Hall of Nine
The hall buzzed with activity as Rhaegar and Helaena stepped through the doors. On the left side of the room stood Sea Snake and Rhaenys, who greeted Rhaegar with a respectful bow, "Your Grace."
Rhaegar nodded in acknowledgment, his gaze shifting to the right side of the hall where several Velaryons, whom he had seen earlier, stood in a row.
The Velaryons, all silver-haired and purple-eyed, bent low in a synchronised bow. The leader of the group stepped forward, hat in hand. "Your Grace, thank you for coming to Driftmark to seek justice."
"Hold on," Rhaegar cut him off, his tone firm. "Let's not jump to conclusions before the matter is resolved."
Years on the Iron Throne had taught him the importance of caution. The ability to say "no" was crucial, and indulgence was a luxury he couldn't afford.
"Your Grace..." the man began again, but his companion quickly tugged at his sleeve, shaking his head to stop him.
The man composed himself and rephrased, "Your Grace, I am Malentine Velaryon, the one who sent the letter. I served in the War of the Narrow Sea."
"I remember you, Malentine," Rhaegar replied, his gaze unwavering. "But let's hear all sides before making any decisions."
He took a moment to survey the Velaryons before him, all cousins and nephews of Sea Snake, their features unmistakably Valyrian. Five in total, each representing a different branch of the family.
Turning to Helaena, Rhaegar patted her arm gently. "Go stand with Aunt. This won't take long."
As she moved to join Rhaenys, Rhaegar ascended the steps to the driftwood throne at the head of the hall. Noticing the empty throne, he glanced to the side where Rhaenyra sat, dressed in black with a gold crown, absently playing with her ring.
Rhaegar took his seat on the driftwood throne and leaned towards Rhaenyra. "Where is Visenya?"
"Sara is taking care of her," Rhaenyra replied, patting her thigh with a sigh. "I need to be here for Rhaena's sake."
"Of course," Rhaegar agreed.
Rhaenyra held a unique position, not only as the Queen of the King but also as the Queen of Lys, a title Rhaegar had granted her to compensate for the loss of her inheritance. She was a proper "Your Grace," outranking all Princes and Princesses.
With the preliminaries out of the way, it was time to address the matter at hand.
Rhaegar sat with a critical expression, his face stern. "Ser Malentine, state your claim."
Malentine stepped forward, briefly locking eyes with the other cousin Rhogar. A silent nod from Rhogar conveyed determination.
Gathering his resolve, Malentine spoke confidently, "Your Grace, according to the traditions of Westeros, male inheritance takes precedence over female inheritance..."
He continued with a litany of arguments, emphasizing that Rhaena, as a female and an outsider, should not inherit Driftmark's foundations. He pointed out that both he and his cousin were direct nephews of Sea Snake and capable, fertile males. They argued that they were better suited to lead House Velaryon and command its fleet.
Rhaegar remained impassive, though internally, he was skeptical. How were these men truly fit to inherit?
House Velaryon's prominence was largely due to the efforts of the Sea Snake. He had rebuilt High Tide, established Spicetown, and exploited maritime trade like never before, creating a fleet that was the pride of Westeros.
Suppressing an eye roll, Rhaegar turned to the Sea Snake, maintaining an impartial tone. "What is your opinion, Lord Corlys?"
Sea Snake, his expression severe, stepped forward to address the accusations of his nephews. Composing himself, he began, "Your Grace..."
...
Negotiations Underway in High Tide
Hull, Dark Alley
Daeron led his fiancée and three nephews, chatting and laughing as they shopped. Without realizing it, they wandered into a dark alley, a neighborhood known for its thriving custom business.
On either side of the street, stalls manned by the poor sold handicrafts. In the shadows and street corners, ragged men and women loitered, moaning and swaying.
As they walked, the sounds of couples in the throes of passion filled the air. Daeron chuckled inwardly, annoyed that he had gotten so caught up in conversation that he had taken a shortcut through this unsavory area.
"Ahem," he coughed softly to hide his embarrassment. "The harbor is just ahead. Let's pick up the pace."
Baela and Rhaena, being older and more aware, noticed the unusual nature of the dark alley. A few meters away, a man and a woman were entangled in a passionate embrace, an unsettling sight.
Baela grunted softly, pulling her sister forward. Daeron, his gentlemanly image faltering, felt even more embarrassed.
"Prince, this is not a place to linger," warned Cole, the Kingsguard accompanying them. He looked serious as he picked up young Maekar.
Maekar's cheeks turned red, and he covered his eyes with one small hand. In contrast, Baelon and Aemon looked around curiously, trying to locate the source of the sounds.
Daeron hurriedly agreed. "Yes, let's go."
The group moved quickly through the dark alley, their numbers smaller due to Daeron not bringing many guards on this casual outing. Besides Kingsguard Criston Cole, there were only a few guards on duty.
