath. “The three towers which remain standing—scouts, report…”

Vorian, stood upright, crossing his arms. “Out with it!”

“They report the stone bricks to glow red, my lord”

The septons and masters, quieted, all of them turning in unison, chains, and ruffled garments whirling, their sounds, made the room still. This knowledge was dangerous, but most of all, terrifying.

“Very few, dragons have ever been recorded to make stones or rocks glow red” The Archmaster by the table, stated.

“The princess did draw on Harrenhal as a point of reference. If we remain idle…” A young captain, the one who originally got the message from the guard who carried Princess Rhaenyra's words, added.

A different Archmaster would put forth his opinion, one that was becoming the clear answer. “The Citadel will burn down. This conversation must turn to the arrangements for the release of Alicent and Gwayne Hightower. Not a counterattack”

Vorian narrowed his eyes. “No!” The sound of a dragon's wail was heard far away. “I have my orders, from King Viserys himself, as his hand, to have my younger siblings remain in Oldtown”

“There will be no Oldtown, if the uncle shows” The master of ships, rebuked. “What of your sister's, husband? Three dragons” He shook his head, gesturing at the map, “Our main reinforcements, to make the journey within hours, must travel by sea and river. Princess Rhaenyra if reports are believed on her own, has destroyed over a dozen Ironborn vassals in the north. To have three dragons will be a massacre”

“Daemon Targaryen and Laenor Velaryon won't attack the city; if they were, three beasts would already be in the sky” Vorian retorted.

“And thank the gods, if that is the case, but my lord, already with one, we are encountering losses that will take us months to repair, and the lives of my colleagues…” The Archmaster by the table uttured.

“And the lives of our guards, who remain at the citadel” The oldest captain hastily tacked on. One of his younger brothers was one of those men who was stuck guarding and patrolling the perimeter of the citadel. Unfortunately, by the morrow, he will only recognize the charred, headless body of his sibling by the silver bracelet their late mother gave him.

Vorian tightened his jaw, eyes cast downwards. They all waited for his order to come. “Turn the flame green. Call the banners” He would stick it out, no matter the expense. There was a sudden erupt of men around the room calling to rethink his decision; he didn't listen. Inside the watchtower, he was safe. Desperation would lead her within its walls, and in here she was dead; he would make sure of it.

The oldest man there would have the last say; he did not need to hold a commanding tone; his words were spoken as in casual conversation. He raised his left hand. Septons and masters fell silent; even captains would cease their rushed words, between them, of disagreement on how to shield the city from the worst. “We will yield to Princess Rhaenyra's demands” His wooden cane scrapped as he walked away from the group that encircled him.

Vorian turned his head, to the High Septon. “I have my orders, from the king”

The frail man sighed heavily and moved to stand at the head of the table, next to Otto's oldest. His voice croaked as he spoke his next words, but they did not stutter. “I am giving you new ones. His grace is not here; Rhaenyra is. She can melt stone if given time, and the longer we oppose here, the greater the risk of being the next Harrenhal becomes. Let us not state the knowledge we've preserved for hundreds of years inside the citadel. Do you wish to be known as the Hightower who lost it all?”

Vorian, felt his anger rise. “I'll have them out of the city, within the hour, High Septon” He spewed out. “Arrin” Vorian called out to his youngest captain. “Bring me my sister and brother” After commanding a guard posted by the door to arrange for transportation to be at the ready.

“What of the fires, my lord” Archmaster asked.

“Deal with them!” He shouted back. Again, outside, he could hear the beast far off in the distance.

The captains, masters, and Septons did not linger after a decision was taken, noting that their lord was spiraling into one of his foul moods. Besides, a more pressing action needed to start, which was laying the ground for the dosing of the fires and tending to the injured. By the time the pair of younger Hightowers were ushered inside, the room was mostly vacant.

Vorian had not moved from his stance at the head of the table; his dark green eyes, regarded his brother, then, behind him, his sister. He hated just the sight of them, for the most part, his brother, but as of late, Alicent seemed more defiant of his summons, needing to be at times dragged out of her bedroom. Vorian, correlated it with the princess's punishment coming to an end, her five years closing in on them.

“You're letting us go?” Gwayne probed, his steps hesitant to walk deeper into the room.

“Yes… for now”

Alicent observed the guards who escorted them had not stepped outside the room. Her shoulders tense, recognizing them under their helms as the ones who held all of Vorian's dark secrets, all who witnessed his harsh tempers.

“You don't seem, please, sister” Vorian came around the table, with measured steps, deliberate in their stride, enjoying the look his sister tried so very hard to conceal, but he'd come to know it well, panic. “Not eager to return to being the princess’s whor*?” A grim smile tugged at his lips.

Alicent said nothing, dropping her head and intently gazing at the wooden floor. There was no noise in the room, besides Vorian's gradual steps, after the taste of copper filled her mouth as he stuck her hard, making her head turn to the side.

Gwayne was already pushing his brother off balance before another strike would befall his sister. His fist had no aim, only wanting to cause harm. “Don’t touch her!”

The two brothers were almost at height, even in strength, but not in skill. Vorian grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, smiling, and dragged him with brute force towards the table, slamming his head down. Gwayne didn't fight him; he never resisted, even if he could. The youngest Hightower kept his word for the past year; Gwayne took most of the beatings; if Vorian was to batter one of them, let it be him. Vorian grabbed his left arm and twisted it behind his back, pulling his head up by his hair and pushing it down again.

“The gods should have taken you instead of Aldric” Vorian brought down a third time his brother’s head on the table. On releasing his grip, Gwayne sagged to the ground.

Alicent raised her chin, seeing Vorian turn back to her. Her face was taken in a vicious grip. “Know, sister, by the gods, I will have her head… You are a shame to our house; our mother would be disgusted with whom you've become—nothing but a common whor* whose children are abominations”

She spit in his face on hearing her children be brought up, mustering every ounce of strength to push him away. Her hand managed to slap him, a satisfying sound echoing in the room. A second time, blood would pool inside her mouth when he returned the blow. Between bloodied lips, she would spew out. “And I promise you, brother, that my children are the ones who will be our house’s future” Her brother would not understand her own threatening words.

