Rhaenyra was nervous as she approached the small council chambers. She had once served here as her father's cupbearer, but that had been years ago. She knew there were few allies in that council. Lyman Beesbury and Larys Strong were the only ones who did not wish her ill.
Father loves me and Daemon will also be there. All will be well.
She entered, and her father gave her a smile.
"My daughter will be joining us on the matter of Dorne," her father announced.
Tyland Lannister kept his face impassive, as did Otto Hightower, but Grand Maester Mellos frowned openly.
"I have here a reply from Dorne. Prince Qoren denies having a hand in the assassination. Here, Grand Maester, read it out so the rest can hear." The King handed over a parchment.
The Maester did so, and Rhaenyra considered the words Elaena had spoken to her. Was it possible that some other power in Dorne, perhaps a rival to the Martells, had sent the assassins?
Jasper Wylde snorted. "The Dornish cannot think we are so foolish as to believe this?"
"Mayhaps, they hope that my brother and his peaceful ways would look for an excuse to avoid war," Daemon replied with a tone of derision. "Fortunately, we have a King who sees through their ploys."
Rhaenyra chewed her lip. The other members of the council were all nodding in agreement. Everyone seemed set on the course of war. She wished she had spoken to Daemon prior to the council meeting, but it had come too swiftly.
"My lords," she began hesitantly, but then felt her resolve strengthen, "we owe it to my husband to punish those responsible – the ones who actually sent the assassins."
"That is what we are doing, princess." Beesbury said with a hint of confusion in his elderly voice.
"That the assassins were Dornish is clear, but how can we be certain it was the Martells and not another power within Dorne?"
Rhaenyra looked at the reactions. Daemon was scowling. Larys had a slight smile. Mellos frowned again. Lannister looked confused. Wylde appeared thunderous. Her father and Otto looked surprised.
"Rhaenyra, what are you saying?" Daemon demanded.
"That perhaps Prince Qoren has written to us truly. I am not saying I believe this, but it is something to consider. What we should also consider is that if the Martells did send the assassins, they would likely know a punitive response would come. If that is the case, they will have prepared for this and found a way they think might neutralize our dragons." Rhaenyra looked her uncle, and lover, in the eye.
Many began speaking, but the King raised his hand and silence settled over the room.
"My daughter speaks sensibly, Larys what have you learned?"
"Forgive me, Your Grace, but such things take time. It has been less than a week since the despicable attack occurred. News travels from mouth to ear slowly before it can be sent by raven," Larys replied.
"Lord Corlys had the ship captain and his crew put to the question. They were given gold through intermediaries and swear that they thought some mischief was afoot on Driftmark, but they believed it was thievery or a disgraced noble who was a 'guest' needing quick passage. They did not realize they were part of an assassination," Rhaenyra shared.
"Let me speak with the wretches, and I'll learn the truth." Daemon vowed.
"You had already left, Daemon, so alas, you missed that opportunity," Rhaenyra needled, before realizing that it was a mistake to do so in this setting. Amongst her, Laena, Laenor, and Harwin, such sharp remarks were occasionally made in jest, but never in front of those who wished them ill.
Daemon's eyes widened slightly, but before he could speak, Beesbury stood.
"It does not matter! Ser Laenor was struck by Dornish assassins. Princess Elaena was close to being slain as well! The nest of adders must be dealt with. Say it was a powerful house such as Yronwood or Allyrion. Will Martell acquiesce to us laying waste to one of his vassals? In either case we will have war with Dorne."
Rhaenyra was a bit taken aback by his vehemence. She thought back to some of her conversations and realized Beesbury had been a friend to House Velaryon, ensuring they had coin for their war in the Stepstones.
Otto added, "Lord Beesbury may be right. We may never find true proof of who was responsible. Do we tell our armies to wait and do nothing until this evidence materializes? Do not place that much faith in Lord Strong's whisperers; they are not all-knowing."
Daemon was looking angrily at Rhaenyra, but the words of the Hand distracted him.
"What are you counseling then?" Daemon asked.
Otto nodded his head in Daemon's direction. "That if certainty is what the King requires, we will not be able to go to war. Lord Larys can search, but we should continue our preparations."
She had to speak up again, both to clarify and to be certain they heard the warning. What Elaena had said, made sense. If Prince Qoren had done it, he had to know dragons descending would be the result.
"By all means, begin the preparations. I know it takes more than a week to gather armies. I will repeat that I do not know if Martell is responsible, but if they are, then I urge you all to realize they must have some sort of plan for our attack. Do not think it will be an easy road and move with overconfidence."
