As High As Honour read the engraving in the gold filigree'd falcon shield Ser Steffon Redfort had presented her in his latest bid to secure Lady Jeyne Arryn's hand in marriage. The maiden of the vale smiled wanly at the gesture and set the shield to one side to regard Ser Steffon with her typical courtesy.

"Truly, Ser Steffon, this is the work of a master-craftsman. I shall set it on the wall behind my seat in the High Hall."
"You honour me, my Lady, I was rather hoping..." Redfort began.
"You were, no doubt, hoping I'd finally accept your marriage proposal after a decade of procrastination... weren't you? Her mouth curled ever so delicately in one corner to hint at the mischief in her tone.
"My Lady, I..." the Knight blustered in surprise at Lady Jeyne's brusque riposte. He evidently was used to these advances being more like a game of cyvasse but Jeyne was in ebullient mood and decided to speak plainly so that her position was clear this time.
"Ser Steffon, you have spent ten years courting this notion that I should take you for my Lord and husband. I approach my thirty-fourth nameday before the end of the year and whilst ‘maiden of the vale’ I may be, mayhaps it’s time to be blunt…”

“My lady I only…”
“I thank you for your shield. Though the truth of it is, it’s all I expect of you, Ser.” She raised an eyebrow but he still looked befuddled and confused, he was in his fifties and widowed these past fifteen years. His small eyes withdrawn beneath huge, wiry iron-grey brows, he wore a dull chainmail jerkin and his tunic was emblazoned by the bright scarlet fort of his House. ‘As Strong as Stone’ went the Redfort words; a near complete bastardisation of the Arryn legend. “House Redfort is indeed Strong as Stone and I am grateful that your family has been our shield for centuries. I would not have you here when you do me such great service at Redfort…” Her tone was as warm as she could feign but any fool could sense his freshly-stung pride. Why does he keep coming back to hear the same sorry offer declined? She mused anew.

Ser Steffon wrung his great ham-like hands and chewed upon the inside of his cheek. For a seasoned commander on the battlefield, Jeyne mused for the dozenth time, he was appallingly nervous in her presence.

“As you will, m, my Lady… though I am heartily disappointed, I, I will continue in your noble service for the love I bear you and in honour of the bond between our great houses…”

Her ‘advisors’ would doubtless speak of the folly in this once more. The greybeards and staff that populated the huge mountain stronghold were largely her late father’s retainers and all, she knew, would be keen to remind her of her duty to marry and produce an heir. ‘Not him, though’. Thought Jeyne. In truth, she’d thought ‘not him’ of every noble Knight, honourable Lord or Eastern Prince that had stood before her in proposal over the past two decades. She’d liked plenty of them; Hugo Hardying was charming and had a trustworthy face; Darryn Upcliff was quick-witted and told fascinating tales and Prince Quorath of Lorath had wealth beyond measure, despite his ridiculous title. They’d all come and gone empty handed from her courtroom no doubt cursing her maidenhood throughout half the Vale. They’d been nice, but they’d been men. Came the unspoken truth of it unbidden to her forethoughts.

She could no more wed a woman than she could wed an aurochs, though and there were times in which Jeyne panicked that her womb would petrify from abandon at last and she would be the cause of her lineage shrivelling up once and for all. No doubt her ‘advisors’ feared as much these past twenty years.

After Ser Steffon had eaten and she had bid him a cool and courteous farewell once more, she had his shield hung in one of the guest chambers somewhere in the Maiden’s Tower (fittingly) and made her way to her solar.
Aya sat in her accustomed position in the windowseat of the room halfway up the Moon Tower, from there one could see far out across the mountains and over the Fingers to the Narrow Sea. On a clear day, one fancied it was even possible to make out the grey line of the Essos shoreline upon the horizon. Not today. The skies were the same heavy white/grey they had been all week and fat flakes of snow cascaded past the window where Aya reclined languidly.

“So when’s the wedding m’lady?” the Lyseni purred mischievously as Jeyne had already guessed she would. The frustrations of House Arryn’s increasingly fragile legacy were ever a source of mirth for the former whore-turned-handmaid. Jeyne saw the glitter of it in Aya’s cat-like eyes.
“Tomorrow!” She declared as boldly as she could without laughing. “But it’s ill-news for you my girl! He hates Lysenese and you’re to be thrown through the Moon Door as part of the ceremony. An offering to the Seven!” She spoke matter-of-factly but her lips curled at the edges and Aya just replied expressionlessly, “Oh! Well you must thank your Lord Husband for me because I’ve been meaning to take more of the mountain air of late…” Her lithe light-brown arms encircled Jeyne’s waist as she smirked.

“You can tell him yourself!” Jeyne rolled her eyes in pretend apathy though she already felt her heart beginning to race. “He awaits me, naked, in my bedchambers!” She breathed airily.
“Naked and abed and the wedding not ‘til the ‘morrow?” Aya planted a soft kiss on Jeyne’s neck. “M’lady, you shock me…” Subsequent kisses trailed up Jeyne’s jawline, porcelain cheeks until finally, without another breath they kissed, urgently, desperately.

Afterwards, Jeyne was writing at her lacquered brown-enamel varnished bureau, the Arryn Falcon embossed in sky-blue upon the front. She was relieved to hear word when Ser Redfort reached Stone, meaning the most treacherous legs of his descent were passed and, the Seven be good, the danger over. She didn’t want him for husband but she still valued him and hoped he’d live a long life free of toppling down a snowswept mountain.

The knock at the door ended her reverie. It was Maester Cowley, a handsome man of an age with Jeyne, with a short red beard patched with grey in each corner of his chin. His older brother served as kennelmaster at Ninestars for House Templeton but the maester had aimed higher and earned an apprenticeship at the Citadel despite being lowborn. He was honest and seemed utterly without agenda and though he’d been in her service only four years now, she trusted him and always heeded his counsel.

“A Raven m’lady” He still had the accent that betrayed his less prestigious heritage.
“Maester Cowley, please tell me it’s not a white one so I can hope to feel the sun's glow again before Spring!” She smiled. “I’m past my patience with these blasted snows already.”
“Would that it were so m’Lady. These tidings are from King’s Landing.” His demeanour was dark and his usual blithe warmth had frozen cold as the Giant’s Lance.

She stopped writing and bid him sit. “Tell me”
He handed her the scroll…



It was only when Jeyne dropped the parchment to the desk in disgust that she noted the seal; the three-headed dragon of Targaryen to be sure but gilded in gold rather than red. Aegon clearly seeing himself as special or significant in some measure.

“Dark wings, dark words…” she muttered.
“Princess Rhaenyra…” Cowley began.
“Princess Rhaenyra is heavy with child and confined upon Dragonstone as Aegon and his mother well know!” Jeyne spat. “He’s stolen her birthright before her father’s corpse is cold I’ll warrant!” Despite herself, her opinion of the message behind the letter was clear; she and Princess Rhaenyra were lifelong friends, cousins and she could recall how they’d played together as children in King’s Landing, her already Lady Arryn and how jealous the Princess had been that Jeyne had a castle to herself.

“One day I’m going to be Queen of all the Seven Kingdoms and you’ll have to call me ‘Your Grace’ and curtsey and bake me lemoncakes!” At that moment, Syrax- her dragon- had leaned over her shoulder and eaten the lemoncake clean from the Princess’ hand! They’d both collapsed in fits of giggles…

“Would you I write to Dragonstone?” Cowley probed uncertainly.
“No.” Jeyne hadn’t kept the peace so long (save that business at Runestone) by making quick decisions of the heart. “This outrage doesn’t yet concern us.” She rose, pacing slowly as though to add patience to her deliberation; the maester’s eyes never left her. “Rhaenyra is my friend and she knows that, yet she also knows my displeasure at her latest marriage. Aegon and Queen… Queen mother now, Alicent will need support lest Syrax, Caraxes and the rest descend upon them and end this nonsense swiftly.” She nodded, as though making her mind up. “No. We will not bestir ourselves. Not yet. Winter is almost here and we must needs gather the last of the harvests. If they want our aid, let them come. Let them ask!”

Maester Cowley just smiled. “The Ravens will be grateful of the rest m’Lady!” He raised his eyebrows jovially.
“Before you were Maester…” Jeyne reflected “I had a Falcon. Swiftwing I named him. The fastest creature the Seven Kingdoms e’er saw.” She resumed her seat. “I had him trained to deliver all my letters, quicker than any raven could dream.”

Cowley seemed surprised, he thought he knew everything about his Lady mistress by now. “I hadn’t heard, m’Lady. Pray, what became of Swiftwing?” He asked with a genuine enough interest.

“I sent him to Dragonstone upon the news of Rhaenyra and Daemon’s marriage” she reflected sadly. “I expressed my dismay at the union and cautioned her to note the tale of poor Rhea; Daemon’s first wife, sister to my Late Lady mother. He never came back.” She fed Grandmaester Orwyle’s parchment to the flames warming the solar. Maester Cowley didn’t react.
“Will that be all m’Lady?”
“For now, maester. That will be all for now.”

King Viserys of House Targaryen, the first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, is dead.
His Grace passed peaceably abed with his good wife, Queen Alicent and his first trueborn son at his side. In accordance with the decree of the Great Council of 101AC and the laws of Gods and Men, his crown has passed to Crown Prince Aegon Targaryen, the Second of his name, Rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm.
Crowned in the great Sept of Baelor, anointed in the oils of the Seven alongside his good wife Queen Helaena. May their reign be long and peaceful.

Grandmaester Munkun

---

If one asked what the situation in Nightsong, in the Hallowed Hall had been when Helia Caron had held that declaration of the message...it was only one. Anger.

"What bloody path does these traitors think they are taking? Barely the King is dead...and these bastards are going for the Crown. When forever more, it had been spoken - even told that by the King public and court that Rhaenyra was to be Queen..." she growled, throwing the letter into the fire.

It set off a very m, very dangerous precedence. Namely it a message, the small Council could steal the birthright of those they wished. How long until they went after others - whom they didn't like, their rivals or offered titles to allies instead?

It also threatened her own existence - and that gained by House Caron. Even if she was a woman, she had a duty to make sure her House remained growing. Not be bound my marriage to another name and let House Caron be lost to dusk of time again. Their grandfather had worked too hard on that, sacrificed honor, family and blood to get them this far.

She then addressed the messenger, a young boy whom barely was able to hide his weakness. "Prepare ink and quill. And write down exactly what I say. Have it addressed to Otto Hightower and that snake of a daughter she has. I know they are behind this..."

'Dear, Lord Hightower. I don't know what you have planned with this coup. But I demand answers, right away this instant. I dare not curse the new King' name just yet - less I blame the wrong snake for it's bite.'

'But you have some explaining to do. By what right, do you command to overturn the law and word of your own King? The man whom placed you in that position, for you to stab him in his dead heart like that?'

'I ask, no demand, answers for this. Less I take my Black Riders and make sure every last supporter of your act to Old Town itself feels the price of betrayal. Though this letter seems rather strong, keep in mind - your act started this'.

Helia Caron, Lady of the Marches

"Get this to a Raven and sent to King' Landing immediately. We now wait for their move..." she said, already starting to dispatch her own runners to her bannermen.

Dalton Greyjoy

Dalton stood on one of the many docks of Lordsport's harbor, where he observed one of the freshly built ships setting sail for the first time. Another addition his personal fleet. The other Lords were expanding their fleets as well, under his orders. Despite this excellent progress, his expression was one of boredom. He would much rather be out reaving, and so would the other Lords, but if his prediction came true then the wait would be well worth it in the end.

He was clad in a simple set of light steel armor in the Ironborn style, with a black cape with the Kraken emblem of House Greyjoy on it. But instead of the usual gold, it was red. His sword, Nightfall was sheathed at his left hip.

There were four men accompanying him. Two of them were simple guards. The third was the Drowned Man, Edron, priest of the Drowned God, in his robes of green, grey, and blue. He was an elderly man, and it was he who personally baptized Dalton. Edron had just finished the customary blessings that were required before a brand new ship could set sail. He had long brown hair that was beginning to grey, and his face was lined and creased with age.

"When was the last time the any of the Isles boasted a fleet this large?" Dalton questioned, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards in a smile.

Before Edron could answer, another man approached, accompanied by another guard. He too wore robes, but they were of a different style. He was no Drowned Man. He was a maester. The chain around his neck was proof enough of that. He was completely bald, and had only a short dark beard. He looked to be in his early thirties.

"Maester Doric." Dalton acknowledged. He had noticed him in the corner of his vision but had not turned to face him. While he understood the necessity of a maester, he had very little respect for them. Men who would put down a blade and give up the thrill of battle so they could pick up a book and spend their days stuffed away in a library. It was one thing for a Mainlander to do it, as their culture was not built around battle, but Doric was an Ironborn.

"My Lord." Doric greeted him, a roll of paper clutched in his hand. "A raven came from King's Landing. It brings dire news."

"Yes yes, dark wings, dark words and all that. Let's have it." Dalton extended a hand to the side, eyes still fixed on the freshly built ship that was growing further and further away. When Doric handed over the scroll, Dalton unrolled it and looked down to read it.

King Viserys of House Targaryen, the first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, is dead.

Dalton smirked.

In accordance with the decree of the Great Council of 101AC and the laws of Gods and Men, his crown has passed to Crown Prince Aegon Targaryen, the Second of his name, Rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm.

Dalton smiled.

May their reign be long and peaceful.

Dalton snorted in amusement.

Then he crumpled the letter and tossed it into the sea.

"What news, my Lord?" Edron asked.

"King Viserys, titles titles titles, is dead. He has been succeeded by Prince Aegon, titles titles titles. Of course, we all know that Viserys had already named the girl Rhaenyra as heir. She is not without friends of her own, and the Targaryens have never been without ambition." Then he turned back to Doric, finally looking at him for the first time. "Send ravens to the Iron Lords. Tell them the news. Let them know that the storm is almost here, and they are to finish up whatever ships they are currently building with all haste. We're witnessing a succession crisis in the making."

King Viserys of House Targaryen, the first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, is dead.
His Grace passed peaceably abed with his good wife, Queen Alicent and his first trueborn son at his side. In accordance with the decree of the Great Council of 101AC and the laws of Gods and Men, his crown has passed to Crown Prince Aegon Targaryen, the Second of his name, Rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm.
Crowned in the Dragonpit, anointed in the oils of the Seven alongside his good wife Queen Helaena. May their reign be long and peaceful.

Grandmaester Orwyle

These last few nights have been quite busy. Every man he met had a different opinion on the matter. His niece's advice council bickered so frequently now that nothing could get done, at least, within the demesnes of the Ring. Already, the succession crisis has been the subject of many late nights, and everyone going to bed resentful, completely forgetting about the original intent of the council meeting. Frados rubbed his tired eyes, going over the page once, twice, and many more times, as if somehow reading it enough would change the meaning of the text. And yet, it seemed, the more he heard, the less he knew about the whole thing.

"What are you doing?" came a familiar chirping voice. Frados nearly jumped straight out of his chair. His heart pounded, threatening to escape the prison of his chest. He glared at the source of the raucous giggling that started up in the wake of his fright.

"You frightened me, Lindsay," he scolded, getting out of his chair with a soft groan and embracing his niece. "I had thought you were asleep, like I had told you but an hour ago."

"I couldn't sleep. Keles is really bad at Antepiece," she responded. Now that she mentioned it, Frados could recognize the distinct wedge of a board game, located somewhere between him and Lindsay. "Will you play with me? I can't sleep without a good challenge." Without waiting for a response, she set the board down and began arranging the pieces into their respective positions. "Here, you play yellows. They always go first."

"As your regent, I still reserve the authority to banish you to your bedchambers for a period of ten hours," he huffed. "Don't make me do it again." This sent his little niece running. Sighing again, he looked out the window to see the beginnings of a rising moon. Strange, he had promised himself he would deal with all the papers by morning. The advice council meeting should be beginning in less than a pace. He had to hurry.

When he reached the room, he already found it loud and full of conflicting voices. "Order!" he bellowed, the moment he entered. This shut the entire room up for a few precious seconds. "Now, to some truly relevant business, please. Keles, I've told you far too many times now. Don't humor Lady Roxton after the sun sets."

"My lord," said Keles, his voice clouded by his thick Rhoynish accent. "Now is the time for action. Rhaenyra sits in Dragonstone, waiting for her loyal subjects to reclaim her throne. We must throw our support behind her now, while the sentiment is strong."

"The line cannot pass through a woman!" answered Ser Haraway, in his squeaky tone brought by anger. "How can a woman hope to maintain old legitimacy, or bring in new members of the dynasty? One bad marriage and the throne will be held by Baratheons!"

"I've lived a long life now," muttered the gravelly lows signature to Maester Sarren. "And never in my life have I seen a queen on the throne. Whether blessing or curse, Aegon is still deserving of a chance, at the very least. We must maintain good diplomacy with Hightower, for the inevitable conflict with Wythers and Alden Keep." The room quickly devolved into senseless shouting once again.

"Silence! Silence!" shouted Frados, but his voice was drowned out by the collective roaring of the three other men. He tried for a few minutes to impose a semblance of order, but gave up and left them to work out their difference themselves, as usual. Perhaps he'd have better spent his time playing another game of Korzion with Lindsay after all.

King Viserys of House Targaryen, the first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, is dead.
His Grace passed peaceably abed with his good wife, Queen Alicent and his first trueborn son at his side. In accordance with the decree of the Great Council of 101AC and the laws of Gods and Men, his crown has passed to Crown Prince Aegon Targaryen, the Second of his name, Rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm.
Crowned in the Dragonpit, anointed in the oils of the Seven alongside his good wife Queen Helaena. May their reign be long and peaceful.

Grandmaester Orwyle

---

High Tide

Corlys looked over the message once more as the rest of his advisers filed into the private solar, his hand laying against his temple as he contemplated the words. Ser Baelor, his grandnephew and the Steward of High Tide filed in with Corlys' nephew Ser Aerion along with Maester Duncan, a Northman. Rhaenys already sat by his side. The three men took their seat, Aerion being the first to speak, "It is the dead of night uncle, what tidings do you bring us?" The tension in the room was palpable, all of them being well aware of the political situation, probably suspecting what Corlys would say next.

Corlys grimaced and said, "Viserys is dead and we have a new king, King Aegon, Second of His Name. He has demanded that I appear in King's Landing to pledge fealty."

Duncan frowned while Baelor's brow knitted in pensive thought and Aerion slammed his fist on the table, "This is an outrage! Princess Rhaenyra is the heir! This is the work of Queen Alicent. And Ser Criston Cole aye, you can be sure of that. This is practically a declaration of war!"

Baelor nodded, "Indeed. In all likelihood, Viserys has been dead for days already. And the greens have had ample time to prepare. They would have tried to take any blacks at court into custody or make them swear fealty. Our friend Lord Beesbury and the others who supported Rhaenys are either in chains, dead, on the run, or on the green's side now. They would have had time to secure the royal treasury and send portions away, and have probably already begun hiring sellswords and raising levies. Erecting defenses. And they have certainly been sending messages to the other lords, gaining support. They have a head start on us."

Duncan spoke up, "Surely it needs not come to war? Perhaps an accord could be made?"

Rhaenys shook her head, "No. I know Rhaenyra, and I know my cousin Daemon even better. They will not accept this. Rhaenyra may seek terms, but they will not bend the knee. And frankly, neither will I. Alicent stole the throne, and she must answer for it." Aerion pounded the table in assent.

Duncan nodded gravely, "You intend to declare for Rhaenyra, my lord?"

After a long moment, Corlys nodded, sighing, "I do. Whatever rumors may abound, I love her sons deeply. I will fight for them. And my son's wife. And my oldest friend. It is the only thing to do."

Baelor replied, "We are at your disposal, my lord."

Corlys felt old then. So very old. But the moment passed, and his wizened face resolved into lordly confidence, "Duncan, catalog a list of of those lords who supported my wife's claim at the Great Council of 101. They might be more sympathetic to my daughter-in-law's claim. Many of your countrymen did so including the Starks, Manderleys, Dustins. And add to that list, those lords and knights who swore to defend Rhaenyra's rights. As well as those who favored the blacks at court. Even if they are dead or captured, as Lord Beesbury may be, then their kinsmen and heirs may be motivated to rise up in revenge. These will be the lords who we will primarily try to win to our cause, and I will present that list to Rhaenyra when Rhaenys and I go to attend her."

"I believe we can also count on the other narrow sea houses, the Masseys, the Stauntons, the Darklyns, and the men of Crackclaw. They are all vassals of House Targaryen, and our support could tip the scales. Send ravens to our fellow vassals, declaring that we have already decided to throw in with Rhaenyra and that I encourage them to join us at court in Dragonstone to swear fealty to Rhaenyra and to bring their navies. Small lords, but we need all the help we can get. Baelor, you have a way with words, pen the letters under my name." Baelor nodded.

"We may be able to reach the Evenstar as well. The Tarths were among those that spoke for a woman's rights. And the Maid of the Vale must be courted. If the King declares the illegitimacy of a woman's rule, it threatens Jeyne's own power. The same can be said of the Roxtons and the Carons, both of whom are led by women. Add them to the list of nobles we will try to ally with. The Caron's support will be invaluable, as it can be helpful to persuade Lord Baratheon to do the same. Whatever Borros decides, most of the Stormlands will follow. Add them all to the list."

Rhaenys interjected, "Borros will side with us. He is my kinsman, his father was my cousin and supported my claim."

Baelor said, "That is true, but Borros is even more mercurial than his father. And unpredictable. Every ounce of influence we can use to help persuade him, we must use it. Courting the Carons is a wise choice. They are one of the most powerful Marcher Houses. If we can persuade Tarth and Caron to join us, Baratheon will have more reason to as well. And he has many daughters. We should advise Rhaenyra to offer one of her sons in marriage. You can be sure that the Greens have already thought of this as well."

Aerion nodded, "The Roxtons may join us, but I am confident that the Tyrells will declare for Aegon. The Hightowers are overmighty and Lord Tyrell is but a boy in swaddling clothes. His lady mother will likely not defy her strongest vassal."

Duncan spoke up, worried, "The Lannisters have surely already declared for Aegon. Even with our wealth, Aegon can outspend us with King's Landing, Lannisport, and Oldtown all open to him. Hightower armies alone will outnumber all of Rhaenyra's bannermen alone, including us, and even if the other Targaryen vassals bend the knee to her. We still have the largest and most powerful fleet, even if the Lannisters and Redwynes join strength with the Hightowers, 'tis true, but the margin would be too narrow for my comfort. And that's not even counting Dalton Greyjoy, who knows what he will do."