Rhaenyra walked between scorched bodies, sword in hand, dark metal colliding with brittle necks. She stood in front of the citadel, examining her surroundings, bringing death to those who had, by miracle, survived the burst of flames, ending their suffering with a swift plunge to the heart, after she took their heads. Within two hours, Syrax took eleven towers; six of them collapsed. As for the number of deaths, Rhaenyra couldn't recall how many beheadings she had carried out, not based on the number becoming large. Her mind was simply losing its sharpness due to the exhaustion.

She'd sheath her sword when not one remained alive or intact. Syrax raised her head, mouth opening at the sound of horse hooves trotting against stone. Fire smoke had coated the plaza enveloping the citadel, making it difficult to determine who approached or how many. “Calm” Rhaenyra warned her dragon.

Through a suffocating fog, a single rider emerged, his horse pulled the reins left and right. “Princess Rhaenyra, I bring word!” Visibility turned worse as he continued on his path, to the citadel entrance, unsure if the princess was even near. A trail of bodies was all he could identify beneath him. He steadied his nerves, trying his hardest to keep his horse from bucking him off the saddle. On lifting his gaze amidst the fire smoke, large yellow eyes peered at him.

He called out to her again. “Princess Rhaenyra!” His voice trembled. As if saying her name would save him from the beast before him.

“Speak”

The rider turned left at a sudden voice. He hadn’t even heard her footsteps. “I... I... I bring word, princess” She took a step closer, mimicked by her dragon, making his mind go empty. This was a level of fear he'd never before experienced; he only heard tales as a boy that such emotion could reach heights where it left you stunned, could hear the thumping of one's heart, feel each individual beat against your chest.

Rhaenyra chuckled stiffly. “You've nothing to fear if you bring me good words”

“I do” He responded, the instant her voice stopped. “I do. Your demands are to be met. Lord Vorian Hightower will release both Alicent and Gwayne Hightower. At this very moment, they are being escorted to the east city gates”

“Is that all?” She expected some snarky message from Vorian, but the rider just nodded. “Then you can go and notify I will no longer attack the citadel”

With hurried steps, she turned away from the rider, ready for this to be behind her. Never wanting to see so much as a brick stone of Oldtown again. Their travel down the Honeywine River was done at a height in which darkness would still hide them; Rhaenyra didn't wish to spread additional terror on the small folk, thinking they were next.

Syrax on passing the eastern outer walls of Oldtown, returned them to where they started. Her flight would circle the skies above the empty field outside the main city gates until. Rhaenyra would see the small group of guards flanking a single-horse carriage. She couldn't stop a brief smile erupting as Syrax descended.

She, slid off her saddle, her feet firmly touching the ground. As before, she'd trekked towards the middle of the field, passing the dead horse and rider from hours earlier. Hands, tugged at her glove hems, tightening them. She'd hold her breath while viewing the carriage door open, swallowing back the impulse to run when Gwayne ducked under the small door, his features obscured by the low light. Only two guards held torches. He then turned back to face the carriage door, offering his hand to Alicent. Rhaenyra's steps quickened.

Gwayne grabbed the forearm of his sister and didn't let go when she was off the carriage. From their view, a single dark silhouette drew nearer. A guard adjacent to the carriage announced. “Demands have been met. Lord Vorian expects no additional bloodshed or attack on your behalf, Princess Rhaenyra”
After five long, treacherous years, Alicent heard her wife's voice.

“Oldtown shall never see me again, after today” Rhaenyra's voice was stark from within the darkness; she didn't step into the light of the torches, remaining a silhouette. “The carriage is unnecessary… You and you” She vaguely gestured to the guards on the left side of the carriage. “Off the horses” Rhaenyra ordered, the unsheathing of her sword, putting them into action.

Gwayne, dipped his head close to his sister, mumbling. “Go to her” He then released his light hold.

“One of you as well give the man a sword” Another command came from the darkness. Gwayne jogged around the front of the carriage, his hands trembling as he reached for the reins of two horses. A guard relaying one of the saddles held a weapon. He didn't care to check, only wanting to put distance between him and them.

Rhaenyra tugged off her left glove. After five long, agonizing years, she grazed her wife's cheek. Nothing more than a fleeting touch, but by gods did it feel as if something within them was being mended.

Syrax felt a pull from her rider, a rage. She’d reached out with a dry hand, and pulled it back, with her wife's blood covering her skin.

“Rhaenyra” Alicent whispered the name, leaving her mouth almost distorted; its pronunciation not as effortless, as before, not as gentle.

Rhaenyra didn't clean the blood, donning back the dark glove. Her right hand rotated her sword's handle. “Gwayne” She turned away from Alicent, saying nothing else. “Ride, the main road, until Oldtown is out of sight, and then diverge east, to the cropping fields. There, you will find Laenor” She then saw the bloody mess, which was Gwayne's face. “Go; don't ease your pace”

“What of you?” Alicent asked. Her wife didn't spare her another look. Syrax's growl came from somewhere in the dark at the back of Rhaenyra, frightening the horses Gwayne held. The dragon was getting closer, and Alicent, looked out to darkness of the woods, feeling the all-familiar rumble of the earth below her feet.

“Sister” Gwayne pressed. His hand reached to tug Alicent’s shoulder, turning her body around. Her eyes were surprised the princess had already begun the walk to the center of the field.

Alicent moved past him, hastily, calling out to her. Her wife half turned in darkness; only outlines of facial features could be perceived, but as she cradled the edges of Rhaenyra's jawline, there was a sudden sense of warmth, of a devotion that hadn't dimmed with time. For five years, she had waited and would not suffer another second without at least a kiss. She would savor the taste of blood from many including her own on her lips, the ashes of a city in flames on her lips, and the cruelty on her lips. “Burn it, from base to torch”

Alicent, leaned in once more, her lips brushing delicately against those who, after pulling apart, chased. With that, she had sealed the faith of her ancestral home.

Gwayne was already rushing to bring her horse, moving around the dark animal and helping her mount, a difficult task with her dress. Meanwhile, Alicent’s focus was diverted; trying to settle herself in the saddle, he gave his singular curt nod of approval. Rhaenyra returned it and continued to walk out into the center of the field.

His run to his mount was done quickly and with ease, pulling the reins of the animal to circle back and be behind his sister. Alicent was never the most skilled rider, but she didn't need to be; her horse took off at a rapid pace, its survival instinct overcoming its habits. The two siblings began their crossing of the open field to the main road.