"My lords," Ser Jasper began, "a woman's heart is made to worry. And I will not fault her for it. But when it comes to planning the invasion and enacting our vengeance, we cannot be paralyzed by a woman's worry."
Rhaenyra felt a spike of molten ire fill her.
You will be gone from this council before my father's body is cold you iron brained cur.
She did not like to think about her father's eventual death. But her meeting with Hamish had stirred thoughts as to what her council would look like.
"Have care, Wylde," Daemon warned, "you are not family. If Rhaenyra's worries interfere, I will speak, until then you will remain silent."
Her father rubbed at his temple. "Enough squabbling. We will move forward with our plans for Dorne as we had been. We will allow the emissary to arrive here without harm and speak for Dorne. None of your plans involve an immediate strike, yes?"
Daemon shook his head.
"Then we will proceed. Daemon, have you been supplied all that you need from the Master of Coin and my Hand?"
"I have, Your Grace." Daemon replied. "I cannot find fault with either. Gold and supplies are being marshaled as we speak."
The King nodded. The council moved on to more specifics; Rhaenyra paid note to them but did not further add to the discussion. Numbers and figures were bandied about in terms of how many supplies were needed. In all, there were six separate attack groups planned: three by sea and three by land. When the council meeting ended, Rhaenyra felt the need for a strong drink, but Larys lingered and asked for a private word in a moment. Before that, she spoke with her father.
When they were alone – save for Ser Harrold – her sire turned to her.
"It was good of you to come. Tell me, how fares Elaena?"
Rhaenyra blinked in surprise, she thought he would have asked over Laenor. "Elaena? She is weary, for she refuses to leave Laenor's side."
"Ah, poor girl. It sickens me that she was so close to the violence. I pray her nightmares are not too dreadful. Larys suggested we announce how she went to Ser Laenor's aid and acknowledge her bravery. I wished to wait until we learn of the final outcome."
Rhaenyra nodded. "I like that idea. I worry over Elaena; she cares and feels so deeply. But I can at least assuage some of your concern for her. Elaena is in her books and her own little world. She sees a problem before her and bends her mind to its undertaking; her own safety most like never crossed her mind once she saw that Laenor needed aid." Rhaenyra gave a small laugh. "'Tis not funny, but I do believe two knights could be dueling to the death in front of her, and if she needed to figure something out, she would give them scarce notice!"
Her father took her hand and squeezed. "Her focus is a great strength of hers. Is there any more news of Laenor? Is hope truly lost, or might he survive?"
"There is hope, father. The Maesters admit they have pushed their art to the limit and cannot say for certain, but they say his condition has improved somewhat. Elaena also says there is hope."
Her father looked gladdened at that and Rhaenyra went to see what the Master of Whisperers wished of her.
***
Daemion groaned as he slowly awoke, his head aching. His awareness sharpened when he realized he was bound and gagged. He tried to shout, but his mouth was stuffed with some kind of cloth. Glancing around the room, he noticed one of the men he had been drinking with was similarly tied up. Steffon struggled, trying to wriggle free from the ropes that restrained him.
Before he could truly get a chance to try his own bonds, the door to the room opened, and a man adorned with tiger fur entered. Behind him came two men of smaller stature in simple robes.
"Well, what do we have here? A West'rosi far from home." The man's voice was accented oddly to Daemion's ear.
The wine, it must have been laced with something.
"I have people who watched your ship. You gave commands. Are you the captain? No lies, or I'll take your eyes."
Daemion hesitated but then nodded. They had quite a bit of gold in the hull of his ship, and in the other two vessels he had brought on this expedition. The fact that he wasn't dead and was being asked these questions meant he was being held for ransom.
"Good." The man gestured, and the two other men undid the gag. "What trade goods do you have? If you have something of value, you may yet live to see your homeland again."
"Very little, but we do have some gold. A thousand gold dragons and I will not speak of my treatment to the Civic Guard."
He had significantly more than a thousand dragons, but he would be damned if he would give more to this accursed savage.
"That is all? A captain all the way from Westeros with no trade goods, and you expect me to believe that is the extent of your wealth?" The man smiled, and white teeth shone in the gloom of the room. "For a thousand gold, I'll return you blinded and a eunuch."
Daemion began to sweat. He believed the man.
"Two thousand! I need some for provisions to return home. Please be reasonable; two thousand gold dragons is a princely sum!"