Corlys replied, "All of that is true. Which is why we will take steps to mitigate those risks. I will apportion our coin, and have one portion entrusted to the Iron Bank for safekeeping. Doubtless, Aegon has already done so with them, but they will not take sides in that matter. I'll ask the Iron Bank to send a flotilla to retrieve the gold and work out a line of credit, in Rhaenyra's name. Having the Iron Bank funding Rhaenyra will be a huge help. With my wealth behind her, it will seem attractive to them. And having credit will offset the temporary loss of gold that we give to the bank. Giving some of our fortune to them will ensure our finances, even if the worst were to happen and High Tide is sacked. Another portion, I will send to Dragonstone, which is even a stronger fortress than High Tide, and which would be a nightmare to assault. I will use these funds to continue to build more ships and raise more troops. I will also hire sellsails and mercenaries. We're even richer than the Hightowers or the Lannisters, and I have a feeling that will attract quite a bit of fighters and ships. We will keep the ports open as long as possible, to keep trade flowing." Duncan kept writing, committing Corlys' words to parchment and making notes.

"If we win, and I will take every measure to make it so, Rhaenyra can pay me back by taking some money from the Lannisters and Hightowers. But though we will allow outside trade, for our own local merchant ships we must conscript them. I need every Dromond at hand for war. Every local merchant will have his galleys confiscated and converted into a war galley. Carracks and Cogs will be taken to help ferry material and men. Smaller, swifter vessels will be scouting ships. Spare vessels can continue trade to our partners and earning coin directly for us. They will be returned to the owners, and the merchants will be compensated once Rhaenyra sits on the Iron Throne and our enemies bend the knee. Our island has become the biggest trade destination in the Kingdoms, such a move will give us a large amount of ships."

"As for our army, we put out a call for recruitment for soldiers and sailors. We will take all volunteers between the age of twelve and sixty. But the farmers and the fishermen will stay at work as much as possible. And every able-bodied man, woman, and child will learn at least basic spear techniques and archery. A great many already do, but so will the rest. If anyone tries to invade while our armies are gone, they will pay in blood for every inch of ground. And though we will continue to build warships and siege weapons, we will take great care to not deplete our forests in doing so, keep production within reasonable levels, no frantic rush. But see the strengthening of fortifications for every castle and port, we will rain stones and scorpion bolts on any enemy."

Aerion nodded, as it would be his duty as Master-at-Arms to see to the defenses and the military. Baelor said, "What of the Red Kraken? He will still be of concern to us. And Daemon is no friend to Dorne or the Triarchy. Aegon may want to appeal to them for help as well."

Corlys replied, "Dorne and the Triarchy would never support us, not after the wars Daemon and I waged with them. But we will pen letters to Braavos, Lorath, and Pentos, asking them to stand with us should the Triarchy rise against us. We will remind them that if the Triarchy gets the friendship of the Iron Throne, their positions will be greatly threatened. As for Dalton... he has little love for mainlanders but especially for the Lannisters and Tyrells. Add him to the list of people we will petition for help, once we meet with Rhaenys. If they have the Iron Fleet on their side, they will outnumber our ships, and they are the only fleet that can truly challenge us. Their support however, would ensure an upper hand on the seas. If the Valemen, Northern, and Stormlander fleets join us, it will be indisputable; even with the Triarchy and Dorne. Finally, we should also petition Lord Tully. Many of the Trident Lords could be sympathetic to Rhaenyra's cause. If Tully pledges to us, it would gain us most of them, save for Harrenhal and a few others. I can guarantee that Larys is on the greens' side."

Duncan finished the list of lords and knights who were high priority in trying to persuade to the blacks and he offered it to Corlys who nodded, "I will present this list to Rhaenyra once I get to Dragonstone. I'll take a flotilla to transport the gold I wish to transfer there and a force of men to help reinforce the Dragonstone garrison. Ser Valarr and his ship will accompany me. And I will inform her of my overtures to the Iron Bank and the Free Cities. The rest of you will see to my orders while I'm gone. Baelor, I leave you in charge while Rhaenys and myself are absent."

Baelor nodded, "I will not fail you my lord."

Corlys nodded back, "Daemon is the most experienced and skilled general in the Kingdoms. We will discuss strategy there, though I expect some sort of overtures to peace will be bandied about beforehand, likely from the Grand Maester. As such, continue to build our forces but make no overt moves. We will likely have to blockade the Gullet, if war truly begins, but we will not do so until all of Rhaenyra's fleets are assembled. We shall conserve our strength as best as possible. If the gods are kind, one of the two siblings will bend the knee and this will all be for naught. But we will prepare for the worst."

All of them solemnly nodded in agreement. Corlys felt somewhat lighter and less burdened, but not by much. They had done a great deal of preliminary work here. It'd help make up for the lost time that the greens had gained and would help Rhaenyra catch up. And Corlys needed to do everything he could to make sure they would all survive whatever came next.

Corlys turned to Rhaenys, "My love, go ahead to Dragonstone, inform the Queen of our impending arrival." Rhaenys nodded, and gave Corlys a kiss on the cheek as she left, "I will see you within the day my love." Dragonstone was only a short distance away and Corlys would make all haste to get there quickly.

Corlys watched her go before turning to Aerion and Duncan, "Aerion, rouse Valarr and tell him to load my flagship and his with men. And get the gold loaded onto the cargo ships. I want us to be at sea before dawn breaks. Then see to our defenses. Duncan, get those letters out to the other Targaryen vassals. I expect them all to be there to attend the war council within a few days, remind them that most of them owe me money." Aerion nodded and inclined his head before leaving. Duncan bowed before going to send the ravens.

Lord Corlys rose and went to Baelor, "I leave High Tide to you for now, Baelor. And... keep an eye out on Addam and Alyn. Make sure no harm comes to them. We may need them." Baelor nodded grimly, "Yes my lord. The gods go with you."

"May they go with all of us."

He watched Baelor go, then went to strap on his sword belt. He was no longer a young man. But he was the Sea Snake. And he would see this war won, without blood if possible, but at any cost if necessary.

Heartless it had been. His daughter. A twisted monster. She'd not been due for another moon's cycle yet but when the raven came, Rhaenyra had flown into a black rage and been racked by a premature and tragic labour. For three nights her screams had risen high above the crashing tides around Dragonstone and even the pitiful cries of Syrax had been not half so mournful as the bitter, savage curses of a Princess scorned. He'd personally heard her curse their child and watched as she clawed at her stomach as though minded to tear the child from her bodily. Cursed it was. A shrivelled, twisted abomination with withered wing-like growths and a hole through the chest where a heart ought to have beaten. Daemon had it taken away and burned.

They ripped her heart out and now I will rip theirs out. He seethed. It was the boy; Aegon and his puppeteers- The Old Queen and the Hand. The Hightowers, the Greens. Whatever one wished to call them, they had the throne and had bought the time to consolidate. Rhaenyra, his niece, wife, mother to his twins had once been the one barrier keeping him from the Iron Throne; Viserys his brother and King elevated his firstborn daughter above the Prince in the line of succession and once she’d had sons of her own, then the King had trueborn heirs with his second wife; Alicent Hightower and Daemon’s only chance of rule was the chance he had taken. By marrying his niece he could rule at her side but the Hightowers had moved decisively whilst Rhaenyra was in no condition to react. He had wanted to retaliate Fire and Blood went his House words but he’d had to concede that his stepsons had the right of it; Viserys had, like as not, been dead long enough for the Greens to safeguard against every eventuality in time for the ravens to be sent with their infernal news.

He could very well imagine Ser Otto’s smug face, forming his machinations whilst Daemon’s brother’s corpse grew cold and hard. Alicent, that sour, fat bitch using her husband’s death to steal his daughter’s birthright and foist it upon her sour, fat son. Oh, she’d been comely in her youth. Daemon had broken her in whilst Jaehaerys still lived and the Hand’s daughter was a mere nursemaid to the old king at court. Age and the birthing bed had eroded what beauty she’d had and Daemon wanted nothing better than to feed her to Caraxes. The lot of them. Otto, Alicent, Aegon, Helaena and her brats, Aemond, Daeron… But if it was to be war, he’d need alliances, pacts, endless fucking meetings and coin. More than anything they’d need coin. The Kings Landing treasury was under Green control and the might of Hightower and Oldtown doubtless remained formidable. Dorne and Casterly Rock will waste little time declaring for Aegon he knew but surely his wife wasn’t without allies? Driftmark was a stone’s throw across the bay and he earnestly hoped his old war-buddy the Sea Snake was wasting little time readying his impressive naval forces. Yes, there was that unpleasant business with the nephew he’d killed in single combat but it wasn’t Daemon who’d started it… and that little matter of you paying to have his son and heir murdered? He preferred not to think on that…

Lady Jeyne Arryn had the Knights of the Vale though the onset of Winter would mean they would need to leave the mountains swiftly. She doesn’t love me either The last he or Rhaenyra had heard of Jeyne Arryn she was expressing her dismay at Daemon marrying her oldest friend. She’d sent that silly fucking falcon and Daemon had wrung its neck and left the missive unanswered. Again, he hoped his volatile nature hadn’t burned another bridge. The Eyrie must be visited but I would not be welcome He felt a pang of sorrow. The girl was at The Eyrie… Gods, she’d be a woman grown by now but he’d be a stranger to her. For a man who prided himself on always doing whatever he pleased, he had a lot of regrets…

Would Stark bestir himself to dabble in troubles so far south? Perhaps not. Winter was here and the Northmen would like as not hibernate before climbing out of the snows in a few years’ time once Spring returned… Still, it would do no harm to ask… he reasoned. The Riverlanders he hoped would prove loyal to the blacks although there were no guarantees, There were Stormland houses loyal to Rhaenyra, he knew but if the Greens had tapped up Lord Baratheon… How long had they been sowing these seeds? Had they courted Highgarden? Beyond a doubt, Hightower would have the full might of their liege lords at their disposal. Gods he thought, they’ve probably got a thousand Ironborn ships moving through the Stepstones towards us as we do nought! He’d long known he had no patience for command; whilst they waited, Aegon’s fat fingers closed ever more tightly around Rhaenyra’s crown yet to mount his dragon and fly straight for the Red Keep was the most Daemon thing he could possibly do and even in this rage he could see the folly in it.

He’d at least had the sense to call the banners; acting on his wife’s behalf he’d written to every Lord and Castle, Keep and House in Westeros as well as petitioning the nine free cities (though his hopes of persuading the Triarchy to his cause was vain at best) whilst Rhaenyra convalesced in her chambers. Milk of poppy, blessedly, dulling her senses.



He’d tried to write with Rhaenyra’s voice; calling the ‘King’ by his mother’s name was, he thought, a nice touch; that pretender is no Targaryen… And he’d deliberately left his own name out of the missive; he had more enemies than he did friends and for every man that might go to war for him, there were twenty that would march for his wife.

Even before the ravens had flown, pledges of loyalty had come in reponse to Aegon’s letter. It was reassuring to know that Dragonstone would scarcely stand alone in this damnable challenge. He looked out across the bay. Iron grey skies merged into Iron grey waters. Not a breath of wind seemed to stir the sails of the brightly painted cogs from Braavos, the Pentoshi schooners and long galleys sailed in from Volantis. Within a week, these trading ships will be gone and the bay filled with War Galleys and longships… he hoped. An ensemble fleet of Black loyalists to ally with the might of Driftmark would certainly allay some of his misgivings about what was to come, though he also knew that the principal pieces in any game of Cyvasse were the dragons. Fire & Blood would be in plentiful supply in what was to come- he’d tasted his share during his long years in the Stepstones. We shall see if Aegon and his brothers much like the portion they’ve carved themselves…

Maester Gerardys approached so softly, Daemon seeing his shadow in the flickering candlelight at his side was the first intimation he had of the old man’s approach. Gerardys had come to Dragonstone when Viserys made Rhaenyra Crown Princess and Daemon had left. He was always passing careful around Daemon since the marriage; as though fearing every tale and rumour he’d heard of his lady’s uncle and husband was not only true, but slightly downplayed.

“My Lord, the Princess…”
“The Queen”
“My apologies! The Queen is awake and asks for you. She is weak but insists she must rise… I”
“Keep her abed. I will be there presently.” He nodded Gerardys away in a curt dismissal.
“As you will, My lord..” The maester shuffled out as silently as he’d appeared. Finally, something flickered across the monochrome seascape; a black shadow- monstrous and dread, crawling through the air gracelessly away to scavenge a meal. The Cannibal, he was called and was a huge wild dragon that had probably been around since Aegon the Conqueror’s day and had never been tamed. He was a huge nuisance, fond of attacking young dragons and hatchlings alike- giving him his name.

With dragons like that, we’d soon have Rhaenyra on that throne… And, all of a sudden, Daemon knew he’d need to write another letter…

Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, Rightful Queen of Westeros, of the Andals, the First Men, the Rhoynar. Rightful First Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Heiress to King Viserys by right, Protector of the Realm hereby declares War upon the Usurper, Aegon Hightower, his Lady Mother, Alicent – the former Queen and upon her House who have sought to steal my birthright.
Upon any and all that would stand with the Usurper and his ‘green thieves’. Upon any that will not bestir themselves to join my cause and restore to me the crown that they have stolen so that I might defend and protect your rights and honour in the years to come as I ask of you to protect mine today.

Rally your troops, ready your ships and garrison your homes. Saddle your horses and sharpen your swords. Bend no knees for this false king and his vile schemers and I vow that we will sweep this blight from history and your sacrifices, bravery and honour shall be rewarded in perpetuity.

Fire and Blood

Rhaenyra Targaryen- Your true queen.

Lindsay was lucky this time. Most days, Uncle would attend to the ravenry at around this time in the eve, but she got there first. Uncle said nothing, but she wasn't stupid. He was noticeably more tired, and when he made that false move pulling up his front piece from its defensive position, she knew something was up. There was something on his mind, no doubt, something that he either didn't want to worry her about, or something he didn't want her acting on. Lindsay hummed, lost in thought. Well, if this is the answer to her questions, it had better get answering.

The old servant was right. He was croaking to another of the castle staff, with worrying thoughts of war and crisis coming to the doorstep of the Ring. They didn't know, but Lindsay was hiding around the corner, snooping on their conversation. She remembered that day, how she ran to Uncle Frados, gasping with breath, words coming out of her mouth not entirely within her full control in an incoherent jumble of letters. He took her aside, soothed her with his ever-calm presence and soft words, and promised to have the two servants disciplined for spreading lies about the court. They never were.

Lindsay clutched the wet parchment in her hand, contemplating the words for a few seconds. Then, realizing the time, quickly rolled it back up and stuffed it into the pouch it came from, then tied it haphazardly on the leg of a random raven. The jangling of the raven-keeper's many keys was starting to get louder, and she had to run.

The front doors leading into the main room were always creaky. This annoyed her on most days, but this one most of all. Not only that, but they also had a tendency to shut with a booming slam. Lindsay froze where she stood. There was no way half the castle didn't hear it. The clattering of groggy footsteps pounded through the walls, and Uncle Frados burst in not more than a minute later, dressed in nothing but his shorts and sleeping cap. Orphan-Maker's dark blade gleamed malevolently in the sparse torchlight, as if some evil spirit had possessed the already frightening side-sword. Ser Haraway was next, nearly bumping into Uncle as he charged through into the main hall.

"Lindsay, what are you doing awake at this hour!?" Uncle demanded, lowering the sword with a sigh of relief.

"I . . . was thirsty, and went down to the kitchens to find water . . . and then I got lost," she mumbled, already realizing how silly that sounded. Judging by Uncle's expression, he was as convinced as she would be in the same situation.

" . . . Ser Haraway, a word, then escort Lady Roxton to the kitchens, then straight back to her chambers. See that she finds her way better this time," Uncle said, before exchanging a few more words with the scrawny knight. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but judging by how Ser Haraway seemed eager to take her away from the main hall to where she 'wanted' to go, no doubt it wasn't kind. Lindsay could feel the gloom settling in the stone walls, the castle itself bunkering down in preparation for the war to come. She felt a chill in her spine, that ran up and down her back and refused to jump off. There is a war, and it's coming for the Ring.

King Viserys of House Targaryen, the first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, is dead.
His Grace passed peaceably abed with his good wife, Queen Alicent and his first trueborn son at his side. In accordance with the decree of the Great Council of 101AC and the laws of Gods and Men, his crown has passed to Crown Prince Aegon Targaryen, the Second of his name, Rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm.
Crowned in the Dragonpit, anointed in the oils of the Seven alongside his good wife Queen Helaena. May their reign be long and peaceful.

Grandmaester Orwyle

---

Ralf Crakehall

The sun shined like a golden orb of magical creation, illuminating the vast forests and grounds surrounding the Crakehall Castle. Small folk had gathered within the courtyard to hear the local Crier bellow out the recent news, news that most oft would not affect the common-folk. But Lord Ralf knew more than they did, his gut told him something was on its way. He observed the crowds from his balcony, centered close enough for him to hear the gasps and talk of the gathered once the Crier had finished his bellowing. The Lord knew of the ill relationship between the new King and of the royals at Dragonstone. Blood would be shed, much or little remained to be seen.

His desk had been placed out at the balcony, allowing the Lord to work with matters that he would normally leave his steward to attend. But as of late, the usual matters had turned more serious with the coming of a new King. Plans had to be made for his departure to King's Landing, where he would personally swear fealty to King Aegon. Then there was other matters, of course. His sole daughter, a beauty among a pack of ugly pigs, was soon of age to be married off, and King's Landing was just the spot to find a worthy match for his 'Sweet Apple'. Then there was his two sons. The heir and his little brother. The heir, named Roderick after his grandfather, was to accompany Ralf to King's Landing. 'tis was an opportune time to teach the boy some politics. Ralf hated politics. He had no doubt his son would feel the same. The youngest of the pack was Albert, a boy with an eye of a hawk and smell of a boar. He would take regency, alongside the Steward of course, over Crakehall. Conduct normal matters like solving farmer's feuds or funding to some project.

Knock knock came from the door leading to the balcony."Enter." Grunted Ralf loudly as he overlooked some scrolls. A familiar face came forth, not a welcome sight however. His wife, Marin, was the definition of Seven -living- hells for Ralf in this life. They didn't love eachother, but both did what was expected of them. Make children to further the line. And occasional drunken love. Love hadn't existed between the two since Ralf fathered a bastard, Randall. He served Ralf as a sworn sword.

"Why haven't you packed your things yet?! You're less a day from traveling to King's Landing!"

A loud sigh escaped Ralf as she began speaking, only worsening the mood. "I don't have much to pack, I shan't be there a forth-night even. You should focus on preparing your daughter for the journey, she need some 'Motherly Guidance' on how to present herself to potential matches." Follwing quietly with; "Seven hells."

She was easily agitated, Ralf was sure the crowds below could hear the two arguing. "And what will you do then in King's Landing, hm? Father some useless bastard again to carry on your disgusting, ugly seed?! You know what? Take the first bastard with you and sell him off to an older version of you, maybe he'd like an ugly pig?!"

The sound of a slap and a following set of wailing emits from the balcony, loudly enough for some commoners to briefly gaze up towards the tower.

"I am kind to you, and ALL whom I consider as family. I did a mistake to sleep with Albert's mother, aye. But I corrected that by giving him and his mother a life beyond poverty, WOMAN! Now leave me before I throw both you and me down to the yard, even if the idea of me being crushed moists your womanhood." Ralf breaths heavily, staring with a dangerous look upon his 'beloved' wife.

---

"My lord! The horses and guards are ready for departure at your will!" The yelling came from Ralf's childhood friend, Gregory, the Master At Arms of Crakehall. Ralf offered the yard before the portcullis leading out of the castle a final look. His eyes inspecting and his mind double-checking what matters that needed tending before his departure.

Someone tucked Ralf's arm while his mind was at another place. "Hurh, what?" It was his son, the heir, that tucked him. "We should leave, father, lest mother finds something to stop us with!" The Lord chuckled at that, using his left hand to massage the other hand that had slapped the Lord-Mother before. "You're right, Roderick. Let's make haste, I want to arrive King's Landing before snow entraps us within that horrid city! Hyah!" As of that, the Lord's band departed Crakehall, making haste to King's Landing.

Lifting his glass once more to his lips Aegon took a long draw from his wine, sighing contently as he sat it back down. His personal room in Maegors Hold fast was lavishly furnished with a thick Ironwood desk dominating the center of the room. The chair in which he sat was made of luxurious leather which cradled the Princes plump form well. He appeared to be writing in between sips of wine when Ser Cole would enter.

Promptly removing his helmet, moving to hold it beneath his armpit, the armor-clad Lord Commander of the Kingsguard turned to close the door behind him with a solid thud. Turning again to face Aegon with a slight nod, he took hurried steps towards the man, a loud clunk of his armor accompanying each step. Closing the distance between the two men, Cole peered down at the seated prince.

"Your highness - I thought you might have reconsider-"

"Ser Cole let me stop you now, my mother and Grandfather have already spoken to me and I've given them my thoughts on the matter. Maester Munkun tried as well and I assure you that he was just as unsuccessful.", he ended his sentence at the same time he finished writing and only then looked up at the White-cloak.

"So, if there was anything else you wished to speak of so as I may save you the time?"

Allowing an audible sigh to escape his lips, Criston brought a gloved hand to his temple for but a moment. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard would not serve under a 'Queen' such as Rhaenyra - that much, he knew. While facing away from the prince for but a moment, Cole bit his bottom lip in thought before turning again to face Aegon, planting his helmet solidly on the desk before the both of them.

"Have you heeded nothing they have said? Your elder sister will soon walk these halls as Queen with those ba-" biting his tongue, Cole changed his argument, "Westeros has never had a Queen, and we are a short time away from chaos."

Aegon sighed heavily and shook his head ever so slightly, dipping his quill in ink he returned to writing once more before answer Ser Cole.

"I have heard the same thing from the others. So what? It is not like she does not have a King, Daemon will sit beside her and rule as well will he not? I doubt Aegon the first never took counsel from his wives why should Rhaenyra ignore her husband? Before Aegon Westeros had never had a single King before but we did not all die of plague and famine. Rhaenyra will take the throne and it shall be like every Targaryen ruler before her but with tits"

He smiled slightly as he looked back up at Cole, picking up the vase from which he poured his wine and poured a glass for Ser Cole, "Now you may remain and converse if you so wish but at least drink while you're here, any annoying conversation because infinitely more bearable with a good Dornish wine.", he pushed the glass towards Cole.

Cole locked eyes with the young prince as the glass was slid towards him. Bitterly removing the armored gloves from his hands and setting them down beside his helm, Cole silently took the glass, downing its contents. Liquid courage, perhaps.

