Rhaenyra did not want to leave Ser Harwin's embrace. She felt safe there, he was her steadfast rock and anchor. Daemon was the fire that enticed and thrilled her, and occasionally burned her. Laena was like the wind, full of lightness and joy, brushing by like a refreshing breeze and flowing free as she wills. Right now she needed Harwin's quiet and unyielding strength around her.
However, obligations could not wait. News from King's Landing had arrived – her father was summoning the banners. She had been surprised by how quickly her father had agreed with her letter. Corlys had warned her that she might need to speak with him personally. It ended up being unnecessary, and it looked as if they had Daemon to thank for it.
The missive to Driftmark from the King had given instructions for Lord Corlys to assist Daemon with the invasion of Dorne. Daemon had overall command, but Corlys would lead the naval efforts.
Tyland Lannister must be raging over the news that the Sea Snake is more trusted than the Master of Ships. Though perhaps father had left that decision to Daemon.
"I should check on Laenor. Then we must consider returning to Dragonstone."
Harwin removed his encircling arms.
"The garrison at Dragonstone is not large, and while I would not hesitate to command them in war, I would rather stay by your side," Harwin rumbled.
"You will stay with me, of course. With Laena still recovering from childbirth and Daemon off to war, I will need you close."
Harwin kissed her, and then Rhaenyra began the process of making herself presentable. Once ready, she headed to the Maester's infirmary to check on her husband.
After passing the numerous guards, Rhaenyra entered the room with Harwin in tow. Joffrey was sleeping on a cot near Laenor's bed. Elaena was at her usual position, eyes closed, hand firmly grasped on Laenor's. By Elaena's side were several empty plates. Maester Vaelar was hovering nearby with a frown on his face.
"Is aught amiss?" Rhaenyra asked worriedly upon seeing Vaelar's expression.
"The opposite, Your Grace. I am merely perplexed." Vaelar paused, shook his head, and then sighed.
"Laenor's condition has changed—his heart is pumping less often, which is reducing the effect of the poison. The sedatives we've given him should not be so effective, and we even skipped his last dosage. Despite that, there is still no sign of him rousing to consciousness or any further damage to his body."
Rhaenyra did not want to grasp onto hope, fearing it would make the eventual, likely result all the worse, and yet she could not help but do so.
"You should take pride in your work, Maester. You and Gerardys have done far more than the Grand Maester would have," Rhaenyra complimented.
"As you say," he said with little conviction.
Elaena opened her eyes. She looked weary as she gave a tired smile. "Hello, sister, how are you holding up?"
"I have kept myself busy. Ser Harwin has been a great comfort. I've checked in on Laena – she is greatly aggrieved, but the presence of Visenya comforts her. The twins are scared, and I have done what I can to put them at ease," Rhaenyra responded.
"Their fear is understandable. The defenses of High Tide were lax; I hope your good-father corrects that moving forward," Elaena replied tiredly.
Rhaenyra took the chair that Joffrey oft used and leaned down to give Laenor a kiss on the cheek. His skin was cool, no longer feverish.
Is that a good sign or not? Is this the chill of healing, or of death?
As she pulled back, her eye was caught by the egg set over the brazier.
"It is stone!" Rhaenyra exclaimed.
Elaena looked at the egg. "Ah, so it is. There was an old legend I recall reading of from the days of Old Valyria. A Targaryen can draw strength from dragon eggs. Given how I survived my childhood, I suspected that something akin might occur for Laenor. Though I had hoped it would not harm the unhatched dragon."
Rhaenyra whirled to the Maester. "Could that be responsible for Laenor's improvement?"
"This is beyond my ken, princess. I would be skeptical of such ideas, but empiricism is taught at the Citadel. In the absence of another explanation for Ser Laenor's improvement, perhaps this had a hand in it."
Rhaenyra abruptly stood up, went around the bed, and embraced Elaena tightly.
"Your strange ideas sometimes do work out!"
