"...and then he announced to me, 'I am Torrhen Stark, King of Winter and the man who could have had all your dragons killed before the sun rose this morning.'"
Almost choking at that, Rhaena looked at the Hand of the King in shock. "Did you truly say that, Lord Torrhen?"
Quite modest for being a northerner, Torrhen nonetheless nodded. "Aye. Made his Grace's eyes nearly bug out of his head - his jaw did gape like a fish, if I recall correctly."
"It wasn't that shocking," Aegon replied, shaking his head as Visenya laughed - tapping his knee affectionately. "I didn't believe him at the time, but his boldness intrigued me."
"Grandfather, I highly doubt anyone could have taken out your dragons," young Prince Aegon stated quite… confidently. "I mean, what advanced weaponry did the North have to accomplish that, Lord Stark?"
Brandon answered for his father. "Just my uncle, a weirwood bow, and stones of Valyrian steel."
"A weirwood bow?"
"Aye, right in the eye."
He chortled. "I find that hard to believe." His grandmother died from a lucky shot to Meraxes' eye, but that was on a Ghiscari built scorpion the size of a large wheelhouse.
Knife slicing through the tender flesh of his auroch steak, Maegor shook his head. "No, I grew up with Brandon Snow. If there was anyone that could do it, it would be him." His nephew looked skeptical, while his niece was riveted to the discussion - had he been paying attention, the Prince would have realized Rhaena was riveted to everything he said or did but Maegor wasn't. Much was on his mind. "In any case, a happy ending was had by all, House Stark allied with House Targaryen."
"And a wonderful alliance for the realm," Rhaenys interjected, raising her goblet. "A toast to our houses, standing together."
"Here here!" Aenys exclaimed, beaming as the toast rounded the table.
The private dining room in Aenys' manse was splendid. High vaulted and with plenty of windows to let in light - or in this case moonlight - it was larger than some great halls that Maegor had known in his travels. His eldest nephew was the youngest person here in the gathering of the Targaryen and Stark families around the table. Fed earlier by the kitchen staff, Viserys and Jaehaerys watched over their little sister and the dragonwolf brood from their chambers while those of age sat to dinner.
It was the first time the whole family had been together since Maegor's wedding, and the tension of that day was nowhere to be found among the King and Queen. Wine and ale flowed freely, while the servants brought in endless courses of the finest foods. Light, creamy soups with the freshest breads were followed by meat courses of grilled auroch, honey-glazed pork, roasted chicken and quail, smoked fish, and oysters - plenty of starchy sides of potatoes, cheese pies, rice, and spinach to add to the flavor. Meals fit for dragons and wolves, all of whom held a hearty appetite.
If the intense spices favored by the Targaryens did leave the Starks befuddled. "I've been married to you for six years and I still have no understanding of why you eat that way." Brandon shook his head as Rhaenys stabbed a Naathi green pepper with cuts of chicken breast and ate it whole.
She looked at him incredulously. "It's delicious."
"I tried one five years ago and I had to bury my tongue in the snow."
"Weakling," Rhaenys chuckled, though her eyes sparkled lovingly at her husband. Maegor found himself right - the two of them were perfect for each other, his sister and his best friend deeply in love.
Visenya noticed it too, grinning happily. "Something you need to learn about dragons, young Brandon. Our blood is hot, so we need more heat and flavor to satiate the tongue."
"That, your Grace, at least makes sense. Not like your son over there and what he does to his beef."
Maegor blinked. "How did I end up in this?"
"Please, you eat your beef cooked all the way through. Not even a bit of pink - that's madness right there."
"Retract that. A dragon doesn't eat his meat raw, right brother?" he asked of Aenys.
The Crown Prince shrugged. "Forgiveness, brother, but when Quicksilver does it then that's normal. When you do it… it's pretty strange."
"I disagree, kepa." All eyes shifted to Rhaena, who for a moment returned to the shy girl she was before at the attention. "Respectfully, of course, but if I were to wish to eat blood I would dine on those blood puddings that the Dothraki are known to enjoy."
There was a pause before the dour Maegor burst out laughing. "Couldn't have put it better myself, niece! Thank the gods one person in this chamber isn't mad."
"No, you're still mad," Rhaenys shot back, chuckling.