Allowing the silence to continue for a short while longer, Cole curtly spat out the words, "You condemn us all.". Pulling out a chair to sit next to the Prince, the Lord Commander adjusted his cloak of bright white as he sat down. "Your beloved sister, who you so eagerly would make Queen, will be your doom. Our doom." Resting his elbows against his legs, Cole leant forward, speaking in a hushed manner, "You know the talk of your sister. She and Ser Harwin.", quickly raising a hand to silence the predicted protest from the Targaryen opposite, Cole continued, "I know you don't care. But the realm will. The bastard boys of some Strong running around this keep, a bastard boy sitting on the Iron Throne? Westeros will bleed for this."

Reclining back into the wooden chair, a slight noise from his chain mail as he moved being the only audible sound in the room, "You will bleed for it, too."

Aegon's eyes shot daggers at the Kingsguard for ordering his silence, however short and indirect the order was. It was insolent and if he were in a worse mood he would likely have harped on it... but the man now had Aegon's attention.

"I will bleed you say? The realm will bleed if a boy with brown hair and an ugly face sits the throne? I seem to remember the North is ruled by plenty of ugly brown haired men and they've not bled recently. But if I am crowned I assure you Rhaenyra will make us bleed. She has dragons after all and no love for me I assure you. If I oppose her supposed birthright the realm may very well burn Ser Cole. How is that not the worse option? How will I or the realm bleed for her sons?"

Aegon again let his self-righteous smirk crease the sides of his mouth, confident the Knight had no further argument and hoping this may end the trying conversation.

Cole returned a slight smirk, nodding his head toward Aegon slightly, playing along with his argument. "A fair point - if you take the crown, there very well may be war. In fact - I expect there will." Rising from the chair, Cole continued, "but, I think, crowning Rhaenyra will also lead to war. Not today, perhaps, not tomorrow. But somewhere along the line, somebody is going to believe those rumors about her bastard sons, not that Ser Harwin will be able to offer any input after he burned alive." Pausing for a second to allow the thought of a man burning alive to enter the thoughts of the young prince, Cole continued, "A fate we may yet share. See, I make it, that if Rhaenyra wants to prevent such a war in the future, she merely needs to be rid of the other claimants. Your line. If there are no other Targaryens to contest the crown from her children, then the fate of Westeros is sealed. Her succession is guaranteed."

Reaching across the table for the jug of wine, pouring himself another glass, he confidently continued, "But we have dragons. We have support - we have the true legitimacy. You said yourself your sister has no love for you. Do not leave your fate to her hands, do not submit your life to one who views you as a threat. Ser Harwin was, undoubtedly, a threat. We know what happened to him."

Finished pouring his glass, Cole sat the jug down on the table, taking a long drink of the wine.

"If your sister sits her arse on that throne - we will bleed. You, me, those who have encouraged you to press your claim. Her first act as the Queen of this Kingdom will be to secure her kingdom." Taking another, final drink of the wine before sliding the empty glass across to Aegon, he finished, "By killing us."

Silence reigned in the aftermath of Cole's closing statement. Prince Aegon was glowering at the man, his fist shaking slightly. Not because he had insulted him or Rhaenyra, but because Aegon knew he was right. The thought had nagged at the back of his ever since his father died. He chewed on his bottom lip before downing what was left in his glass. He placed it down and sighed loudly.

"It... it has crossed my mind, Ser Cole, that you may be correct. Rhaenyra despises my mother and my nephews despise me and my brothers. And Daemon is a power hungry-", Aegon stopped himself and sighed again.

"... If I were to accept Ser Cole and be crowned King, I trust there is a plan to deal with my half sister and her bastards? They have more dragons than I have. But we will have the element of surprise I suppose..."

Aegon frowned as he often did and tilted his glass absent mindedly as he spoke. Thinking quietly to himself.

"Fine. You win Ser Cole. I accept the crown that is my birthright. Go and tell my jubilant mother... and tell my paige if I don't have more wine by the time my mother comes in to congratulate my decision as I'm sure she will he' ll be flogged."

Bowing his head, Cole retrieved his helm and gloves from the table, "We will deal with Rhaenyra - and the realm will support their rightful king." Turning to leave the room, satisfied in accomplishing the task he set out to achieve, Cole looked over his shoulder toward Aegon as he opened the door, "Your grace."

As the door closed behind Ser Cole Aegon leaned back in his chair... a rare smile crossing his lips. 'Your Grace', he quite liked the sound of that.

The sun was high above Kings landing, its light shown heavily through the dome of the great Dragon Pit. At the sides, chained in there nest like alcoves, the wondrous beasts grooming or sunbathing and seemingly unaware of the massive procession that had set up at the bottom of the pit. Wooden stands had been set up along a path filled with members of Nobility in Kings Landing, all Green supporters of course.

Quiet murmuring had sounded in echoes since the myriad nobles had first arrived but it quickly stopped as the royal procession began. At the end of the path was a pedestal upon which were arrayed the small council and members of the royal family. Ser Otto Hightower stood nearest the top, being Hand of the King, and Queen mother Allicent stood not much farther away as chaperone to Aegon's children. Upon the pedestal itself stood Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, resplendant in his white armor and cloak. Next to him stood Septon Eustace and several others holding gilded chalices. The rest of the small council were arrayed here and there around the raised dais

The sound of triumphant horns announced Aegon and Helaena's approach. Future King and Queen were flanked by the other mebers of the King's Guard, armed and armored as their Lord Commander but with great-helms on. Aegon stood tall as he walked down the quiet lanes, a picture of Royal pride. He wore an ornate set of black armor with gold chasings, his personal sigil of a golden dragon embossed in the senter of his chest. The armor was heavily detailed, engraved with dragons and black fire. His left hand rested upon the ruby pommel of Blackfyre, the conquerors blade. Behind him trailed a long, black cloak with trimmings in gold and his sigil embroidered at its center. with wings unfolded and fire spewing forth from its maw. His hands were richly ringed, several expensive jewels accompanied the signet ring all Targaryens wore.

Next to King Aegon, arm intertwined with his and a hand on her husbands shoulder, strode Queen Helaena. She too was richly dressed in a black and gold silken dress that well displayed her voloptious form. In her hair were woven small golden and black flowers, and her flowing silvery locks glistened in the noon sun beautifully. The pair approached the dais and kneeled before Septon and Lord Commander, prepared for their elevation to King and Queen.

Septon Eustace, adorned in rich robes of white trimmed with all the colors of the rainbow stood upright, Septas walking a circle around the royal pair and swinging braizers of incense before departing. Two page boys stood nearby with the Valyrian steel and ruby crown of Aegon the Conqueror, another with the matching crown of his sister-wife Rhaenys.

Eustace intoned his voice to carry throughout the labrynthine hall and formed a blessing gesture as he retrieved the first of seven holy oils. He spoke solemnly as he dripped the blessed oils over the pair, "May the Father grant him the wisdom to rule justly."

Another page retrieved the vessel and passed Eustace another as they continued the ceremony, "May the Mother grant him the heart to rule with mercy."

"May the Warrior defend him and grant him the fortitude to persevere in these dark times."

"May the Smith grant him strength to face the burdens he must bear."

"May the Maiden keep his wife, his children, and those he loves safe."

"May the Crone, who knows the fate of all men, lift her lantern and show him the path through the shadows."

"May the Stranger, show favor to him and keep him from falling into those shadows."

The last vessel was poured and the Septon raised his arms to heaven as he said, "In the Light of the Seven, I now proclaim, Aegon of House Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. Long may he reign."

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard lowered the Crown of Aegon the Conqueror upon the new King's head as Queen Mother Alicent lowered its partner upon Helaena, and the room echoed with a chorus of, "Long may he reign."

With the proper crowning complete Aegon and Helaena stood, and turned to one another. A short kiss followed by applause and their hands parted as Aegon smiled towards the beautiful Sunfyre. The glittering Gold dragon dropped into the pit with a triumphant roar, stalking towards the platform to its rider. Aegon released the clasps of his luxurious cape, which was quickly collected by his paige.

He climbed atop the magnificent beast, settling into the dragons saddle. He locked himself in place, speaking softly to the glittering dragon as he readied himself. Mere moments later the dragon was flapped its great wings and took to the skies. He would fly thrice around the capital, a final tradition to be seen by the small folk and lords, their King high above them upon a terrifyingly beautiful beast.

-----------

Prince Aemond mounted his gold and black barded horse, riding down the street of sisters and watching Aegon fly around the city on the magnificent Sunfyre. He rode behind his sister Heleana and his mother Alicent, as well as his grandfather Ser Otto. The remaining members of the Kingsguard followed, then the Small Council, and a long train of courtiers and retainers. Banners waved in the air and Targaryen Men-at-arms, Hightower men, and Gold Cloaks marched on either side of the column. Flowers drifted through the air and silvery horns sounded with triumphants drums as the smallfolk cheered, many of them pointing to the sky as the party rode on.

Aemond waved back at the crowd, winking at a comely lass. As many peasants there were who smiled at him, others shrank back from the sight of his glittering sapphire eye. Aemond leaned over to Ser Criston Cole, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, "It is something isn't it? The love of the people. How does it feel to have it back, ser? Odd that you had to betray your lady love to do so. You were never so well-liked since you fought in her name. I imagine you must have mixed feelings." He sneered at his mentor.

Riding proudly atop his own steed next to the prince, Cole held the reigns casually with one hand, waving idly with the other. Keeping his eyes fixed on the crowd, he turned his head ever-so-slightly to listen as the prince spoke. Allowing for Aemond to air his goading remarks, as he so often did, Cole replied smugly "Fought and won." Silencing himself for a moment as he maintained a confident smile and returned to waving towards the crowds, he continued, "In my experience, the people haven't concerned themselves with who's favour I hold. So long as you fight well, and," now offering the prince his full attention, with a smug nod of his head, "I do."

Straightening his posture and looking ahead with an audible sigh, the Lord Commander decided to avoid the topic of Rhaenyra directly, instead reminiscing of his old melees and tourneys, "Cracking the skull of Laenor's boy-lover. Gods, that was a good fight. Pompous little shit called himself the 'Knight of the Kisses'." Throwing his head back in a brief, but loud guffaw, the man continued, "There'll be plenty of that to go around when she and Daemon hear of this. With any luck, it'll be his skull next."

Aemond laughed with him, "Aye, I remember that. That's the day you made Strongbones, Breakbones. Jealously, perhaps? Unbecoming of a Kingsguard isn't it?" Aemond kept riding with Cole, "Ah, my uncle would relish the chance I think. He never forgave you for beating him in tourney. My uncle's skull is hardier than any ten men's combined, I wish you luck."

Aemond smiled confidently, "But it will be I who beats Daemon. On dragon back. Vhagar will break the Blood Wyrm, and I'll pry Dark Sister from my dear uncle. I couldn't do it without you of course, you taught me well. But you know what they say about students and mentors."

Aemond had always been a shit, and even as a young boy excelled in knowing just how to make those around him tick. For most, it was the reason they hated him. Cole, however, had always found entertainment in listening to the young Targaryen's barbs and taunts, even if his words concerning Rhaenyra often hit a little too close to home. "You don't need luck when you're as good as I am.", he said simply with a cocky smirk plastered across his face. Aemond was, in Cole's mind, right about one thing. Dragons. This war would not be decided by the exploits of Cole or any other swordsman, that much was certain, and instead the fate of Westeros would depend on the skill of the dragonriders.

Casting the thought aside, the idea of being without any major glory in his first true war being an unwelcome thought to the Lord Commander, he shrugged casually before commenting, "When the day comes I can no longer hold a fucking sword, years from now, maybe what those fools say will ring true." Humming in thought for a second, he sneered, "Maybe."

Aemond chuckled, clapping Cole on the shoulder, "Don't be so fucking grim, ser. We'll need you as a general in this fight. And aye, you'll be old someday. But not today, nor soon. Until then, why don't you crack as much skulls as you can eh? I always wanted to go to war with you." He smiled for once and turned back to wave to the crowds.

"My brother's lucky he has us on his side. And woe to my fair sister."

Likewise returning his attention to the crowds, waving and meeting the eyes of the fairer women among them, he couldn't help but laugh at Aemond's words.

"Aye, woe unto your fucking sister."

Ser Arrk Cargyll opened the door to the Small Council Chambers near the throne room. The small council began filing into the room. The first in the door was Ser Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, striding heavily into the chambers. Following him were the Queen Mother Alicent Hightower, his daughter, her hands modestly folded in front of her. Then came Ser Tyland Lannister, the golden-haired and handsome master of coin and twin brother to Lord Jason of Casterly Rock. He walked breezily into the room. On his heels came Jasper Wyle, the master of laws, called Ironrod, Lord of the Rain House and head of House Wylde. He walked stiffly, head held high and arms folded behind his back. Grand Maester Orwyle entered next, his arms folded in his robe and his chain hanging heavily on his chest as he shuffled in. Finally, Larys Strong entered. The Lord of Harrenhal limped into the room, leaning on a cane and dragging his lame foot awkwardly. But in his eyes one could see why he was master of whispers. The seven of them sat at various positions turning towards the door to await their King.

Aegon strode in the chamber with a mildly sour look on his face, though most would tell you this was how he nearly always looked. He had dispensed with his cape before taking off on Sunfyre and had removed his gauntlets before walking into the chamber. On his left and right respectively were Ser Cole and the King's brother Aemond who had met with him before rather than arriving with the rest of the small council.

"Send a paige for wine immediately I don't intend to carry on my Small Council meeting without drink.", he proclaimed as he sat down in the King's chair at the head of the table. A mere few moments later his paige had already arrived with a vase of wine and plate of goblets, he was quite used to the procedure as he poured the King's glass before moving along the table, handing each Lord a cup and then filling it.

"As we are all well aware there is little time for celebration following my coronation. The realm faces a larger threat. So... we must discuss strategy.", he ended matter of factly.

Aemond laughed, leaning back in his seat and swilling his wine around, "Indeed. My only regret is that I can't be there to see the look on our sister's face when she gets that letter. If I know her, she'll be absolutely livid . Mayhaps the gods will favor us and she will drop dead on the spot from rage. Though I wouldn't mind taking Vhagar to roast her either."

None of the other councillors seemed near as amused and Orwyle, who had forgone wine, coughed hesitantly and leaned forward, "Your grace. You hold the throne. The sword. The crown. You are our king. And perhaps there need be no war. Princess Rhaenyra is your sister, and if we go to war with her, the realm will bleed. Thousands, hundreds of thousands may die. Our cities and castles burned. The last time dragons fought, it wreaked terrible ruin upon the Kingdom. I believe the best option is to sue for peace. Allow your sister and her family and her supporters to bend the knee. This need not end in blood shed. Let your reign be a glorious reign of peace and prosperity, not of fire, blood, and kinslaying."

Tyland Lannister nodded, "I agree. War may mean disaster even if we win. Rhaenyra has more dragons then we do, more ships, even if we have more men and more money. I am confident we can win. But not without great cost. The treasury will be drained, and it will mean years of high taxes and food shortages. With winter coming, that is not something we can afford if we wish to hold onto the kingdoms."

Larys Clubfoot kept his silence, but Jasper Wylde slammed his fist on the table, "Prattling nonsense. Rhaenyra and her greens are traitors. And the proper punishment for traitors is death. If they do not immediately bend the knee, we must destroy them."

Reclining comfortably in his chair, the Lord Commander shook his head in irritation at the words of Orwyle. "The foul bitch'll never accept peace so long as she's kept from the throne." He spoke venemously, his hatred for Rhaenyra clear. "The Master of Laws speaks truths, if she moves for the throne, she dies." Upon the conclusion of his words, Ser Cole couldn't help but dart his eyes toward the newly-appointed Master of Coin, Tyland Lannister. It wasn't so long ago he had been rid the council of the disloyal old Beesbury, slitting his throat at the meeting. He had hoped the councillors would get the message.

Aemond raised his cup in a toast, "Hear hear. That royal bitch and our uncle are too dangerous. We need to get rid of them if you're to remain king, brother. Them and our Strong nephews. My apologies to your losses, Lord Larys."

Orwyle remained steady, "You hold the love of your people my king. You hold all the authority, all the legitimacy. But if you go to war with your sister, a princess that many have sworn to serve, it may threaten your legacy. We do not want you to be known as the King who went to war with his sister. You have the chance to knit our realm together. We should take it. Or risk laying the kingdoms low."

Raising his voice toward the Grand Maester, Cole angrily retorted, "Seven bloody hells, you craven old fool. Peace? The two stubborn cunts would sooner see our heads rotting atop these walls. Have sense and take theirs first."

There was some more arguement and back and forth. Each side loudly voicing their viewpoints as Aemond draped an arm over his chair and drew his knife, flipping it absently with one hand and chuckling to himself.

Aegon finished his drink and tapped the chalice quietly, his experienced paige knowing that meant he needed to be refilled. Once that was done the King loudly cleared his throat, which failed. With a sigh, he slammed the bottom of his metal goblet against the table. The loud, ringing thumps silenced the council and spilled a fair bit of wine.

"My Lords quiet. I sugeest from now on you not force me to waste good wine to quiet you. Maester Orwyle,", he turned to the learned man, "I have little love for my sister or nephews, however, unlike my brother Aemond I'm in little hurry to mount their heads on spikes.", he shot his brother a slightly annoyed look for antagonizing his small council.

"I agree that peace would be... preferable. I would like nothing more than for my sister to bend the knee and end all this nasty business before it can start. I intend to offer her as much and am even prepared to give... certain concessions. Tell me Maester Orwyle have you met Rhaenyra? She is petty, wrathful, and carries a grudge worse than any other woman I've met. Daemon as you all know has been scheming for my fathers crown since he was denied it and now it sits just before his eyes.", his eyes narrowed as he looked slowly around the table.

He took another sip of his wine, "I will offer and she may refuse. In order to best force her to surrender we will require overwhelming strength arrayed against her. She has more dragons, so we must have at least five times her strength to convince her war would be folly. If she believes there is even a slight chance of victory she will press war regardless of what we offer her. So we must hope for peace, but prepare for war.", he punctuated the end with a long, deep drink of wine.

He looked now to his brother, "To that end Aemond, you have a unique duty. You must fly to Storm's End. Lord Borros has a number of daughters. You'll be betrothed to one of them.", he stared his brother down and waited for his response.

Aemond frowned for the first time, catching the knife by the hilt once more and sheathing it. He drank, and swilled the wine for a moment before looking at his brother and tilting his head curiously, "Me? You're sending me to talk to Lord Borros? I'm flattered you think so highly of me brother. I would have thought you wanted Daeron to go. He's the personable one, after all."

He drank again, "I was hoping that after we won, I could take one of Daemon's twins to wife. Maybe both. They're not unattractive. But very well Aegon. I will do this for you. I will wed this girl and I will make Lord Borros our father-in-law. The Stormlands will be in your control within the week. This I swear. I will leave as soon as we're done here."

Jasper nodded, "I will send a raven to to the Rain House, and I will have members of my house accompany Aemond once he lands at Storm's End. I can write the Swanns and I am confident they will support us as well. Our good Ser Criston can write his father. Mayhaps the Steward of Blackhaven can convince the Dondarrions to attend the delgation. That should be enough to convince Lord Borros, with Aemond as a son-in-law."

Tyland interjected, "He's a fighter. He'll want a position as well. I think we'd do well to make him a General, one of our principal commanders. Perhaps even invent a new office. The Master of War, maybe, I think he'd be well pleased by that. Even if there is peace."

Cole, amused at the talk of Lord Borros, took a large gulp from his cup of wine before adding, "So long as the Lord Baratheon has no letters to read, I'm sure the promise of some shiny new office concerning war will please the man."

Orwyle spoke up, "A wise move, my king. With the support of House Hightower and House Lannister, adding in the Baratheons and the Stormlands will place the great part of the realm's armies in our control. It will give us a strong position. I believe we'd do well to ask the Triarchy for aid as well. They are no friends of Daemon, and their ships and money will be a large boon. With such a force arrayed with us, I think Rhaenyra will be forced to surrender. She has children to consider. Pray, what concessions were you thinking of offering?"

The queen mother had kept a stony, if not politic, silence throughout the proceedings. When her sons cursed she would wince but was past used to the language of men by now to offer objection. Her father sat beside her and his foot rocked restlessly as the discussion ebbed and flowed but, he too, had been conspicuous in his quietude. He caught their attention as he slapped a wrinkled scroll on the polished veneer of the table.

"You talk like you know the minds of every Lord in Westeros!" He growled, the smiles evaporated. "I have here a missive from one of Baratheon's sworn bannermen; House Caron. He read;

"Dear, Lord Hightower. I don't know what you have planned with this coup. But I demand answers, right away this instant. I dare not curse the new King' name just yet - less I blame the wrong snake for it's bite.'

'But you have some explaining to do. By what right, do you command to overturn the law and word of your own King? The man whom placed you in that position, for you to stab him in his dead heart like that?'

'I ask, no demand, answers for this. Less I take my Black Riders and make sure every last supporter of your act to Old Town itself feels the price of betrayal. Though this letter seems rather strong, keep in mind - your act started this'.

Helia Caron, Lady of the Marches"

He read sternly, letting each syllable hit home. The letter was as shocking in its crudeness as it was in its insibordination and obstinacy. Were Caron a child, it'd merit a slap. "Your Grace, my Lords... We cannot simply imagine we'll secure the fealty of each liege lord just because we hope it will be so. You all are imagining the best case scenario and I too could get drunk from the energy in this room but I am old and have tasted more disappointment than most. Imagine, for a moment, the worst. What if there are twelve dozen Carons across the Realm and Baratheon feels how Caron here feels?" He took a swallow of wine.

Aemond grimaced as his grandfather read the letter, his grip tightened on his dagger and he said, "That uppity bitch. Reminds me of our sister. If I'm going to talk to Borros, maybe I should take a quick stop to torch Nightsong to the ground. And if she still lives, she can be my cupbearer. Among other things."

Orwyle paled, "Peace, my prince. Peace. Lady Helia is likely feeling threatened by the potential challenge to her authority. Denying Rhaenyra her crown, may potentially deny a woman's right to rule at all."

Ironrod shook his head, "Unfortunately, the Great Council's finding only makes male royals preferable to female royals. Normal inheritance still applies to all other lands and titles."

Tyland interjected, "Indeed, and it's a bit early to talk of burning castles. Caron is an old and proud house. We can ill afford to treat families of their stature so, lest we risk alienating the other houses. We should remind everyone that the Great Council's ruling should supercede the prior King's wishes. And that having the Rogue Prince sitting on the Iron Throne would be an ill omen for the kingdom. The same goes for the bastard princes. We proclaim the legitimate reasons why Aegon should be king, not Rhaenyra. Law and Diplomacy should be the tools to convince the nobles to support us. Fire and Blood will only make them run to Rhaenyra." Orwyle and Ironrod both gestured their assent, while Aemond crossed his arms angrily.