Syrax came out of the depths of darkness; she lurked in the outskirts of the meadow, just before meeting the treeline, but no longer, she now stood where Alicent had. Her yellow eyes darted to the two horses passing her at a distance and only redirected her sights to the group of men in front, upon hearing the word.

“Dracarys” Alicent whispered, sparing the last look over her shoulder before passing the threshold of the tree line. Flames—that was how she would last see Oldtown, it burning.

This would be the moment when Rhaenyra got her title of being audacious. There would be comparisons to Visenya, but also to her son Maegor, who had his own title of being the cruel. On burning the carriage and those who escorted, leaving of them nothing but a semblance of a bonfire. Rhaenyra landed at the Hightower's doorstep; the watchtower was established on a small patch of land in the center, down the Honeywine River, separating the city's two halves.

Rhaenyra did not enjoy being cruel, but tonight she did.

There was no exchange of words or threats; the instant Syrax touched the cobblestone in the courtyard, flames consumed every living thing, making Rhaenyra stained her hands with the blood of innocents, and this too will not be the last time. The only saving grace was that the courtyard wasn't as full as typical; everyone was at this point either hiding underground or going to the citadel to put out fires. However, that would not stop the count of burned bodies.

Rhaenyra peered up the steps; the colossal entrance doors into the watchtower, were shut, reinforced without a doubt, and the thing that made her smile upon seeing this was they were made out of wood. She pulled on Syrax and directed her to climb the first few steps leading to the entryway, her snout pointed upwards. There came again the order, to set ablaze.

She came down from Syrax, sword in hand, and walked the opposite way. Her eyes scanned the courtyard for anything missing—anything alive—a search that led her to go up the flight of stairs adjacent to the outer yard wall. Sauntering between the few carcasses of the dead, she grabbed her sword with two hands, and brought it down, again and again, on necks.

When she made her way towards the first of two guard towers on the wall, one looked over the eastern side, and the other was situated on the other end, overwatching the west. She kicked open the door to the east first. Rhaenyra killed the three guards who hid, who had been lucky not being outside when Syrax had landed; her sword swung at each. Only the last of those men had finished his shouting of plea for mercy. She left the small tower filled with three headless corpses. In the western tower, there was a single guard in the company of a stable hand. Rhaenyra killed the guard and carried out the decapitation in front of the stable hand without hesitation, he being the sole witness to all this; his words were the ink for the masters to record this part of history.

By the time she came back down the stairs, the stones on the archway on the gates were gleaming red. Rhaenyra could see part of the door had given out; that opening was enough for her to do the absolute, cruelest action of all. She remounted Syrax and had her ascend the remaining stairs; the heat coming off the searing stone alone was suffocating. However, that didn't satisfy her, what mercy she had extended, the Citadel would not reach here.

Syrax would carry out a practiced action, from their days in the Stepstones; her mouth hovered over the broken door crevice and unleashed a stream of fire. The entirety of the scorching heat directed in one direction would deteriorate a large portion of the watchtower base, affecting the structure of hallways and destroying furnishings. Everything burned, including innocents who were not allowed into the underground tunnels.

When Syrax's mouth closed and the flames ceased, next came the glowing light at the peak of the tower. “From base to torch” Alicent had demanded. Rhaenyra didn't stop when the stones began to turn red, proving to herself and everyone else that dragons could still melt stones. The summit of the watchtower would be ruined for years to come as stones would smolder together, partially collapsing onto itself and morphing into a sort of bolder.

The small folk in Oldtown during the early hours of morning, couldn't distinguish if the orange in the sky was the first waves of sunlight coming over the horizon or, fires that couldn't be extinguished.

“You didn't think to ask where she was going?” Daemon stood outside, at the crest of a stairway that led down to the eastern beach, behind Hightide Castle.

Laenor sighed and rolled his eyes when Daemon craned his head to the right. “Rhaenyra wasn't in a rousing mood when she spoke to me. It took convincing on my part for her to accept even my help”

“With good reason” He took a deep breath, his arms crossing behind his back and his eyes surveying the dark sky.

“I spent the past hour being chastised and shouted at by almost every member of this house. I know my involvement was reckless and could bring about a war... only” Laenor paused, coming to sit on one of the sand-covered steps. “Only if I was seen, which I was not Daemon”

“We can't be certain of your belief, Laenor”

He rubbed his hands together, cleaning the sand off them. Laenor didn't pay heed to the skies, instead opting for the beauty of the sea. Seasmoke was below them, resting on the beachfront; he would hear Syrax before any of them. “It was the right thing to do; she needed help” He spoke low. “Would you blame her if she leaves us for Essos, and we never hear of her again, Daemon?” The man standing to his left kept his response silent. “You saw the state of both Alicent and Gwayne—wounded and…”

“Fragile” Daemon finished. His mind remembering the hours she arrived.

Such an odd coincidence he picked up, the hour being dawn when Alicent arrived on Seasmoke, the same as Rhaenyra had arrived the previous day. He waited then, much like now, on the beachfront, and with every hour that passed and no one showed, he inched closer to mounting Caraxes and scurrying after them. “Any news from King's Landing?” Daemon asked under a full moon.

“Nothing has changed since yesterday morning. The princess walked into the throne room, threatened Otto Hightower, the king, and struck several Kingsguard” Harwin, reported. “Red Keep has been silent since; there have been no major incoming or outgoings from the castle. Nor has the City Watch been given any additional orders”

They stayed silent for a short time before Harwin couldn't help himself. “They say the princess hit Ser Criston with force, drawing blood”

Daemon hummed, smirking while briefly shaking his head. “I believe it; both have a great hatred for the other” He caught Harwin's raised brow. “There have been small, obvious belligerence on his part, with the added extra that Rhaenyra never liked him or the way he addressed Alicent in their younger years” Daemon clarified. “My niece harped in the past on being curious to discover how well she would fare against the best swords in the realm. Good to learn she not only held up against one, but two”

Harwin laughed softly before arching his head upwards, seeing the faint outline of a flying dragon.

“Seasmoke” Daemon stated. “Notify them Laenor has returned” He stayed where he was, as Harwin began to run up to Hightide with his order. Only Seasmoke flew so near to the water's surface. The blue dragon slowed its speed and landed with a grace Syrax could never have on the beachfront—not far from where he stood. He was given a frantic gesture to come close from Laenor when he came down from his dragon.

“Take her; I'm to go back and get Gwayne” Laenor, helped Alicent get down. Her feet wobbled an instant after they met sand; they'd fallen asleep on the journey. He held her steady by her arms.