Contrary to the anti-Targaryen propaganda churned out of Sunspear and Wyl or by the occasional reactionary septon, such family gatherings weren't the blood magic rituals or feeding prisoners to their dragons for their own amusement. It felt as a real family would… even closer than that considering the stuffy and stiff nature of many Westerosi. Very close, very loving and happy even with the tense feelings between the members. Maegor and Alyssa didn't speak to each other much, while Ceryse didn't speak at all - not out of malice, though.
Main courses done, the servants brought in dessert. Pastries, fruit tarts, and vanilla pudding - a rare treat, but this was a special occasion. "I cannot be prouder of my granddaughter," Visenya bragged, enjoying a spoonful of the pudding. "She's a prodigy on dragonback, while her swordsplay is improving by the day."
Aenys, seated next to his daughter, wrapped an arm around her shoulder and kissed her cheek. "That's my girl."
Sipping her wine slowly, Ceryse piped up for the first time that night. "I never understood it… female warriors." She shrank back as many sets of purple and grey eyes met her - she always felt like an outsider among them, especially since… "I mean, the concept is strange to me. Is it merely a Valyrian matter?"
"We have female warriors in the North, as do the Dornish," Jocelyn Stark replied. "Born out of desperation on both sides, namely the lack of manpower against the wildlings or Ironborn… or in the wake of the Rhoynish Wars. It's become our culture though." Ceryse nodded, but said nothing. Maegor wanted to place a hand on her knee in affection, but for the life of him he couldn't make the limb move.
Affection brought nothing but pain - even with Ralla.
"I cannot be anything but proud that my daughter is a true dragon," Aenys announced, not noticing the disapproval of his wife. A dragonrider I don't mind, but I'd rather not have a daughter exactly like Visenya. "You'll have to show me sometime… perhaps a spar against your brother."
"Father?" Aegon spoke. "Don't you think that is an unfair match? I mean, even a year younger I am larger and stronger." Rhaena glared at him, though he didn't notice. Everyone in court peppered comparisons of him to his grandfather, and Aegon saw the parallels every time he looked in the looking glass. How could his elder sister even compete, how dainty she was?
"A word of advice, nephew," Maegor said. "Never judge an opponent based on first glances. Wyl of Wyl was a slight man, but he nevertheless was able to disarm and mutilate our uncle." An uncomfortable notion, but one that hit home for the family. Argella and Orys would arrive the next day, and his missing hand was always noticed.
"While I disagree with your uncle in bringing that uncomfortable story to this table," Alyssa spoke up, "He's right, my son. Don't be arrogant." Aegon smarted under the criticism, but said nothing. "But we shan't have any sparring in the next days. Our schedule is too busy considering all the Lords and Ladies of the Realm are arriving for the Jubilee."
Rhaena was disappointed, but the next words made her blood curdle. "Trying to marry her off?" her aunt Rhaenys asked.
"Never too early to put out feelers," Alyssa replied absentmindedly. "You'd do well to find matches for your brood, goodsister."
"No," Brandon dismissed. "Too early."
"Perhaps not to make inquiries," mused his father. "We could see if there are any northern lads or proper southerners to foster at Winterfell… or foster Egg or Alaric."
"Not Daena?" Visenya asked, curious.
Torrhen shook his head. "And trust my granddaughter in some foreign keep? Not in this lifetime."
"Here, here, father," Brandon chimed in.
King Aegon chortled. "Take the Lord out of the North but can't take the North out of the Lord."
"Oh please." Visenya smacked his shoulder. "You said you wished to lock Rhaenys in the Sea Dragon Tower because you thought she was a bit too… forward with the young lads of court."
Rhaenys looked shocked. "Excuse me?! How is this the first time I'm hearing of this?"
"I'd be happy to lock her in the old keep if it pleases you, your Grace," Brandon chuckled, only to get a withering glare from Rhaenys. Oh, he would pay for that.
But Rhaena didn't listen. Mother wishes to marry me off? Truth be told, she hadn't thought of it at all even though a marriage was all Samantha ever talked about, and Larissa matter of fact. I don't want to marry some Andal knight. It just didn't appeal to her. Some girls did, but not Rhaena.