Ser Tyland continued, "If Borros supports us, his bannermen will most likely fall in line. A little gold and a kind word can work wonders as well. These are just words from Lady Caron. Wise and true words should be the response. This is why the support of the Great Houses is so important. So they can help us keep the other houses in line."

Alicent cleared her throat. "It seems to me that we're keen to offer much to our would be allies but to allow such wanton defiance of my son's legitimate rule is a direct affront to what we try to build here." She caught the eye of the Lords, her father nodded gravely. "If we allow this to stand unpunished, we appear weak and there are few that will flock to our cause if they think we can only win alliance through coin." She conceded the floor once more.

Ser Otto replied to Tyland, "I agree that we must needs secure the might of Storms End. Once that is done, let Borros deal with Lady Caron if she is still of a mind to speak out. Should the Stag side with the Blacks, however..." He shuddered. "Caron will be the least of our worries."

Aegon nodded in agreement with each proposition, sipping carefully from his wine as they spoke. He was glad Aemond had not resisted, an argument would have been troublesome and trying. "Aye, we'll make him master of wars or armies or some other seat come war or peace, no reason not to. Send the letters Lord Wylde the more houses already alined with us the more likely Borros will support me. As for House Carron"

Aegon scowled at the idea of such a pointless house challenging his right to rule. "Secure Borros' support and let him handle her. I feel no need to explain to her why she should not be worried. If- and I cannot stress this enough Aemond. If she remains obstinant and Borros asks for your assistance. You may 'releive' the lady of her hold and do as you wish."

He turned to Orwyle next, "I agree, the Triarchy would be invaluable. Perhaps I'll treat with them myself. As for concessions. I have already decided I have no need of Dragonstone, nor do my children. I am willing to offer her and Daemon keep the ancestral Targaryen home. I'll allow them to style themselves Prince and Princess, and all their lineage not unlike the Dornish. All she needs to is bend the knee and relinquish her claim and she remains Princess and no blood shed shall visit her family.", he sipped his glass empty and tapped for another filling.

Ser Otto wore a smile that could curdle milk; "I would love peace better than most, Your Grace, I promise you. But if we tell Daemon Targaryen we'll 'allow' him to call himself Prince and live out his days on Dragonstone, how is he like to react? And Rhaenyra? You cannot have the crown you were promised but you can sit there unmolested on your ancestral rock?" He shook his head. "None of us think either of them are like to accept such terms, surely?"

"Then what should we offer Ser Otto?"

The Hand looked at Lannister, at the High Septon and finally at his Grandson and King. "I would offer peace alone. Bend the knee to your rightful King or we hold you as traitors. I'm sorry, but I see no other way. We need to ensure we have strength enough that even the likes of Daemon can see the utter ruin war would bring." He sat back, leaving his heavy words hanging in the room.

Aegon tapped his fingers on the table carefully... his face pulled again into scowl. "I... do not see the difference in this Ser Otto. If they bend the knee why does it matter if we call them Prince or Princess? They must bend the knee either way. Why not give them what they already have as a sort of... it is not a real concession I have never lived on Dragonstone and I'd prefer my children not live so far from the throne either. Are you suggesting we order them bend the knee and give up all lands and titles?"

It was Alicent who responded. "Father, I think my son has the right of this. You think we should offer nothing and in essence that's all we offer. They bend the knee and we leave them be. Though I agree with your Grandfather, it would be best to make no mention of 'allowing them their titles' in any offers we make. That's only like to be taken as insult." Ser Otto seemed to concede the point and conceded without further comment.

Aegon shook his head and returned to his previous train of thought,"... speaking of Dorne, before we seek such distant allies as the Triarchy... why not treat with the Martells? A much shorter flight and far closer to provide aid are they not? They too fought Daemon during the wars over the Stepstones. I beleive we can get them to render aid, I'm certain they fear Daemon would raise a second conquest.", he spoke to gauge the Lords reactions.

Ser Criston did not seem to care one way or the other for the Dornish, offering a careless shrug to the gathered lords. "They know how to kill and they do it well."

Aemond smiled devilishly, "Bring in that lot of poisoners and screaming savages? I like it. They're the only ones who managed to beat your namesake, brother. And they bloodied Daemon's nose. Our uncle will not forget that. Aye, let's get the Dornish snake to work for us for once."

Jasper on the other hand, looked like he bit into a lemon. He grit his teeth and said, "Your grace. Those Dornish savages have been the bane of the Stormlands for generations. Their presence may well enrage some of the Stormlanders. And the Reachmen too, especially those who live in the marchers like Tarly. Tarly has one of the strongest armies in the Reach, we would do well not to gain his ire."

Tyland slashed a hand in the air with careless dismissal, "What of it? The Ironborn have been fueding with all the men of the West, the Reach, the Riverlands, and the North for generations. Aegon put a stop to it. Now our King Aegon can do the same. So some lords may mutter. But we will still have the largest army on the continent. Court the Dornish. King Aegon should treat with Prince Qoren, man to man. Then they can help us bring in the Triarchy. In one fell swoop we will have the largest army and the largest navy. Let Rhaenyra think on that!"

Orwyle said, "Your father, King Viserys wanted to wed Rhaenyra to the Prince of Dorne and bring them into the realm. Mayhaps we can do so now. Prince Daeron is unwed and Qoren has many daughters. You can also wed one of your sons if not Daeron, or your daughter. He will fear Daemon, and having us as an ally will be very attractive to him I believe. We may be able to both unite House Targaryen and Westeros under one banner, as your namesake always wanted. It would be a great deed they will sing of for generations."

There was some more discourse for several more moments, and there was some resistance to the idea, but Aemond, Orwyle, Cole and Tyland all seemed in favor. Larys said nothing, but he did not disagree.

"I understand, that the Stormlands and the Reach will be... uncertain about an alliance with the Dornish. But its more than that Maester Orwyle is correct. Perhaps we may finally see the Dornish bend the knee and Westeros will be Seven Kingdoms. There won't be anymore skirmishes between Dornish riders and Stormland knights. Besides I'm sure Aemond will agree Daeron needs a woman and the Dornish are known for having quite attractive ones.", Aegon let out a small laugh and looked at his brother. For all his sulking Aegon enjoyed his brothers company at least.

"I'll fly to Dorne and treat with Prince Qoren. If he agrees the Triarchy will follow I assure you. On the topic of ships however... the Greyjoys.", Aegon sneered, quickly losing his short lived smile.

"Regardless who he declares for I'm sure Dalton Greyjoy will simply use it as an excuse to pillage and reave as his... disgustingly savage people always do in these wars. I want to make sure he is doing so for us. I've no idea what to offer him though, seeing as the Iron-Born loathe any gold not covered in the blood of its previous owner and seem to care even less for titles. My Lords I seek help with what we may offer the Kraken."

Aemond spit on the floor at the mention of the Greyjoys, "Bunch of idiotic upjumped peasants on those shit-stained rocks of theirs. I say, grandfather, Tyland. Get your armies together, your ships. Send a raven to Daeron. And send them all into the Iron Islands and we make them join us. Or we burn them out. They aren't equals to us, we should not treat them so."

Tyland shook his head ruefully, "I agree with the sentiment my prince. I have little love for the Greyjoys. But we do need them on our side. We can ill afford having an enemy that can raid our shores while the armies are away. I was your master of ships. We can make Dalton the new Master of Ships. And we can give him the Sea Snake. Lord Corlys has untold riches on that island of his. Tell Greyjoy that if it comes to war, he can take the fight to the Sea Snake. He can take his gold, his weapons, his flagships, and all the women his heart desires. I think he'll like that. As much as any of those pirates will like anything."

For once Jasper seemed to agree, "Aye. It is rare for any Ironborn to ever receive any honors. But give that Red Kraken a seat at our table. Appease his vanity. And Driftmark is a very valuable target. Any loot he gets there will make him richer than his wildest dreams. And it will be a bloody fight just like the Ironborn love."

Scoffing at the suggestion from Jasper, Ser Cole intervened on the talk of honouring the Red Kraken with an office, "You would make this Small Council not so small, Lord Wylde. We're already giving one angry bastard a seat at this table - two? And a Greyjoy at that? No Greyjoy should ever advise a king." With that, Cole raised the near-empty glass of wine to his mouth and tilted it upwards, polishing off the drink with a contented sigh.

Orwyle kept his silence for a time, reluctant to give any approval to talk of raiding and enthrallment, but said, "If we manage to get the Greyjoys on our side, we will have the advantage. I believe Ser Tyland's proposal is best. We can send a raven, and if there is peace, he can go raiding in the rest of Essos."

Aegon nodded, happy that the nasty business with the Greyjoys was settled. "Good, send that note before the one declaring my ascension to the throne. I want him to know of our offer as soon as possible. Write it tonight in fact Lord Tyland. Besides Aemond I need Daeron elsewhere. It will be more difficult, but he must treat with Lord Tully. If I have the Trouts, the Stags, the Lions, the Krakens and the Dornish its all of Westeros and the Triarchy. Rhaenyra and Daemon would be mad to fight us.", Aegon smiled and took another sip of wine.

"I forget, Lord Grover... if I wish to give Daeron a Martell girl what can we give to the river Lord? We are running out of titles and I've run out of brothers. Anything else we have to offer?"

Aemond cracked his knuckles, "Those Riverlanders. They love even the slightest hint of favor you show them. You need not offer much more then gold methinks. We have plenty of it. And remind them that the Lannisters are right on their doorstep should they refuse. Let their little rivers protect them from that. Besides, our good Larys Strong here is one of the most powerful Lords in the region. He can pressure the Tullys into throwing in with us." Larys Strong nodded, confirming the suggestion and finally speaking, "Bracken. He can help." And that was all he said.

Tyland nodded, "A little gold. A little reminder that my brothers' armies can cross quickly. So can Lord Hightowers. And Strongs'. We can choke off their trade as well, blockade any custom by the rivers if they refuse. Remember we sit right at the mouth of the Blackwater. They will not dare to defy us. You need not offer any sons or your daughter to them."

Jasper said, "Lord Grover supported your father's claim over Laenor's at the last Great Council. He has no reason to support Rhaenyra. And he is an old man. He will not have the will to dare ask too much."

Orwyle spoke, "Lord Grover did indeed favor your father. As such, he belives the rights of the man supercede that of the woman. With House Strong and House Bracken on our side, I see little chance of him refusing us. Indeed, perhaps Daeron would be better spent on the Vale? Lady Jeyne has no love for Prince Daemon. Remember he attacked the province in order to usurp the Royces' and was exiled. And the Knights of the Vale are one of the most powerful fighting forces in these kingdoms. If we get them to our side, the Riverlands will be redundant."

Jasper replied, "Indeed. They will be surrounded. They are not critical to our efforts, they are bordered on every side by people who already support us or will. The charming Prince Daeron can win us the Vale."

Aegon sat and pondered at the mention of the Vale. Jeyne Arryn had been in the back of his mind since he took agreed to take the throne. She was an old friend of Rhaenyra's and her kin but hated Daemon for obvious reasons. She would be oddly split in the coming weeks.

"True enough. Daeron may be able to sway her... send a Raven to Hightower with a letter of endorsement for Lady Jeyne's claim on the Vale as well. Any Lady's in power right now will be worried about their own castles and lands when they hear of Rhaenyra being refused. I wish to make it abundantly clear to Lady Jeyne I've no intention of having her removed or challenging her right to rule. Even if Daeron cannot secure her for our casue if he can simply get Jeyne to convince Rhaenyra to bend the knee, or failing that simply not raise her banners at all, my sister will lose her largest supporter. As for Lord Grover, offer him the gold and remind him of his decision for my father and he should be happy to help us out of love, respect and fear. Though...", Aegon glowered at nothing in particular as he thought.

"...who is Lord Grover's heir? He is an elderly man, quite near his end I'm sure... perhaps it would be better to ensure when he passes we are not suddenly without an ally? It would be redundant if we secured the Vale of course. Ah, I nearly forgot. The North.". Aegon simply sighed and shook his head.

"With winter nearly here I doubt the North can raise anything with any sort of speed. They'll never muster their full strength thanks to a need for men to gather the harvest. I feel Lord Cregan can be left out of the equation yes? I have no wish to offer him anything and even if he declares for my sister he'll never be able to threaten us. Agreed?"

Aemond nodded, "Screw the Northerners. They're happy with their snow, sheep, and shit. I say leave them to it. If Daeron gets the Vale on our side, we can stop them from coming across the Neck entirely. And they hate coming south. I doubt they even care."

Tyland and Jasper nodded as well, with Tyland saying, "My brother's men will be more than enough to stop the paltry amount of men they can send if they even do bestir themselves. And if we have the Greyjoys and the Arryns with us, we can have the Krakens raid their western shores and the Falcons storm the White Harbor. Perhaps a bit of gold we can send, but they don't deserve any more consideration than that from us."

With firm nods of agreement, Cole added to their words, "Aye. The Northern forces'll be so few and weak, there won't even be any enjoyment in killing them. We needn't worry about them."

Orwyle spoke, "Speaking of Lord Grover's heir. Hmm... his son Fozzie died, and his grandson Elmo is a middle-aged man of little renown. I see no reason why gold and the support of Harrenhal and Stone Hedge wouldn't be enough to sway him either. And the threat of the Lannisters and Hightower."

Aegon nodded as the Lords spoke. It all sounded like they may very well end the war before it could start. Assuming all the Lords went the way Aegon hoped. He hoped they could see that this was the only way war could be avoided... he had to hope they could see that.

"Well my lords. I believe this may be the end of our meeting and I'd say its quite succesful. We have work to do. Letters to write... and Dragons to ride.", he stood and picked up his glass, drinkng what was left. He placed it back down. "I wish you all luck my Lords. I will fly for Dorne first thing in the morning but for now if you'll excuse me. Ah, Aemond. Accompany me will you?"

Aemond nodded, draining his cup and getting to his feet as the rest of the Small Council gathered up their papers and began talking in side conversations, leaving to attend to their own business.

His sapphire eye glinted at the king as the two brothers walked side by side through the throne room, two of the Kingsguard on their heels, "Something on your mind brother?"

Aegon sighed as they marched through the throne room together, Aegon smirking, "Oh no. the whole Kingdom I just inherited is on the brink of falling apart and all I can think of is our sister. Its to bad you'll never be able to fuck a queen.", he snickered as they walked.

Aemond cackled, "You always could think of nothing but fucking, Aegon. Even when our father died, we had to find you abed with some paramour." He smirked as they passed through the halls and said, "Well, mayhaps I will. If we win peace, maybe our sister will be open for a tumble before the deal is sealed. Or maybe you'll let me say goodbye to Helaena before I leave. Mother always told us to share everything, didn't she?"

Aegon shook his head and snickered a bit more, "Oh yes she did but I was never very good at it if you'll remember. I once smacked Daeron for touching my goblet.", he laughed as they neared the point he knew they'd need depart and let out one last sigh, turning to Aemond.

"Don't die brother. I'm going to need you while I'm king. It's possible you may meet one of Rhaenyra's supporters at Storm's end... make sure Boros prefers you to them. Of course with Vhagar... I'm certain you'll be fine but all the same.", he smiled and outstretched his arms.

Aemond rolled his eyes in mock exasperation but smiled and hugged his brother, clasping him close, "Don't worry brother. I'll be home safe and sound, and with a Stag to wife. If any of Rhaenyra's friends are there, one look at Vhagar and they'll shit their breeches before flying off. I'm more worried about you. You may catch some Dornish cock-rot when you go down there. Who knows where there women have been?"

He laughed and withdrew after a long moment, clasping Aegon's hand hard, "Think we should invite our sister to my wedding? Mayhaps I can charm her to our side, and the war will be won."

Aegon smiled as Aemond called him out on his promiscuity again. "Oh don't worry about my cock to much Aemond. Targaryens may wed siblings but we don't want people thinking you'd like to wed your brother.", he smiled and let go of Aemond's hand.

"Now rouse that oversized oaf you call a dragon and head to Storms End. I'll make sure Helaena is not without a brothers company, don't you worry. And as for charming Rhaenyra... wouldn't recommend it, mother had me try long ago and even I wouldn't stick it in her.", he chuckled as he turned, waving back as he made his way towards Maegor's Holdfast.

Aemond called to him, "Don't strain yourself! You're getting a bit old and you have a long flight tomorrow!" He cackled madly, and turned on his heels shouting out for a squire and a page. His retainers came to him instantly, helping him buckle on a black and gold travelling cloak, giving him a pack full of provisions, and handing him his swords, his longsword and the spare. He took with him a bow and quiver and jumped on his horse, several Targaryen men-at-arms following him.

They rode through the streets of the city and reached the Dragonpit where Vhagar nestled, unchained, as Aemond did not allow anyone to chain his mount. The old girl was already being saddled and Aemond held out his hand for the dragon to nuzzle before storing away his supplies and nodding to the men-at-arms in dismissal. He mounted Vhagar and without further fanfare, lifted off, the giant she-dragon flapping her wings and blotting out sections of the city as she oriented south, towards Storm's End.

Aemond smiled before donning his helmet to protect him against the elements and he leaned in as she accelerated. It seemed like it was time for him to marry. It was a joyous time indeed. He hoped one of his nephews would be there. It'd make him even happier to put those Strongs in their place.

Sunspear

The news came to Qoren on a beautiful day. He had been watching the sun play over the ocean near Sunspear, watching the bustle of the city that clung to the walls of the palace, and the ships flowing to and from the port. A goblet of wine was in his hand, and he sipped, watching his city with a smile on his face. Several steps registered in the vicinity and he heard a male voice cough. Most likely Oberyn, the Maester. He confirmed it a moment later when he said, "My prince. There has been urgent news." It was rare for a man to be assigned to the same family he came from but Qoren had pulled strings to make sure Oberyn went home and not to some foreign nobleman.

Qoren turned, setting down the goblet, "Aliandra isn't pregnant is she? I knew she was getting too sweet on that Yronwood boy."

Oberyn lowered his head, "No, my prince. I'm afraid it's much more urgent then that. Your sister heard of grave tidings. She told me to tell you it pertained to the Greens and Blacks."

Qoren cursed. Those damned Targaryens could never just leave the rest of the world well enough alone with their feuds. When dragons fought, the sheep burned. And the snake was wise to hide.

He replied, "Call the council together. And have the servants set up wine and food. I sense I'll need a few drinks to get through this." His cousin nodded and retreated. Qoren slipped out of his seat on the balcony and returned to his bedchambers. Larra was out, probably entertaining guests. But she'd come to the meeting, he was sure of it.

Qoren changed from his simple silk shirt that bared his chest to the world into an ornate golden robe, with the Martell spear and sun on its' back. He stepped out of the room, saber and dagger strapped to his hip, and the guardsmen followed to keep in step with him, his brother Trystayne and Captain of the Guard among them.

The entourage walked through the Tower of the Sun and to the dull squad fortress that sat in the middle of the palace, the old castle of the Sandship. The great hall and royal apartments may have been found in the Tower of the Sun, but it was the Sandship where meetings of the council were held. Qoren entered the structure that seemed so much like a beached dromond bleached by the sun.

By the time he entered the council chamber and Trystayne took his place by the door, the rest of them were already there. Uncle Dickon, his Senseschal; Uncle Nymor, the Master-at-arms; Aunt Mariah, the treasurer; his oldest sister Meria, the spymaster; his youngest sister Obara, his justiciar, and Maester Oberyn were all there. Along with his wife Larra Wyl and his mother, Tenya Drahar, the Myrmaid. Though, Myrmatron was more accurate. Not that she would ever hear Qoren say that.

Many though Tenya didn't belong on the council. That she should enjoy her dotage as his grandfather Dagos does. But Tenya had been Princess Regent while he had been a boy, and helped steer the realm capably. She deserved a place now, even with him leading. Qoren nodded to each and took his seat at the head of the table, looking at Meria first.

"There are many things I'd much rather be doing than sitting here, so let's get straight to the point. Why did you wish for us to all meet Meria? What's going on in King's Landing?"

Meria had never married despite their mother's best efforts, and had instead elected to remain in service to Qoren. He suspected that she was carrying on as a paramour to one of his knights however. Not that he knew who, or that he would ever find out. She was the spymaster after all.

His sister, with her short black hair and wide nut-brown eyes said, "Ravens have flown to all the keeps of the Six Kingdoms from King's Landing to proclaim the news. We were due to be informed within a few days by the Citadel, but my informants in King's Landing spread the word to me. This was a well-kept secret. I didn't hear of it until it had already happened."

Nymor shook his head and said, "What news? Out with it already." Qoren suspected what she would say next, and his heart jumped.

Meria replied, "King Viserys has died, likely for quite some days now. And now Aegon sits on the Iron Throne." Everyone was flabbergasted. There was much trading of concerned looks and murmurs while Qoren digested the news, his stomach churning.

Larra spoke up, "Why should we be concerned of this? Whichever dragon arse sits on that ugly chair should be of no matter to us. This is Dorne, we have no part in this."

Dickon intoned, "That may be the case for now, but it may very well change. We all know that Rhaenyra will not stand for this. Neither will Daemon." Many shuddered at the mention of the Rogue Prince, whose Blood Wyrm and Dark Sister had sent countless Dornishmen to early graves.

Oberyn said, "My good cousin is right. There may be war in the north, but we need not take any part."

Tenya replied harshly, "You're a fool if you think that. Rhaenyra and Aegon will compete to see who holds the crown in the end. And they will call on every avenue of help they can. Expect both of them to send messages to us shortly."

Nymeria scoffed, "We can tell them no. There is no reason for us to send Dornishmen to die for a foreign war."

Larra, suddenly realizing the gravity of the situation, cursed, "No, Dickon is right. Whoever holds the Iron Throne may end up being an enemy. Daemon has no love for Dorne of the Triarchy, our closest ally. Should Rhaenyra win, I have little doubt Daemon will seek revenge and use the Iron Throne's armies to do it. He almost destroyed the last army we sent to face him. With the might of six kingdoms behind him, he would be nigh unstoppable."

That sobered everyone at the table, until Oberyn said, "And Aegon?"

This time Meria is the one who spoke. The spymaster said, "Aegon has no personal quarrel with Dorne. But plenty of his bannermen do. Those bastards that live in the Red Mountains keep raiding their settlements. And the Triarchy is loved even less for their tolls and piracy. The Stormlanders or the Reachman could convince him to send forces against the Triarchy or us or both. Even if only the Triarchy is targeted, the magisters will expect us to answer a call to arms or else Qoren risks breaking the oath of alliance. If we do nothing, it could very well lead to war, no matter who wins."

In the silence that followed, Tenya spoke, "So what should we do?" They all looked to Qoren.

The Prince of Dorne, who remained silent all the while, looked each of them in the eye before saying, "We cannot do nothing. We can hope that the dragons sort out their issues or leave us alone, but we must prepare for the worst. I will raise the banners. All of them. Every house will raise every fighting man and woman they can and fortify their positions. Ready the fleets. For now, we take a defensive stance."