“Rhaenyra?” Daemon questioned. Alicent responded with a bleak tone. It had made him turn around and examine her and take notice of dried blood down her chin.

“She stayed behind” Alicent replied,

“Laenor” He called out, seeing the younger Velaryon remounting his dragon. When he got the attention of the dragon rider, all Daemon could ask of him was “Be quick, daylight won’t hide you”

In the span of a few blinks of an eye, Seasmoke was again crossing Blackwater Bay.

“Where are my children?” Alicent walked forward.

“Asleep, in the care of Laena” Daemon, could distinguish swelling on her bottom lip. ”I'll take you to them once, you're cleaned”

She nodded silently, touching her chin, and feeling a thin, layer of dried blood. His silence ended as they entered the castle walls, at once sending for the master and to notify his lady wife, Laena. The hour was dawn, meaning most of the castle was still in slumber; empty halls allowed them to go mostly unnoticed. Alicent was examined and tended to her wounds in her old bedchamber. Daemon stayed outside, lingering in the hall, waiting for Laena. When she appeared she gave him a look of concern before knocking on the door, informing someone was about to enter the room.

Daemon crossed his arms, against his chest, thinking of his niece. He again pondered the decision to call on Caraxes and go south. For every drop of blood Alicent dropped, a body would burn in Oldtown. Soon, Lady Rhaenys would come to ask for her son's whereabouts. Daemon gave her the bitter answer of his returning south to fetch Gwayne. During their small chatter, it gradually became heated, as sunrise could reveal Seasmoke in the sky.

The two of them turned around at the sound of the bedroom door opening. Stepping out was Laena, head lowered, a hand rubbing at her brow. “Her lips are nicked; the bleeding stopped a time ago, swelling is expected. The bruises on her upper arms will heal with time” Laena caught the usual restrained expression on her husband's face break. He tilted his head away, wincing. “She's asking for some time alone after the master leaves her” No one objected.

Alicent once left alone, bathed in hot water, almost to the temperature her wife enjoyed. She scrubbed her body with a washcloth until the flesh turned red and ached. When scrubbing her knuckles, intensity reopened old wounds at the edges of her nails. The tiny droplets of blood dyed the water. Her hands trembled the slightest, but she continued to the next hand. After being finished, she dressed in a simple blue garment; most of her clothing had remained. Standing inside the dressing room, she went over to her jewelry chest. Inside, at the top over every other chain or erring, her red gemstone ring waited as she had left it.

She took a plunging deep breath that filled the eternity of her lungs before reaching for it and placing it on her right thumb.

Alicent remained alone in her bedroom, deciding breakfast would prove to be the best time to see her children again, not wanting to wake them early or overwhelm them. There was also no use in waiting for Laenor or Gwayne; the journey was lengthy, crossing the realm almost from coast to coast; it had taken them the entirety of the night. Her brother would arrive in the late hours tonight, and Rhaenyra... Her wife would not show her face until tomorrow night.

So she sat at the edge of her bed on Rhaenyra's side, motionless, hands on her legs, fingers tapping continually, eyes staring out towards the balcony. Witnessing the color of the sky change various shades of blue.

She didn't wait for an invitation for breakfast; her rushed steps were precise, knowing these halls and these stairways by memory. How could she forget them when she dreamed of them constantly. The dining hall doors were closed, but opened to her nearing; clearly, the guards were given orders, allowing her entry.

Lucerys, her youngest, was the first to see her; his lilac eyes were as curious as hers, always moving about a room. He almost didn't seem to believe his vision; he would close his lilac eyes and shake his head sluggishly.

Jacaerys turned around, seeing what his brother was awed by. “Mother!?”

Alicent lowered herself to her knees, catching the crashing body of his eldest. How strongly he hugged her. Lucerys held the reaction of delicately pushing back his chair, walking around the empty tables in the dining hall, and embracing his mother's body with that same soft presence he carried himself with, yet his cries were the loudest.

Daemon jerked his head down; every Velaryon at the table did, with the exception of Rhaenys, who had understood at that moment the sacrifices Alicent had made—the steep price paid in blood, tears, and love. The woman had kept her word; she prioritized house Valeryon's needs above her own. Never had this house stood more solidly, with dragons, a sizable naval fleet, and lucrative trade lines that filled their pockets. Rhaenys respected Alicent all the more.

Daemon crossed his arms behind his back and took a deep breath, smelling the saltwater, distancing himself from the memory of yesterday's events, still waiting for Rhaenyra to arrive; if by dawn she didn't appear, he would go out to search for her.

He, however, found his mind still going back to the thought of the siblings, yesterday was strenuous their effects evident. Alicent had not left her children's side in the last 24 hours when Gwayne arrived last night. Daemon had seen a man leave their shores but returned to them as he had first come years ago a scared boy; his wounds were far graver. Having a broken nose on arrival. Ravi had not left his side, acting beyond the role of a sworn shield; his eyes had grown saturated with unshed tears when he clutched Gwayne in a soft embrace. The two men hid their faces below each other's shoulders, yet it was clear, at least from Gwayne; he was sobbing. His body shook as he inhaled stifled breaths.

“Are we even sure she'll arrive tonight?” Laenor complained from the ground, as he pinched sand between his fingers and released it slowly into small piles.

“She'll arrive”

“How do you know?”

“You can wait inside” Daemon stepped closer, deciding whether to sit and join him on the wooden step. Laenor repeated his words in a mocking tone. He smirked, deciding to sit on the step below his.

Their wait was done, quietly, letting the stormy night sea waves fill the gaps, avoiding complete silence. By the passing hour, they grew impatient.

Past midnight, Laenor raised his chin as it rested on his arm. His dragon, Seasmoke, would, without cause, leave. He thought at that instant, the blue dragon was leaving for Dragonstone. However, Daemon stood, muttering the wait was over.

As Seasmoke left the beachfront, a much larger silhouette replaced it. Syrax hid in the heights of dark skies, unperceived and noiseless. A call on her being beyond exhausted. Daemon didn't go down the steps; his head only drifted to their bottom.

“Laenor?” Rhaenyra called.

The torches lined along the path showed his niece standing at the bottom of the stairs. Her climb was done with heavy steps, her body swaying from the burden of fatigue.

“Gwayne and Alicent are both here; they've been tended to by the masters” He responded to the unspoken question.

