"Muna, do we have to do this?" Alaric whined as Rhaenys fixed the ties to his northern-style doublet. More practical than dressy as in the south, but with his black curls, purple eyes, and round face he still looked adorable.
Many highborns would have servants do this, but Rhaenys insisted on doing it personally. "One day you will be serving your cousins in King's Landing or your brother here, and when that is the case you will need to be ready to receive guests into your home or your keep."
"Yeah, Alec, don't be a baby," Aegon called out, throwing a leather ball up in the air.
"Quiet," Rhaenys snapped. "Don't tease your brother."
"I know this, muna… but Boltons bad people. I'd rather burn them with dragon."
"Burn with dragon, burn with dragon!" Little Saera darted about, holding her egg in her hands.
"Saera! Put that down!" Brandon walked in, absolutely gorgeous to Rhaenys in his armor. "That isn't a toy, and Alaric. You can't just hurt anyone cause you think they may be a threat."
He sighed. "Yes, kepa."
Walking to Rhaenys, he kissed her brow and hugged her. "I wish I could burn them with your dragon, though."
"Oh," she swatted him lightly. "You're such a square. Have a little excitement in your heart. We're making history here."
"I have something in my heart, certainly… more like indigestion." Rhaenys just rolled her eyes.
By the grace of the gods, the summer snows that plagued Winterfell this time in the seasons were nowhere to be found - nor were the torrential rains that left the ground in a state of muddy chaos. But as the horns blew and the gates opened the residents of Winterfell felt a sudden chill course through them. Feeling Brandon shudder beside her, Rhaenys took his hand in hers, weaving their fingers together. He squeezed it in lieu of a smile.
At the first glimpse of the Rogar's Cross sketched in the shape of a man decorating a banner, Rhaenys had knowledge of the deep enmity between House Bolton and House Stark. She wasn't nurtured with such a longstanding hate, mistrust, and fear deep in her bones as her husband and his people were for millennia.
Twice they overran Winterfell and twice the Starks reclaimed a burnt out husk of a keep. Even arriving in peace, all were wary.
To their credit, the Boltons marched into Winterfell without extensive show of force. Their infamous phalangites wore their shields behind their backs like turtles, merely carrying their sarissas in a loose, non-threatening manner. There only seemed to be about fifty of them, joined by over a hundred mounted cavalry and men-at-arms with swords sheathed. Not men drawn up for battle.
It should've reduced the tension, but Rhaenys could see few took the bait. She sighed. A lot more work to do, it seems.
Unlike most Lords that would insist on riding with the head of their column, Lord Rogar Bolton - the name of Rogar the Huntsman, the last of the Red Kings - was closer to the rear. Smart man. If the Starks were planning an ambush, they'd have to wait till his entire force was within the keep before having the chance to trap him.
But with Arrax flying above, any preparations they made would be futile… and from the wary looks on their faces the Bolton men knew that.
Lord Rogar himself was a tall man, lanky but not weak by any measure. Wavy black hair and a full yet non-bushy beard completed the look of a northern warrior, the flayed man-emblazoned gorget the only metal topping his boiled leather armor.
Dismounting from his horse, he was clearly not a man to be trifled with. Rhaenys knew his battle history, and witnessing him did little to contradict… but rather confirm it.
Before approaching them, however, Lord Rogar stilled next to a small palfrey. Atop was a young girl with red hair and a fair complexion. She giggled as Lord Rogar lifted her off with ease and set her beside him. A humanizing moment that made Rhaenys smile and Brandon begin to relax. The daughter we've spoken of? She'd soon found out.
"Lord Brandon," Rogar bowed, reaching the receiving line of Starks. "It is a shame that your father couldn't be here. I would've so much enjoyed seeing him again." His eyes were a milky blue, so light to appear translucent. Both warm and unsettling at the same time.
Brandon forced a smile, nodding his head to the Lord of the Dreadfort. "He sends his greetings from King's Landing, as well as the hope that you find our accommodations pleasing."
"But of course." Looking over at Rhaenys, he bowed again - this time lower. "Princess, you are just as beautiful as you were at your wedding, if not moreso." He took her hand and kissed the back of it.
