Not much could please Lord Lucas Harroway.
Food and drink were merely sustenance.
Gold was better served procuring things of need.
Women were more dangerous than pleasing.
Battle afforded only death rather than glory… and besides, he was never martially inclined. Lord Lucas was a talker, a weaver of words. Such was his strength, not the sword - something his father had always looked down on him for.
Well father, you're dead now and I'm in your place. Your 'weak boy' shall bring glory to us all.
Power pleased him.
Influence pleased him.
Seeing his daughter Alys trailing close behind Princess Rhaena among her companions as he walked through the halls of King Aenys Targaryen's manse pleased him quite greatly. Stunning to the man that raised them, but quiet little Alys was turning out to be his most valuable child. I should show her more affection as a reward for succeeding.
Who knew, it could spur his other children to aim higher and claw up a few more rungs. If there was anything he hated it was listlessness and torpor.
Ser Olyver Bracken marked the King's solar - had Harroway not known his way around the place, the white-cloaked Kingsguard would've given it away. His helm was off, exposing the balding head and bushy beard. "Harroway," he said with condescension. "Don't you have an inn to run?"
"Don't you have a horse to breed?" Harroway shot back. "Most likely by yourself?" Seeing Ser Olyver grow red with rage at the comment, he laughed to himself. Brackens were too easy to piss off and every Riverman knew it. Probably why the Faith hadn't truly gone after the Blackwoods. "Enough, I'm not here to waste time with the likes of you. The King is expecting me."
"His Grace is busy."
Lucas scowled. "I was told by Lord Hand Stark and Lord Qoherys that he was to see me at half till sunset… I am here as bidden."
"Like I said," Ser Olyver replied, smirking. "He is busy. Begone."
Before Lucas could respond with another scathing retort the door opened to reveal Lord Ronnel Arryn, ever dashing in his sky-blue doublet. While he had a wife, he didn't discriminate upon the status of any woman whom he fancied… at least such was what Lucas heard. The Arryn Lord recognized him immediately. "Ah, Lord Lucas, just who his Grace wished to see after myself. Go on, enter."
He shot a shit-eating grin to Ser Olyver, who silently glared. "I enjoyed our talk on horse-breeding, Bracken." Lucas swore he heard a vile insult muttered his way, but was too amused to care. Such amusement was immediately covered up and replaced with a respectful mask as he laid eyes on the King. "Your Grace." Lucas bent the knee.
Aenys was seated at his desk, gilded crown resting on a pillow off to the side. His hair was free-flowing, beard trimmed and looking pleasant. "Lord Lucas, please, sit down." He gestured to the chair. "I am glad to see you again. How are your wife and children?"
"They are fine, your Grace," Lucas stated, taking a seat.
"That Alys… she's such a dear. My Rhaena is so fond of her." Aenys sighed in sentimental joy.
Weak fool. But weak fools had their uses. "I am glad she can provide companionship to the Princess." Lucas was proud of himself for sounding so… amiable to someone he clearly didn't respect.
A minor Lord from the Riverlands, from the moment he watched his father bow and scrape before the frumpy old Black Harren for time to pay his taxes was the moment ambition burned hot inside Lucas Harroway. Never again would he allow such indignity to fall on his family. Years had passed as he scraped and toiled for Lord Qoherys' favor, and then more years scraped at junior posts within court. His blood - old and noble but not of the highest order - had carried him into the game but it was Lucas' own fortitude and intelligence that got him this far.
Lord Daeron had promised much and Lucas planned on collecting. "Forgive me, your Grace, but I was told by Lord Qoherys that he recommended me for a task?"
"Down to business, I suppose? Tis' fine, I can admire that. My brother is much the same way." Prince Maegor. He was one worthy of respect, whether rival or ally. " The Iron Bank of Braavos loaned a large sum of coin to us in order to finance the start of construction of the Dragonpalace."
"How much, if I may ask, your Grace?" Lucas bowed his head.
"Five-hundred thousand gold dragons… in addition to the million gold dragons the Crown also owes them and the Rogare Bank of Lys." Wars cost money. They were still paying off the debt of the Dragon's Wroth.
Lucas clicked his tongue. "That is a substantial amount, your Grace… but what would you have me do?"