Rhaenyra felt one arm return the hug. "It was merely an idea. I did not know it would work, or if it did work," Elaena replied with little excitement.
Her little sister was always so modest, likely due to the Queen's influence. The Faith of the Seven could be overbearing at times with its teachings on humility and modesty. When one accomplished something grand, one should bask in the glory of it. Still, Rhaenyra knew better than to celebrate prematurely.
"Regardless, my not-so-little sweetling, thank you. You should be busy planning your wedding and your future life with Ser Kevan, not fretting over this. Yet your care and concern may well make the difference."
Rhaenyra wished to do something for Elaena, but she was not sure what.
"I will chide our uncle to crush Dorne quickly so that your wedding date can remain as is."
Elaena's eyes widened, no doubt in appreciation of the boon Rhaenyra was offering.
"Rhaenyra, I have been here for the past several days and know not what transpires beyond these walls. Dorne? Our uncle? Pray, catch me up on what I have missed."
Rhaenyra explained that Lord Corlys wished to exact revenge on Dorne for the attack. She described how she had written to her father, how he had agreed to wage war on Dorne, and how he had appointed Daemon as the overall commander of the King's military forces. She also mentioned that the banners had been called and that fleets were being prepared.
"Has Dorne confessed to doing this?" Elaena asked.
"No, but it is obvious they were responsible." Rhaenyra replied.
Elaena looked frustrated. "When Lord Corlys and Uncle Daemon waged war in the Stepstones did that mean that the Triarchy was at war with all of Westeros?"
"No, father chose not to involve the crown."
Elaena looked at her, and Rhaenyra then took her meaning.
"Ah, you believe it was the Dornish, but it may not have been by the hand of Prince Qoren Martell?" Rhaenyra asked.
"That is one possibility, yes. As to others, I would need more information. We should not be so quick to rush into this conflict. I regret I was not there to advise father."
Rhaenyra laughed. "Oh, Elaena I was just thinking you view yourself too modestly, and now you wish to advise the King on matters of war. Come now, our uncle has fought in wars, he can advise our father ably enough."
Elaena's face took on mien of rarely seen anger, but then she exhaled slowly.
"I am too weary to discuss this, sister. I will say this, urge caution. If it was truly Prince Qoren who approved of such an obvious attack that could so easily be traced back to Dorne, he will be on guard and have some devious plan to thwart our uncle. Advise caution, please. Especially for any dragon riders."
Rhaenyra saw the sense in that. A tremor of fear shook her. Dorne starting a war with the Seven Kingdoms was strange, given that they had no hope for victory against dragonriders. Unless… unless Dorne had some kind of new way for dealing with dragons.
"Sister, I believe I do need to prepare to leave. But I will heed your words, take care of Laenor."
Their gazes locked.
"I will do my best, Rhaenyra." Elaena promised.
***
Daemon realized that organizing the war effort was not a simple task when there were too few he trusted within King's Landing. The entire court was Green, save for old Beesbury.
He had sent ravens to Lord Gormon Massey within the Crownlands. He would be an able administrator and was trustworthy. Lord Borros Baratheon was all the way in Storm's End, but he would be an able field commander and was already in the midst of rallying the Stormlands. The Marcher Lords were itching for a fight, as always.
He had worked with Lord Corlys before, he too could be trusted. He would not trust anyone from the Westerlands or the Reach. The Riverlands were a mixed bag, but they were farther afield. At least the never-ending missives back and forth across all of Westeros kept his thoughts away from absurdly unnerving maegi.
His meeting with her had been altogether peculiar. First, she had said they were kin by marriage and by not marriage, of sorts. When he had pressed her, she had merely cackled, saying that the link wasn't particularly strong. Daemon remembered the emphasis and odd laughter afterward.
The decrepit crone had looked older than the Grand Maester. As to her assistance, he well remembered her words.