He looked at Nymor, "Uncle, I give you the title of Lord Marshal and task you with the overseeing of our military readiness. See to it that we stand ready." Nymor nodded. He turned to Oberyn, "Send a message to my cousin Nymeria. Tell her that I name her my Grand Admiral and recall her to Sunspear to oversee the readiness of our ships and to name a new Warden of Ghaston Grey in her place." His cousin voiced his assent.

Qoren turned to his mother, "Send word to our contacts in the Magister Council of the Three Daughters. Tell them they should prepare as well, should war threaten them. And that we should stand together to face any danger." She agreed.

Now he spoke to Meria, "Keep me appraised of the situation. I know you have contacts with traders from all around the world. Collect as much information as you can, even rumors and hearsay about the goings on in the rest of Westeros. If it sounds important relay it to me." His sister inclined her head.

He addressed his aunt Mariah who had been silent thus far, "We may have need of surplus coin, should war arise. I won't raise the taxes but begin an evaluation of the treasury and our financial state, see how much we can bear if war comes. I want this report as soon as possible."

"As you command, nephew."

He spoke to Dickon, "Ask my bannermen to come to court to attend me so we may discuss this succession crisis. I wish to assure them that we are doing everything we can to ensure Dorne's well-being under this potential threat." Dickon nodded.

Qoren spoke to them all, "I hope war doesn't come, but it may be out of our hands. Perhaps not now, perhaps not even this year. But whatever dragon wins may set their eye on Dorne. We must be prepared. I will not declare for any side. But I imagine they will come seeking our aid. I will not be caught unprepared. Now go, you all have a lot of work to do."

They began filing out, one by one, until only he and Larra were left.

Larra came to him and stroked his cheek. He held her hand as she said, "If they come to ask our aid, who will you help?"

Qoren shook his head, "I know not. I don't even know if I will answer such a call. Any path could still lead us to war, and the death of my countrymen. There is little chance this can be avoided."

Larra stared down at the floor, "You hope for it, don't you?"

Qoren started to shake his head but Larra said, "No. I know you. You love fighting. You love the violence. The thrill. You say you don't want to fight, but I know that you long to be at war again. For glory, like your father."

Qoren said nothing, and Larra left him alone.

Dalton Greyjoy

"My Lord. A message from the blacks."

Those were the words that greeted Dalton when he returned to his family's ancestral seat of Pyke - a once mighty castle that had eroded into a collection of towers connected by rope bridges. They had a tendency to sway violently in storms or strong winds, and it was not unheard of for a thrall or warrior to slip or be blown to their doom. Back from another dull day of inspecting ships and overseeing the training of warriors, he had initially worn a bored expression on his face... but news from the east peaked his interest.

Dalton snatched the message from Doric's hands, and immediately begun reading.

Then, he threw back his head and laughed.

"My lord?" Doric ventured nervously, as the nearby guards inclined their heads in confusion or interest.

"It is as I said!" Dalton exclaimed when his laughter died down, a smile on his face.

"There's another message, my lord. From the greens." Dalton wasted no time in snatching that one and reading it as well. His smile did not fade, but he looked from letter to letter, an eyebrow raised.

Finally, Dalton spoke. "Prepare a meeting. You, the Drowned Man, my brother, and my best captains."

...

A little less than an hour later, they were assembled. Seated at a table in Dalton's own quarters. Edron, Doric, Veron Greyjoy, three captains, and Dalton himself at the head. Veron seemed out of place - no doubt the youngest of them all at fourteen, and clearly lacking his elder brother's confidence and experience despite their similarities in appearance.

Dalton had just finished reading through the letters - skipping through the needlessly long titles, of course - and grinning haughtily throughout. Finally, he finished, and after a few moments of silence - when it became evident he was waiting for someone to speak - Maester Doric spoke up.

"Who do you intend to declare for, my lord?"

"A mainlander brat, or a mainlander whore. I don't see the difference." One of the captains - a bulky man named Korrin - muttered.

"I'll take the brat over the whore. I won't send my men out to fight and die for some woman who never even lifted a sword." The second captain - a tall and lanky man named Ragmer - added his voice to the argument.

"Aye. And this Aegon was chosen to be leader - doesn't sound too different from the Kingsmoots of old." Lenning, the final captain, spoke up.

"If it was anything like a Kingsmoot of old, we would have had a say in it." Ragmer shot back.

"You think I care which kinfucking Targaryen has the rightful claim to a metal chair?" Dalton spoke up, his loud and authoritive tone causing men who had lived over a decade longer than him to freeze up.

"But my lord. You had everyone building..." Doric began.

"By the Drowned God, you think I would sit this out!?" Dalton demanded, tone filled with exasperation. Doric said nothing.

"Then why not join the Greens?" asked Ragmer. "The whore hasn't offered you anything. She'll forget about you the moment the war ends and you stop being useful. The brat offers us a target whose pockets are no doubt lined with gold."

"Aegon also offers you the position of Master of Ships." Doric offered. "With a posting on the Small Council, you can enjoy a great deal of influence, and as Master of Ships..."

"...I can build, organize, and command Aegon's fleets for him?" Dalton questioned. "Does he also want me to fetch his meals and wipe his ass? What kind of King can't manage his own fleet? But no, I should be honored, I suppose. Grateful that a heathen Ironborn savage like myself was even noticed, yet alone considered for the position." Now his voice was dripping with sarcasm, but then it turned serious once again. "I already have the best fleet. Why would I help make some other twat's fleet even stronger? Why would I leave my homeland to go kiss the boots of some foreign King in a foreign city and give my brother Veron here the chance to usurp my own seat in a heartbeat?" He clasped Veron's shoulder in a friendly manner to show that he meant nothing by it. Then with a roll of his eyes he turned back to Doric. "Do you even remember what it means to be Ironborn?"

Doric declined to mention the fact that he had returned to the Iron Islands as a maester years ago, before Dalton had even gone on his first reaving. He hadn't fought, but he was not unfamiliar with the culture... he just couldn't help but look down on it, and Dalton sensed it. Instead, Doric took the verbal abuse in silence, having long since grown used to it.

Then Dalton turned to Ragmer. "And Aegon would have us sail to the other side of the continent, to fight some sea snake fellow. For land that we can't hold and gold that will run out."

"But the Queen hasn't offered us anything." Ragmer countered.

"The Queen sent us the same note she sent everyone else, when she was in grief and had less time to prepare than Aegon. She'll notice our neutrality, and she will need us on her side... if only to rest assured that we won't fuck her in the ass when she least expects it. I'm sure we'll get an actual offer, soon." Dalton argued. "And if we don't hear back? We take Aegon's offer, sail around the world, raid her villages, sink her fleet, and any who ally with her. If we capture her, maybe I can even take her as a salt wife for a few days before delivering her to the King?" He suggested with a smile. "Besides, the longer we wait, the further the lords send their armies inland - which means we'll have an easier time raiding the coasts."

That seemed to placate Ragmer, and anyone else who might have had concerns in their own. In truth, there weren't many - none of them had any love for the Targaryens.

Dalton then went on to address the room as a whole. "I don't just want to fill our pockets. I want something that will last. I want to pay the Iron Price. I want to return us to the Old Way. I want to make the Ironborn feared again. What is dead may never die."

"What is dead may never die!" The room echoed.

Dragonstone

Ash

In a few short hours the fire of Rhaenyra Targaryen had seared away to ash. All joy had fled her, turned to rage, then despair. In a matter of hours, from the ruin had formed fury.

Despite the warnings of her maester, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms stood, gazing out across the sea from the council hall of Dragonstone. She was garbed, as usual, in the red and black of her family. Her gown was loose in its cut, to avoid presenting, as best as possible, the remaining pronounced bump of her recent pregnancy. Nothing could fail to remind the Princess, now Queen, herself of the pain that still tore apart her insides, body and soul, but at least her appearance did not have to present the form of failed life.

Daemon had been distracted along the way, by what, she could not say, but the reprieve in any immediate visit had given her the time to dress and stand. It would not do for those allies she could count who had already made their way to the seat of her power to find her crippled and abed, even if every inch of her body yearned for her to crawl up in some corner and forget the pain.

She would not crawl, she would not bow or kneel or beg or simper.
She would rule.

"Bid them enter. Their Queen wishes their council." Rhaenyra spoke to Maester Gerardys, hovering as he was nearby, without turning from her view.

"Of course your grace." He bowed slightly, moving away as Rhaenyra moved to stand before the great table. The map of westeros, carven by her ancestors. Her birthright, stolen, as so much had been.

Despite her grief, despite her pain, when the first of Rhaenyra Targaryen's loyal subjects entered at her order, they were met with a stern and noble gaze. Every inch the Princess of charm and severity both, now remade a queen, with the promise of one thing.

Ash.

That morning, the sun shone on the Seahorse banners as House Velaryon's ships made their way to Dragonstone. It was still early in the day when the Velaryon flotilla came close to port. There were a dozen or so cogs, with two score dromonds escorting them, along with two larger flagships. The Bold Laughter captained by Ser Valarr dipped two-hundred oars and its deck was bristling with ship-based trebuchets while several scorpions were arrayed on the broadsides and at strategic points on deck. The Sea Snake however was twice as large and four hundred oars with even more weaponry. All of the ships were ferrying as much infantrymen as they could carry. Corlys spotted Meleys flying over the castle next to several of her kin and smiled, motioning for the crew to start bringing the flotilla into port. There were some Targaryen ships already there but not near as numerous as the Velaryon contingent. Corlys expected that his house would be the first to respond to the summons, he just hoped they weren't the last. The Sea Snake docked in the deepwater ports first, and Corlys walked down the gangplanks with an escort of men behind him. Valarr soon descended from his own ship and fell in line, shouting at the men aboard the cogs, "Get the cargo unloaded and into Dragonstone! Hurry up!"

Men and women had been waving from fishing boats and passing trade vessels as the Velaryons came into the island and a spontaneous cheer went up from smallfolk and garrison troops alike as they spied the Velaryon men coming into the island. Corlys smiled but kept moving. Time was of the essence. The Dragonstone Steward came down to greet him and offered him lodgings for him and his men. Corlys accepted and informed the man that they were bringing cargo including more equipment and provisions for the castle and they needed to get them into the fortress as quickly and smoothly as possible. The man agreed and left to help oversee the efforts, Corlys and Valarr ascending to the fortress proper with a squad of men behind them. Corlys entered the great hall and was immediately greeted with delighted laughter from two beautiful twin girls. They both shouted, "Grandfather!"

Corlys smiled widely as Baela and Rhaena practically leaped into his arms. He hugged and kissed them on the top of their heads, laughing all the while, "Your grandfather is getting too old for this. Next time, you may break my legs." Baela grinned, "You're too tough for that grandfather." Corlys said, "Oh I hope so dear. I do hope so. I need to be strong for you, and your cousins." It was Rhaena's turn to speak, "Rhaenyra is calling for a council. Grandmother will be there. And Jace, and Luke, and Joff. But not us. Why not? We want to go too. We're older than Joff."

The Sea Snake shook his head, "Grim matters, my dear. And dreadfully boring. I promise, you will have much more fun sitting out of them entirely. I know I wish I could. Now where is your grandmother?"

She came to him quickly, Rhaenys appearing with a small smile and Corlys hugged her to him, giving her a kiss as the girls laughed in mock disgust. Corlys said, "Run along now girls, we have boring matters to discuss. Valarr, go with them." They complained at first, but at a stern glance from Rhaenys they sighed and retreated off, Valarr on their heels as the men took positions around the castle. Corlys looked at Rhaenys, "The Queen?"

Rhaenys frowned and said, "The child... did not live. She is still recovering."

Corlys sighed and rested his head in a wrinkled palm, "Gods. I must go to her."

Rhaenys shook her head, "Her pride will not allow it. She will not admit visitors other than Daemon and the Maester. She will summon us when she wishes to speak with us. Maester Geradys informed her of your arrival."

Corlys replied, "Very well. Let me get settled into the room then. And get some rest. There will be little time for it once the business begins in earnest. And I wish to speak with Daemon, before we do."

Rhaenys nodded and the two went to the room that had been set aside for them.

----

Later that day, more ships joined. At best, a few score more dromonds, more than half single-deckers and most of the rest only two. Corlys spied the red crab of House Celtigar and Lord Bartimos' flagship. He also saw Lord Gormon Massey's colors and a number of ships sporting the triple spiral of Stonedance. Along with them were the Lord Bar Emmon and the Sharp Point fleet, Lord Staunton with his ships that flew black wings on the sails, and Lord Darklyn's checker-sailed ships made up the rest. More ships than Corlys had brought, but these were almost the entirety of their respective fleets, while the vast majority of Corlys' ships were still at home. And these lords were among the most powerful of the Crownlander houses. They were still not enough, not nearly enough. Corlys saw the trials that awaited them ahead and sighed. Talk with Daemon or no, today was going to be a long day.

As he watched, he saw forces of men disembark from the ships. The fleet surrounding Dragonstone was starting to become respectable, but they needed far more. Corlys knew once business was finished here, he would likely call for more ships from Driftmark. If the gods were good they would have ships from several corners of the realm soon. As he kept watching he saw the lords depart their vessels. Corlys pondered what they should do with their families. If it came to war, they would need to blockade the Gullet, and do so with every ship they had at their disposal. Many of the lords' families would be stranded in their own castles, and close to King's Landing and Aegon's wrath. Perhaps they needed to send for their women and children to join them at Dragonstone or another safe harbor. He resolved to bring it to the Council's attention.

Corlys left his balcony and was joined by Rhaenys, and the pair went down to the beach to greet the incoming lords. The five approaching noblemen made a fine sight in their colors, with their men gathering together to man positions of defense. Corlys smiled at Bartimos and favored the others with the same, "My lords, you are a most welcome sight."

Bartimos nodded in reply, "I'm sure. But I had hoped more of us would be here by now."

Corlys said, "I am confident that Lord Rosby and Stokeworth will be here to join us with their men and ships soon. I feel the same for the Men of Crackclaw Barren and Sweetport Sound. Perhaps even Maidenpool and Tarth. Not to mention more sellsails and mercenaries then you can shake a stick at."

Gormon Massey spoke up, "That will still not nearly be enough. Even assuming all of them join us."

Corlys shook his head, "No, it will not. But we are taking steps to improve our position. Thankfully you all arrived on time. The Queen is calling a council. All of us with King Daemon and her sons will be joining us. Ser Erryk Cargyll and Ser Lorent Marbrand as well, I suspect. Let's get you all settled into rooms and refreshed before we begin. Agreed?" There was a general murmur of assent and the party ascended to Dragonstone.

Later, after they had some time to prepare they were all called in for Rhaenyra's Black Council. Corlys nodded to Daemon and smiled at his grandsons before entering the room after the King Consort, Princes, and Kingsguard knights. Corlys and Rhaenys were the first of the new allies to greet the Queen. Corlys bowed his head, "Hello, my queen. Allow me to introduce Lord Celtigar, Lord Massey, Lord Staunton, Lord Darklyn, and Lord Bar Emmon. They are but the first of many to declare for you, and their men and ships are already with us." Each Lord offered their formal greetings to the Queen.

Corlys continued, "I expect more allies to join us shortly, and I have quite a few ideas how to do so. For now, for those of us who are your first friends and truest, perhaps we can consider this your official Small Council as the rightful Queen. Shall we sit?"

Rhaenyra smiled a greeting to each lord as they were introduced, although her last, and most genuien, was reserved for the Grandfather of her children. Even if the intimacies of her first marriage were somewhat in question, the Queen had ever been close to the Velaryons, especially since Jace's birth.

"Of course, good-father." While her first husband may be long dead, the familiar phrasing did much to seperate Lord Velaryon from the rest, without yet bestowing a formal title. "You all, as my most loyal lords and subjects, will sit my first council. I regret that the granting of formal titles must wait for our situation to be made clearer, but consider your council close to my heart." It took every inch of her will to remain the height of courtesy despite her burning rage, and the seering pain within her. As the lords of her diminished realm sat, Rhaenyra remaind standing, in place of the helm chair. In principle, it gave her a greater sense of command, in reality, she would not have been able to hide the pain from bending her body to sit.

"It seems my half-brother has taken it upon himself, or shall I say, his mother, to spurn the wish of my departed and noble father, in claiming my crown for himself. Likely my father's body was allowed to languish and rot before they revealed their treachery, another crime they must answer for. While we know our cause is just, we cannot claim to start with the advantage. We must surely move to change that." As she finished speaking, she raised an eyebrow, as if to prompt the assembled lords to share their ideas for such. She had her own, but for now, they would wait.

Corlys and Rhaenys seated themselves as close to the Queen and the rest of the royal family as possible, in effect sitting between Rhaenyra and her family and the rest of the bannermen. He smiled at Rhaenyra, "Good-daughter, as soon as I received word of Aegon's treachery, my councillors and I worked through the night to debate solutions that we could put forth to this council."

He retrieved several rolls of parchment and opened them, "Firstly, you are absolutely correct, your grace. It is likely the Greens had a week or more to plan before the coronation, and we are sorely behind. Your brother holds every symbol of legitimacy and they have both more men and more wealth with just House Lannister and House Hightower behind them, and you can be sure that many more will follow. I may be the richest single lord in the kingdom, but the greens can still outspend us. I have taken steps to mitigate this."

The Sea Snake gestured to the cogs at anchor, "I've brought a significant amount of House Velaryon's coffers to the island. Some, I wish to store here, as Dragonstone is a nigh impregnable fortress and it would both ensure our financial stability and allow us quick access to significant wealth. The other portion, I intend to entrust to the Iron Bank for safekeeping. A portion of that will be collateral, as I intend to secure a line of credit from the Iron Bank, in your name. With my backing behind you, it will be an investment they cannot refuse and their considerable resources will allow us more even footing with our rivals in matters of spending. They should be sending an armed flotilla to retrieve the gold and an agent to work out a deal now."

"And indeed this is important, for we will need coin to keep up production of ships, equip and feed men, give as gifts to lords, and hire sellswords and sellsails. I've already had missives sent to several companies and corsairs, including the Company of the Rose and Captain Saan."

Corlys continued, "Since all the lords here have pledged to defend our queen's rights, and we are the greatest of the Dragonstone vassals, all with port towns and wealth, I believe it only proper and necessary that we should all donate a portion of coin to the royal treasury and aid my good daughter. I have already done so. My lords?" He looked around at Bartimos, at Gormon, and all the rest.

Lord Celtigar chewed his lip for a moment and said, "House Celtigar has stood with Velaryon and Targaryen for centuries, ever since the days of Aenar the Exile. We will not break faith today, and we will do everything we can to help. I will have gold sent for from Claw Isle." All the other lords nodded their assent.

Corlys smiled, "I wholeheartedly believe that Lords Rosby, Stokeworth, Sunglass, and the men of Crackclaw will all join us shortly with their own ships. Since every one is a direct vassal to House Targaryen, and has ports to generate trade, we can ask the same of them. Their contributions can flow to us, while our navy blockades the Gullet. We will choke off all sea-based trade to King's Landing and even the scales. Meanwhile, Dragonstone and Driftmark can take all the customers that King's Landing loses, as we'll keep the docks open. We will be on much firmer monetary standing. And once the matter is solved, all coin that we have not used will be returned to you, my lords. And the debts will be paid. The Lannisters can accomodate us, I suspect. They do love prattling on about paying debts." There was a general round of chuckling.

The Sea Snake looked at Rhaenyra, "Do you agree with these fiscal measures, my queen?"

"My Lord Velaryon has the word of it, it pains me to ask such of you my lords, your loyalty itself should be enough, but alas my half-brother has made the bed for us all to lie in, and wars cost more than loyalty." Again, each lord had earned themselves another smile and nod of gratitude. In more peaceful days, even that alone could have been seen as a great reward, a smile from the Realm's Delight, but these matters were more serious.

"With those matters attend to, we must work to cut my half-brother's lead on the matter of allies, houses Baratheon and Arryn are tied of us more directly through blood, but, great houses should not be called forth by raven alone." The Queen mused aloud, before continuing herself, "The Iron Isles and the North have no particular love for my half-brother." Still she refused to use his name or title, for now, the pain was too fresh.

Corlys nodded, unrolling another sheet of parchment, "I compiled a list of high lords who I believe to be personally sympathethic to our cause. All because they supported my wife's claim at the Great Council, swore fealty and devotion to defend your rights, and were public black supporters. They include houses from the Reach, the Stormlands, the Riverlands, the Vale, and the North. We can have more personally styled letters sent to them. But for the great houses, something else is needed, to suit their stature."

"Your great council was eight and twenty years ago" Jested Daemon, sweeping into the bleak room and comically flicking over a dragon figurine in gilded gold on the painted table in the likeness of a dragon. It toppled from its place in Kings Landing and rolled out across Blackwater Rush. That all eyes tracked its progress was testament to the tension in the room. He clapped Lord Corlys on the shoulder. "It's good to see you again Old Friend." He smiled genially. "And you, my love, should still be abed. It's remiss for you to be here spending your strength on these dialogues. You'll need all of it soon enough." His lips tightened. "We all will." For now, Rhaenyra responded with nothing but a stern look towards her husband, she did not hold it long, she had always found his flippancy amusing, but for now, she could not be seen to show it. Corlys smiled warmly at Daemon, "And you old friend. There is none I'd rather fight beside."

"We can go." Prince Jacaerys spoke up, perhaps slightly out of turn at that, seemingly focusing in on the meeting truly for the first time. He paused a moment, sure enough that he was not about to be immediately interrupted, before continuing. "They will not wish to commit their riders to battle, yet, nor will we, but a dragon is faster than a ship, and is surely greater than a raven. We outnumber them in riders, each of us can treat with the lords we can sway." His eyes flickered between mother and grandfather, the young prince was assured for his age, but still, the Prince's first real forray into the twisting turns of rule.

Corlys nodded at Jace, smiling at the young prince and turning to Rhaenyra, "My grandson has the right of it. We must appeal to these lords directly, and seeing your sons on dragon back will cement their legitimacy in the eyes of the realm. Lord Tyrell is just a babe, with his mother as regent. Lady Tyrell will either pledge banners with the Hightowers or remain neutral to keep her son safe, either way she is not worth appealing to. The same for Lord Tully, he is an old man who is like to support the greens if anything. But each of those houses have vassals who will be sympathethic to us. We should send letters to them, and riders to Pyke, Winterfell, the Vale, and Storm's End."