He sighed. "The bank seems to think that I may not have the same trustworthiness as my father, so they're seeking to call in the loan in full. The treasury has enough to pay it in one lump sum but it would bankrupt us for future projects." I wonder why they wouldn't think you trustworthy. Aenys was an honest man, but even someone less than Lucas could see he was weak and indecisive. "I need someone to go there and negotiate a new structure for the loan. Lord Daeron recommended you from your work in finally putting to bed Black Harren's debts."
The Lord had done that. "He is kind, your Grace." Lucas thought about it quickly. It was a rather simple task but one the non-martial Aenys would appreciate more than battle. There was little chance of failure, Lucas figured. "I live to serve, and accept your humble offer, my King."
"Splendid!"
Another rung climbed on the ladder.
The chamber of the Holy Council was one of the few more modestly decorated rooms of the Starry Sept and adjoining palace complex. Only used by the leaders of the Faith, it needed not the gilded paneling or intricate murals that so graced the rest of the sept. But there was plenty of light from the windows above, and it was properly painted and swept of dust and filth. Not an unpleasant place to meet.
Raising his head, High Septon Hugor Flowers finished his blessings of the bread and refreshments the servants - novice Septas - had brought in for them. "Alright, under the light of the Father, shall we begin?"
Gathered in the chamber besides Hugor were ten others. Seven septons of the Most Devout, instantly recognizable by their cloth-of-silver vestments and crystal coronals. It was a varying group of men but all had two things in common. Each had given their entire lives to the Faith from a young age just as Hugor did… and all were personally appointed by the High Septon in his six years since ascending to the title.
All were loyal, and all were of a like mind on the issues that mattered.
"Is it true?" asked Archsepton Karol, a gaunt man with baggy robes. "Is the dragon dead?"
Hugor nodded. "He is." Karol was their lead in spiritual matters, and thus spent most of his time confined in his personal sept in some sort of fast. Matters of the outside world paid little matter to him lest it was needed.
"Visenya Targaryen isn't dead," stated Ser Morgan Hightower, Grand Captain of the Holy Guard - Hugor's personal unit of the Warrior's Sons - and youngest brother of Princess Ceryse. He loved his sister, but hated her marriage to the dragons. "Her exploits are legendary, and I would observe she is a more powerful warrior than the late King."
That drew chuckles. "A woman triumphing over a man. Ha!" Archsepton Martyn laughed. "We have all heard of her exploits, but that was on dragonback… or plying a child. Nothing that any non-addled person could accomplish."
"It is never wise to underestimate anyone, Archsepton," stated Archmaester Goodwyn, Seneschal of the Citadel. His chains were heavy and gilded, befitting his station as a highly learned man. The rather unassuming, handsome features belied a ruthless mind… it was why Hugor liked him. "Where is Queen Visenya, as of now?"
Clearing his throat, Barth spoke up - the youngest man there but seated directly to the right of the High Septon himself. A showing of the greatest respect. "Queen Visenya has largely departed for Dragonstone to mourn, Archsepton."
A snort. "Weak woman," muttered Archsepton Boniface, his crooked nose only highlighting the disdain in his eyes.
Barth ignored the comment. "She has travelled a few times to consult with King Aenys when he requests it, but largely she's busied herself with… spiritual matters."
"And what would those be? I hardly think that she'd be in the Sept more than necessary," stated ser Morgan.
"Valyrian spirituality, Grand Captain. Blood magic and the dark arts."
Boniface snarled. "We must trumpet this across the land! Demand that the abomination King surrender his vile mother for trial before the sight of the Seven!" Karol, Martyn, and a few others voiced their approval, while Goodwyn rolled his eyes, Morgan shook his head, and Barth sucked in a breath.
Hugor's word was law though. "We are not doing that, Boniface." The man looked crestfallen but stayed silent. He owed Hugor everything and was loyal… if loud. "Remember that title for King Aenys, for we can use that later… but as of now our entire position must include and outward display of loyalty for the Crown all the while we prepare."
"Prepare? We've already been training and expanding our ranks?"