"Three thousand and you will return with all your parts."
Daemion's jaw clenched; the indignity of this was infuriating. Important nobles had been ransomed for less, and here he was bartering with this Quartheen. He lowered his head. "Fine, but how will this be done? I will not have my men give you gold only to have my throat slit later."
The man laughed. "Certain assurances can be given, but first we will need to let your ship know. Your man here will go and tell your crew, and then we will complete our business."
They blindfolded Steffon and then undid his bindings. They then gagged Daemion again and left him alone in the room. Daemion grew frustrated with himself as the hours passed by. He should have never gone for a drink with just one of his crew with him. He had not picked a dangerous looking place for a drink, but then how was he to tell what was dangerous in Qarth?
The door opened again, and two men in copper-scaled armor entered. Behind them came a man dressed in rich silks – an older man, bald with gold adorning his ear. Daemion could see that behind him were several other guards who awaited outside.
The man spoke in a language Daemion did not understand but he found himself unbound and ungagged and helped to his feet. The pale man lowered his head.
"I am Aedos Alkaran of the Thirteen. I apologize for your unfortunate and accidental inconvenience. As soon as I was informed that a fool had accosted you, we rectified the error." Aedos made a gesture, and one of the guards from outside entered with a squarish chest. It was opened, and the thug who had threatened him earlier had his severed and mutilated head inside it.
"I don't understand." Daemion said in shock.
"You are far from home, but we would not hazard your master's sting. Please accept the apologies of our city. For your troubles, you will be compensated with saffron and ivory. Such items are quite valuable in Westeros."
The young Velaryon was a bit unsteady due to the lingering effects of whatever he had been drugged with. He felt relieved but also confused.
"My master?"
"My guards don't even speak the common tongue of your land, so there is no need to dissemble." Seeing the expression on Daemion's face, the man waved it off. "As you will; again, we wish no enmity. Have amends been made?"
Daemion hastily nodded.
"Your men are downstairs; may your journey be safe and profitable."
He was then led down and to the awaiting Ser Lucious Hill.
"Are you well, ser?" Lucious asked.
"Confused but relieved."
"In the future, you should keep me or Ser Alven around. Princess Elaena sent us with you for a reason."
Daemion could see the sense in that after today's unfortunate turned fortunate events. The idea of having a bodyguard on the wealthy side of a city was strange, but he had learned his lesson. The goods that had been directly gifted to him would not be enough to make the voyage a success on their own, but they were an excellent start. He planned on leaving this city posthaste and then making for Yin. Qarth was a strange city, and he feared that Aedos had mistaken him for someone else.
Who else from Westeros has come here recently or is expected? It isn't like we aren't obvious compared to these people in dress and tongue. This city is mad with their queer clothing and absurd intrigues.
***
Laenor felt the cold clarity of consciousness arise instantly. This was no slow, gradual waking from sleep, with half-formed memories of dreams lingering. One instant, he was unaware of his surroundings, and the next, awareness struck alongside a deep inhalation of air.
His body was weak, and trying to sit up was difficult. Elaena's shimmering blue eyes greeted his, and he started. Laenor felt Joffrey's presence and the touch of his hand, easing the tension in his body. Memory flooded back: an attack in the night, a cut across his chest, and a man being thrown bodily across the room like a child's toy.
"We don't have much time before the Maester returns. It is important your story aligns: plead that your memory is dim, but that you slew men in the hall and in your room. That detail is important," Elaena commanded.
Laenor had many questions, but he instinctively nodded.
"Was anyone else hurt? My wife, or my family?"
"Some loyal guardsmen and servants were slain, but none of your kin. You seemed to be the target," Elaena replied.
Laenor exhaled with relief.
The reputation you gave me led to this, but I don't have the courage in me to say that to her face.
"You'll need to recover swiftly, as I'll have need of you."
Laenor groaned, partially from his weakness and partially due to concern over whatever else she would ask of him.
"Don't be like that. Were it not for my intervention both you and Ser Joffrey would be among the dead."
"I did not say I would refuse," Laenor said softly, his throat raspy. Joffrey held a cup for him, and he painfully swallowed a few sips.
"Excellent. I must find out what sort of mess has been going on while I stood vigil here. Recover your strength swiftly, good-brother."
Elaena left and Joffrey embraced him.
"Everyone thought you were to die from the poison." Joffrey said, tears in his eyes. "I have been so worried."
"What happened? I remember fighting, and then Elaena, a horrific sea of pain, and now this," Laenor asked.