"These are the lords we must turn if we are to even the odds. And your half-brother has come to the same conclusion, make no mistake. They have only four riders, but I doubt Helaena will leave the Red Keep and her children behind. He will send his brothers to speak for him, where I cannot be sure, but Storm's End and the Vale are likely candidates. Jeyne is your friend, but she has certain.. cause to take issue with us." Corlys looked side-eyed at Daemon and shrugged apologetically.

"Lord Borros is a man who is nearly unpredictable."

Rhaenys spoke up for the first time, "He is my kin. His father was a great supporter of my claim. He will stand with us."

"Mayhaps, my love. But we need to ensure his support. And Aegon will court him. He has a powerful army at his beck and call. Both Baratheon and Arryn are proud lines, he will make sure to appeal to them personally. Remember that Borros has four daughters to wed."

Corlys grimaced, "And there is a chance he can appeal to Daemon and I's old enemies. Dorne and the Triarchy. With the Triarchy fleet and Dornish guerillas on their side... they will have an edge. Perhaps we can appeal to the Dornish, but it would be very difficult to get them on our side, with the emnities their people hold for us. We can send a missive, but I believe our focus should be on those four we discussed. If we get them to our side, maybe then we can approach Dorne. While the riders go about, we'll have the Targaryen vassal ships come to us and my fleet can blockade the gullet, and I'll make sure messages are sent to every house that we even have a chance of swaying."

Daemon had listened for longer than he ordinarily would but the Triarchy and the war he and Corlys had waged in the Stepstones was ever prevalent in his mind. He'd lost more there than he'd let on.

"Fuck the Triarchy." He spat. "We make for Storm's End. If the Greens move for aid from foreign sails and throw in with the treachery of the Dornish then that will only sour their hand with Baratheon. The Reach too but I doubt Highgarden would march against Hightower as it were. Borros has almost as little love for Dorne as Corlys and I have.

"The question is, who should go where, my queen?"

"If Rhaenys believes her words will sway her kin, I see little reason to deny her, but, we cannot deny Lord Borros is a changeable man, a display of force greater than a single rider would suit us well there, and, as the closest seat to King's Landing, we should be cautious of the traitor's riders." Rhaenyra mused allowed, her hands held together infront of her, careful not to touch or press the pained swell of her stomach beneath her gown.

"I would have the King accompany her." The Queen's eyes settled on Daemon as she spoke, her gaze full of unspoken emotion, of great variety, for only a moment, before the severity of her tone returned. "Rhaenys may speak with her kin, but fear comes in the form of Caraxes." She was deliberate to pose her will as a suggestion, for now.

"Equally, the Ironborn respect nothing but strength, and their fleet would secure our dominion of the seas, a pair of riders, the Princes, would be sufficient, a pair of dragons above their wooden fleet, and a promise of free raiding upon those who label themselves traitors." The latter statement, still a suggestion, was laced with no small amount of venom.

Rhaenys replied, "Aye, my cousin can be a hard-headed man. With Daemon by my side, mayhaps he will know that we are of no small account. And if we encounter any of the greens there, they would be fool to fight. It is the safest course. Perhaps we can offer him the hand of Prince Joffrey, to one of his daughters. And our support, if he wishes to seek reprisals against the Dornish or the Triarchy for their rapacity against his people."

A flicker of a smile flashed across Daemon's lips. They had the right of it about Caraxes but it amused him because his companion boasted as fearsome a mount as any herself. The Red Queen, Meleys, was perhaps as dread a prospect as Caraxes, though he fancied himself the more skilful rider. Either way, he was grateful he'd never need find out the truth.

"I'd be honoured to accompany you Lady Rhaenys. I'm sure you will see to it that I return safely" He grinned, squeezing Rhaenyra's hand in a token of unity.

Corlys nodded slowly, "The Ironborn do respect strength. And they hate the Lannisters and the Reachmen. Giving them the opportunity to raid and reave their lands would be very attractive to them. We could also give them leave and our support to raid the Stepstones or the Triarchy once the war is done. Those islands and cities have much treasure and many ships. Not to mention women. We need to deal with the Three Daughters at some point, having an Ironborn fleet helping us do it would kill two birds with one stone."

The Sea Snake continued, "But we cannot discount Winterfell or the Vale. We need to send a Prince to them. I do not think you want to risk Joff, he is young sitll. But send my granddaughter Baela and Moondancer with one of the Princes to the Iron Islands. That will still give us two dragons there. And the other can go North. Jace as the oldest, can appeal to Lord Cregan, the Lord of Winterfell is close to him in age if I recall correctly. And the North hasn't seen a royal in a long time. It is important to get to them first, I believe we can leave the Vale for later, after one of the Princes has success. What do you think, good daughter?"

"A wise plan my lord, and if we can encourage the Ironborn to solve another conflict for us once this is done, more the better, very well, Jace shall ride North and surely the North will remember its oaths." Rhaenyra sighed, no joy filled her at the next element she would add; "I will fly to the Eyrie, Jeyne has long been my dear friend, I am best suited to ease her grief at more recent times. I have no doubt she will aid us, but this shall make her swifter and greater in her support." While outwardly she calmly proposed the idea, within she could barely contain the dread of flying as she was now, she could delay some time, but she had no doubt it would not be an easy ride, if it were to be timely.

Corlys looked flabbergasted, "My queen, good-daughter. I cannot in good conscience agree, you must recover. It will be a long journey. We cannot risk you so. Besides, we need dragons here to defend the fortress and our fleets."

Initially Daemon looked as horrified as Corlys but he also knew his wife her entire life. Whilst the Sea Snake made his protest, Daemon saw the sense in it. "You are weak but we all know you well enough not to have you twiddle your thumbs whilst a usurper sits on your father's throne that by rights belongs to you. Yes. It is folly to fly in your condition but fly you will and in that case, The Eyrie is closer than most and safer than any. If you were to appeal personally to Jeyne Arryn then I think we can rely upon her support and the Knights of the Vale must be a high priority looking at the numbers."

Rhaenys put a hand on Corlys' shoulder, "A queen does what she must, Corlys. It will ensure Jeyne's support. We need the Knights of the Vale and the Gulltown fleet if we want to win. We need them quickly."

Jace too looked aghast at his mother's suggestion, while his younger brother seemed more confused, however, the pair remained silent for now, content to allow their elders to drive the discussion.

Corlys sighed looking down, "I already lost a daughter. You are the closest to one, I have left. But, I cannot stop you. Only do my best to help. I will send for a Maester from Driftmark. They can accompany you on dragonback and ensure your health. And we can delay this journey until after your coronation, which I believe we must plan. We should hold it as soon as possible and send the riders."

"This move will leave us with no dragon riders at home besides Joff. Rhaena's egg may hatch but it will be of no matter for at least two years. We have many dragons here that need riders. Mayhaps it's time to address that shortage. That way we can send the royals to treat and still have riders to defend us."

"Fear not" Daemon put in, "I have taken measures to that end. This morning, I put what Ravens had returned to flight to seek dragonseeds. There must be many and more across the realm with a drop of dragonblood. The Seven only know our forbears weren't big on fidelity." He could almost feel the raised eyebrows levelled in his direction. "Mayhaps... Mayhaps I might have heard of one or two myself." He gave his most winning smile but feared even in her weakened state, he might face some sharp questions from his Royal Wife later.

Corlys nodded in comprehension, "Yes indeed. But we need not look so far for seeds. There are hundreds of them on Dragonstone and Driftmark alone, thousands even. We can put out a general call. Offer gold, honors, and knighthood to any that would swear fealty to Rhaenyra. There are men I can approach in both the navy and the army who would be suitable."

"Well and good. It would be remiss not to warn these seeds of the dangers they face, though. We can offer them the riches of the Realm but for every one that mounts a dragon, five or more may perish in the attempt." He raised his palms in apology for adding another potential fly to the ointment.

"Perhaps, but the traitors will not know this in enough time to react before Rhaenys and Daemon return from the Stormlands." For now, the Queen avoided any further question of her health, although she did nod as to the proximity of her coronation. "The bowels of Dragonstone are proof even from dragonflame, they would be forced into a siege that could be lifted shortly, that, and the wild dragons of the isle may well defend their lairs as if under attack, a siege of this castle is a dangerous affair." The Queen mused, before raising an eyebrow.

Corlys stroked his chin thoughtfully, "You may be right. This is a nigh-unassailable fortress. We must keep the wall manned with archers and crossbowmen, and make sure Scorpions line the parapets. The same must be true for every keep and castle our supporters hold. But we are relatively safe here. It would be as foolish for Aegon to attack Dragonstone as it would be for us to storm King's Landing."

"My main concern is the navy. If we send a fleet to blockade the gullet, I would prefer we have dragon cover to provide both aerial reconnaisance and fire support. In any battle of ships, dragons could be the edge. But treating with the lords is a higher priority. However, if we can saddle more dragons, we must."

"And how would you seek to do this? To give riders to these wild dragons."

"There is no doubt that those without the blood of the dragon are unlikely to tame the beast, but, to a dragon, what matters the sanctity of marriage? Many who live on this island no doubt have some Valyrian blood in their veigns, perhaps if we offered reward to those who could succesfully tame one? So long as the wild dragons are not roused to cause further damage, it might win us a great boon." Prince Jace, despite the question being aimed at Lord Velaryon, was the first to answer, raising an eyebrow as he did so.

The Sea Snake laid his hands on the table, nodding at the Prince, "Jace has the right of it. Only the blood of the dragon matters. Bastardy has no bearing. We can offer knighthood, honors, and riches to any dragonseed on either Dragonstone and Driftmark. They will swear fealty to us and help his in this fight. We can put the call out immediately, and we will have dozens of candidates by tomorrow. Out of the many countless seeds who live on the islands, it is a mathematical near-certainty that we will find enough to ride the spare dragons. The advantage this will give us is great, I believe it is the best course of action."

Rhaenyra was long in her silence, before she eventually responded; "While there is merit to the idea, I do wonder if perhaps giving in to such a...unconventional approach, while not be something of a moral victory for the traitors. Furthermore, will a new dragon rider be content with petty titles and baubels? When they have the might of a dragon to command." She sighed as she finished speaking, silently cursing her half-brother once more for the situation he had placed her, and the realm, in.

"Begin with established 'seeds' those we may already know and can trust, see if the Dragons take to them, if not, we can look to your more broader plan." She finally decided, nodding with surity, the leading questions of her earlier words gone, for now.

"Are there any other matters to discuss? There is the matter of a coronation, but I would rather we deal with more direct trials first."

Corlys accepted Rhaenyra's orders without further comment. There were a few seeds on Dragonstone and Driftmark he trusted, men who were members of the garrison or the fleet. And perhaps one of his nephews or even the Celtigars could try their hands at taming a dragon. There has never been a Celtigar rider, but they had Valyrian blood as well. One of their line might be able to mount a dragon.

Lord Velaryon spoke up, "Yes. I believe it is in our best interests to try and court some of the Free Cities to our cause. We need not appeal directly, the Westerosi houses are of more immediate import, but the Three Daughters have many rivals. Braavos, Pentos, Volantis, Lorath. With your leave, we can send missives to the rulers of each city, asking their aid in case the Triarchy joins the fray. And pledging our support in turn to challenge their power once the war is done."

Daemon nodded his assent. "I too may have contacts in the free cities that ought to be sympathetic to our cause, or if not our cause then our coin." He shot a helpless look towards Corlys. "Laena and I travelled far across Essos together and whilst I might not have the most winning personality, she made us many friends." He had the decency to look sad at the memory in the presence of her grief-stricken parents though he had ever struggled with emotions other than lust and anger.

Corlys returned the look to Daemon with a nod. Even now it hurt to think of Laena. Mayhaps she could still help them, in their hour of need.

"Another issue concerns our bannermen. I mean those lords who are direct vassals to House Targaryen such as the good men gathered here today. Lords whose homes will be close to the wrath of your half-brother. We are already asking them to send their ships and gold here. And while the lords will need to leave garrisons behind to hold their castles, perhaps we should send for their families, the women and children specifically, and have them brought to Dragonstone? It would certainly ease their concerns about their safety. And allow them to focus on the matters of war."

There was a general murmur of assent from the assembled lords, nearly all of whom had their keeps located close to King's Landing with wives and children in potential danger.

"The protection of Dragonstone is open to all those who would stay true to the rightful Queen." Rhaenyra nodded, before she continued; "We would ask only that those who wish to have their families shelter here contribute further to the keep supplies, as the castle is only prepared for its current garrison to survive a long siege, they might also have to forgive the lack of comforts, Dragonstone was not built a palace." The latter point was made in half-jest, although it probably would have to be repeated more seriously to a few of the more dotted upon children of the lords present.

"Volantis has long envied our dragons, I believe we might win them over with the promise of aid from Targaryen dragon riders once this matter has been settled, and they are no friends of the Daughters as it is, nor will the Braavosi have much love lost with them. For each enemy my husband has made in Essoss, there are those who miss his challenge to the Triarchy, the traitor will no doubt court the latter, and Dorne, so yes, I do agree, we shall call East for allies as well." She nodded to her goodfather; "Ships and messengers will suffice in that regard for now, I am hesitant to commit any dragon to such a far flung goal at this juncture."

Corlys nodded, "I will have missives sent to the bannermen extending your offer, and will tell them to bring men and equipment to help fortify the fortress and provisions to supply it. I agree we need not send dragons. The Great Lords are far more vital. But I have many friends in the East, I can write letters and drum up support for the idea of alliance. Hopefully that will suffice. I believe we should also send out more messages to the free companies and corsair fleets. I'm expecting an answer from the Company of the Rose and Captain Saan soon, and we need as many fighting men as we can get."

This next matter would be far more sensitive. He had managed to work well with Rhaenyra up to this point. He prayed she would continue to be willing to listen, "Before we discuss the coronation and the official bestowment of honors or titles, I feel it best to bring another matter before this council." He paused to look at each man and woman, steeling himself for whatever reaction may come.

"I believe it is in our best interest, once we have gathered our allies and raised our fleets and armies, to offer terms of peace to your half-brother," Corlys kept speaking over the lords who opened their mouths to interrupt, "it is likely that this coup was not his idea. He was never one for ambition as you well know. It is far likely this is the work of his mother, and the Hand. We need to build our forces, but war can still be avoided. Dragon has not quarreled with dragon for over a hundred years, and the last time they did, the realm burned. If we go to war with Aegon, thousands will die for a certainty. Men, women, children. Villages and holdfasts will burn. It will bring untold ruin, destruction, and death to our lands."

Corlys stared right into Rhaenyra's eyes, "Even in our victory, it would exact a terrible cost. Winter is fast approaching. War will mean burned harvests, ruined shelters, depleted treasuries. Even more will die in the aftermath. With Dorne to the South and the Three Daughters across the sea, we cannot afford for the Kingdom to be laid low. War will mean that your sons, my grandchildren will need to fight on the frontlines if we have any hope to survive. And I will do everything in my power to avoid sending Jace or Baela or Luke off to battle."

"Good daughter, for the love you bear me, at least consider it. Once we have treated with our potential allies and built our forces, let us call for a summit. Let the family come together to discuss terms of peace. We can allow Aegon and his family to live if they bend the knee. Aegon and Aemond may be blackguards, but they are still blood. And Helaena and Daeron have done no harm. If we want you to rule, we should avoid doing so by spilling sibling's blood. There are none as accursed as the kinslayer. Prove to the realm you are better than your brother, and let your reign be one of peace and prosperity. My queen. We have all lost family, too many already. Let us not lose any more."

For the moment Rhaenyra turned away from the assembled lords, and most pressingly, Corlys. For the first time since the meeting had begun her fingers danced across the rings upon her hands, turning them ever so slightly. A nervous tick she had developed and conquered in all but the most emotive of situations. This was one of them.

It was a request that pulled at her very soul, made all the worse by whom it was from. Corlys was far too familiar and close to the Queen for him to not know what he asked of her, but in its own way, that only further expressed why it truly needed to be said. In the end, Rhaenyra relented with a sigh, before turning back to her council.

"My half-brother's treachery has already cost myself, and more importantly, the realm, much. A proper farewell to my father, who ruled us with grace and ability for so long, the sundering of our noble families, and the life of my child." Her tone was stern, as was her gaze, refusing to budge from eye contact with her good-father, but eventually her tone softened, even if she remained steadfast.

"But still, while war may seem inevitable, my half-brother and his kin will be given the opportunity to bend the knee, return my crown. The lords who support them may keep their seats, as to the traitors themselves...while it may pain me to forgive, punishment can be metted out without the cost of their lives."

Corlys looked right back at Rhaenyra and nodded in silent thanks, letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He loved her as a daughter with all his heart, ever since she was a girl, it pained him to see her so conflicted and pressured. She didn't deserve this. And he needed to do everything he could to see her and the children through it alive. War may have had survivors, but no true winners. This peace was not for Aegon's sake. It was for Rhaenyra, for the children.

"Thank you, Rhaenyra. Sometimes mercy is the most difficult thing to give, but I believe in this case it is the right thing. Once we have solidified our position, we can approach your half-brother via a missive to arrange a meeting."

Daemon had listened to the appeal and the cool interchange with a jaw so tight he felt about to gnash his teeth to splinters. "Make no mistake. They will have but one chance to put right the crown they have stolen and should they fail to take it. Burn they will. Burn they must for it is they that have passed their own sentence. Corlys, say what you will of kinslaying but we speak here of treason." His knuckles whitened as he fought to keep himself cool. Corlys was about to open his mouth in reply, seeking to calm his ever tempermental friend.

Just then there was a knock at the door and Ser Errk and Ser Lorent both reached towards the hilts of their sword when Ser Erryk opened it. A servant appeared with a man garbed in a travelling cloak at his side. The serving man bowed his head, "'Begging your pardons m'lords, your grace. This ser said he had urgent matters to discuss with you."

The man removed his hood and Lord Corlys smiled as he beheld Ser Steffon Darklyn in the door, his white armor and cloak hidden beneath the disguise. He had no weapons on and he kneeled before the table, directly across from Rhaenyra.

He kept his eyes toward the floor and said, "My queen. I apologize for my tardiness. But it was difficult to arrange safe passage from the capital with so many of the Clubfoot's spies and cutthroats about. I managed to escape with my squire, and a number of men loyal to your cause."

"I came to give you what belongs to you by right." He reached into the cloak and removed a magnificent gold crown, adorned with gems after the seven colors of the rainbow. He held it up above his head, "The crown your father wore, and the Old King before him. Your half-brother took the Conqeuror's crown, but this is your birthright. I humbly request you allow me to stand at your side, as a member of your Queensguard." All eyes turned to Rhaenyra as Steffon held the crown above him.

Silence reigned in the Queen's hall for many long moments as she beheld the sight before her, hands stilled from their movement across her rings, her eyes torn from Lord Velaryon. Slowly, she circumvented the table, the pains of her body forgotten for the moment as she approached the kneeling knight.

The rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms appeared almost struck with awe at the sight of the crown she had seen countless times before, and with only tentative hands, she took it from the Darklyn's outstretch hands. Still without noise, she turned it over in her hands, before finally, she looked to the knight who had brought the crown to her.

"Ser, you have done your Queen a great service, far beyond duty, on this day of few joys. It would be my most earnest wish for you to stand as one of my Queensguard." With that she placed a hand on his shoulder, before bidding him stand.

"It seems fortune already turns in our favour."

Ser Steffon bowed his head in reverent thanks and stood, taking off the robe entirely, which the servant took, and standing tall in white armor. The three Queensguard knights now stood near their Queen, steadfast and loyal.

Corlys beamed and said, "The gods send us a favorable sign. Rhaenyra is the one true Queen. I will send for a Maester from Driftmark immediately so you can embark on your visit to the Vale after the coronation. We can hold it at your pleasure, my queen, but I believe the sooner the better. Other bannermen will likely be here tomorrow, the companies who might fight for us. We can proclaim your divine right before them all."

He stood and stepped away from the table. Rhaenys sensed his intention and followed. Corlys stood in front of his good daughter and said, "At your coronation, I will swear my fealty to you for all to see. But I will swear to you now."

He knelt before Rhaenyra, bending the knee and drawing his sword to rest before him, staring up at the girl he had watched grow from a princess to a queen. He said the words, "For centuries, a Targaryen king has had a Velaryon to stand with them. Today, House Velaryon stands with you, our queen. My heart is yours, my sword is yours, my life is yours. I will stand with you, good daughter, now and always. I swear it by fire and blood." Rhaenys took out her own sword and recited her own oath, and soon all the other lords followed, until all of Rhaenyra's first supporters now knelt before her.

Corlys looked up at Rhaenyra again, firm resolve in his eyes, "I am old. Clinging to life like a drowning sailor clinging to the wreckage of a sunken ship. But I will do everything in my power to see you sit the Iron Throne, where your father sat. I should be dead already, but mayhaps the Seven have preserved me for this one last fight."

He'd watched the exchange enraptured but at Corlys' prompting, he too knelt before his wife as he'd knelt beside her on their wedding day. "My love, my Queen, I have already pledged to you all that I have, all that I am. Take it as given that I will pledge all that I might do or that you would have me do in honour of your radiance and splendour. In the name of our marriage, our sons, and in the memory of our daughter whom our enemies all but killed inside you." He kissed her ring.

As the first of Rhaenyra's lords kneeled before her, spurred on by the one closest to her heart, the new Queen felt the pain of the day fade, grief still plagued her heart and pain her body, but filled with justice, and moved by the love and loyalty of the men before her, pride returned to the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She made her way back to her place at the head of the table, passing the lords as they continued to kneel, her hand brushing across the shoulders of Rhaenys, then her sons, who had followed the motion of the assembled lords. Finally, she stopped for a moment, beside Corlys, her hand clasping him with greater force, the eyes of the Queen on the kneeling lord.

"If the Gods have seen fit to bless me with a champion such as you, at any age, then it must be true that they wish me to rule. I will pray that you are not simply among us to win a war, but to enjoy the new peace we forge." She smiled, if only briefly, before taking the final steps to her proper place, no longer at the head of the table, but a few further steps, to the raised floor overlooking the view of the Sea.

As she did so, her son, Jace, stood, drawing his blade in a salute, titled towards the Queen. "All hail her grace, Rhaenyra Targaryen, first of her name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Lady of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm." As the rest stood to mirror the Prince, the form of Syrax swooped past the view of the storm wracked sea. The collossal dragon let our a roar that trembled even through the stone and rock of Dragonstone, and was soon joined by the only marginally more distant roar of other dragons.

Sweeping across the landscape of the harsh island that had born the heirs of Valyria since the doom, yet more draonic throats gave rise to roars of salute, tamed and wild dragon alike adding their song to the cry of Syrax. Across island, storm and sea, the song of an empire turned to dust, of conquerors and a Queen spurned.

Even in King's Landing they would hear it, the distant rumble, a storm of vengeance.