She chuckled. "You are a flatterer, Lord Bolton. Keep it up." Playing the good Lady to the bad Lord of Brandon, she noticed her husband tense up, grey eyes flaring with jealousy. Keep it up for the bedchamber, my love… Rhaenys truly enjoyed it when the wolf came out to play. "Could your wife not make it, my Lord?"
Rogar shook his head. "Unfortunately not. She insisted on staying with my son Royce, make sure he didn't make any mistakes - first time ruling his future Lands, though I do not have to explain that to you, Lord Brandon."
"No, I do not." Besides the potentially condescending comments, 'Royce Bolton' was the name of both the Red Kings to sack Winterfell. A heady name, considering the history. A look from Rhaenys made him calm himself. "My children, Aegon, Alaric, and Saera."
"The famous dragonwolves, a wonderful mix of the two great bloodlines." He looked over Aegon. "You shall be a mighty Lord one day."
"As both my grandfathers were, Lord Bolton," he replied firmly.
"The enemies of your house will tremble for sure," replied Lord Bolton, his voice giving nothing away. The bat-like shape soaring overhead drew his attention. "Though I'm sure they tremble now, as well."
Rhaenys cut in with a smile. "Dear Arrax is my oldest child, and is quite friendly… unless one seeks to harm his family." The last was firm, contrasted with the still pleasant look on her face - her own form of sizing a person up. Her muna said it was the same skill that her namesake bore and she was proud of it.
To the confusion of some, Rogar merely laughed. "I give credit to Lord Torrhen, he knew what he was doing with the Pact of Ice and Fire. She is clearly worthy to be Lady of Winterfell one day."
"Hopefully that won't come anytime soon," Brandon added.
"No, I suppose not." Looking back, he motioned for the little girl from earlier to step forward. "Lord Stark, Princess, allow me to introduce my daughter Ryah."
The girl smiled, not a trace of the Bolton fierceness about her. "Greetings, Lord and Lady Stark," she said brightly.
Rhaenys bit back a giggle. Ryah Bolton reminded her of her niece Alysanne, and that was a supreme compliment. "It is an honor to meet you my dear." She leaned down, cupping the girl's face. "You do have the look of the Karstarks about you."
"My momma is a Kar-stark," she replied.
"I knew there was too much of a resemblance to be a coincidence." Rogar's wife was the sister of Allard Karstark, the current Lord of Karhold. Kin to the Starks, it gave some mollification to her and Brandon that the new generation of Boltons were more amenable to ally with than the older ones. "But let us leave this muggy weather for food and drink inside. We have set a proper feast for your arrival."
Lord Bolton nodded. "I can never say no to a feast." While some of the gathered household whispered more vicious variations of what a Bolton was likely to eat, most seemed slightly less off guard. This Rhaenys and Brandon did notice and found acceptable for her and Lord Torrhen's hopes for an alliance.
What Brandon didn't notice but Rhaenys did was how Alaric stared stunned at Ryah Bolton, and her smiling shyly at him. She was sure electricity did flow… but the moment was soon over before it began and the girl scampered after her father. Placing her hand on Alaric's shoulder, Rhaenys guided her dear son towards the keep.
There were few times where Alyssa saw her husband dig his heels into anything. He possessed a seemingly indefatigable ability to appear open minded on all subjects, inviting counsel from many sides before agreeing to a consensus decision… it was both a strength and a curse, the Queen had found. "I am still uncomfortable with this, husband."
Sometimes though he was adamant, and refused to be budged even by her. "Lyssa, I love you but you will not change my mind. Rhaena needs this if she is to be my heir."
"Aegon is your heir."
"Rhaena is my firstborn, and though I find myself increasingly likely to betroth her to Aegon as my parents were before me, I hope for her to rule together with him as did my parents… and us too." He was dressed impeccably as always, purples and golds showing off a gentle regality with a three-headed dragon pin upon his lapel reminding all comers of who he was. "Besides, you know my true intentions in regards to this."
Alyssa frowned. "If this were just a royal progress, I wouldn't truly give objection if Rhaena was provided companions to give proper counsel, but putting her into what may very well be a war zone is where I draw the line."