Joffrey nodded with sympathy. "The first night was the worst, the poison was designed to inflict cruel agony before death. A dozen Dornish were in on this plot, I believe Elaena slew at least half of them. How is it possible? She has reached her maturity, but how does a girl so slight kill men so easily?"
Laenor laughed but then winced, he felt achy everywhere.
"I don't know what she is, but think back to the stories of the Age of Heroes. Can a mere human slay fifty knights in one battle like Roland of the Horn? Can a man really slay a dragon with his own might like Davos the Dragonslayer? Brandon of the Bloody Blade slew giants – giants!"
Joffrey looked at him in confusion. "What of it?"
"Just that if those stories are even half-true, then these were not regular mortals. They were gifted – by chance – or by the Gods to be stronger, swifter, more cunning, and able in ways we are not. Elaena is like those champions of old." Laenor explained. He had thought about this long and hard, and it was the only conclusion he could wrap his head around.
Joffrey wore a look of contemplation, but then gave himself a shake.
"Regardless, I think we should be sure to do as she says. We do owe her." Laenor's lover reminded him.
Laenor agreed and then two Maesters came in.
"Remarkable, you showed no signs of waking ten minutes ago and now you are fully conscious!" Gerardys exclaimed.
The man's fingers found his neck. "Heartbeat is strong."
Maester Vaelar examined him, and the two continued to express surprise. They then had him consume tea with supposed restorative properties.
"We'll begin with light foods and then move to those of more substance. Despite this virulent poison, your body seems to have fought it off and healed most of the damage. Ser Laenor, you are truly endowed with a constitution beyond any I have witnessed," Gerardys said with full sincerity.
Wait… was this Elaena's work too? I am a hearty man, but not some paragon of endurance.
Discomfited, Laenor listened to the Maesters drone on a bit, before the door opened again and his mother and father arrived. His mother embraced him as well as she could with him still limp on the bed.
"My son, my son, the Gods are merciful."
The Gods? Or Elaena?
His father, Lord Corlys of Driftmark, stood erect and proud. "The Maesters thought your fate sealed, but my blood is no easy meat for assassins to feast upon. Welcome back, Laenor. Dorne will tremble when they hear of your survival."
Laenor basked in his parent's happiness. Not seeing his sister, he asked of her.
"Your sister is well, but exhausted," his mother replied. "She nurses Visenya and gets little rest due to her worries. Now that you are well, I am sure she will be comforted and will be able to see you in a day or two."
"That is good, and little Visenya is still healthy?" Laenor asked.
"Aye, your niece is a fierce thing. We have also replaced the dragon egg, but this one is older and we are uncertain if it will hatch."
Laenor frowned and then caught sight of the egg near him.
"This… this was Visenya's egg?" Laenor could tell it had turned to stone.
His mother nodded. "Yes, we are keeping that a secret for now. It seems you drew strength from it, but it is hardly like the blood magic stories of Old Valyria. Yet some would interpret it as that, and we would not wish for false accusations to take flight."
Blood magic…
His mother was telling him that Rhaenyra was in King's Landing, but he scarcely paid attention. Instead, his pulse thundered in his ears. He told everyone there that he was glad to see them, but wished to rest now.
Blood magic…
Laenor shuddered as they left. A whole new concern about Princess Elaena washed over him like the squall of a bone-chilling nightmare.
***
"Have you any idea how full and complete your failure is?" Otto spoke with an icy tone to the Master of Whisperers.
Larys appeared contrite. "My lord, Ser Laenor's survival was a complete surprise to everyone. I didn't think…"
"No, you didn't think! This is the Dark Storm! Why send a dozen when you could have sent a hundred? Why not burn the whole place down, as you did with Harrenhal?"
"Harrenhal wasn't completely burned – just the living quarters of one tower. But again, I must ask you to be reasonable. The more men involved, the higher the risk of treachery. The more men involved, the harder it would have been for them to go unnoticed. The plan was sound, and ninety-nine times out of a hundred, it would have succeeded."
Otto paced the floor of his office. "This is a disaster, Strong. Laenor's reputation will be greater than ever! The man who survived the impossible, the man who kills assassins with his bare hands. If I had a difficult time convincing the lords to back Aegon before, it will be impossible now!"
Larys kept a smooth and impassive face, much to Otto's ire. The man did not appear the least bit discomfited with the outcome.
"There is plenty of time to rectify this. The Dark Storm, being who he is, will likely be in the thick of it. My ears report tension between Daemon and the other Blacks. We can exploit this. Perhaps our targets should be what ties Daemon to them."