"Take what you have and double it, Ser Morgan… and coordinate with the banners of those Lords you believe to be loyal. We will operate under a unified command structure as those that fought the dragons should've." Perhaps his father would still live had there been a grand resistance. "Meanwhile, Barth will be travelling and I request that the Citadel and Holy Sisters supply someone of stature to join him."
The only woman in the room, Archsepta Larella kept silent through the whole discussion. She was a hard-faced woman that nevertheless remained slender through her years in the Faith. Apart from Boniface and perhaps Karol, she was also the most committed to the cause. "What sort of Septa would you like me to make available to Barth?"
"Someone smart… and one that can spot another smart or competent person regardless of baser desires. We will need to get more talent than we currently have if we are to reclaim our place in the sun."
"Your Holiness," spoke a young guard at the door. "The visitor from Highgarden is in your solar."
Hugor's eyes perked up with a sparkling warmth that was rarely seen in those that knew him. "Wonderful, wonderful!" He rose, the rest of the Most Devout rising with him. "Continue without me. The rest is tedious and in no need of my presence. I must see to this."
They all bowed as he hurried off. "Your Holiness."
There was a spring in Hugor's step, bounding across the tiled floors three at a time in an almost youthful exuberance. Growing up a strong, clever lad that was nevertheless more drawn to the Seven-Pointed Star and the histories of the world rather than the sword, lance, or horse, he hadn't been shunned by his family but true bonds were hard to come by. His father was an accomplished knight and warrior King, and his half-brothers all inclined that way as well.
But one person of the royal household of House Gardener matched Hugor Flowers in his intelligence and devotion, the person that waited for him in his solar. The guards drew open his doors and let him in, revealing the visitor to his eager eyes. "Vivienne," Hugor announced, laughing like the happy youth he had once been.
Rising from her seat, Lady Vivienne Gardener threw open her arms and accepted the wide hug of her half-brother. "Never change, Hugor, never change." Three years his senior, the decades had added lines to her face, turned her hair grey, and left her with a cane but she was just as dignified and purposeful as she had been when their father rode off to his death at the Field of Fire. "They told me you were in a meeting with the Most Devout, you needn't have cut that short for me."
"Pfft," Hugor dismissed. "Those old farts can get along decently enough without me. Barth and Ser Morgan can keep them in line."
"Old farts?" Vivienne looked him over, raven's feet on the edge of her eyes deepening with her wry frown. "Last I've looked, we both fit that category."
Hugor raised his brow. "Now now, they say you're only as aged as you feel, so therefore I'm five and twenty." She didn't change her expression, and it wore him down. "Alright, five and thirty." Everytime he was with his half-sister, it felt as if they were back home in Highgarden - before the dragons torched their family and brought their tyranny and wroth. It… was bittersweet for both of them to varying degrees. Hugor wouldn't let seeing his sister after so long be torched by those memories. "How are you, dear sister? How's Theo?"
Vivienne sighed. "He's lucid. Been bedridden since arriving back in Highgarden from the coronation. The maester says he'll live to see the next harvest, but after…" She trailed off, biting her lip.
He shook his head. "Maesters. I deal with them daily. They aren't as smart as they say they are." He liked Theo. The lad made his sister happy and did his best to preserve the Gardener legacy, even if he was a loyal Warden for the Targaryens. It was how he and Vivienne survived. You soon won't have to continue, dear sister.
Taking his hand in hers, Vivienne gave Hugor a smile. "We all pass on to the afterlife, my brother. Theo's accepted it, as will I when the time comes. He's said his blessings in the sept and in the godswood."
To this Hugor frowned. "I hope this is finally the time that I manage to convince you to the true path, dear sister."
She smirked at him. "Nice try, Hugh. You couldn't do that when we were at our second decade and you can't do that now." Shockingly, almost scandalously for a highborn Princess of House Gardener and now Lady of House Tyrell, Vivienne kept the old gods. She prayed in the godswood like a northern barbarian, insisting on the customs of House Gardener of old. Most senior people in court knew of this, as did Hugor - he managed to keep it a secret from his handpicked Most Devout. Morrigan would use it against me, while Boniface would probably try and have her excommunicated. "You look troubled, brother. What's wrong?"
Blinking, Hugor shook his head. "No, all is fine. More than fine, sister."