She didn't realize that as she thought about it, her eyes flickered to her uncle each time.
Perched in front of the looking glass, Alys Harroway tried not to flinch as the fingers worked at her auburn hair into a proper braid. Not easily… "Owww."
"Stop moving," her elder sister Jorelle smirked, shaking her head. "You have to hold still."
"I would if you stopped… owww! Quit pulling at my hair!"
"If you didn't sleep like a sloppy squire, all twisted in bed, then this wouldn't be so hard."
Alys scowled. "Shut it." In spite of her mere four and ten years on the earth, Alys could look more striking and mature than any of her elder sisters. Not at the present moment, though neither of the other two were any better - siblings tended to do that to each other.
Giggling, Celia drew the ire of Alys next. "Come on, sissy," she was nonplussed by it, using their diminutive pet name for her. "You have the worst case of bed hair we've ever seen. Not befitting a lady." Both taller than Alys, Jorelle and Celia were nonetheless not as striking. The former was prone to freckles while the latter had a lanky build not enjoyed by most men. Alys was small, slender, and impish, a perfect package… if she wasn't so free-spirited.
Before she could blow up, however, the door opened. "Leave your sister alone." Barba Harroway - formerly Darry - entered the room of their guest house in the capitol city. "This is her first formal event, and it is intimidating for your first to be the Royal Court."
"But it isn't even the proper court," Jorelle whined. "Only a ladies' luncheon supposedly hosted by the Queen." Supposedly was correct. Queen Visenya reportedly hated such frivolities, completely different from the late Queen Rhaenys in this regard. Crown Princess Alyssa was the host more often than not, while Princess Rhaenys served as the hostess some of the time before becoming Lady Stark.
"Don't speak light," the Lady of Harroway's Town answered for her eldest child. "The actual court functions have men that are… blinded by the charms of a pretty woman. These are not the same, and the women can be far more dangerous a pool to navigate. Queen Visenya… she is the least likely to harm you ironically enough."
Celia blinked. "What do you mean by that, mother?"
She shook her head. "Forget it. I need to speak with your sister alone, so why don't you wait for us downstairs?" It was said in a maternal tone, to which both young ladies nodded - complying with their mother's request. At seeing Alys already coming of age, Barba sighed. "You're growing up so quickly, my dear Alys."
Alys glanced at her mother, expression softening. "Thank you."
Chucking her chin, Barba settled where Jorelle had been and started anew at the braids. Her hands were far more gentle. "You remind me so much of myself. Content with your place in the world, as is your younger brother." Lost in that was the fact Jorelle and her eldest brother Thom were like their father, with Celia somewhere in the middle. "I am afraid such will not be what is needed by Lucas."
"I know how father is," Alys sighed. "Always clawing his way up the ladder." Lord Lucas Harroway was a minor Lord in the Riverlands, ruling over an important area but sandwiched between the greater powers of Harrenhal, Darry, Stone Hedge, and Raventree Hall. Their Grandfather had been the first to side with the Targaryens come the conquest but Edmyn Tully got the credit for being the first major Lord. Their father was not about to make the same mistakes of their naive grandfather, marrying the daughter of Lord Darry and raising five children.
Children who were now expected to help him advance in the Realm. A task young Alys didn't feel up to.
Sensing her discomfort, Barba kissed the crown of her head. "You are a wonderful girl, Alys. There will be other perfect girls at this luncheon, and there will be right cunts as well." Alys couldn't help but snicker at her mother's use of profanity. "Just stick close to your sisters till you feel more comfortable to venture out." Rising, Barba urged Alys to join her. "There, you look beautiful."
Catching her single Reach braid that framed her neck and shoulders, joined by an effective sprinkling of makeup, Alys admitted she was glowing. "Thank you, mother."
Hours later, she wished her mother hadn't been on pressing engagements with father. Women of all cuts of dress - from the North to quite a few from Dorne of all places - were gathered in the manse of Crown Prince Aenys for the annual Queen's luncheon, as important and formal that a casual gathering could be. No steady courses of heavy meats and stews that feasts were a staple of, just the lightest of breads, cheeses, and pastries that could be eaten daintily. A band played light music, adding to the sunny, relaxed feel of the luncheon.