"If that is what he was poisoned by, the Dark Storm has blown his last wind. Saving him from such a certain death would require great sacrifice. Only life can give life. But even then… his spirit could linger, but the flesh will have already grown weak and loathsome by the time I arrive. Save your coin, prince."
Daemon was not one to yield easily, so he had demanded more answers. The maegi had given him more, but not much. She explained that blood sacrifice required death in order to give life, but it only gave life. Awareness, thought, and mobility would all be dependent on how much damage the venom had already wrought. Given the time that had lapsed, she had judged it hopeless.
He had tried one last effort. "Are there any whose knowledge is greater than yours? Other maegi or sorcerers who might surpass your skills?" Daemon had asked her.
"My daughter knows as much as I, perhaps more now, but she's not here and the time is already done. Qarth or Asshai may have greater practitioners, but I doubt even they could do as you wish."
Well, he had tried. Daemon had wanted a grand gesture of reconciliation with Laena, which would allow him to adopt Aelyx without fuss. But that could wait until after the war in Dorne. Once it was over and he returned as the conquering hero, the man who had avenged her brother, then would be the time to broach the subject.
Not that he couldn't adopt and name heir anyone he wished. But Rhaenyra would not willingly allow her son to be adopted by him if Laena opposed. And while he could be quite convincing with Rhaenyra when he desired it, her loyalty to Laena was strong.
His musing was interrupted when Aemond was announced by his guard.
What does he want?
"Uncle, I've come to volunteer the services of Vermithor against the Dornish."
Daemon laughed. "You've barely left your mother's teat, has your voice even changed? Get gone with you, I have work to do."
Aemond held himself stiffly and did not turn to go.
"I am given to believe you and the Queen dislike each other. My mother will be most upset if I fly off to war."
Daemon was taken aback for a moment. Was the boy so eager to fight that he would go against his own mother?
Would Viserys allow it?
When Daemon did not immediately respond, Aemond continued.
"While I may be young, Vermithor is not. He would be the largest dragon we could field. Vhagar will likely not take part at first due to your wife so recently having birthed."
Daemon let a slow smile dawn on his features. Vermithor was a powerful dragon. Leaving it in the hands of Aemond could make the inevitable war of succession much more dangerous. However, if the boy died doing something foolish, or a Dornish assassin took him unawares in camp…
"You are young yet, but I admire boldness. The one you must convince is your father, not me. I won't be taking his underaged son to war without his leave."
Aemond frowned. "It is sometimes better to ask for forgiveness, than permission. Princess Elaena had suggested Aegon, Helaena, and I take turns patrolling from Harvest Hall. That was before all this happened of course." Aemond looked Daemon in the eyes. "Once there, the front will be a paltry flight away and my dragon can be of use in the invasion."
It was a clever ploy. It also allowed Daemon to be distanced from any repercussions. If Aemond was dealt with in the dark, blame could even go to Elaena for suggesting such a course.
"We have a bargain then, young prince. I will make use of you and your dragon while you are in the Stormlands, provided that you do not reveal that I have given permission. If anyone asks, it will be said that boyish impetuousness led you to 'help' in the fighting. You'll still need your father's permission to go to the Stormlands; he may feel differently now that the war is afoot."
Aemond smiled. "I will do so. Thank you, uncle. You will not regret this."
Daemon watched the little idiot go. He couldn't fault the boy's desire to seek glory, but his dragon was simply too powerful to let him keep it.
Rhaena is still young to try to bond a dragon like that, but I was going to have her try with Silverwing during the royal weddings. Vermithor would be even better; yes, this could work out for the best.
***
Viserys had delegated much of the wartime decision-making to Otto, his Hand, and Daemon, the commander of his armies. As King, he listened to the reports and was kept abreast of the various lords' accounts and the numbers they could bring to battle.
The superior manpower would overwhelm Dorne. If they huddled in their castles and keeps, their small towns and villages – such as they were in the arid southlands – would be destroyed. Caraxes and Meleys could also see those bastions reduced to funeral pyres. Their fires did not run as hot as the Black Dread's had, but castles would burn regardless.