“And what of King’s Landing?”

Daemon shrugged. “Quiet”

Rhaenyra hummed, moving past her uncle, and Laenor; they had prepared for a brash reception. Being several steps above them, she turned back to them. “I need to rest; I'm beginning to get headaches. I can't think straight, or give a coherent understanding of what has happened these last hours” She paused, undoing the fastenings of her gloves. “When I wake, we'll speak; don't bother me until then”

Alicent lay in between her children; she knew Rhaenyra was across the hall, in one of the empty guest bedrooms. During those late hours, she had recognized the sound of footsteps that could only belong to Rhaenyra; they abruptly stopped outside her bedchamber. The sliver at the bottom of the door cast her shadow, unmoving. Alicent propped her head off the pillow, observing the figure. The door handle was touched; she was sure of it. A beat later, the shadow left.

Before laying back down, she glanced at her children, both asleep. Jacaerys had tossed his right hand over her stomach, and Lucerys left hand clutched a piece of her tunic. Perhaps they were afraid she wouldn't be there when the sun rose if they didn't physically hold her down. A night of rest would not come to her on the first night back nor the one after; however, at least now she had peace.

When morning came, Laenor was there to calm the boys. Jacaerys was overeager to show her all their father had given both of them, in truth, most of it was Rhaenyra's gifts. Her children wanted to show her what had changed and she was ready to hear every word of it.

“She left about an hour before you woke up” Laenor muttered leaning towards her. “Dragonstone”

Alicent raised her brow at Jacaerys displaying over his head excitedly a small, dull practice sword. “Father bought me this for my name day”

“Oh, it’s… it's a sword alright” She gave him a tight lip smile, brushing back his curls. Laenor discreetly shook his head, clearing his name; this was Rhaenyra's doing. At least her wife had made the blade duller than a butter knife.

“I wanted a fox, but Uncle Daemon said no more wild animals” Lucerys said quietly. His mother looked down at him, smiling, assuring him perhaps this year she'd get him a fox. He noticed the expression pained her, it stretched her lips and opened her wound. “Does it hurt?”

Laenor shoulders tensed, mouth opening but no sound. Alicent by now, a master of hiding her discomfort, responded without a second of idleness or her smile dropping. “Very little”

“What happened, mother?” Jacaerys put down his toy sword. His attention peeked at his brother's question.

The self-hatred was palpable on her lips, on her tongue; it cleaved and settled deep within her chest. The lie had come naturally to her, a necessary one... Had her father justified his lies to her the same way? She being too young to understand, or she was off better unaware.

“That orange one is my favorite. Lord Corlys says it's going to grow this big” Lucerys extended his hands as far apart as possible. His lilac eyes held their mother's charm under the sun, narrowing as he smiled broadly.

“Alicent” Laenor, came to pass her a handkerchief. “You're bleeding” He then diverted the boys attention, by having them search for the biggest fish, while she cleaned her nails, behind her back. She hadn't done it purposefully or felt the tearing of flesh.

Laenor sneaked glances as she walked, along the pond's shore, just behind her children. His concern prompted him to slow his walking speed, falling to her side. She lopped a hand around his upper arm to hide the recently inflicted incision and to avoid any further injury.

The gardens hadn’t changed much since her last visit; their paths were still recognizable. Flower beds surrounding them maintained their vibrant display of colors. Every green shrub was trimmed to the shape of clean rectangles; no twig was out of place. Yet, she felt no sense of comfort in the familiarity. When sitting under shade, her children would ask question after question about Oldtown: How does the city look? What did she do? Did she finish what she was doing? Did she miss them? Was she going back?

“No” Alicent shook her head.

“Uncle Gwayne?” Jacaerys stood before his mother, while his brother sat beside her. Lucerys head rested against her arm.

“He isn't either” Laenor stated.

Their questions halted when the sun was covered by a large figure.

Jacaerys observed the yellow dragon, known to him as Syrax; his mother had given him and his brother the name and the stories. He was in awe when he first saw the dragon from afar, and then he was in disbelief when his mother told him she had mounted Syrax, as had Lucerys. They would listen to her recount before bed how every dragon flew differently, and Syrax was no different. She'd triumphed over Caraxes, Ghost Wind, and even Seasmoke. Once in a race from Driftmark to Dragonstone and back.

The two brothers pulled their necks back, attentive, watching the dragon pass over them; this was the closest Syrax had been. Astonishment left their small mouths ajar, absorbed in the enormity of the dragon's size and the realization that someone was on Syrax.

Once the dragon disappeared over the outer castle's walls, the two boys continued with their questions, time passing and their conversation remaining on the topic of her time in Oldtown.

“Will we ever go south?” Lucerys asked. His mother wrapped an arm around his shoulders, hand combing his silver hair back in a soothing rhythm.

“Maybe... one day. When you're much older”

Jacaerys picked up a small stick and began pocking the ground. “Father, how come your dragon isn't as big as Syrax?”

Laenor's grin widened before his laugh filled the garden. He shook his head, rising from the bench. “They're about the same size”

Lucerys giggled against his mother. “No, they’re not”

“Yes, they are” Laenor retorted.

“No, they're not” Jace laughed.

“Seasmoke is faster” He defended, smiling and putting both hands up.

“Is he?” Alicent joined the teasing.

Jace snickered. “Mother said, you're slower than Daemon”

“Oh, yeah” Laenor nudged closer to Jace until the boy ran away, laughing. When it was clear he wasn't catching up to Jace, he pivoted to Lucerys who, seeing he was the next target, quickly climbed down from his seat and ran around green hedges, putting distance between them.

Alicent watched them chase each other in the labyrinth of paths. She sat there, listening to her children's contagious laughter; seeing their smiles drew out her own. Her head bowed momentarily, desperately holding on to the feeling of happiness… to hope. On lifting her brow, she saw her wife, walking under the outside corridor, seemingly going to the residential part of the castle. Alicent followed her walk, at times disappearing behind bushes. Rhaenyra sauntered beside Harwin; he was keen on her words, or rather orders, his head tilted close.

She watched them slow down, and then Harwin turned around and walked in the direction they'd just come. Her wife had completely stopped, appearing to catch a moment to herself alone.