Vivienne merely raised a brow. "What is it that you are planning?" She knew him well - better than any man or woman alive. She could read him even when he was at his best at deception.
"Nothing. Just celebrating the ascension of our new King." He didn't wish to bother her with his plans. Soon they would happen and soon she would be free.
But Vivienne didn't need to be privy to them to understand what he was up to. "Brother," she sighed. "I love you with all my heart. You are the last of my blood other than my children and the only bit of our family left… and I am asking you to simply let your bitterness go."
"What do you mean?"
"Please don't play stupid, I know you." It had been something she'd wrestled with, having been allowed to marry Theo and essentially ruling the castle her father ruled as King, but the dragons had also killed the entire male line of House Gardener. She held hate in her heart for so long, but years ago it simply vanished and she was all the better for it. "The dragons are here to stay. There isn't getting rid of them, unless you want rivers of blood."
Rivers of traitor blood or martyr blood. "No one wants that, sister." Technically true. I don't want any blood spilled but that of the dragons. "You simply have to trust me to do what is right."
Looking into his eyes, Vivienne nodded. "I trust you, Hugor."
He clapped his hands. "Excellent!" He rose, tugging her to his feet. "Now come with me. There's an interesting new invention from Volantis that has come to my attention. They call it a 'printing press' and I absolutely must show it to you." Holding her hand, Hugor guided her from the room, the two of them laughing and chatting as if nothing had transpired.
"Again!"
Sweat drenching her forehead - to the point where the salty droplets stung at her eyes and coated her lips - Rhaena nevertheless refused to break. Her muscles had long since replaced soreness with numbness, and by this fiftieth repeat of her basic swordsplay she could move without feeling like her arms and legs were being ripped apart from the inside. Lips pursed in a pensive line, she advanced forward in the correct order against an imaginary attacker. Block, shove, knee, slash, crouch, twirl, slash…
"Stop!" Ser Gawen Corbray gave her one of his two expressions, namely exasperation - the other was a gruff disgust. "You did it wrong. Again!"
Alright, this was starting to get to her. "What, mayhaps, did I get wrong this time?" Previously she could admit to herself - never to another - to some small imperfection in her form. But this time it was perfect. "I did exactly as you showed."
Ser Gawen looked at her as if she were an idiot. "Exactly, you did. Which is wrong."
She blinked. "That doesn't make any sense!"
Sighing, running a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, Ser Gawen proceeded to explain to the dear Princess - loved and treated with respect and admiration by all - exactly what was wrong in a tone that considered her a cross between a functional manchild and a silly girl. "Do you see me, Princess?" The title was not said in respect, but in condescension. "My thick arms and my powerful chest. My tall form. I can overpower my opponents quite well. You though…" he gestured to her, shaking his head.
Rhaena was affronted by that. "And what is wrong with me? Everyone says I'm gorgeous."
That made Corbray laugh. "If ye' want a life of pretty dresses and dancing and skipping around in the meadows then you have nothing to worry about. But you want to be a swordswoman like the Queen… you don't have my strength or even her strength so start acting like it."
She tried not to explode into anger… Ser Gawen hadn't shown any reluctance to discipline her as he would his own child. But it was still unfair. Her grandmother had been the most demanding teacher but she had learned plenty enough to be a skilled swordswoman. But after Maegor rather quickly mopped the floor with her before grandfather's death, Ser Gawen scrapped all that she had once learned and started from scratch. It was infuriating.
He didn't care about her feelings - Ser Gawen knew she would never quit and then used it to his advantage. "Now, get back to it."
"Can we at least use an actual metal sword?" Her wooden one was just embarrassing. She felt nine namedays.
"No."
Ugh… "I have Dark Sister as mine," she muttered.
He heard her. "You don't deserve Dark Sister, or any blade, until you get it right. Now." He clapped his hands. "Again! But less strength, more speed!" Huffing, Rhaena calculated the change in movements and began again.
That 'again' turned into another hour of drills and counterdrills, Ser Gawen having so wonderfully persuaded her uncle Maegor to persuade her father to block off her entire afternoon to train. Finally, as nightfall set over King's Landing, Rhaena bonelessly rested in her large bath. Her head lolled back as the soap formed a sudsy layer atop the superheated water. Finally, her aching body obtained some relief.