Plans were made for an armada to launch an assault on Planky Town and Salt Shore. The difficulty lay in the need for supplies. The Dornish were adept at denying resources to invading armies. Daemon would need to plan carefully to ensure his men had sufficient food and drinking water. Sabotaging their own wells to deny water to their enemies would also pose a challenge.
They had adjourned for a few hours and Viserys had taken the time to visit his diorama. It always brought him a bit of peace to look back on the history of his people. So much from that legendary era had faded with time, but this would be a living testament to the greatness of the past, and a beacon for what the future could be. His examination and contemplation were interrupted by his Lord Commander announcing his son, Prince Aemond, had arrived to see him.
"Your Grace," Aemond inclined his head as he entered.
"Aemond, I cannot recall, have I ever shown you this model of Old Valyria?"
Aemond glanced at the structure, then leaned in for a closer look.
"The design well matches what is described in our oldest texts, father. It is well made, but I have come for another reason."
"Yes?" Viserys asked.
"Princess Elaena had broached the subject of my siblings and I taking turns spending time in the Dornish Marches, specifically with Lord Selmy of Harvest Hall. With brother and sister involved in their betrothal, I would ask that I be given leave to journey and remain there until my siblings' happy union occurs."
Viserys looked at his son. "That idea was set in place before we knew we would be at war with Dorne."
"All the more reason for it to be carried out now, father. Knowledge that the Bronze Fury is within a day's flight of both the Boneway and the Prince's Pass will cause grave uncertainty for the Dornish. It would also deter any sort of adventurism into our territory." Aemond responded confidently.
Viserys tried to recall the boy's age. He thought Aemond had reached his twelfth name-day, but perhaps he had not yet. His Hand reminded him of important dates when necessary, so he did not keep as close track as he otherwise might. Either way, Aemond seemed too young to be that close to the conflict.
"I commend your courage, but you are too young." Viserys replied.
"Why should that matter? I have more knowledge than most knights and smallfolk. Ask Ser Criston how skilled I am with the blade; in practice bouts, I've even bested grown men. I am an accomplished dragonrider, and my Valyrian is perfect." Aemond argued hotly. "I merely ask to do what you had already agreed was a wise plan."
"It is war, not some lark!" Viserys's own voice began to match his son's. "My good-son was attacked within the seat of his father's power, and you think it wise to put my blood at risk so close to Dorne?"
"The risk is minimal!" Aemond countered. "Lord Baldric would ensure the safety of my person while in Harvest Hall. In the air, Vermithor will do that even better. So I ask, what risk?" Aemond took a deep breath, and then his tone changed. "Your Grace, father, I must do something. Even if it is just the display of my dragon, I would feel better that I have done some small service to help avenge this deed. Ser Laenor is my sister's husband. Please, father."
Viserys looked closely at his son. The boy's hair was shoulder length, but none graced his chin or cheek. He had a slender build and was nearing a man's height. Aemond's blue eyes did not hesitate to meet his; they were filled with passion. The argument the boy used appealed to him. Family was important, and doing something to feel that he had done his part was a powerful motivator.
"You've grown much over the last few months, Aemond." Viserys wanted to encourage ties between the factions. If Aemond did care for Laenor and Rhaenyra, he wished to nurture those feelings. But he still felt uneasy about putting the boy so close to the front.
"My brother is drawing up battle plans. A dragon so near the front can make the Dornish move in an unexpected way. If you obtain Daemon's permission, you may go to Harvest Hall." Viserys held up a finger. "But be mindful, you will be his guest and you will obey his commands. You are absolutely forbidden to take part in the war."
More like than not, Daemon will refuse him out of spite. But the boy will still see that he almost got what he wished by showcasing familial bonds and will also think kindly of me.
"Thank you, father." Aemond smiled excitedly and went to go find Daemon.
He had only a few more moments to enjoy the diorama when he was interrupted again. This time, it was his friend and Hand, Otto.