The sound of children's laughter had her gaze searching for the source. Rhaenyra didn't think they were out in the gardens; she was informed they were in the dining hall. Her hands dropped from her sword pommel when Alicent caught her look and wondered how long she had been observed. With a deep inhale of shaky breath, she took one step forward and another. Before nervousness could make her second guess. She maneuvered around verdant hedges, following the narrow stone paths. As she diverged off the trail footsteps quieted walking across lush pastures.

There was no darkness, no shadows to hide in, this time around as the two of them regarded each other in daylight.

Alicent noticed the significant differences in appearance; her wife had cut her hair again, short, just below the ears, styling it by parting it down the middle, strands of silver hair falling over her face. The unruly look flattered her. Alicent always favored it. Then came the long scar covering half her neck—the vertical line was serrated in shape and reddish in color.

Lastly was the sword at her hip, a new one made of dark metal that was comparable to Blackfyre. The dragons attached at the end of the blade had dark rubies for eyes; the sword's grip was composed of dark leather with a swirl of thick stitching of simple red engravings all around. On the pommel, a precise six-sided cut red ruby, the same shade as the small ones, its dark crimson color glistened only in certain angles.

Rhaenyra found her wife's, green eyes, still the most beautiful sight she'd laid her gaze upon. She'd dressed today in blue and gold-embroidered fabrics. The auburn hair falling over her shoulders—by gods, she looked as every bit the divine memory she kept close to heart and mind over the years. Yet, small differences came to manifest themselves as she neared the bench. As those of dark circles enveloping her eyes, the bags under them and Alicent being thinner, much thinner than last remembered.

She came to a standstill by the bench, seeing the major differences plainly. A single large bruise appeared from the corner of her mouth, reaching down to her chin, and her wife's green eyes glinted as if they never left Oldtown.

Rhaenyra gestured to the bench. “Can I sit?”

Alicent nodded. Her wife left some space between them, enough for her to leave her hand to settle there.

“Let me see your hand, Alicent”

“Why?”

“You hid them the moment I neared, show me…” Rhaenyra angled her head towards her wife. “Please”

Alicent opened her clenched fist and placed her right hand in the open palm Rhaenyra offered. Her wife's deep inhale and exhale brought shame; Alicent had tried not revert to the worst parts of herself.

“You should have sent for me” Rhaenyra whispered. She didn’t let go of her wife’s hand instead bringing it against her lips, pressing a gentle kiss.

“Are you angry with me?” Alicent could smell Syrax lingering around her wife, and the smell of fire smoke.

“Not with you” She leaned back on the bench, bringing her wife's hand to rest on her lap. “Should be I who is asking that question. Every promise I've given has been broken. Every action turned futile. Every decision has been incorrect” Rhaenyra closed her eyes, avoiding the spill of a tear. “I've failed to be a wife, a friend... a mother” She felt Alicent lightly squeeze her hand. She revealed the lilacs of her eyes. “I'm beyond anger, Alicent. Beyond frustration. Beyond patience. Beyond kindness”

“As am I” The laughter of their children, carried by wind, reverberated towards them; they'd receded deeper into the garden, out of sight. “Such emotions left me when you did” Alicent licked the corner of her lip, tasting copper. “I had a man killed, in a holy place, uncaring for the consequences of my soul”

Rhaenyra held off in asking questions; her wife wasn’t done, simply, taking long pauses between sentences to gather her thoughts in order. This was a confession; Alicent had never written about this in a letter.

“Now, I am finding myself praying for the downfall of my own house and that of my kin” Another pause. She then tilted her head, towards Rhaenyra. “Did you kill him?” The response was a short shake of the head. She hadn't. “After Aegon, plenty of lords built or expanded tunnels under castles. Vorian understood the moment I left the castle, he would need to hide, still, I hoped” Alicent sighed, leaning back on the bench, her shoulder pressed against her wife's.

“Tunnels” Rhaenyra said the word with derision. She glanced at the bruise on her wife's lips. Didn't stare, no, the simple sight brought on a regret for not turning the Hightower castle into rubble.

The passing gusts of wind, brought the distinct smell of rain soon to come.

Rhaenyra knew at this moment, that her wife needed her present, needed her closest friend to be vulnerable with, and to be the mother of their children and be loving. There was much to speak of, to resolve, and to heal. Yet, time seemed to take away once again. She still couldn’t be those things. “I'm told a raven from Oldtown to King's Landing takes two weeks, give or take, depending on the weather”

Alicent confirmed, the time. Her wife, lowered her tone, pressing closer together, head bowed, making strands of silver hair dangle across her face.

“It's been three days, since Oldtown; we must start distancing ourselves from House Velaryon, Alicent. When the king and his hand become aware of what I've done, they’re bound to pursue and retaliate” She held her wife's hand fiercely. It was a frightening prospect, yet she would not do it alone, nor for the reasons of being appointed or for the sake of duty. She fled from it at a young age, with great distances, with fear, and with reluctance, for a long time. However, to be no longer at the mercy of anyone but her own, Rhaenyra needed and chose to be the one to rule. “I'm to claim, Dragonstone and rebuild it”

This was the anger, Alicent sought in Rhaenyra if they were to survive this. For everything her wife said was true, these two weeks they needed to move concisely and methodically. If not, a war could take place.

“Mother?”

Rhaenyra leaned back from her wife, turning her head at the voice belonging to her youngest. “Lucerys” She mumbled, softly for even Alicent not to hear.

“Come here, love” Alicent leaned forward, stretching out a hand, beckoning to come closer. She gave her wife a squeeze on the knee, assuring her. “It's okay, come” Lucerys moved tentatively, walking not directly at her, but instead drifting right, the furthest away from Rhaenyra, until reaching her and hiding on her left side.

Rhaenyra had remained speechless; the strangeness of it all left her unsteady, in emotions and speech. This was her son, yet not once had she wrapped her arms around him, not once had she told him she loved him, not once had she created and shared a memory with him.

“This is Rhaenyra; she rides Syrax, do you remember her?” Alicent asked.

He stayed silent, seeing the woman next to his mother; she had the same color of hair as he did and eyes as well. She looked unkind; the scar on her neck made him fearful, but... when she offered him a smile, he took a step away from his mother.

“He's timid” Alicent cleaned the leaves off her son's hair.

The cackling laughter of a fox revealed Laenor strolling around a tall green hedge. Right next to him was Jacaerys holding his practice toy sword, chasing after a fox, who, on seeing Rhaenyra and smelling the familiar scent, ran to throw himself at her feet, wanting pets. She smiled at seeing her gifts being used. Then a cruel realization hit her crushingly: she had left him a baby, still in his cradle, and returned to him speaking and walking, needing no help.