Aenys sighed. "She is a dragonrider, quite a skilled one at that, and will be escorted by Ser Gawen Corbray." The knight's reputation should discourage most would-be attackers. He was worth more than the two hundred men he detached as escorts, though not as much as the dragons. "Besides, Maegor will be joining her."
"That doesn't assuage my reservations, husband," she replied with a frown.
"Come now." He laughed and pulled her onto his lap, a move which startled Alyssa with a yelp. "I know you and my brother don't see eye to eye…" Putting it mildly. "But he is a hardened warrior and loves Rhaena dearly. Nothing shall happen on his watch, my sweet seahorse."
His words of affection, not to mention the rather assertive gesture of possession, tempered Alyssa's ire. She liked dominant men, and her husband was being that right now. Alyssa smiled at him coyly. "Alright, I shall allow myself to trust your decisions for now." He matched her grin and their lips met in a passionate kiss. Perhaps the dragon will be awoken, finally…
They didn't notice the door open until a gasp filled the solar. "My gods…" Rhaena was flush with embarrassment, her eyes wide. "I'll come back another time…"
The King pushed Alyssa off, equally beat red. "No… no, my dear daughter, please return." Alyssa huffed, trying to hide her ire. Of all the times for her daughter to be punctual… "Do forgive me," Aenys consoled, leading Rhaena to a seat across from them. "I'm afraid the moment got away from me."
"While I'm comfortable with having a younger sibling, I'd rather not witness it happening."
"Oh no, that was not what was going on," Aenys stammered, looking humiliated and… eminently apologetic.
Gods, be a dragon. Alyssa couldn't be completely irritated, though, for her daughter's snark… it reminded her of Maegor.
That made her worried again of letting her depart with him…
Rhaena bit back a giggle and sat upright, hands on her lap. "So what did you wish to speak to me of, kepa?"
"Right…" Aenys adjusted his collar. "You are growing into a confident young Princess, my dear. With the Realm in the hands of your mother, uncle, and I, it is time that you and your siblings began truly learning how to rule as our parents did for us." She listened intently, not allowing herself to interrupt though she brimmed with an eagerness to find out what adventure awaited her. "With that being said, you shall take the first step into the wider world. I am dispatching a royal progress to Casterly Rock and you shall be the one to lead it."
Her eyes widened. "Truly, kepa?"
"Are you pleased?" Alyssa asked.
"Of course, muna," she replied brightly. "It would be delightful to bear witness to the Sunset Sea… and to see Elissa again. Who is to accompany me?"
Aenys looked quite delighted at her reaction. "Your uncle Maegor and three hundred household guards, just for your dear father's piece of mind."
While Rhaena had been happy to get this assignment, she noticed at the mention of her goodbrother, the girl's eyes glassed over and her smile was… radiant. The Valyrian beauty on full display. "I shall feel very safe, indeed," was her final reply.
Clapping his hands, Aenys looked over the moon. "Wonderful. You shall depart at the end of the week. I shall write Lord Lannister, Lord Qoherys, and Lord Tully about making arrangements for you."
"If you don't mind, husband, I wish to speak to our daughter further." Alyssa stood, smoothening the folds in her dress.
"Oh, of course not. Go ahead, love."
Nodding to him, Alyssa draped her fingers around Rhaena's upper arm and led her to the gardens. Inane chit chat over random topics prevailed until they overlooked the crashing waves of the sea. "This is a great honor you have been bestowed with, Rhaena."
"I am aware and grateful, mother." Her look was serene - Rhaena truly was the Realm's Delight as her late goodfather often said. "Do not worry, I shall not let you down."
"Not once do I believe you will, but do humor your mother in hearing her paranoia out." They faced each other, Alyssa cupping the girl's cheek. "I am proud of you for all you have become, Rhaena, but those here in court are used to how Targaryens conduct themselves. Your grandmother and aunt were always fierce and willful and it drew them no attention, but those of the rest of the Realm expect certain… conduct."
She knotted her brows. "So I am to be a quiet maiden?" There was an edge to her voice.