--

The next day, the sun rose high above the island of Dragonstone and the ever-growing flotilla that now surrounded it. More ships had arrived since the first meeting of the Black Council. The seven white stars of Sunglass, the lamb and chalice of Stokeworth, the red chevrons of Rosby, and the devices of Crackclaw Houses like House Crabb and House Brune flew on sails and banners next to the fleet already assembled. The bannermen had brought all their ships, a great number of their soldiers, a portion of their coin, and their families.

Corlys watched the ships now at anchor in Dragonstone. Better than he feared, worse than he hoped. No houses from other kingdoms had appeared yet, and Corlys suspected they wouldn't until conditions were more favorable for potential sympathizers. And though they had most of the direct vassals to the Iron Throne on their side, it seemed many still sided with the greens or were remaining neutral.

Houses Bywater, Hayford, and Thorne were noticably absent. As were the Cargylls and Blounts. Around a dozen houses had pledged to Rhaenyra. There were perhaps a few thousand men now here on Dragonstone. More on Driftmark, but still too few. Far too few. The riders needed to succeed. They needed more men. Or Rhaenyra's reign would be short lived.

Corlys put it out of his mind for the moment. Several companies and sellsail fleets had accepted his offer and were now en route to the island. That would be another few thousand fighting men and scores more ships. Corlys was certain Lady Arryn would declare for them. With even one Great House lending its support, more of the noble families would be inclined to support them. Things were looking up. Corlys just had to do his best to make sure they stayed that way.

Some more members of his house had come to attend the coronation, but his advisors remained to administer the island and see to the army and navy. Most of the blacks may have been gathering on Dragonstone, but it was from Driftmark that the main thrust of the fleet would launch. Corlys knew that every ship setting out to sea would be loaded with squadrons of archers and bristling with scorpions in order to ward off dragon riders. They would have nearly no chance of actually downing a dragon with them, but riders were much less hardier and much more wary of being skewered. Without their own rider to cover the fleet, it would have to do.

He watched as one of the wild dragons, the one they called Silverwing, flew overhead and winged towards some other distant part of the island. The locals made no reaction at all but almost all of the new arrivals either looked on in awe or ducked their heads in fear. Corlys smiled. He remembered the first time he ever saw a dragon, as a young boy when his father brought him to visit Dragonstone. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, unmatched by all the wonders of the world he would discover in his many journeys. He always wondered what it would be like to ride one, to fly.

Some part of him considered trying to bond with a dragon. His wife was a rider. Both of his children had been. Almost all of his grandchildren were. But not him. Perhaps he could try it. Could try matching wills against one of the dragons. But he knew it was folly. He was too old, and would have been useless as a rider anyway. Besides, the sea would always be his first love. He was a sailor. Not a dragon rider.

Not that it would stop a few of his kin from trying. The call had been placed out and seeds were being approached to try mounting the wild dragons. A dozen candidates so far. Most of them were either members of the infantry or the fleet, men sworn to House Targaryen or Velaryon. One of the Celtigars wanted to try his hand as well, reasoning his Valyrian blood would allow him to bond with a dragon. No member of their house had ever been a rider, and the young man was eager to be the first.

For now he was the first highborn to be considered, and rightly so to Corlys' mind. They didn't need their noble supporters being burnt to crisps. Corlys wouldn't allow any attempts until after the coronation and the departure of the riders at any rate. Today was a day for Rhaenyra's glory. He wouldn't have it marred by deaths.

Corlys turned back to the business at hand, smiling and waving at the crowds with his granddaughter Rhaena and grandnephews, Aegon and Viserys at his side and an entourage of Velaryon men and women behind him. The royal children were garbed in black and crimson velvet while the Sea Snake wore a fine ceremonial set of turqouise gilded steel, a white cape draped over one shoulder and a glittering seahorse-pommeled sword at his hip. He walked with the vigor of a younger man, not betraying his age in the slightest. The Seahorse of his family sigil was worked into the breastplate, staring outward with eyes of white diamond.

The courtyard of Dragonstone had been given over to ceremony. The banners of House Targaryen had flown from the battlements for centuries, but now they were multiplied in full, and joined by banners bearing the personal device of Rhaenyra, quartered with the sigils of both House Velaryon and Arryn. The main gate had been thrown open and the path up from the port right to the very steps of the keep prepared, flanked by men-at-arms of all those houses present, along with further hallmarks of the Queen-to-be. Crowds gathered along the path, growing in import and affluence further up the hill, with the lords, ladies and wealthy citizens already sworn to Rhaenyra gathered in the courtyard itself.

While the procession of the faith began at the port itself, the standing members of the Queensguard, Septons and Septas and other such castallens of Dragonstone and Royalty, the royal party itself was absent. Still the crowds cheered the heroes of the Guard, and made solemn reverence towards those of the faith deemed pious and respected enough to mark the ascension of the new Queen. Despite this, all eyes searched for the notable absences of the Queen and her family, even as the procession approached the keep.

It was the booming roar of Syrax, followed by a crescendo of other roars, that heralded the arrival of Rhaenyra and her closest kin. Diving from behind the cover of Dragonstone peak, multitude of dragons upon the isle came into view, swooping low over the barren moors of the island. For many it was the closest they would ever come to the great beasts, flying just high enough so as to not displace those below, they swung over the port, Syrax still at the head of the wing, before climbing into the air above the path to the keep. Mirroring the course of the ground procession, the dragon riders were joined by several smaller wild dragons, mirroring their larger, tamed, kin, as the apex predators were want to do.

Just as the procession of the faith entered the courtyard, the dragons descended, setting low and gently into the grand space to allow their riders to dismount and join those who had climbed the hill through more conventional means. Rhaenyra was the last to dismount, garbed in a regal gown of dark crimson, laced with black thread. While the gown itself, and the train which followed her, may have spoken of grace and beauty, the finely crafted breastplate of dark iron, marked with the sigil of her house, the eyes of the dragons formed from rubies, added a martial feel, despite its ceremonial function. The Queen's presence was met with great cheer, those who had not shouted themselves hoarse at the very sight of the dragons.

With that, Rhaenyra began to take the final part of her journey, up to the steps of the keep, where sat the crown of her father, sat upon a dias of obsidian.

As the dragons soared high above them, Daemon was a boy again. Full of wonder and awe. His wife- thicker of body than she'd been but with the same captivating eyes that had looked at him so dolefully when he'd had her maidenhead at four and ten, was nothing short of resplendent as she ascended the dais where he awaited her. He wore a ruby-encrusted enamalled breastplate with the red Targaryen dragon twinkling in defiance of the murky skies. The clamour of the crowded masses drowned out even the crashing waves as he took her hand in his. Warm. A bitter autumn day yet her hands were always warm.

The ceremony itself was a blur. The Septon made concessions to the Mother and Father, Maiden and Crone, The Warrior and Smith and Stranger too. There was a whole passage read in High Valyrian that he could follow only snatches of from his studies as a child- some forty and more years past- though he was passing surprised this Westerosi Septon had such a command of his families' ancient tongue.

At long length, the time came for his to stand and plant the crown gently upon his queen's head. His whole life he'd chased crowns, he thought. This would do though. This would do.

Rhaenyra's eyes met Daemon's for a brief moment, a pause of calm among the hectic spleandor of the coronation. There, for the blink of an eye, she smiled at him, a sweet, personal turn of the lips, and for a moment, she was a girl again, the pain of the last few days cast away. Just for him, that moment, and then she knelt.

The crown was placed atop her head, her father's crown, her rightful crown. She paused before standing, if only to experience the feel of it atop her, and then she arose, turning to face the crowd, and outwardly, the realm she would rule.

Once again, it was her son, Jace, who first took up the cry, a cry that echoed across the rockface of Dragonstone.

"All Hail Queen Rhaenyra, Long may she reign!"

There was a uniform clash of metal as the men-at-arms of her sworn house turned as one to salute, even above the cheer of the crowd. Rhaenyra did not waver through the noise, did not let undue jubilation cross her features. The war was still to come, and she would not let the grief of her recent days pass, even at this moment of triumph. Still, she allowed a few more moments of noise, before she waved one hand, silencing those close enough to see her, for her to speak.

"My lords, ladies and people of the realm. Your loyalty moves me, it is through your trust in me, that we shall meet out justice against the traitors who would subdue the realm, and cast aside the will of my late father." She paused before continuing, her tone was strong and without warmth, this was a fire of vengeance, not passion. "The Usurpers have had their time to plot against myself and the realm, but no matter how long it may hide in the shadows, the snake can never overcome the dragon. Just as in days long past, the dragon shall have three heads. My husband, King Daemon, I name Protector of the Realm in my stead, may he bring to account those who have committed crimes against us."

Once more she paused for the reaction to her proclamation. This, she had not forwarned her husband of, while it changed little in regards to their plans, it was at least some formal recognition of the trials he would go through in her name.

Corlys took up the cheer with all the others, clapping Daemon on the back and applauding. Daemon may have had a dark reputation, but he was Corlys' best friend. And a great man, to the people of Dragonstone. All the fighting men, men who served under the Rogue Prince, cheered louder than any.

"My good-father was among the first lords to heed my call, and has long been a noble ally of my husband, and was a loyal servant of my father. He has done much in a long life of great deeds and ability, but the crown still has need of him. Lord Corlys Velaryon shall serve as Hand of the Queen, as befits our most able lord." As Rhaenyra spoke, her exterior remained stern, she did not offer Corlys the smile she wished to give him, instead she was still as the Septon of Dragonstone moved to present Corlys with the chain of his new office.

Corlys expected this honor, but it still warmed his heart to be presented with the chain. He lowered his head to allow the Septon to drape the chain over his neck and all the Driftmark men and women cheered. He smiled at the crowds and squeezed Rhaenys' hand before bowing his head to Rhaenyra, "You honor me my queen. There is none that I would be prouder to serve."

With the ceremony concluded, the crowd once more returned to cheer, proclaiming the glory and longevity of the new Queen, even if such a thing may currently hang in the balance. It was difficult to grasp how tenuous Rhaenyra postion was, with dragons perched all around and wine flowing freely for the local people. But even as the coronation was being celebrated, the riders loyal to the new queen were preparing to leave with their given tasks. The calm before the storm would not last forever.

-

[In collab with @MrDidact ]

Many Lords and a handful of Ladies had all been gathered in Storm' End at the request of Lord Borros Baratheon. What else? Namely the fact of which side should they throw their support behind, or if they should do it at all.

Many were speaking for the greens, some for the blacks and some advocated neutrality in this as well. It was difficult to get any words in - at the current situation. Since men of the Stormlands, liked a good ale before they got talkative. It also made some more brash and hostile than others.

"For Aegon! Never a woman on the Throne!"

"By your King! You farmer-loving dog!"

"For Baratheon! He shall choose, by our honor we follow!"

It some time, ordered to calm down - since the noise was getting too loud to understand anything. As Helia Caron looked around her, before she started speaking. "May I offer my word?" she asked, not bothering to wait for a reply - as a few gave her some dirty looks, while others nursed their tankards.

As she stood up, not to be 'looked-down' by the other Lords and to utilize some of her charms this way - Helia soon opened her mouth, and showed why she was called sometimes 'Nightingale'. "My dear lords...which amongst you has daughters? Or your' sons? Or your brothers?" she asked, the rhetorical question being directed mostly at Borros Baratheon.

"Since when, was being a woman - our mothers, grandmothers, sisters - a crime or judgement of weakness?" she said, indicating that some of them should be slightly ashamed of they had spoken. "Now, now...I can understand your worry...but we must also thinking about the consequence..."

Helia let that thought settle - namely, so many of the men, would start thinking as well 'what consequences'. "This 'declaration' if one can call it that - is much dangerous. The Small Council declaring that Princess Rhaenys' claim is null, void? How can this be?"

"Think about it. These men - were elected by our previous King Viserys I. By what right, do they have to disclaim his order - when he was the first to elect them there? One might ask - what claim does this Aegon have over, say Rhaenyra? Because the Small Council says so? So does the Princess. The claim of the heir, said by the King - many times and heard by us. Or the claim of the Small Council elected by the previous King....whom we heard, hours after the king died..."

"This is nothing more than a grab at power...are we really going to follow the words of some 'merchants''? Hightowers? Whom aren't even a Great House? Are we supposed to bend knee - since they thought - since they were on the Small Council, they had the 'authority' to dismiss the ruling of the King?"

"Some of you say, Rhaenyra is a woman? A Queen on the Iron Throne. She is married to a man. King Daemon. She isn't sitting on the Iron Throne alone...." spoke Helia, before she stopped to address them again. "I know, I know...I sound like I am defending a fellow woman. Honestly...I might sound like that...I don't deny it...but I am more worried about the consequence of this act..."

"How long...until the Small Council declares who is heir of what House? How long until they come after us? Our heirs? What if your daughter, is the only heir you have left? Due to cold or disease or war? Do you wish for your name to die out? No...many times in our history the woman, has carried the name, until her son and then his sons have carried the heavy weight on. If not for a cold...my father or my eldest brother would be speaking here...not me..."

"How long, before they start giving your House lands and titles to rivals, enemies? Other kingdoms?" she asked, letting the fear set in. "Why not? They have done so, to the most powerful House in Westeros. And why wouldn't they...the Hightowers now have the opportunity to do it...."

"Now...you might ask - well, why not join them....demand seats of our own on the Small Council and dictate our will on our enemies?" asked Helia, before she calmly stopped. "No man, rules forever. It might be years, decades or centuries...but one day, we might not sit on this Small Council anymore...but our enemies, rivals will have remembred everything...and they will turn all of our power against us...doing the same, what we'd do to them..."

"For the sake of our future, tradition...I suggest, we support...the creed of King Viserys I...not out of the want of a female ruler...but only, so the Hightowers can't use their gained power, to rob our kingdom of our wealth and power...." stated Helia. "Or...better yet...let us just wait. It might not even come to war. Both Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenyra might be debating about this as we speak...let us wait and see - how will our 'future rulers' come to us. With peace or with threats of war....I thank you for listening..."

Stated Helia, before she sat down - and let her powerful speech, be debated amongst the various gathered lords of the Stormlands.

Helia's impassioned speech rang throughout the Great Hall of Storm's End, where Borros' bannermen crowded on the benches or leaned against the walls. The rowdy Storm Lords were uncharacteristically quiet as the Lady Caron made her plea, though just as many traded sour looks or chuckled dismissively as those who nodded in agreement.

The Evenstar, one of Borros' great lords stood and the nobles turned their attention to him. Lord Tarth was bedecked in a rich blue doublet with the Tarth crescent on the breast, a crimson half-cloak draped over one shoulder.

His voice rose clear and strong, "Lady Caron has the right of it. King Viserys named Rhaenyra his heir. And the Queen Mother usurped Rhaenyra's rightful seat. This sets a dangerous precedent, and can only lead to greater ill in the years to come. We must either sue for peace or declare for the rightful queen."

The hall was abuzz in murmuring and the Evenstar traded glances with the Lady of Nightsong, nodding at the woman as some of the lords were swayed. Lord Borros, sitting in the high chair, kept silent and listened to every word spoken.

"I thank you for those words, Lord Tarth. He is right as well - don't be persuaded be these 'honey words of' peace and right and law. Even the name 'Queen Mother' seems desperate. And a desperate ally makes many promises that he might not even keep until the end of the war..." said Helia, namely this was aimed indirectly at Lord Borros. He had many daughters - the Greens might offer him the Throne itself...but likely at the end of desperation. Which was never as good as a man' honor of promise.

"Let us gather our men, our soldiers and ready ourselves. Hope for peace, but prepare for war. The Targaryens are at eachother' throats - we don't have to involve ourselves and have our lands burned...not unless, they are forcing us. Then we fight them back with cold-hard steel..." she spoke, before moving to a more practical term.

"We have for now, nothing...to do but wait and see...if they come with words and gifts...we can listen. If they come with fire and blood - then we shall answer in kind..." she finished.

"My lords, everyone knows that the Evenstar is a great man, and true," rang another voice. Everyone turned to witness Ser Orys Wylde step forward. He was a member of Ironrod's family, and glared at Lady Caron with no small amount of vitroil, "But why are we listening to this raving woman? What have the Storm Lords come to that we act on the leave of a woman? Aye, they're good for sport. But hysteric and frantic they are, the business of ruling is not theirs, rather the business of bedding." There were some chuckles across the hall, the Evenstar frowned.

"As such, I will not have Lord Jasper belittled so. The law is clear. The precedent set forth by the Great Council clearly decided that no woman would inherit the Iron Throne before a man. And even by normal succesion laws, no woman shall inherit when there is a trueborn son. Aegon is the rightful king by the laws of the land and the will of the nobility. Letting Rhaenyra press her claims threatens our rights, it doesn't reinforce them. If we let every monarch to sit the Throne do as they please and ignore the law, then Lady Helia's paranoid visions are much closer to reality than if we support our true King. What will happen with a King Daemon close to the Iron Throne? Nothing good, I can assure you." There was a murmur of agreement from several lords and then the hall began to degenerate into spirited argument between the various strong-willed men gathered.

Lady Caron for all that had happened, she merely shook her head - namely so Lord Wylde could see it happen. She allowed the arguments, to happen - before she placed two fingers in her mouth - and whistled. Loud enough to get their attention. "Please...we are all civilized here...no need for fists to be raised up...."

Helia sat calmly - unfazed by Ser Orys Wylde' words, looking at him, while seated. "Ser Wylde...such...words. I do hope, that when you have a daughter of your own - that it might, improve your manners," she replied. "And whomever you marry...I do hope, they won't mind your...brutish ideals...but what can you expect...."

As the mood of her, almost changed to that of a prowling hawk - having seen its prey of fresh kill. It was evidently able to be read on her face. "...from a simple knight. You don't have to worry much, just how to swing a blade...and which wench is cheapest...and not...dirty," she added, giving the men also some humor.

Orys gritted his teeth as those bannermen who were inclined to Helia's viewpoint laughed. He opened his mouth to say more, when another man stood. His tunic was half black, half white, two swans reposed on the breast. Lord Swann of Stonehelm smiled at the assembly and said, "Orys is a young man, and unused to the protocol of politics, and the manners a lord should compose himself with. And yet he has a point."

He nodded to Lady Caron, "My liege lady makes compelling arguments, but they are all based on fears that are as of yet, unfounded. The fact of the matter is that Rhaenyra's claim rests entirely on the word of King Viserys, and while that counts for much, it was decided by our Houses at Harrenhal that the Great Council's will superceded that of a King's, even one as great as King Jahaerys. Ignore this precedent and what does the rule of law mean? Do we become a land of wildmen who bend to the will of the next strongman? I think not." He nodded at the lords and sat.

Lady Caron nodded in reply, before she spoke once more. "That is true...but, from where does the law come from? The King of course. I am merely...advocating for the respect of our former King...if we don't follow that...how long before, we are breaking oaths to our own people?" she asked. "If Aegon was declared heir...and Rhaenyra fought against the claim, I would most certainly answer the call and fight for Aegon' right. Why would it be different now?"

There was a clamor from outside the doors as men shouted in surprise, and a dull boom rattled through the hall, shaking the tables and chairs. The doors of the Great Hall opened and Aemond One-Eye strode in. He was bedecked in night-black armor fringed with gold, and a black and gold cloak fell to the floor behind him. Underneath his arm he held a helm with dragon's wings on the top.

All the hall went quiet as the dragon prince came into the hall, scanning the room with his sapphire eye before he stopped before Lord Borros' seat and bowed to the Storm Lord, "My lord, thank you for receiving me. It has been an ardous journey and the hospitality of your hall provides great comfort." Many of the lords whispered their surprise, none had predicted that Aemond would come here.

None save Lord Borros. The Lord of Storm's End inclined his head, "It is the least I can do for a prince. Now, why don't you tell my bannermen why you're here?"

Aemond smiled and locked gazes with as many of the lords as possible, including Helia, "My lords, my ladies, I am here on behalf of my brother, King Aegon, Second of his Name, the Lord of the Six Kingdoms and the rightful ruler of the Iron Throne. I come to ask you all to declare for the true king."

Borros stroked his jaw in thought, "And what do you offer for this vow?"

Aemond grinned, "Many things, my lord. One of which is my intention to make one of your daughters a princess." That caused a stir among the nobles, the buzz reaching a clamor as Lord Borros sat back in his chair and looked enigmatically at the One-Eye.

Aemond continued, "King Aegon reassures all the lords and ladies of the realm," he said this with a glance at Lady Caron, "That he will respect the integrity of their lands and titles. No woman will be stripped of their titles simply because they are a woman. The law only pertains to the royal succession, a different matter entirely, in which we are in the right."

"Furthermore, in addition to a marriage between our houses, King Aegon wishes to name you to his small council. A new office will be created, and you will be the first Master of War, charged with matters of the military and defense for all of the kingdom. Such is the King's esteem for your lordship." The lords of the Stormlands seemed pleased by that declaration, though a few, such as the Evenstar and the Knight of Skulls seemed more reserved.

Borros nodded his head in thought, "A kingly offer to be sure. I must surely think on this."

Aemond smiled, "Take all the time you need, my lord. I am your faithful guest, and hopefully soon, your son-in-law."

"Wonderful words..." replied Lady Caron, the same one - that Aemond had once thought of making a good cupbearer. She looked far different in person - slightly more toned around the arms, than most women - and wearing leather instead of silk. "You say the King will respect our rights...what about the Small Council? They overruled one King' will - why not that of another? Especially after a long, brutal and harsh war? Followed by the coming cold?"

"Tell me this Prince Aemond. What about the rest of us?" she asked - bringing her weight to bear. While a woman - her House namely had control of most of the Dornish Marches - barring the small lands in the Reach and near Dorne. Her weight would mean half of House Baratheon' bannermen would either fight or not.

"Last I heard, the debate was still going. In declaring? Do you expect us to fight for Prince Aegon, right now? Or do we have the option of remaining neutral? Do we still have that choice? Or did the dragon you arrive here - gives us the simple illusion of choice?" asked Lady Caron - it was a rather straight...but decent argument. He came here on a dragon - which was a very forceful show of force. Plus they hadn't heard yet what the Blacks would offer to them. As it also reminded - that if they were offering such concession - it was good. Almost too good to be true. Plus, if one thought about it - the concessions were for House Baratheon, not for the rest of them.

Aemond did a good job of suppressing a glare and instead smiled politely at the Lady of Nightsong, favoring her with his sapphire eye, "The Small Council followed the will of the Great Council, the will of the Lords of Westeros. The will of the Old King in deffering to that council. The will of all the laws of our land. The Small Council lives by the laws. My father's will was sadly, not legal. My brother however is in the right. And so the Council abides by his will. Besides, I rather doubt my grandfather and mother would much disagree." There were some snorts and chuckles of amusement.