Alicent grabbed her wife's hand when she made the effort to leave. Jacaerys wasn't as timid as his brother; he would not remember her voice or how much Rhaenyra cared for him, but he would remember her name.

“Syrax” Jacaerys said, smiling. “You ride Syrax”

She swallowed her nerves, exhaling a dry chuckle. “I do”

“Rhaenyra!” He screamed out as if answering; his pronunciation of the name was flawless. Alicent had taught him, to say it, the Valyrian way.

“Yes, my name is Rhaenyra” She stood up, slowly, aware Lucerys remained untrusting, hiding by Alicent's side.

Jace tilted his head to the side, observing the woman in front of him; she resembled Uncle Daemon. “What happened to your neck?”

“Jacaerys” Laenor warned.

Rhaenyra put a hand out. “It’s alright” She had written about being attacked in Pentos, but she downplayed the incidents extensively. “I got into a small fight, and I wasn't prepared for it”

“An ambush?” Alicent spoke from behind.

“What does ambush mean, father?” Jace looked to Laenor.

She turned back to Alicent. “Will speak of it another day”

“Rhaenyra! Rhaenyra!” Baela and Rhaena came running past their father's body, pushing him aside almost.

She had just enough time to kneel and embrace the oldest of the twins, underestimating just how strong they were. Her balance was shaken and toppled over when Rhaena joined. Rhaenyra heard their yells—of being finally back, of missing her. “My gods, how the two of you've grown” She lay breathless on the grass; they knocked the wind out of her on impact.

“Mom said to wait until supper to annoy you” Baela said before she cut herself off with an excited shriek. “You got a new sword”

“Did you perchance bring a pet monkey from Pentos?” Rhaena spoke next, not letting the Targaryen answer a question.

Daemon gestured for Laenor to move away from the group. When out of earshot, he still lowered his voice. “There is activity in King's Landing port”

“Which kind?”

“The kind where your father is getting pressured by his commanders to ready defense if needed” He sighed, watching his niece, try to pick up Rhaena, his oldest, laughing. “Rhaenyra left King's Landing with a threat: Let us not forget Laenor; her being here, means it has been carried out. For all they know, Vorian is dead”

“What then?”

Daemon crossed his arms against his chest. “Lord Corlys and Lady Rhaenys are asking for a meeting soon—a lot sooner than my niece wished. Within the hour. Your house will repel any incursion for war, Laenor”

Laenor raised his brow. “And you? If it comes down to it, would you fight for Rhaenyra?”

Daemon stayed quiet, glancing at his niece; she was kneeling in front of his youngest, Baela, pointing at the braids in her hair. Rhaenyra would have set Oldtown on fire if it were Laena, something he didn't do for Alicent. And the fact she held more of a relationship with Baela and Rhaena than her own children spoke his answer. “I would” He shook his head, turning away from the children. “However, I do not speak for your family”

Rhaenyra stood up from the grass, brushing away dirt from her breeches. Her uncle sauntered over to the group with a somber-looking Laenor in tow and informed her of the meeting. “Within the hour?” She repeated the time given.

“Yes, within the hour” Daemon nodded. “Targaryen ships are being mobilized back to King’s Landing docks, they're planning something” His niece's reaction was serene; not even a sigh escaped her.

“Jacaerys, do you speak Valyrian?” Rhaenyra questioned her son with a smile. His vigorous twirling of the head made his auburn hair shake, even after he stopped moving.

“Mom said it was too complicated and would teach me it when I was bigger”

“You should have taught him at least some words, Alicent” Rhaenyra reprimanded, lightheartedly.

Lucerys lifted his head from his mother's side. “Ships” He uttered softly. “Means boat”

Rhaenyra chuckled, pleasantly surprised. “Good, very good”

“My father must have taught him the word” Laenor mused.

“Yes” Lucerys added.

Daemon called out to his niece again.

Small droplets of cold rain began to fall. The sky was turning grayer with each passing minute. “I need to speak with Alicent, in private before this meeting begins”

The weather resulted in all of them going inside. Rhaenyra walked, flanked by Baela and Rhaena, and Alicent with their children. She could hear from the back their sons asking about her. Her wife gave them hushed answers, for only their ears. Separating Lucerys and Jace from Alicent was a challenge, they needed to be assured, promised and repeated that she would come back.

“I'll be in the study; go with Daemon and your father” She leaned down, kissing each son on the top of the head. Rhaenyra waited for her at the base of the stairs. Alicent could see the facade of calmness deteriorate on her wife's face. With each step they took in silence up the stairs, it became abundantly clear she was furious; her fingers began to rotate one of her rings.

Rhaenyra pushed open the study door, moving aside, letting her wife pass, peeking out the doorway once, making sure the hallway was isolated as it usually was, and then gently closing the door, locking it.

Alicent closed the curtains on the windows; the rain turned into a downpour in such a short time. When she turned, Rhaenyra had walked to the center of the room, pacing back and forward. Her wife's first question was blunt.

“How wealthy are the Velaryons?”

She glanced at the door, making sure it was shut, before walking over to Rhaenyra. Their conversation was a fragile one to have within these walls. “I've not seen their ledgers in more than a year, Rhaenyra, but from what I last saw, their sole major expense was rebuilding the naval fleet, which is coming to an end. After that, they're perhaps wealthier than every major house, north, east, and even west. Why?”

Rhaenyra meant to take what she earned, and that included her wife's work. “Maleos will no longer deal with House Velaryon”

There was a brief silence. Alicent was unsure of this decision; this was a mutually beneficial deal. Maleos provided the goods, and Lord Corlys provided the ships to distribute.

“I've not asked you, wife. Forgive me; this conversation was meant to be one we spoke of with time and patience, but we seem to never have both at the same time” Rhaenyra let go of her rings. “Do you wish to live in Dragonstone?”

Alicent shrugged her shoulders. “I've never given it thought... It's not like we have many options”

“No... we don't” She looked down at her rings. “Dragonstone is as wet and windy as Driftmark. The castle, you might think it, not as lovely as Hightide, but... it would be ours entirely. Only seems fitting I offer you my ancestral home since I've partially destroyed your own” Her wife gave a small sad grin.

“Oldtown was never a home” Alicent narrowed her eyes. “Gwayne?”