That thought Alyssa vociferously killed with a shake of her head. "I did not say that, dear daughter. You are a dragon of House Targaryen and should never forget your might." The gaze softened at that. "But there comes a time to be mighty and a time for tact and diplomacy. Never let a person walk all over you and always be mindful, yet restrain yourself from any needless antagonization. Such is what got your uncle and aunt in considerable trouble over their many years and I fear your brother Jaehaerys has the same unfortunate attitude."
Rhaena giggled at thinking of her youngest brother's tantrums and prideful rants. It was still at an age where it was adorable and all one wished to do was pinch his little cheeks… not that it helped temper his anger. "Do not worry, muna. I shall not bring shame to our house."
"That's all I'm asking, my sweet." She hugged Rhaena close. You will not poison her, Maegor. She will not become your mini me if I have anything to say about it.
"The Unsullied have moved to Myr." Maegor pinched the bridge of his nose. "They were largely concentrated along the Demon Road before, so this is problematic."
Across his desk, Ceryse's finely styled brows knotted. "Relations improving with the cities of Slaver's Bay aren't unexpected now that the trade routes have resumed." Maegor knew this first-hand from fighting as a co-belligerent in Volantis' clash with the Three Daughters. Disruption of the slave trade caused many crises that sometimes almost boiled over into war, but the stability of the horrid institution again ensued peace.
That was welcome, but the movements of the Unsullied were not. "Any bad blood developing between the Triarchs and the Princes of Pentos?" Maegor wasn't aware of any such disputes… though greed sometimes was enough. With Pentos under their control, the middle and lower Rhoyne were under no circumstances fully secured by Volantis.
From how she sucked her lip between her teeth as she scanned the reports with her husband, Ceryse knew the stakes as well. "The Small Council needs a proper Master of Whisperers. The hodgepodge of different sources of information will bite us in the ass if we don't correct it."
"I'll be sure to bring it up to my brother forthwith," Maegor replied, and for a moment the two of them smiled at each other, eyes locking. This was what he truly missed. Ceryse, far from the besotted maiden, was quite smart and clever from growing up in the court of Oldtown. Early on she'd been indispensable to his role as the second son of the King and now continued in such capacity with him as Master of War.
He trusted her, and she him… at least with matters of state and form.
The moment was gone, however, as Ceryse broke away from him - what lightness had brightened her face disappeared as the coldness of their current relationship returned. "Will you be retiring with me, your Grace?" she asked without emotion. Never since that fateful night, the same night Maegor lost his father, did she express any sort of feeling in regards to their marriage.
Maegor didn't blame her. It was painful for him too - his expression whenever such a moment occurred was a tired, hardened scowl. "I will be busy with my duties."
"Of course." She knew his lies, but kept up the pretense for amity's sake. No one could deny she was a devoted wife and Princess. "Try not to wake me if you return to our bed." She curtseyed stiffly.
"I wouldn't wish to grant you discomfort, wife." Both of them knew he wouldn't be returning. Such was the way with many marriages, minus the guilt and regret in both of them.
Not that either could find a way around it. Watching her leave, Maegor rubbed the back of his neck and returned to his reports.
When he finally signed the last of the orders for his secretaries to dispatch to the royal rookeries, Maegor rose and retired for the night. Blackfyre at his side and Syndor trotting alongside him prevented the need for a Kingsguard, already stretched thin with the latest of Lord Commander Corlys Velaryon's health problems leaving him bedridden. Shoulders slumped from exhaustion, he entered his bedchamber to find it occupied. It didn't shock him. The arrangement was routine at this point.
"You look like shit."
A grunt. "Good evening to you as well, Ralla" he greeted his lover. "I feel like shit as well."
Clicking her tongue, she rose from where she had been resting on the bed. For a wildling it was strange to not be dressed for the cold, but in the heat of summer the gauzy Dornish-style nightgown looked heavenly on her slender figure. Ralla was sometimes nude, but this was a welcome treat - Maegor enjoyed unwrapping his gifts. "What fookin' southern cunt been bothering ya', mi'Prince?"
He could never mistake her for a highborn whenever she opened her mouth. He didn't mind though. "Nothing more than usual." He sat wearily, unlacing his boots and doublet to bring relief to his aching body. "Never thought being a quill-pusher would be so exhausting."