Hands kept well away from the ceramic amphora of water, Alys Harroway scrunched her nose at the steaming water she poured into the bath. "I've known of baths being comforting after a long day's work, but this is more akin to boiling a crab."
Rhaena's cousin Larissa snorted, blowing a strand of hair from her forehead as she lounged about against the wall. "Welcome to dealing with the dragons, my dear Alys. They can't burn, so they like their baths hotter than the fourteen flames."
Alys was glad to set down the warm pottery, taking her seat next to Larissa. "I suppose that makes sense."
The scene would have struck someone that only knew Rhaena before Dreamfyre as quite odd and out of character - the Princess bathing while her favorites were gathered around the tub chatting and passing gossip. All but her were clothed, and it was as if a normal tea in the gardens rather than some pimply boy's fantasy. Everyone was present except Elissa Farman, who had traveled back to Fair Isle much to Rhaena's displeasure, Tyanna, who was with Visenya on Dragonstone, and Samantha… who was somewhere that no one knew.
Looking at the exhausted Rhaena, Alayne Royce knotted her brows. "Can you even move?"
Rhaena cast her a glare, but she barely managed to lift her arm out of the heated bathwater before she grimaced and dropped it back in. "Apparently not, Alayne."
"This is perverse. You shouldn't be run ragged simply to learn swordsplay. Gawen Corbray is torturing you."
"He taught my uncle and he's amazing. I can't learn from anyone better."
"Didn't your uncle learn from Lord Torrhen's bastard brother?" Alys asked. When Rhaena nodded, she continued. "Wouldn't that mean he learned from him rather than Ser Gawen?"
A snort from Rhaena. "From what uncle Maegor tells me of him, he'd likely train me just as hard and then make me live in a hovel in the mud without anything but jerky and snowmelt for food and drink. Ser Gawen at least lets me live as a Princess."
Larissa laughed. "Fuck, you're all sorts of screwed. Specially since you gotta learn it all over again cause of your strength problem." Catching Alayne's eyes, the two of them burst into giggles that Rhaena didn't appreciate.
While Alys was lost in any discussion of arms or swordsplay, the new girl in the room wasn't. "Don't make light. Ser Gawen is absolutely fucking right in doing this." Nonchalantly eating an unpeeled apple, Melony Piper was as uncharacteristically highborn as her blood made her to be. Sister of the Lord of Pinkmaiden and the youngest of four siblings - all of them boys - she towered over the other girls of Rhaena's clique. At least half-a-head taller than Alys, the previous tallest, and instead of the willowy build was toned and athletic. Someone who could go toe to toe with a man in the sparring ground. Ironically, that was where she and Rhaena met and hit it off. "You're too tiny to go off trying to beat someone into submission, Princess."
"I'm well aware, Melony, thank you." Rhaena had been beaten down enough by her uncle and Ser Gawen to learn that lesson. "I wish I was as strong as you or Visenya."
"You shouldn't." Melony brushed a strand of hair behind her ears. "I may have a pretty face, but no one likes a woman that looks powerful. Be lucky for your fair and innocent Valyrian features… they'll disarm a man quite quickly… or a woman if they're so inclined." She chuckled.
"Are you so inclined?" asked Alayne, brow raised.
Melony snorted. "Wouldn't you like to know. Why? Would you like to go for a tumble?" Even Alys was giggling at the embarrassed flush of Alayne's cheeks at the comment.
Luckily for the poor Royce, the door to the bathchamber flew open and in walked… no, glided Samantha. She practically danced over the tiles, humming a cheery tune. "Oh what fresh hells is this?" muttered Larissa, burying her face in her hands.
Rhaena rolled her eyes - all her favorites had a flair for the dramatic. One of the reasons she liked them. "Samantha, what's got you so happy?"
"You won't believe it!" The girl was probably fairer than even Rhaena, golden blonde hair and pale complexion - it made for a pretty combination alongside brown eyes. "I've been betrothed to the most handsome man in the world."
"Maegor's taking a second wife?" said Melony with a straight face. Rhaena felt a surge of jealousy at the jape - Melony was kidding, but still. If anyone has him it's me. Gods, she was ashamed at how little shame she felt at such a thought.