Alys felt alone and lost among those of higher birth and much higher arrogance. My sisters are no help. Each had darted off to find their own cliques of fellow young ladies - Jorelle among the giggling maidens of the Reach while Celia spoke to… was that Princess Rhaenys? Neither bothered to help Alys, likely seeing her as competition when it came time to use the connections they built here to charm those they could seek to seduce and marry.
It all seemed… churlish to Alys but it was the way things worked. Father wanted them to find husbands to elevate them, and do so she would.
"You seem lonely."
A gentle, kind voice yet one not weak - most of the Reach, Stormlands, and Westerlands maidens shared this with those of the Riverlands, delicate as if a flower. This one held none of that, but Alys thought her likely someone of the North or even Dorne. Not the face that greeted her when she turned. "Oh…" Her eyes widened at the silver hair. "Your Grace." Alys bowed.
Chuckling merrily, Princess Rhaena moved to pull her upright. "None of that, please. We're all on the same level here, more or less." She was breathtaking the way all Valyrians were, purple eyes piercing yet warm - a mix of her parents and… others that Alys weren't familiar with. "I am going to guess that you are of the Riverlands, but I know all the Qoherys', Blackwoods, Brackens, and unfortunately Tullys." The way Rhaena phrased the last made Alys smirk in spite of herself. The Tullys were quite droll as a family. "But I've never placed your face."
Alys cleared her throat. "I am Alys of Lord Harroway's Town, daughter of Lord Lucas."
Rhaena's eyes sparkled in understanding. "Ah, now I remember your family. Your sister was Lady in Waiting to Lady Qoherys, no?"
"My sister Celia, aye." Father arranged for Jorelle to do the same with Aliena Tully, now Aliena Lannister after her marriage to the practically ancient Lord Loren. Both advancing their family's cause, to which it was her turn.
And now she was faced with the potential to one up the both of them if taken among the Princess' favorites. Rhaena was famous for the affection she showered upon them. Her elder brother often made ribald japes about them.
A silence passing between them, Rhaena broke it. "Well, I remember when I was as shy and awkward in these things - my uncle and my dragon helped me discover my voice, and it would be remiss of me if I left someone as sweet as you to the vultures these courtly women are." With a dragon's determination, she grabbed Alys' wrist. "Come on, you'll sit at my table with me."
Unable to resist the invitation even if she wanted to, Alys at least held a measure of smug preening at the shocked and jealous looks on her sisters' faces when they saw who she was with.
Rhaena knew why her grandmother hated these things. Truly, she did. Feasts were tedious as they were, but at least the prospect of drunken Lords acting like fools offered amusement to someone as… unconventional as Queen Visenya. But seated around the central table in the ballroom of her father's manse chatting with other highborn ladies over the latest gossip… It was no confusing thing for Rhaena to know why her grandmother was nowhere to be found.
Probably with Vhagar… or sparring with grandfather. They were aged, but still strong.
"Do you still keep the old gods?"
Alayne Royce laughed merrily. "House Royce has practiced the Faith of the Seven for generations, but father still keeps a godswood in Runestone. Connection to our ancestors and such."
Tyanna snorted. "I don't think being conquered and forced at swordpoint to give up my gods for others would endear one to any religion," she mused.
"It's been a thousand years. Bygones should be bygones, no?"
"Mayhaps that's a point." Tyanna sighed and drank from her goblet.
Unlike her grandmother, Rhaena loved these things - even if they were so dreadfully boring at times that she wished to pull her hair out. She supposed it was her father in her, for he loved them as well, but something about mingling with the entire court after early years of being unable to speak to a stranger simply drew her fancy. It wasn't hard, considering Rhaena was usually the life of the feast.
Her little group of highborn ladies sat in their own spot at the head table, set in the center of the ballroom where her mother, aunt, and Jocelyn Stark entertained the other senior ladies of the Realm. Samantha and Larissa chattered about their own topics, Tyanna spoke religion with the newcomer Alayne Royce, while Alys Harroway kept to herself - picking at her plate.
She loved all of her confidants and only added another that she had an instinctual attachment or fascination for. Alayne Royce had this and fit in swimmingly - Rhaena wouldn't allow young Alys to be her only failed addition. "You seem quiet?"