“He would come with us; do you think I would leave him behind?”

“How much are we going to sever ties?”

“Depends entirely on them, but on our end…” Rhaenyra wanted to make it clear, the change she wished to make. “I do not want to follow their steps, being without allies. On the day of my coronation, every major house swore fealty to me, and I intend to use every leverage I can before my father passes his crown to his firstborn son”

Alicent sat on one of the couches near the fireplace; she didn't say anything. Only reached out for her wife's hand, asking her to sit next to her. “Are you sure of this, Rhaenyra?”

Rhaenyra with care, tilted her wife's face, holding her look. “Only if you're by my side”

The answer started the gradual process of restoring House Targaryen to their ancient words, fire, and blood. “Let us take Dragonstone”

Alicent stood, searching her desk for her writing materials, finding a half-dried ink bottle at the bottom of a drawer, giving it a shake, and reviving the thick liquid enough to write words to Pentos. Notifying the steep change to no longer deal with House Velaryon, and updating the events of the last two days, her hand moved in quick strokes.

Not long after, she sealed the letter with the House Velaryon wax seal for the last time. Laenor came to knock on the door. Rhaenyra would send him away, asking for five more minutes.

“I'm done, there's no need to keep them waiting, Rhaenyra” Alicent lifted the letter, showing the seal.

“I need five minutes” She inhaled deeply. “Since my return, I've not asked you how you are, wife”

Alicent only shook her head. “I endured, much like you” She gestured at her wife's neck scar.

“I was attacked a handful of times, viciously, but this was the closest they ever got to killing me. Nothing compared to what you survived”

Alicent stood from behind her desk, handing over the letter.

“When I asked the master the extent of your wounds, he told me of the bruises on your arms, Alicent”

“Another day, Rhaenyra, please… please” Her wife took the letter, head tilted downward, whispering an apology. They needed to do one thing at a time.

Rhaenyra didn't get to fully turn away before her wife embraced her. She didn't think twice about wrapping her arms around Alicent. They were quiet in their hold; no words of longing or love were uttered; just the sole emotion of being in each other's arms said and gave them enough strength to once again pull away, and look at the other.

“You can kiss me, Rhaenyra” Alicent pointed out.

“Your wounds”

“Be gentle”

Rhaenyra, licked the bottom of her lips, nodding. The kiss given was exactly that: gentle. Her mouth then pressed to the corner of Alicent's lips that had no cuts or bruises, pressing another on the cheek and a last on her jawline, stopping before temptation made her go further down.

The meeting took place in the hall of nine, the room where Lord Corlys displayed his many treasures acquired through the years on his voyages. Rhaenyra peered at the golden mask she'd taken from the Crabfeeder years ago. She'd regretted giving the thing to Lord Corlys now.

Pleasantries were exchanged during the first few minutes of sitting at the table. Every chair was filled with a Velaryon or Targaryen; nervous looks were passed around, knowing the conversation about to happen was to leave an undesirable outcome for one party or both.

Lord Corlys came to present first, in greater detail, the unfolding events happening in King's Landing. “Since morning, a mix of Hightower, Lannister, and Targaryen ships spread around Blackwater Bay have been ordered to return to dock. We're unclear when this message was given—last night or this morning—only that it coincides with your return from Oldtown, Princess Rhaenyra”

“We now believe, my son wasn't as cautious as he thought. There is a great possibility Seasmoke was seen south and taken as a sign, House Velaryon directly attacked the Hightower’s” Lady Rhaenys added to her husband's report.

“I wasn't seen” Laenor protested.

“The ships readying for an assault say differently” Daemon poured himself wine.

Laena leaned forward in her chair. “A raven hasn't arrived from the Red Keep; there has been no communication of any sort” These were the consequences of keeping Rhaenyra oblivious for their gain. “I am in favor of starting to prepare our naval forces, father; you see it yourself, that this is where it's going”

Lady Rhaenys raised her voice. “We're not going to war” The phrase was said in the form of a statement, not a protest.

Alicent had placed full trust in her wife to speak for both of them. This would be a conversation started, led, and ended by Rhaenyra.

“Laenor wasn't seen” Rhaenyra said. “My actions in Oldtown are to be spun and told, in every harsh possible manner... and I respect everyone around this table to say that all of it is going to be the truth” She paused, leaning on her armchair. “However, I do not need to justify myself, to any of you”

Alicent lowered her face.

Rhaenyra continued. “After this talk, send a raven to King's Landing with the message I, Alicent, her children, and Gwayne no longer reside in Driftmark, but Dragonstone. When King Viserys grabs hold of the message from Oldtown, it's best we’re nowhere near”

“Laenor is still attached to Alicent by marriage. Her decisions still reflected upon our house. Have you forgotten?” Lady Rhaenys questioned.

Rhaenyra tapped her green ring, her anger, sneaking around her patience. “I've not forgotten, but it's me who they saw burning Oldtown, not Laenor. If House Velaryon is worried about perception, then let me ease this concern. Not only am I leaving Driftmark, but my name is also gone, as is everything it brings, since my actions and Alicent’s reflect on this house”

“Meaning?” Daemon narrowed his eyes, tilting his head to the side.

“The warehouse, in King's Landing, will no longer display the Velaryon crest, nor will it hold your merchandise. When the king comes and collects his payment of tax, do not use my name as payment... Alicent has filled your pockets these last few years, well enough to pay”

Lord Corlys shoulders stiffen, hearing the next, for this was the most damaging blow, to his house.

“Alicent's connection in Essos for trade no longer negotiates with you. There will be no next shipment from any of the Nine Free Cities on his part, or, for that matter, any of the Slaver Cities he also deals with. Find someone else to provide your trade”

Lady Rhaenys nodded. “We'll send a raven to King's Landing in the coming hours; you no longer reside in Driftmark”

Rhaenyra glanced at her wife. All of it had been useless; all of it had been avoidable, but House Velaryon wasn't willing to go to war for Alicent... so why should she for any of them. “The next time this house comes to ask me for a service or aid, know the answer will be no” The last words were spoken with full anger in tone. “Or have we forgotten this house stood by the entirety of a year while Alicent's and Gwayne’s bodies became covered in bruises?”

Silence, complete utter silence, settled in the room. With that, the conversation was over.

Alicent slipped her hand into Rhaenyra's as they walked in the corridor towards their children. By tomorrow, they will start anew in Dragonstone.