"Your Grace, the Grand Maester has received a letter from Dorne. Additionally, Syrax has come to King's Landing. Rhaenyra is no doubt refreshing herself and will wish to speak with you. Shall I wait to reconvene the small council until she can participate?" Otto asked.
Viserys was surprised and concerned by Rhaenyra's arrival. Had Ser Laenor succumbed to his wounds? She was with child, and while it was early, she shouldn't be flying or putting herself under more stress. He wanted to shield her from the ugliness of the world, but he recalled something Elaena had told him some time ago:
'Rhaenyra enjoys Dragonstone more than King's Landing, it is her dominion, and Syrax enjoys the island more so than our capital. However, she is your heir, you should encourage her to sit at the small council at least a few times a year so she can have experience which will do her well in the future.'
Viserys had not pushed Rhaenyra, but perhaps it was time to give her more experience. She needed no formal role to participate as an advisor, much like her good-mother Rhaenys did.
"We will wait for Rhaenyra, but I would know the contents of the letter now."
Otto handed him the letter with the seal already broken.
"The Grand Maester thought it wise to ensure there was no substance upon the parchment that could cause ill."
Viserys nodded; it would not be unlike those foul folk to do such a thing. He read through the contents of the letter. Prince Qoren Nymeros Martell began by refuting any involvement in the assassination attempt. He went on to express hope for Ser Laenor's swift recovery and stated that Dorne had long set aside any ambitions for the Stepstones. Qoren also mentioned that he was sending an emissary by swift ship to King's Landing to speak of diplomacy, as he greatly desired peace with the Seven Kingdoms. The letter, however, ended with a reminder that not even Aegon the Conqueror could make Dorne bow, and neither would Viserys, regardless of the pretext.
"Does he think we are fools?" Viserys asked.
"It is always hard to understand the Dornish, Your Grace."
Viserys felt a sliver of doubt. Why would Dorne make it so obvious they committed the deed and then plea for peace? Was this just a sick farce to cause him and the Seven Kingdoms to hesitate? He did not understand the game they were playing, but they would regret it. Otto was the only one who had hesitated to call for a war, and after their discussion he had not brought the matter up again.
Let me see what my loyal council says of this, and Rhaenyra. It was she was who was most wronged by this.
***
Daeron loved his dragon, Tessarion. The joy of flying was the highlight of his day. Due to her size, she could not carry him overlong, but the half-hour he was able to soar with her was an amazing relief from the day-to-day isolation he felt.
He had no siblings in Oldtown and little time to make friendships with the other young boys. His great-uncle Hobert Hightower had passed from a burst heart, and control of the house had gone to Ormund Hightower. Like his father, they both expected great things from Daeron and focused his time on martial training. He was taught to hunt, fight with a variety of weaponry, and had frequent horseback lessons. The latter he had objected to, feeling it was unnecessary since he had a dragon.
"You can't joust and take part in tourneys on dragonback," Hobert Hightower had decreed, and so he spent time astride a horse frequently.
Besides his martial training, he had daily lessons with the septons. He was quite familiar with the Seven-Pointed-Star, and while he did not mind learning how he should act or growing closer to the aspects of the Seven, such as the Warrior and the Smith – those he was most interested in – it did consume much of his time.
Letters from Elaena had encouraged him to take advantage of the learning opportunities at the Citadel. Despite his already full schedule, and it had been quite challenging, he was proud to have earned his first links in iron and steel. His interest in the Warrior led him to study war, and the new Lord of Hightower believed that learning command and leadership was as crucial as swinging a sword, so he approved.
Neither Ormund nor his uncle Gunthor thought Daeron's fascination with construction was a good use of time. However, Daeron was drawn to the Smith and felt it was a religious calling. How could one look upon the Starry Step, the Citadel, or the mighty Hightower and not feel a connection to the Seven Who Are One? Hightower, the tallest building in all the world, and its closeness to the grandest sept in the world seemed no coincidence to him. Elaena had advised him to heed the counsel of others but also to pursue subjects that truly interested him, and so he did.