"Perhaps yer'd need some 'elp."
"Been getting it, though it doesn't give comfort."
Ralla understood. "Ah, the wife." At his nod she sighed, moving to bring him a cup of northern ale - wildlings found it the most tolerable of the 'southern drinks.' Having obtained an acquired liking for the bitter brew, he accepted it with thanks, gulping it down without haste. It felt wonderful after such a long day. "I've been told that yer southerners 'ave somethin' called an… ann… annul… ment."
"We do," he replied.
"Wanna go fer it? If yer' so unhappy?"
He shrugged. "I love her, Ralla, and she is blameless."
"Yer' also blameless, mi'prince."
Not so sure about that. Sometimes Maegor did blame himself for the miscarriages. Certainly felt like his fault, a husband that couldn't protect those most precious to him. "Perhaps," he merely said. "Ceryse has a place in my heart, Ralla, different than your place." The two knew the contours of their relationship so no offense was taken. "But sometimes it feels like such a place is but one piece of the puzzle."
A groan. "Gods, you southerners piss mi'off. Tings much simpler in the True North. Man wants more than one woman, he steals them. Steal yerself another one if ya want."
He looked to her with a sad smirk. "Not as simple as that."
"Of course not… stupid southerners." The conversation was clearly over, both could feel it. Ralla managed to grin, sensing the mood shift as she moved to tug at the remaining laces of his breeches. Maegor gave an appraising look, Ralla finishing and sitting in his lap. "Let me ease yer pain fer the night, mi'Prince."
Maegor brought their lips together, feeling a sudden need for the escape. Ralla was tough and hardened with battle and survival, but her touches were gentle. Sweet treats that he couldn't help but enjoy. She'd never judge him, nor did they hold tragedy between them. He grinned as he stripped her slowly, hands ghosting over her trim waist and ample breasts.
It wasn't that women didn't desire him, and while it was churlish Maegor didn't deny it was unpleasant a feeling.
They were horizontal on the bed, Ralla underneath him as the tough wildling melted at his touches. His kisses. This was an illicit yet undeniable need for the both of them and Maegor gave it his all. Touches he couldn't give to Ceryse out of their pain. Ralla moaned, Ralla mewled as he sucked at her neck - gasping as his cock slid between her lower lips. "Yes, mi'Prince. Fuck me…"
"You're good…" he grunted, setting a pace. Kissing her, eyes closed as he did so. Often he'd tried to picture Ceryse while doing this, allowing himself some sort of balm to ease the guilt of bedding a woman not his wife. It didn't work usually, but sometimes Maegor did manage to create a wonderful fantasy out of the drudgery of reality. Someplace where he wasn't a weak cunt that failed those most precious to him. This was one of those times.
But it wasn't Ceryse that he saw in his mind.
It was Rhaena - his niece's beautiful face and adoring gaze locking eyes with him as Maegor grunted, spilling deep into Ralla.
"You won't believe it, Jeyne! You just won't believe it!"
"Slow down, my Lady." Following Delena Rowan close behind, Jeyne Poore kept her hands joined in front of her simple blue dress that matched her eyes - one gifted to her by the Lady she served, who herself was dressed in an airy golden gown that hugged every curve. Chipper and carefree unlike Jeyne, what she found as unbelievable could literally be anything. "I seek leave to know what it is we shall face at dinner."
Delena clasped her hands over Jeyne's, beaming. "A most wonderful guest. Septon Barth."
"Barth? Never heard of him."
"Oh my dear," Delena giggled. "He's only the personal secretary to His Holiness."
Eyes bugging out of her head, Jeyne was completely stunned. "A member of the Most Devout, here?" Goldengrove was a major keep so it wasn't out of the realm of possibility, but to be invited to join the distinguished guest was something the daughter of the master-at-arms never expected to happen to her. "Thank the mother that you fixed my hair earlier."
"What did you think it was for, silly?" Delena laughed at Jeyne and pulled her along.