"You're marrying Prince Aegon?" Some eyes were drawn to a blushing Alys.
But Samantha shook her head. "No, none of them can hold a candle to my beloved." She swooned, rising on the balls of her feet. "I am to be the Lady of White Harbor - the most beautiful place in the world."
"White Harbor?" Rhaena remarked. "You're to marry Ser Theomore Manderly?" At Samantha's nod, she pondered that. He is pretty comely and a good warrior. From what Larissa said he knew his way around a boat - a supreme compliment from a Velaryon. "Well I'm happy for you, Samantha, though I shall greatly miss you."
Alayne was incredulous. "You know White Harbor is fucking cold, right?"
Samantha grinned. "All that means is that I must use my husband for warmth." It was said sweetly, but no one missed the ribald undertone - surprising, coming from Samantha. From her cheeky grin, it was clear she meant it.
"Have you ever actually done that?" Melony remarked. "At least, something like that?"
"No, not at all. I am a virtuous woman," Samantha insisted.
"There are things you can do without giving your maidenhead. I mean there are things you don't even need a man to do." That made Samantha blush, which drew a laugh. "Me, I'm gonna wait a bit before settling down. You?"
Alyane thought for a moment. "Probably the same. There's no rush and my family isn't in need of any alliances yet." If that changed, she'd cross that bridge when she got to it.
"Opposite problem over here," Larissa sighed.
"Same," was all Alys said on the matter.
"So, that just leaves the Princess here." Melony looked closely at Rhaena. "You're the most beautiful of all of us and a literal wet dream for any man. Who're you gonna marry and when?"
Looking down at the bathwater, Rhaena bit her lip. It was a heady question - one that for now didn't have a happy ending in sight. "I always figured I'd have to marry Egg… my brother. Bloodlines pure and all that."
"Doesn't sound like you want to?"
She shook her head. "No, I fear my heart has…" Did she want to tell them? Did she trust them? Yes, I trust them all. "My heart has been taken by someone I can never have, nor do I think would ever love me back."
It took a moment for them to realize it. "Oh," spoke Alayne. The others were quiet, even Melony. Wishing for the exhaustion and aching over this feeling, Rhaena simply sunk further into the bathwater.
Nothing could be a better source of bonding than a shared dragonride. It deepened the love between husbands and wives, he had so seen this every time his parents departed on dragonback and returned with all smiles. It solidified the bond between parent and child - Maegor had never felt closer to his kepa than when Aegon took him on Balerion together. And now, gripping Balerion's spines as they gently dove towards the cliffs of King's Landing, Maegor looked over at Aenys atop Quicksilver not fifty feet off the Black Dread's wingtip and felt a new connection between him and his older brother.
He was the King, and Maegor was his brother and councilor. They needed such a solid, seamless relationship after so many years apart. The fact they were both eager to build it was but a delightful bonus.
'You're getting better, valonqar,' he heard Balerion say to him, a large wingbeat slowing his descent.
"Thank you, brother," Maegor replied. "It helps when you have a proper teacher doing most of the work."
A trill. 'Flattery will get you places.' While Arrax took the cake, Balerion was quite the preener with an ego to match. He loved getting it stroked. Oh, how the Citadel would bristle at the thought dragons have personalities. Grand Maester Gawen was many things, but he held no love for the magical arts when he gave lessons to Maegor's nephews and nieces.
Beating his wings faster at Maegor's direction, Balerion began to slow to a hover over the ground. Blades of grass danced with each flap of the immense wings. Air swirled about like a northern blizzard but Maegor held firm, he and his kepa's mount - now his - slowly eased themselves to the ground… jolting only slightly when the wings folded and the rear talons dropped to the surface. "I am getting the hand of this," Maegor chuckled, beginning to dismount. Blackfyre jangled by his side.
The Prince went nowhere without it.
Letting out a sigh of contentment as he leapt on the ground, Maegor looked to find Balerion curving his neck till his snout was close. The Prince smiled and stroked the warm scales. "We make a good team, you and I."