Otto furrowed his brow. "You mean Laena Velaryon?"
"Yes, she does not have the ability to fend off a dozen assassins. Daemon will be busy with the war. Imagine, if you will, what Daemon's reaction would be when his wife falls as he is in the middle of the invasion? Imagine Ser Laenor's when his beloved sister dies. They will throw caution into the wind."
Otto shook his head. "No, no, no! This won't work. If we unleash multiple attempts, they will be on guard for decades. The only way our eventual plan succeeds is by eliminating as many dragonriders as possible. If they all have food tasters and loyal guards constantly vigilant, it will be that much harder in the years to come. No more assassination attempts on the home front."
Larys bowed his head. "But in the field?"
"Yes, if you can catch any of the Black riders unwary during the war, do so. Everyone will suspect Dorne will try doing the same, so I mislike your chances of success."
Larys gave a shrug. "I can make no promises to success, but we only need be lucky once."
Otto did not agree. There were simply too many dangerous enemies among the Blacks. Killing Daemon would remove a political weapon Otto could use to entice the Vale and other lords Daemon had offended. That would still leave Vhagar and Meleys among the great dragons aligned with the Blacks. Given Ser Laenor's prowess, he considered Seasmoke of similar strength despite being significantly smaller. To counter them, his faction had Vermithor. Technically, they also had Dreamfyre, but Otto doubted Helaena would fight.
I will need to push Alicent again for Daenora to claim Silverwing. The child is not like Helaena, there is more fire in her. Given the right push she could be a dragonrider combatant.
Sunfyre and Tessarion were smaller dragons, but his foes had smaller dragons as well. No, for victory to be likely, at least two great dragon riders from the Blacks must fall.
"Do what you can. Viserys was far more animated about this war than I thought. I had expected the Stormlands and the Velaryons to bear the brunt of the battle. The Reach, Westerlands, and Crownlands are all now participating. I do not think Dorne will be able to hold up long."
Larys smiled one of his disturbing smiles. "Oh, I wouldn't be too sure of that. My network will be in all their camps, and Dorne will know exactly when and where we will strike. When our armies arrive, they will find nothing. When a dragon descends, it will be met with scores of scorpions. This war will drag on. If the Conqueror couldn't subdue them quickly, Daemon will be no more successful."
You underestimate our enemies. Laenor has done the impossible once, and if his remarkable return to health is true, he will bring ruin to the Martells faster than you can imagine.
He didn't wish to argue and demoralize the man's efforts. His web of connections was an important asset and Otto relied on him greatly. Aegon and Aemond were still children. Alicent was a fool. Jason an egotistical imbecile. Tyland was the wiser brother by far, but overly cautious. Otto had few he could lean on for his plans save for the crippled Strong.
"I will insist we keep the royal weddings on their current timetable. That should complicate things and may push for unnecessary and dangerous haste." Otto said. "Some rumors and word that the King will be wroth with anyone who misses the wedding, regardless of reason, should be spread."
Larys nodded. "That should light a fire under some of the lords participating in the war. It may even tangle the logistical efforts, though, worryingly, the Sea Snake knows what he is doing. Yet another reason why Laena's absence from Daemon's side would be…" He held up his hands at Otto's look. "Forgive me, I will not bring it up again."
Otto tired of the plotting and left Larys with one final command. "With Ser Laenor alive and with his reputation, some of the lords will not side with Aegon from fear. However, familial bonds can force their hand. We will do away with further sibling marriages after Aegon and Helaena. We must use Aemond, Daeron, Daenora, Uthor, and Baelon. It is quite early for the younger ones, but a betrothal contract to lock in a potential marriage can serve our ends as well. Make me a list of lords who are still on the fence, but would side if their son or daughter were married into the royal family."
Larys stood up, limping on his clubfoot. "I shall see to it, my lord. It may be a difficult leap, but the Lord of Storm's End only has daughters. His blood connection to Rhaenys is an impediment, but word has reached my ears he had complained of neglect. If we match Aemond or Daeron to his daughter and then Lord Borros falls in battle or tourney…"
"Make me a list, and I shall decide," Otto said, contemplating the matter. The idea had merit. For Aemond, being a Paramount lord would do much to appease him. The boy was a danger to his brother; their rivalry had concerned him. He already knew Aegon was to be king, and it clearly chafed him that Aemond's less apt brother would wear the crown while he had naught yet to his name.