The private dining chamber of House Rowan was already packed. Lord Rickard Rowan sat at the head of the table joined by his wife on his left and his heir Ser Dickon two seats away on his right. Delena curtseyed to the guests and kissed the cheeks of her mother and father before sitting down across from her brother. With a tug, she motioned for Jeyne to sit beside her. The young lady could see her father sitting a bit away from her. Ser Garse Poore wore a frown - he usually frowned, and the deepest scowls were reserved for her.
It wasn't every day that one's wife bore seven sons and one daughter, and only the latter survived to adulthood. Jeyne endured that resentment every day of her life.
The chatter of the table went on around her, and Jeyne tried her best to blend in as she always did. It wasn't that she wasn't pretty, or witty, or held common interests with the vast majority of those here. With raven-black hair and the bluest of blue eyes, the crooked smile of hers wasn't considered classically beautiful but no man ever ceased in giving her the once over. But the truth was she simply enjoyed being on her own. Others… they bored her.
In the keep of a Reach Lord, the tourney knights and flower maidens dwelling within provided no stimulation. It took all her energy not to rip her own hair out.
Such was why her eyes fell on their guest. Septon Barth was famous… or infamous depending on who you asked. A prodigy, he had grown to a handsome young man with straight brown hair and an inquisitive gaze. He smiled and engaged others in witty conversation showing a sharp mind, but Jeyne could tell that he suffered from a similar lack of stimulation.
Her musings prevented her from hearing a call to her… "Hey, girl. You speak when you're spoken to," barked her father.
Blinking, Jeyne saw Barth looking at her. "Not a problem, Ser Garse. It's obvious that your daughter was simply lost in thought. Happens to me quite often." He chuckled to himself. "In any case, your Lady here says you are quite learned. Tell me, what was the last thing you enquired upon?"
That… wasn't a question she expected. "Um…"
"Answer the man!"
She gulped at her father's criticism. "I last learned of the tales of the Night's Watch. Piqued my interest after…" Jeyne swallowed a gulp of her wine. It… helped. "Learning of the First Men and their culture." Reading the room, she huffed. "Those savages could've greatly benefitted from Andal swords and culture."
"Oh? How so?"
"Based on the tales of the First Men as I have heard, forgive me my Lord but the library here isn't the largest." Lord Rickard merely laughed, not the most studious of men so not taking offense even as her own father silently seethed. "Our noble ancestors would've handled the demons of the past with skill. 'No man providentially armored with the spirit of the warrior and the mother shall knoweth the agony of defeat against the cold or the demons it spawns.'"
Barth, halfway through carving another cube of meat, stilled. Obviously impressed. "'In the shadow of the freezing death, only the light of the father and the fires of the smith can banish the darkness.' Quite good, Lady Poore." He smiled appreciatively at her as he ate. "You've certainly paid attention to your Septa."
Jeyne gave him a twinkling look in her blue eyes. "'Through the study of the word inscribed upon stone and leaf, only then can the glories of the Seven be established in man and wife.'"
That drew wide eyes from the Septon. "A rather obscure passage. Lady Jeyne, have you memorized the Seven-Pointed Star?"
"Oh, she reads it all the time, Septon," Delena giggled, looking at Jeyne as if she were silly. "Has her nose in any book she can get her eyes on."
"Forgive me, your eminence," Ser Garse commented. "My daughter has always had a queerness about her that truly shames me." Jeyne let her gaze drop to her lap. She should've been used to his words, but they still hurt. Delana squeezed her hand under the table, making her smile softly at her.
Sipping his wine - watered unlike everyone else save for Jeyne, which he also noticed - barth raised an eyebrow. "She's been studious for a while, Ser Garse?"
A snort. "Prattles on and on about this and that. Self taught herself Valyrian, the heretical cunt." He scarfed down a chicken leg. "Don't believe her when she says she's devout because of it. She'll never find any sort of decent husband, I guarantee it." Barth said nothing, merely continuing to eat as he digested what was said.
Jeyne was equally silent, praying to the maiden for dinner to end.
As darkness fell, Jeyne had just finished brushing Delena's hair and prepping her for bed when there was a knock at the door. Sharing a confused look with her lady, the girl made her way to open it - in Delena's state of undress she was in no position to do it - and found her father waiting for her. "Lord father," she curtseyed. For him to be here, intruding on Lady Delena's quarters, it wasn't good and she didn't wish to antagonize him.