Alys looked at her new… friend? Could they call each other that so early? "Thought I could show up my sisters by being here as your guest, but apparently I don't have much to say."
"We're four and ten. If I wasn't a Princess no one would talk to me, and they still often don't." She wrapped an arm around Alys' shoulder. "Just listen and enjoy the conversation. You'll learn a little something."
They managed to key into a discussion already taking place. "...and I finally found that the situation in the Free Cities had calmed down, thank the Seven," remarked Lady Sabitha Rowan, a distant Lannister cousin by birth. "My husband and I can finally travel back to Myr for our annual holiday now that the… unpleasantness has cleared up."
"Fifteen thousand Black Guardsmen can do that," added Argella Baratheon, far more direct. "The Unsullied that won them Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh are strong soldiers, but unable to pacify cities during peacetime… or whatever that bloody few years can be called."
"At least the trade has returned at full step again," interrupted Lady Stokeworth, Samantha's mother. "My perfumes and scented oils were double the price during the fighting, while now they are lower than the pre-war sums."
"A toast to the Volentines, then," Lady Rowan raised her glass, a toast picked up by most of them.
Rhaenys turned to her goodmother. "Will you fake choking, or must I?"
Jocelyn gave her a sidelong look. "I often ask if Brandon was from my womb or you were, sometimes." The wife of the Hand had been seriously considering that for some time, ironically enough. Political discussions could be held by women, but not all of them. "In any case," she spoke up. "Any trade is good trade, as long as both sides get what they wish from the deal. As my husband arranged for the North, Myr got sturdy ironwood from House Forrester's preserves while we gained Myrish glass. A win/win."
"Why would you want Myrish glass?" asked Amelia Westerling, not the brightest candle in the chandelier. "It's so… dull." She was the emerald type.
"See, my dear," said Aliena Lannister - Aliena Tully by birth and Lady Paramount of the Westerlands. "In the North it's very cold. Myrish glass allows them to grow crops all year so they don't starve in the cold. It isn't that hard to grasp." For Amelia it was, but that was best left unsaid.
Crown Princess Alyssa raised an eyebrow. "You know much about the North, Lady Lannister?"
She shrugged. "One should know about the Realm. I am very worldly." Not a classic Tully trait, figured Rhaena. "Especially when the Lord Paramount of the North is the Hand of the King."
"Well, I am proud of my home," Rhaenys spoke. "A proper road halfway complete between White Harbor and Winterfell, a proper integration with the rest of the Kingdoms after centuries, and bonds forged by my brother and husband while he fostered in Winterfell."
Aliena shook her head, sighing. "Such a shame about the path Prince Maegor has travelled. He had the potential to be a truly great knight and prince of the Realm."
While her Aunt Rhaenys bristled as well and was the elder of the two of them, Rhaena spoke up first. "What do you mean, Lady Lannister?" she asked, voice tinged with ice.
Rivalling her husband and goodfather in biting arrogance - the Tullys in general were arrogant, but much more torpidly so, the Lannisters on a whole other plane - Aliena shrugged. "We all heard of his prowess with a sword while a youth. Trained by Gawen Corbray personally, adept at both horsemanship and hand-to-hand, a powerful tourney knight he would have been… if not for, well…" She let it hang, knowing the other ladies at the head table would catch the innuendo.
The future Lady of Winterfell did. "Are you suggesting that the North poisoned my brother? My new home and that of my children?"
"Oh, Lady Stark, not at all," Lady Lannister replied, smiling sweetly. A smile that was everything but superficially sweet to the Targaryens at the table. "Those of the North follow a different faith and different traditions than the rest of Westeros, but the connections have been long and extensive as to civilize the wild ways of the ancient First Men." An insult, but one diluted enough to not be worth truly escalating. "No, what makes this unfortunate was how the Prince made acquaintance with the… true savages of this continent."
"You mean the wildlings?" Tyanna spoke at the moment, always perceptive to the rumors and whispers about court.
Aliena regarded her as only a step above a common prostitute, but she was of noble blood of the Free Cities and the Lady in Waiting of the Queen, so she held her tongue. "Aye. Those people." The last words dripped with contempt.