A few moments later, they emerged from the dark alley near the entrance to a brothel. As Daeron walked by, a common-looking whore ran out to stop him.
The whore bowed her head and cautiously delivered a message, "Prince, a distinguished guest is here to see you."
Daeron exclaimed, "I haven't been here before!"
He was incredulous. He prided himself on his cleanliness.
The prostitute, startled by his outburst, insisted, "Yes, you have not been here."
"Nonsense, of course I haven't been here!" Daeron was increasingly agitated. Rhaena was nearby, and he wasn't even married yet.
The whore, on the verge of tears, clarified, "It's Prince Aegon. He's inside."
Baelon, half understanding, tugged on Daeron's sleeve. "Is Uncle calling you? Should we go?"
Daeron's face darkened, and he was about to refuse outright. The prostitute, desperate, leaned in and whispered something to him.
Daeron's expression grew even more severe. After a brief internal struggle, he faced Cole and gritted his teeth. "Protect them. I'll be back later."
"No problem," Cole replied firmly. "Pay attention, and I'll let Ser Arryk know to come over."
The Kingsguard's primary duty was to protect those around Daeron. Daeron nodded and followed the prostitute into the brothel.
Cole, with a quick glance, led the three curious young princes away from the place of wrongdoing.
...
In the Brothel
Daeron, after witnessing a shocking scene, finally encountered his brother Aegon.
Aegon, reeking of booze and draped with a whore, giggled drunkenly, "You're 12 years old. Want this old man to pay for your first time?"
Daeron, mortified, held his nose. "Aegon, if that's all you wanted, I'm leaving."
"Hey, hey, shame on you." Aegon pushed the whore aside, wrapped an arm around Daeron's shoulders, and led him outside.
Aegon was never one to hide his activities. He was generous and bold, mingling confidently with the crowd in the packed hall.
"Where are we going?" Daeron resisted, stretching his head to keep as much distance as possible from Aegon.
Aegon smirked mischievously. "I'll show you a little secret."
"What?" Daeron frowned.
"You'll see," Aegon said cheerfully. "You might even want to have some fun here once you see it."
Daeron felt helpless. If it weren't for needing Aegon to help him pick up a ruby necklace in Qarth for Rhaena, plus a bit of curiosity, he would have walked away.
Aegon, saying no more, hemmed and hawed as he guided Daeron up the stairs.
They soon reached a secluded, private room.
"Follow me," Aegon whispered, slipping to the wooden window outside the compartment.
The windows were intricately carved, offering small gaps for peeking. A cloth curtain covered the view from inside.
An old hand at such places, Aegon slipped his fingers into a gap and tugged a corner of the curtain aside. "Come on, right here."
Naively, Daeron assumed some lord was inside, performing a spectacle. He wanted to refuse, but curiosity overcame reason.
"Just this once," Daeron muttered, more to himself than to Aegon.
Tiptoeing closer, he peered through the gap.
Inside, the dim candlelight and pungent incense created an intimate atmosphere. A round table laden with fruits and wine, and a large round bed surrounded by gauzy curtains dominated the room.
On the bed, a silver-haired figure lay curled up, their lean body vulnerable. An aging prostitute sat beside them, gently caressing the young body. She ran her fingers through the youth's silver hair, attempting to kiss him.
"No!"
The young man jerked his head away, burying his face in his arms. The action, reminiscent of a child's instinct to seek comfort, was a poignant display of vulnerability.
Outside the window, Daeron's eyes widened in shock. "Aemond..."
"Shh!" Aegon quickly covered Daeron's mouth, his expression furious. "If you shout, will I still have a place here?"
Plop—
As the brothers whispered, a muffled thud echoed from the box, followed by an almost insane roar of rage:
"Aegon, I'll kill you!"
...
Hall of Nine
Rhaegar sat high on his driftwood throne, watching the bickering unfold below.
Sea Snake, his face darkened with anger, said contemptuously, "I built Driftmark's foundation with my own hands. It's not your place to decide who I hand it over to."
Malentine countered, "Rhaena's last name was originally Targaryen, and she's still a girl!"
The other nephews chimed in, turning on their formerly wise and benevolent uncle.
Sea Snake, unable to outargue them alone, glared angrily. The five men before him were all his nephews, each of whom had been loyal to him at one time or another. It was painful to be betrayed by close family.
Rhaenys watched with a detached sense of humor, her arms crossed. It was like watching a troupe of clowns.
She had always maintained a neutral stance on passing over Rhaena. Laenor's death had left her heart cold, especially after Laena suffered from Daemon's unfair treatment. Now, her loyalty was solely to her husband and immediate family.
As for Driftmark and House Velaryon, they were but passing clouds in the brief span of life.
(Word Count: 1,705)