"Jeyne," he said gruffly. His tone softened and bowed gracefully to Delena. "My Lady. Forgive me for my intrusion, but I must borrow my daughter. I hope it doesn't inconvenience you."
Airy as she was, Delena nevertheless read the tone of the words and gave Jeyne a sympathetic smile. "I can take it from here, Ser Garse. Thank you for your consideration."
The knight and master-at-arms bowed again before taking Jeyne's slender arm and yanking her out. To his credit, he didn't truly drag her… until the door shut and Delena couldn't bear witness. "Father, what is the matter…" Jeyne began to speak as they approached her chambers. As Dalena's lady in waiting, she was afforded small accommodations close by.
"Shut it," was the grunted reply. Ser Garse shoved the door open, followed by shoving her inside. "You're finally to be of use to me for once in your life."
Confused for a moment, Jeyne understood quickly. "You have found me a husband." It wasn't a question, more a resigned statement. She'd been expecting this for as far as she'd dreaded it. Some political match to elevate House Poore, forcing her to endure a fat old man of a sadistic twat.
She prayed daily in the sept for salvation, but the Seven didn't hear her prayer.
Ser Garse laughed. "As if anyone important would want you in their bed." His belittling came easy to him. Jeyne was used to it. "No, Septon Barth came to my chambers and offered me a talent of silver stags for your admittance to the Faith. Much more than you're worth but who am I to refuse such a deal?"
Jeyne was unsure that she heard her father correctly. "Pardon, lord father, but you are to give to the Starry Sept?"
"Yes, daughter. Lord Rowan cannot deny me this honor since Septon Barth personally asked for you… by name no less! He's the personal secretary to High Septon Hugor himself!" For once, the man seemed in awe.
Silent, Jeyne didn't know what to think. The Starry Sept, to be a septa. In spite of her devout faith it was not something she wished for herself, if she was to be honest. A different set of chains weighing her down as opposed to being married to some brutish highborn… and yet… if Septon Barth himself asked for her then there was undoubtedly something unorthodox he had in mind. The man was, as her father said, the personal secretary to the High Septon.
Plus in this, she wouldn't need to give her maidenhead to any brute.
"You will not deny me this opportunity, you little cunt," her father hissed. "Connections to Barth mean connections to the Most Devout, and they can rise me out of this shithole and a new standing in the Realm. I won't have any girlish dreams stand in my way."
Taking a deep breath, Jeyne made her decision. "I will leave with Barth, father. You need not worry of me foiling your plans."
He clapped his hands. "Excellent. I shall make arrangements for your departure. Get your things packed."
Closing the door behind him, Jeyne deflated and collapsed against the wood. At least I'll be serving the Seven… and getting away from that man. The girl didn't know which was more desired by her.
"It'll be wonderful to see Elissa again," chimed Alayne, the normally reserved girl chipper and excited for the trip… especially since she was selected by Rhaena as one of her two favorites to journey to the Westerlands with her.
"I'll get to stop by home again, so that's a plus," said Melony, also excited though she didn't show it. "Not to mention setting up camp with the hunk."
"Oh yes, that is gonna be wonderful."
Rhaena rolled her eyes. "Stop it, girls. My uncle's taken."
Melony nodded, faking scandal. "Forgive me, Princess. I didn't mean to stake a claim to your man."
This made her scowl. "He is not my man, ugh." You wish him to be, though. Sometimes she hated her inner voice. Perhaps if kepa and muna were here she could shirk these two until they were out of japes. But she had given her goodbyes at the manse, while the procession was gathering at the unfinished Dragonpalace.
"Sure, sure." The two giggled together, making Rhaena roll her eyes again.
Spotting her instructor, Rhaena smirked slightly and walked to him. "Ser Gawen." Ever formal, the wizened knight of the Vale placed a hand behind his back and bowed gracefully. "Princess."
"Such a shame that we must cut our training short due to this duty of mine. Regrettable, but I vow to train just as hard for when we resume upon my return."
"I wouldn't make arrangements of that, Princess," he replied as a servant brought forth a piebald gelding to him, already saddled. "I shall be joining you."