From many of the ladies across the table - including Samantha, Alys, and Alayne to Rhaena's mild surprise - nodded or murmured some degree of agreement with Lady Lannister. "Such a shame," breathed Lady Rowan. "Having such savages desecrate polite society."
"My husband deals with similar scum, the Hill Tribes," said Talla Arryn, wife of Ser Hubert Arryn the cousin of Lord Ronnel - she was of House Grafton, so the Vale hate for the First Men remnants that refused to kneel after the Battle of Seven Stars was ingrained deeply in her. "They are vile creatures, more beast than man. My Hubert has slain eleven by his own hand," she remarked proudly.
A derisive snort from Sharra Arryn. "Imagine, having to dine with them? The indignity."
Steadily, Rhaena grew angrier and angrier - her violet eyes darkening. How dare they speak of him that way? Uncle Maegor was a dragon, above these petty noblewomen in blood, might, and stature. If he wishes to associate with wildlings, then let him. Her aunt was angry as well, while even her mother, not Maegor's biggest fan, grew miffed at the tone as it began to take their entire House as collateral damage. Princess Ceryse was silent, stony.
But it was the ditzy Amelia Westerling, deep in her cups, that pushed the assembly of ladies beyond where even the schemers among them were willing to go. "And that he takes one of them to his bed. Oh, the scandal."
One could hear a pin drop among the ladies… the silence migrated to the other tables of the less connected noblewomen. They didn't hear Lady Westerling's drunken nonsense, but could understand the implication of four Princesses, three Ladies Paramount, and the other senior wives of the Realm going silent. Rhaenys bristled, Alyssa stared wide-eyed, Jocelyn pursed her lips, and even Sharra Arryn - no love lost between her and the Targaryens - averted her gaze to her meal.
For Rhaena, she was floored. Uncle Maegor? A lover? He was the perfect epitome of a Prince in her eyes - for all his greatness, her father had his flaws and Rhaena wasn't blind to them. And yet… he stepped out on his wife. Ceryse was a kind woman and Rhaena remembered them much in love. This has to be a mistake...
Like the fool that she was, Lady Amelia giggled. "You must be heartbroken, dear Ceryse, especially since you are without children…"
Fork clattering on the imported porcelain plate from Yi-Ti, Ceryse stood up. Her head was down and face a stone mask. "Goodsister…" Rhaenys spoke up, trying to mollify her, but the Princess just walked away without a word. Completely humiliated before the Realm.
"Was it something I said?" Amelia asked, words slurring.
"I believe," Alyssa spoke, voice even and soft, "That a new topic of conversation is needed."
"Yes, your Grace," said Jocelyn, concurring. "A new one must be found, and allow me to start. Princess Deria Martell is apparently on her deathbed."
"Bah," Lady Tyrell scoffed. "I'll believe it when it happens. In my childhood I endured endless speculation on when the Yellow Toad would finally croak her last and it lasted far longer than any of the bets made in my household."
Rhaenys kept a glare on the hiccuping Lady Westerling but didn't break the newfound truce. "I agree. That House has a tendency to cling to life in spite of the greatest pressure." Both times from Valyrians, ironically enough.
Leaning back in her chair, Rhaena motioned for Tyanna to lean over to her. "Is it true?" she whispered in her friend's ear. "What that bitch said?"
Tyanna nodded, much to Rhaena's displeasure. "He and his wife are… quite cold these days. The wildling woman was his lover prior to his marriage and now they've rekindled their affair." Quirking an eyebrow, Tyanna looked at her friend. "Why?" If she didn't know better, she would have sworn that Rhaena was… jealous.
"No reason." Rhaena looked away, her own emotions about it a mystery to her.
"By the Father above," ranted Archsepton Boniface, his face red and jowls jostling. "You must transfer me back to Oldtown, or at least Lannisport. If I must continue to associate with these degenerate Valyrians and tree-worshippers…!"
"Calm down, Boniface," Hugor stated, holding up his hand as he stared down the King's Landing delegation of the Faith that greeted him in his rented manse. It hadn't been an hour since his arrival till the holy men of the city peppered him with their complaints and questions - he looked forward to speak to Murmison, even being a Targaryen sympathizer the man was jovial and interesting - and it gave him a headache. "You serve a good role here in the Capitol. If not for your sermons that grip the average citizen, we'd have far less Faithful here than we do."