Daeron knew he could have earned a gold link, but the Maesters preferred him to join introductory seminars and classes. The first one he attended was absurdly easy and boring. He had mastered summing and division before he was fully able to walk. His sister had taught him far more efficiently, and he couldn't imagine sitting through weeks of such basic instruction. Ironically, the knowledge required for his steel link involved far more advanced mathematics than what was being taught to the novices pursuing gold links!
After landing and turning Tessarion over to the small group of Dragonkeepers who had accompanied her to Oldtown, Daeron had to quickly wash up to rid himself of the dragon smell before dinner with his family. His dragon was well-behaved, and she knew that being with the men who spoke the dragon tongue meant she would receive savory treats. While Daeron didn't mind the smell, others had a different opinion.
Being punctual was important to Daeron. Elaena had said it was a sign of respect, and he had made it a habit to keep careful track of time. He was one of the first to arrive, but soon after, Lord Ormund arrived with his cousin, Ser Gunthor, and Ormund's six-year-old son, Lyonel. Ormund's lady wife was ill again, and despite the best care in the Seven Kingdoms, she would once again be missing the family dinner.
Several household knights, as well as Maester Garth and Septon Renly Mullendore, were also present. Septon Renly, a third son, had chosen the Faith of the Seven over a limited inheritance. He served as the household septon for the Hightowers, and Daeron had mixed feelings about him.
"Momentous news has arrived. My uncle writes that we are to prepare for war and summon the banners in all haste." Lord Ormund announced.
"With all haste?" Gunthor asked questioningly.
"Aye, and it is in your father's own hand, without any device indicating otherwise. I trust you will see to the preparations?"
"Yes, cousin," Gunthor responded, then shook his head. "All this for the sake of a sword-swallower. If you ask me, it was the Seven who struck down Laenor; the Dornish were merely their tool."
Daeron stirred at that. "Do not blaspheme, cousin. It is writ that poison is a tool of wickedness."
His family seemed taken aback. Lord Ormund glanced at Renly, irritation writ upon his brow, and then back to Daeron. "The Seven oft work in mysterious manners."
That was a saying the smallfolk used, but was not actually found within the Seven-Pointed-Star. It was an understandable alteration of passages denoting mankind forever being limited from full understanding of the divine, but before he could make that point of clarification someone else spoke up.
The septon spoke up, "Hmm, despite his tender years, Daeron does not need events simplified for him, my lord. Please, Daeron, explain why Laenor's sins have caused him ill."
"Evil exists in the world, but the righteous are protected by the Mother's Mercy, the Father's judgement, and the Warrior's shield. Laenor, who commits vile actions of slaughter, lustful deviancy, and disgraces the bonds of holy union was not struck down by the Seven. For the Seven will never comingle evil with good." Daeron paused for effect. "However, Laenor, bereft of the grace of the Seven was without their protection. Had he not profaned his sworn oaths, the outcome of the attack may have been different."
Gunthor looked annoyed. "Do not be a little shit; it's the same thing."
Daeron's eyes blazed. "It is not! The Seven-Pointed-Star is clear. Poison is forbidden, and the Seven would never wield it."
Ormund chuckled. "Peace, let us not quarrel when unity is needed. We can leave such theological debates for another time."
Daeron saw Ormund glance at Renly and raise his cup. "A toast to our good septon, who has done well in stirring the faith of our young ward!"
The knights and others all raised their cups in toast, even Gunthor, though his expression remained sour.
The meal continued, and Daeron was informed he would not be participating in the campaign. This was unsurprising, as he had not yet reached his tenth name-day, and Tessarion's scales would be vulnerable to simple arrows. Still, it would be interesting to sit in on the war councils, as practical experience with book learning always surpassed just book learning. Daeron resolved to offer additional prayers to the Warrior, asking for protection over his family during the war.