Rhaena's expression faltered. "Come again?"
Ser Gawen gave her a smile - may as well have been a hyena grin. "Your uncle spoke to me - Lord Commander Corlys has taken sick and the King is considering me to replace him… consider this… a test of my ability to protect you." He mounted his steed, swinging over the saddle expertly. "And the first prong of such a plan is to teach you how to properly defend yourself. When we make camp, we will be training."
Oh, seven hells… "I shall look forward to it." Rhaena did in a way… it was her knees and muscles that didn't and rebelled at the task.
As he rode away, Melony smacked her on the back. "Well, that didn't go as you thought. But don't worry, I'll make sure you rise at dawn as the rest of us do." It was getting close to the height of summer, so the days were long.
"Fuck you."
Melony chortled. "My my, the dragon has a thin skin. Not advisable for battle." Wise as she was sassy, her favorite made her escape to one of the wheelhouses before the dragon temper could be woken further.
Rhaena made her way towards the wheelhouse as she'd been conditioned by her mother - 'No proper princess acts as a knight or a commoner, they travel as befitting their status and earn respect for it' - she was stopped by Maegor, who placed a hand on her shoulder. "No, dear niece. You shan't ride in one of those things."
She blinked, confused. "Uncle?"
"You're a dragon, aren't you?" he answered back, chortling when she couldn't reply with naught but a look of bafflement. "Oh come now, you're not this dense, sweet niece. You'll hurt her feelings." With a gesture of his arms, he pointed to a pale blue dot in the sky… soon growing bigger as she flapped closer and closer.
At the roar, Rhaena's confusion evaporated. Dreamfyre… Oh, now she felt like such an idiot, blushing madly. "Dragonback."
"Aye, Dragonback. The Realm shall see you in all your majesty if I have anything to say about it." Truth be told, Maegor knew that his niece was seen in awe by the smallfolk. Radiant and mighty with Dark Sister clipped to her waist, he'd borne witness to such looks when he travelled across the realm in the years prior to his kepa's death. No, looking as Dreamfyre was followed by the far larger Balerion, he wanted to exercise his own dragonriding and didn't wish to be alone while doing so. Rhaenys used to oblige him before she left, and Aenys did so whenever he had the time, but he had yet to ride with his niece.
Not to mention her blush made Rhaena light up like the sun. Maegor forced himself to look away, hiding embarrassment for thinking such.
With a hoot, Dreamfyre landed with a series of powerful wingbeats. She extended her slender neck to come face to face with her rider. 'You forgot me, muna? Should I be insulted?'
Rhaena gave a sheepish grin and rubbed her blue scales. "Apologies, my sweet," she replied in High Valyrian, delighting in the dragon's rumbles of delight at the touches. "We are traveling with an entourage and a progression is only as fast as its slowest member." Beside them, the ground shook as Balerion the Black dread slammed into the ground.
Maegor was unafraid, striding straight to his kepa's mount - now his. "I wouldn't believe her if I were you, Dreamfyre. I can tell she's lying to you."
Balerion growled as Rhaena glared at him. 'Don't tease the hatchling, valonqar.'
"She makes it so easy, brother."
'The best trophies are ones needing struggle to obtain. Such is the same with quips and verbal jousts.' Apparently his dragon was as wise as he was fearsome.
Horns blowing, the procession began to make its way out of the keep. Maegor nodded, beginning to climb Balerion's spikes. In spite of starting before Rhaena, Dreamfyre was smaller so by the time Maegor swung onto his back the Princess was already snugly on her dragon's back. "So how are we gonna work this? Fly ahead of them?"
"No, we land where they camp."
"But that'll be worthless. We have the speed advantage."
"So we'll ride around in circles or take adventures," Maegor grinned. "Good practice for the both of us."
A smirk crossed Rhaena's face. "Speak for yourself, uncle. I'm a longer-serving dragonrider than you... I shan't make you look too green. Sovegon." Dreamfyre shrieked and vaulted into the sky.
Maegor shook his head. "She's too much like muna for her own good." He swore Balerion was laughing at him through their bond. "Just… ugh… Sovegon." He gripped the spines tight as Balerion's massive wings jolted him upwards.