That seemed to mollify Boniface, but not his companion Grand Captain Damon Morrigen. "No, this cannot be tolerated any longer." He had risen far since the… death of High Septon Gerold, farther than Hugor was willing to let him. Damn politics. "The spirits of the Warrior and Smith only bestow their glory upon those that seize the moment, not the craven and cowardly. We must take down the dragons."
Shooting out of his chair, the facade Hugor carefully husbanded crumbled as he gave the man a withering stare. The stare of his martial ancestors, making Morrigan flinch. "There will never be victory against the Conquerors themselves. Do you hear me?"
Morrigan gulped, chastised. "I understand, your Holiness."
A victory of authority, no doubt - not understanding. "Leave me, the both of you." Each bowed and departed, leaving Hugor alone with Barth. "Gods, don't people have patience anymore, Barth?"
"Did they ever, your Holiness?"
"Fair." Not as much an arrogant highborn to refuse pouring his own goblet of wine - no bastard, no matter how highborn, could afford to be so arrogant - Hugor sat in his plush chair to see Barth still there, hands clasped atop his waist. "Do you still need something, my son?" he asked of the young man.
"Simply a moment of your time, your Holiness."
"Need not ask of it, Barth. We've been through too much together." Hugor motioned for the boy to sit. Sometimes he was too deferent for his own good, likely considering his humble birth. Assertiveness will eventually come once he feels more secure in himself. The bright lad had already come a long way. "What is it you wish to discuss?"
Barth scowled momentarily before it disappeared behind a pensive frown. "When there was still a possibility that I may have followed in the familial footsteps at the smith, my father always said to me that a chain is only as strong as its weakest link. There are too many weak links for me not to worry."
Hugor nodded. "You're speaking of Boniface? The fellow is indefatigable if brash."
"No, not Boniface." He shook his head. " He has a gift for speaking. As long as his mouth is shut until the right time and doesn't reach a position of complete authority, the Archsepton is nothing but a boon for us. I'm speaking of Morrigan."
"Ah… I think I understand you now."
A certain fire appeared in Barth's eyes - fire and… desperation? "That cretin will be the ruin of us all."
"Please elaborate on your thinking, here."
"He wears his opinions on his sleeve. No one in the capitol can deny his ire at the dragons, nor does Morrigan ever refrain from a chance to contemptuously challenge one of Lord Stark's northern retainers on any disagreement - no matter how slight." Barth heard from the grapevine that the King's Landing chapter of the Warrior's Sons actively made sure that the Grand Captain was never in the same vicinity as a Northern Lord or knight equivalent, so bad it was.
Hugor met Barth's eyes. "You don't deny that the tree-worshippers of the North are our enemies?"
"Most likely they will be, but it shall be impossible to conquer the North. We must coexist for at least a while, and thus involves not blundering into a blood feud with them, considering the last time the Northmen held one against us."
Everyone knew the story of Theon Stark. Hugor needed not it explained. "What do you suggest I do with Morrigan?"
"Execute him… I can arrange for something to serve as a pretext."
That had the High Septon laughing. "I never thought you to be so cold-blooded, Barth. No, don't feel ashamed. I approve of the line of thinking." When matters of life and death could be held in their hands, emotional attachments were… a liability. The overzealous reaction by the Targaryens to Queen Rhaenys' death, while terrifying, fit in that category. While Hugor's desire for vengeance over his father and family still remained, he buried it deep. "But Morrigan cannot be killed."
"I find there to be no reason why…"
"He knows too much, that's all I can say." Barth shut up - Hugor had drummed into him long ago, with secrets, the less that knew them the better. "Besides, deranged zealots like him have their purposes… and usually take care of themselves."
"I see." Barth sat there quietly. "So what is our purpose here, then?"
Hugor chuckled. "Enjoy ourselves as best we can. It is the jubilee for our great King and Queen after all." He motioned for Barth to leave him. "I will be joined by some female companionship within the hour, and I suggest you do the same before your nerves send you into a tailspin."
Sometimes, nothing could be done but wait for the opportunity. The crocodiles of Sothoryos were known to do that, wait under the water's surface until a prey animal showed up. Such was something High Septon Hugor Flowers was perfectly ready to do.