Balerion growled softly. 'In my centuries, I have never picked a rider unsuited for me.' His amber eyes twinkled. 'Time will tell if you are the exception.'
Maegor raised a brow. "Is that a challenge?"
'You tell me.' Balerion followed up by snorting a blast of hot air into Maegor's face. He could've sworn the dragon was grinning at him before he curled his head the other way to speak with Quicksilver. Cheeky firebreathers.
Brushing the wrinkles and flutters out of his crimson cloak, Maegor was greeted by Aenys… who threw his arms around his little brother in a crushing hug. "You are a natural at this, Maegor!" Ever sentimental… Maegor loved Aenys for it, always brought laughter and joy wherever he went. "For a moment I thought for sure it was poppa riding Balerion."
Sighing, Maegor nodded. "Feels surreal, riding kepa's dragon. At one point I think I shouldn't be there… yet another feels as if it's all meant to be."
"I feel the same way with the Iron Throne." Smiling softly, the King wrapped an arm round his brother's shoulder and led him back towards the Dragonpalace. He may have been slender, but Aenys was only a quarter head shorter than the towering Maegor. "There is something I wish to speak with you about, brother."
He gave his brother a curious look. "You mean to tell me that your idea for a dragonride was to butter me up and not a loving gesture between brothers?" Maegor asked with a mummer's outrage.
Aenys appeared affronted. "No, not at all!" It took a few moments before he chuckled. "Well, perhaps a bit."
"Just let it out, Aenys. You're boring me."
Thoughtful but sometimes indecisive, it took his brother's half-retort, half-bark to redirect Aenys back from the tangent. "Right… Alyssa and I have been going over the plans for our summit with the representatives of our trading partners and we've settled on inviting them for three moons from now."
"So soon? I'm impressed. Planning on letting the small council know on the morrow?" Aenys nodded. "Then why tell me now?"
"I need you to do another task for me."
Maegor blinked. "You want me out of the city?" Why did such scream to him of Alyssa pulling the strings? Godsdamn it, brother. Stand up for yourself.
As expected, the King moved to mollify him as best he could - ever the people pleaser. "No no, not that at all… I weighed the importance of you and Balerion to providing a powerful show of force now that Rhaenys has departed for Winterfell and muna is on Dragonstone, but Alyssa felt that your… run ins with the Three Daughters would ruffle the feathers of the Volentines."
"What do the Volentines have to do with this? They fucking conquored Lys and the others." Sure, Aenys could write their muna on Dragonstone and she'd come to lend Vhagar to the intimidation effort, but he was rankled at Alyssa's sabotage.
"Volantis is seeking to absorb them and consolidate their gains from what my whispers tell me and it would be wise not to antagonize them… but I was unsure of whether to do it till there was something else that came up."
"Oh? What of?"
Aenys sighed. "I've scheduled the first royal progress at the same time as the summit. Rhaena will helm it by journeying to Casterly Rock in my stead."
"Rhaena? She's still so young."
"I know." Aenys closed his eyes. "She may be my heir depending on which succession tradition I follow, so it's wise to expose her early… but she's my daughter and I need someone that I can trust to make sure she doesn't make any mistakes."
Now Maegor was following. "So that's me?" He was flattered, but things still didn't add up. "Why not wait until after the summit?"
His brother chafed in discomfort, the two of them stepping off the grass and onto the outer courtyard surrounding the great hall. "The Ironborn have called their banners."
"The Greyjoys? Fuck do they want?"
"No one knows for sure, but I want you in Casterly Rock in case they do something. A Royal Progress with you looking over Rhaena is a perfect excuse to send you there without ratcheting tensions." Aenys didn't tell his brother that Alyssa quickly shifted to oppose such a decision, but by then it was too late.
The King's attempts to please everyone oftentime just ended up pleasing no one.
Maegor was pleased though. Smart and thoughtful a decision, his brother made, and spending more time with dear Rhaena was something he never denied himself. "Who do you want me to bring in the know about this?"
"No one. Not even Rhaena or Ceryse."
"They'll be in harm's way if the Greyjoys do attack."
Aenys chuckled. "Well, I am sending Balerion the Black Dread to guard them." If there was any doubt that the King was the son of Aegon the Conqueror, such a comment blew it away.