"The rights of the lords of Westeros are in no danger, so long as the law is followed. That is why your lands and titles are safe. My request is simply that, a request. A request for the valiant Lords of the Stormlands to follow their rightful King. But if you have reservations, there is no hurry in deciding. King Aegon will respect neutrality, as he understands the dilmemma you all face. He simply hopes you will all make the right choice and declare for the rightful king. As for the reason I took a dragon... well it was much faster than horseback, and these matters are urgent after all."

Outwardly the Prince smiled as many of the lords nodded in approval, inwardly he was fuming. Who was this woman to challenge him? It was lucky for her that his brother gave him a direct order to leave her alone. For now at least. Aemond inclined his head to Lady Caron and turned back to Borros.

Borros said, "This talk tires me, and I'm sure all my lords are tired as well. Break out the wine, break out the food, let us feast in honor of our royal visitor and leave these matters of politics alone for the night." The lords all shouted their approval and the tables were soon filled by vittles, Aemond watching Lady Caron and winking his one good eye at her before turning back to speak Lord Swann and members of Houses Wylde and Dondarrion.

His father was dead. A rush of emotions went thorugh Daeron upon hearing the news, though none of them was surprise. It had been a shadow hanging over him ever since his father had to postpone his last visit to Oldtown due to his health, and it was further cemented when the delay became indefinite. He even did his duty as son when he was dragged to the sept by a group of highborn girls to pray for the king's health. He only managed mumble out a few lines before his face grew red and he rushed out of the sept. They would giggle to themselves whenever they saw him after that, and all he could manage was turn his head away in shame. Still, he now wished that he had spent more time in prayer, in case the gods were listening for once and it would have made the difference.

He had held no allusions that he had a closeness to his father like his half-sister Rhaenyra, but his father had existed as being bigger than life to Daeron while he was growing up, with his thick beard and jovial smile. Sometimes he wasn't sure if he would still love his brothers if they weren't related to each other, but he knew the same couldn't be said of his father. If he was taught anything, it was to support and love your family, something that was clearly lost on his brothers and Rhaenyra. Daeron had always been aware of his freedom as the youngest, even if it made him into more of an afterthought than anything else. It ultimately led him to become much different than his brothers, even if he didn't exactly realize it himself.

He had been in the training yards with the other boys around his age, including Robin Redwyne, Willum Bulwer, and others that tended to group around him, when Maester Trebayn pulled him to the side to let him know that Lord Ormund required his presence. This had taken Daeron aback, after all this was one of his days of leisure in which he didn't have to directly serve the lord of the Hightower, and Lord Ormund wasn't the kind of man who cared much for Daeron's royal status, working him the same as any other boy who could have been named his cupbear or squire. The reason as to why Lord Ormund would need to see him raced through his mind, progressively becoming worse and worse, until Daeron shook it off, thanked the maester, and began to head towards Lord Ormund's study. He had taken plenty of bruises from the wooden practice swords in the training yard, and had even took one to his temple, which throbbed each time he placed a foot on each stone step. It was called the Hightower for good reason, and by the time he came the door of Lord Ormund's study, he felt as if his head was about to explode.

He rapped the old oak door a few times to announce his arrival and was soon answered.

"Enter."

Lord Ormund's voice was cold and consise, something that would have been better suited on a battlefield or devising strategy among other highborn lords than to a lowly squire such as Daeron, even if he was still technically a prince. The room was among the smallest within the Hightower, a bit cramped, but probably the most conducive when it came to balancing finances and performing the necessary duties of a lord alone. It even sported a small library of its own, with successive lords of the Hightower adding to it over the years. It was separate from the main library, but both were put to shame by massive one at the Citadel. There were plenty of scholars who came there to study, especially if they had no interest in being under the scrutinizing gaze of maesters. Lord Ormund wasn't a man who was particulary interested in shoving his nose inbetween two pages, so most of the books served little purpose than to collect dust, but they remained, if only for his respect to those who came before him.

Lord Orumund had his back turned to Daeron, standing next to an intricately carved oaken table to the left, pouring wine from a pitcher into a glass. As to what kind of wine it could be, Daeron had rarely drinken any in his life,his mother had seen to that. Except for the times Aegon and Aemond smuggled some when they were much younger, of course. Lord Ormund motioned towards an empty chair next to a desk that was nestled between the back corner of the room and a bookcase.

"Sit."

Daeron went over and sat in the chair, growing all the more nervous with each passing second. He had been in this room many times before, to serve his cousin with a variety of different matters, but had never sat in this chair. However, he had witnessed many important people do so on many occasions. He felt his cousin come up behind him, and place the glass in front of Daeron, still not giving away why he had called the young prince here to meet in private.

"Drink."

At first Daeron only sipped it, taken aback by how it was both sour and sweet at the same time, but when he saw Ormund shake his head, he chugged the rest of it, making him lightheaded and removing the headache that he had before. Lord Ormund then sat across from Daeron, fiddling with a piece of parchment that could only have been a message carried by a raven , which served as the messenger system for all of Westeros, maintained by every maester. "Your father," Ormund began, finally showing some sign of empathy, "is dead."

The news had hit Daeron with the amount of force that would have hit any other boy upon learning about the death of a family member, with time slowing and reality itself feeling surreal. As if this was just some fantasy and he was asleep at bed, none the wiser. The wine did little to alleviate the knot that was growing in his gut, and he sort of wished he had more to drink. Imagining never seeing his father again alive was wholly unsettling, and made him want to rush to King's Landing right then and there just to see the rest of his family.

Lord Ormund only threw the piece of paper on his desk in disgust. "If I had known the king's illness had worsened to such a degree... I would have had you sent for King's Landing immediately. A son should have the right to be at side of his father when he's on his deathbed. And noot so much as a single raven from my uncle or anyone else!"

Daeron had wished that they would have sent a raven as well, but they must of had some kind of reason for doing so, he knew neither of his brothers would be malicious about something like that. But with Rhaenyra the new queen, he just didn't know. His half-sister was more a stranger to him than nearly anyone else.
"I'd have you packing your things for King's Landing right now, if it wasn't for this other news." Ormund picked up the message again, if only to make absolutely sure he didn't miss a single detail from it. "Your brother has been crowned king."

Aegon? Even he knew that it had been his father's wish to pass the crown to his half-sister, and had never once thought about the ramifications that would come upon his father's death. "Then that means..."

"War. Plain and simple." Lord Ormund crumpled the message and tossed it back to the table. "I have no issue in seeing your brother crowned, lad. Just the way they went about it, scheming and in the shadows." He grinded his teeth as that single thought left his mouth. "But's it's done, and we have to live with it."

"I should go to King's Landing right now!" Daeron blurted out. "I'll need to help Aegon and Aemond."

Ormund gave Daeron one of his cold stares. "You'll be staying here. I'm still responsible for your wellbeing and won't have my squire go out on his on accord to King's Landing, which happens to be only a stone's throw away from Dragonstone." He had brought the wine pitcher with him to the table, and proceeded to pour some out of it into his own cup and took a long hard drink.

"Half the Reach is likely to rise up against us, with the mother and babe at Highgarden sitting the conflict out and doing nothing." He looked at his own empty glass with disappointment, but refrained from adding any more wine.

"War isn't certain..." Daeron began, but even he wasn't completely sure of the words that were coming out of his mouth. "I don't know what, but there has to be something we can do." At that Ormund only gave him a hard look, and got to his feet, guesturing for Daeron to follow. They made their way to the balcony that was connected to the study, and being one of the higher rooms within the Hightower itself, offered a stunning view of harbor of Oldtown below. Daeron could only make out specks of what he assumed were people below, but he easily made note of the ships coming in and out of the harbor, proving to all why Oldtown was the largest and most prosperous of the cities of Westeros.

"I did say that I was responsble for you, lad." Ormund began, as he scratched his short graying beard. "But this," Ormund said as he motioned towards all that was in front of them, "is everything else that I'm responsible for. Oldtown, the Honeywine, up to the Florents in Brightwater Keep and everything in between. The people, no matter who they are or what they believe in, or if they even care about who sits that metal chair, they all look at me for protection and guidance. Every last one."

Ormund sighed. "I don't relish to see war come to this land, nor would I wish it upon my worst enemies. I do I have an obligation to these people, my house, and my family..." Ormund paused as he gave a glance to Daeron. "War was coming ever since King Viserys took your mother and my cousin as wife. Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon will not accept anything less than the Iron Throne."

Daeron knew that Aegon wouldn't be any different, even if it meant his head on a spike along with the rest of his family. That was a grim thought for him, as he couldn't imagine Rhaenyra becoming a kinslayer. But what did he know of war or the changes that it could cause in people? He only knew that he truly didn't want to see any of his family kill each other, for whatever reason, legitimate or not. "You can't truly expect me to wait and do nothing?"

"Wait, aye, because you alone can do nothing. There likely will be a parley between both sides, should neither side do anything foolish before then. It'll accomplish nothing, as neither side will yield an inch." Ormund cast his gaze towards the north and everything that lay beyond. "It's better to stay here, the both of us. To raise an army and pacify the Reach as quickly possible- that will end the war more quickly- nothing else. Unless, of course, the new king directs you elsewhere, of which I'd be honorbound to oblige."

Daeron gritted his teeth. He felt so helpless, so powerless. How could a dragonrider be reduced to such, when he could take to the sky at will when so few could? He had half a mind to fly to Dragonstone himself, confront Rhaenyra, and figure out a way to end all of this. Ormund's words rang true to him, however, and he knew he couldn't go off on his own without his brother's knowledge or approval. This just made him desperately wish that he or his grandfather had added additional directives for him in that message. In the coming days, he'd just have to relent on these feelings and aid his cousin in whatever capacity that he could. The older man noticed this and the corner of his mouth twitched upwards, which was as much of a genuine smile as you'd ever get out of Lord Ormund Hightower.

"Take the rest of the day to mourn, lad. And tomorrow? Kill the boy, only men can go to war."

Daeron nodded and left the study, rushing down the old steps of the tower. Frome one step at a time, he rapidly progressed to two, and sometimes three, rushing by others and often getting cursed because of it. He had taken his cousin's words to heart, and there was only one thing he now wished to confide in- his dragon, Tessarion. Others called her the Blue Queen, and stunning as she was, he couldn't blame them. Her lack in size was easily made up by her speed in the air, something that Daeron cherished everytime he rode her through the skies. She was often chained in a cordoned off area of the yard, though Daeron didn't like it. He eventually allowed it only to give others a peace of mind, but he knew that Tessarion would never hurt someone unless he allowed it, but trying to explain this to anyone else often proved to be fruitless. When he reached her, she was already awake and alert, waiting... as if she had known that he was coming. He embraced the dragon, but no tears flowed, he was past that. She nuzzled him, her scales warm at the touch.

Removing her chains, the prince and the dragon took to the skies.

A bitter Easterly tore at the faces of the onlookers. To those cultured in Skagosi life, one could taste the salt-tang sweeping upslope borne off the Shivering Sea. The castle, modest by Westerosi standards, stood to the backs of the gathered mass. A thousand Men at arms, voltiguers, Knights, exiled Lords, cavalrymen and their numerous squires, servingmen, miscellaneous retainers and their mounts as the Grey Rose on an Ice-White field banner riffled alongside the Red & Black interlaced peaks of House Crowl. Other sigils included the Driftwood Tree on the Pale Green of House Stane and the Magnar Lobster of Kingshouse Green on White handling a black harpoon.

At one end of a crude palisade, a makeshift tilt barrier, sat Benn Snow, A bastard son of House Locke of Oldcastle on a huge chestnut destrier, his lance was striped in the purple and bronze of his father’s colours and his polished bronze greathelm emblazoned with two crossing keys. He was the surest rider of the Company of the Rose and had never lost a tilt. At the other end lay a nightmare; Kane Crowle was Lord of Deepdown and House Crowl of Skagos. He stood at over seven feet and was broad as an aurochs. His mount was a black unicorn with a mane shaggier than an Ibbenese whore and a temperament to match. Its eyes were a lurid blue, its horn some four and a half feet of polished onyx and it stood, some would tell you, thirty hands high though in truth it was closer to twenty five and was named Lancebane.

As Kane thundered to the end of the list he bore no help, allowing his mutton-brown hair and beard to flow loosely in the wind and he roared in defiance as he thrust his simple wooden tourney lance skyward. “Crowl!” He boomed, the Skagosi gathered echoed the cry. Newer recruits to the Company of the Rose stared on enraptured, this being their first visit to Skagos and the hospitality of Lord Kane they had never seen or scarce believed in unicorns and couldn’t believe their host would insist upon tilting against their most renowned rider before even offering of his bread and salt. The more experienced among them knew only too well the mummer’s farce about to play out but said nothing, genially cheering Benn Snow on, his cocksure smile hidden behind that greathelm.

There was little pageantry here, spectators were all required to stand if they hadn’t a horse to sit and in the centre of the throng stood the principal members of House Crowl; Kendra- Lady Crowl- Kane’s wife; Myrla Crowl- Also Lady Crowl- Widow of Kane’s late older brother whom Kane had also subsequently taken to wife; Dorla Crowl- Myrla’s twin sister and wife to Hobb Crowl, Kane’s younger brother who wasn’t present at the spectacle having seen it all before. Oric Magnar stood beside Old Coratt Crowl, Kane’s Uncle.

Oric was a man of fifty and served at Deepdown as a Master of Arms and had a complexion verging on grey. Coratt’s white beard was so vast it obscured most of his face, two dark grey eyes set deep beneath huge white brows gave away little of what the old warrior was thinking. Finally, draped in dark brown roughspun which was all she’d wear was little Marga Crowl, Kane’s niece now stepdaughter, eight years old but with all the misery and wisdom of eight and eighty.

“You ready Snow?” Bellowed Kane, the air was acid cold but his arms were bare as his head and he could feel hot blood coursing through his veins as well as his beast’s. He thumped the air a final time and kicked Lancebane into a trot. He was huge and crunched the iced earth underhoof but gradually built speed and momentum. Snow was quicker and his destrier was born into this dance; trot, canter, gallop, charge- the progression seamless as the knife-sharp wind. His lance a diabolical extension of his right arm, his shield arm adorned by a plain black buckler but as he neared the first collision Kane had thrown caution to the wind and his lance too.

The crowds gasped, some in shock, others in pantomime as the blunted weapon tumbled harmlessly to earth, Benn Snow saw it and seemed to hesitate, debating whether to check his first blow in the interests of sportsmanship and in that second of hesitation, all hell broke loose. With a thumping kick to Lancebane’s flank, the beast threw itself sideways, crashing clean through the thin palisade barrier into Snow’s lane. The destrier reared in terror whilst Benn Snow clung to the reins, lance and shield and all in desperation. Within seconds, the chestnut mount had its heart skewered through by Lancebane’s horn and the impact threw the bastard rider near ten feet clear. A sickening impact but bruised and winded with maybe a broken rib was better than kicked to death by your own mount’s death throes.

“Who’s next?” Screamed Kane jubilantly, Lancebane whickering in triumph before the horrified crowds. Those who’d seen Kane’s party piece applauded but only once Snow had been helped to his feet. He left the field groggily but managed a half-bow towards Lord Crowl before setting some of the Company’s servants and squires to trying to ease his head from a badly dented bronze helm.

---

For the feasting, three men in every four were to dine outdoors because the hospitality of Crowl though generous was limited by the size of the holdfast itself. Deepdown boasted a tower of only four floors, a simple keep in which the Harvest Hall sat a few hundred at a push and the rest was all outbuildings, the yard and the bailey. Outside the low curtain wall lay thick woodland and to the rear, a vast Godswood where only Skagosi were permitted to visit, no matter if visitors kept the same gods as many of the Company did. Their Commander was Albus Norry- his sister had wed Cregan Stark- Lord of Winterfell and Albus had left for the company that same night. Now he had risen to commander and this was his third visit to Deepdown. He had a broad, genial face though lines of age had crept into the corners of his eyes and his short cropped beard was flecked with grey in the corners. He had an uncommon knack for appeasing the sellswords in his charge, many of whom had grave misgivings about visiting Skagos even those that had visited before.

The sconces were burning low in the Harvest Hall and the men at the high table had eaten or waved away the fifth helping of roasted aurochs. Some men, Kane knew, had refused his board on suspicion he’d serve them manflesh- this despite them watching the huge steer turning on the spit all evening. Daft cunts he thought like I’d waste manflesh on the likes o’ you!

“Come Norrey, you old prick! You and your locusts have had half my harvest! What fool’s expedition have you twats thought of now?” He levelled his fork at Norrey threateningly but the commander swatted it away with a laugh. “You don’t frighten me you big shithouse!” He roared back. “My flesh is tougher than you fuckers could stomach!” Kane howled with laughter, he loved nought as much as a good insult, sharing Kurrgan’s humour for that. His older brother had bedded Kane’s own wife on their wedding night and when Kurrgan and their younger brother, Hobb, had been sent a pair of Stane maidens to wife, Kane had fucked the pair bloody in retribution. Hobb had tried to kill him for it but Kurrgan nearly choked on his wine when he heard, he’d laughed so much. Kane was proud to be Lord Crowl but he did miss his little big brother.

Norrey stopped laughing at length and shared his news. “In truth, Lord Crowl, you big ugly bastard, there’s going to be war.” He grinned like a Septon in a whorehouse. Kane pondered these tidings as Norrey continued. “Dragon versus fucking dragon.” His dark-hazel eyes flashed in the flickering candlelight. “Viserys is dead and whilst he’d said as his lass could have the throne, her half brother, the King’s second wife’s eldest lad had parked his fat royal hide on them old spikes before they’ve let on he’s dead.” He took a long draft of his mead and wiped the froth from his lips with his sleeve.

Kane scratched at his lustrous brown beard, besmeared with gravy and lumps of roast aurochs, thoughtfully. “A scandalous tale, old cunt, but the fuck has that t’do wi’ me or mine? They’re not like to burn Skagos and if they did, it’s near winter and we could do with the warmth!” Norrey thumped him on the elbow. “I know y’could do wi’ the warmth! Gods we’ve not come to this shithole to bronze in’t sun!” Kane spat out half a gobful of mead himself at that, guffawing at Norrey’s latest jibe.

“No, you’re right. Winter is Coming as my cunt brother-in-law would no doubt remind us, I know what you savages can fucking do out there in the field. The Sea Snake has made an offer- I’ve no more love for these Old Valyrians than thee but there’s little doubt he could pay his way. We just need to supply the swords.” The smug smirk of Norrey’s was on him again. Kane belched and shrugged. “I don’t give two shits for swords.” He began.

“Fuck you, Crowl! Swords, axes, fucking poison quills! You take my meaning. Gods, I wonder that they didn’t roast Kane fucking Crowl tonight and I’m talking to the Aurochs. I’d get more fucking sense!” Norrey shook his head despairingly. Kane was almost doubled over with laughter. “I wish they fucking had then I’d not have to listen to your bloody riddles!” He quipped.

“Fuck off. Listen.” Norrey had Hobb leaning in intently now and Oric Magnar was nodding along, sifting out the irrelevant banter and piecing together Norrey’s proposal. “You know we’ll rid you of some o’ them useless mouths afore winter by takin’ em with us.” He continued.

“It makes no odds to me, you sellsword prick, if my smallfolk are hungry I’ll fucking eat them.” He promised.
“The others take your smallfolk!” Norrey slammed his fist on the table which made Kane laugh even more. “Fucking shut it!” Shouted the commander, also struggling not to laugh. They were both well in their cups and conversations between these two were always ten times longer to accommodate all the insults. Often, the moment you feared Norrey had gone too far was the moment Kane would shake the walls with the biggest gale of laughter yet.

“What I mean, prick, is you get off your lazy arse and put that fucking unicorn to good use. What’s a beast like that doing shitting in a stable and knocking someone on their arse in that mummers’ show every couple o’ years?” He laughed along but waved a hand to show he was in earnest to an extent. “Ah fuck you, Norrey! It’s because I’m such a fucking beast that the clans have all gone quiet so as I can sit on my arse!” He boasted but Norrey’s words had a ring of truth that meant he was keen to hear more. “What’s some dragon war going to do for us Skaggs? I might enjoy a hunk of manflesh after a skirmish but I’ve no taste for dragon!”

At the rear of the hall, Benn Snow walked gingerly to table, having left to make water. Norrey pointed him out to Kane. “Him there, still half without his wits, is as fine a fucking horseman as any in Westeros.” He stressed.

Kane shovelled another mouthful of Aurochs in; it tasted bland by now and Kane wished Norrey would make his offer or fuck off. “He was shit.” he spoke plainly.

Hobb cleared his throat and leaned in so as to be heard. “I sthink my sbrother woulth like you thoo make sthome offer.” He slurred his words, the legacy of Kane’s fist after Hobb had tried to stab him. “Fuck me, gasped Norrey, I see why you do all the fucking talking, Lord Crowl!” Hobb eyed the commander with a cold hatred but Kane shook with laughter again. “You’re fucking telling me. I only gave him a slap ten year ago and now if he brushed his teeth his head’d fall off!” Hobb rose to leave. “Fuck ofth Kane!” He spat before stalking away from the hall.

“He’s a sensitive little prick, our Hobb. But he’s right. I hope you don’t keep your bitch waiting this long before you deliver, her cunny’d dry up!” He smacked Norrey on the shoulder and the commander nearly flew from his chair. “Fuck me! Watch out you clumsy twat!”

He laughed. “Listen up then. I’d have had this out be now if you’d stop pissing about you great fat fucking lump!” He pressed on before Kane could retort, “I’ve some six-thousand infantry, and near two-thou ahorse. These here tonight are mebbe an eighth of our strength. Rest are camped on the outskirts o’ Braavos, probably making too much fucking trouble for their own good.” Kane had guessed the Company had come in near full numbers but was impressed at their growth since he last feasted them here shortly after Kurrgan’s death.

“There’s not eight thousand men in all o’ Skagos, Norrey. You scarce need us.” He reasoned more seriously.

“What could you give us? If you gathered all your strength here? Obviously leaving garrisons and what have you… In faith, how many? How many o’ you cunts ride fucking unicorns for a start?” He quizzed.
“We. I mean if Stane and Magnar would agree.” Oric nodded to show he believed his uncle’s house would answer Crowl’s call. They’d have to secure Stane, too but those bastards loved a good dust-up more than he did. “I’d guess two.”
Norrey frowned. “Hundred?”

“Thousand.” Oric spoke for the first time, a voice like it was echoing through a weirwood log. “Of Unicorn riders, a handful at Stane, mebbe a half dozen Magnars and here, well there’s Kane and the lass…” Norrey looked askance. “The lass?”
“My sister, Tyene.” Kane spoke, his voice mirthless and cold.
“I had forgotten, I haven’t…” Norrey wondered aloud.
“She hasn’t been here. I commanded her to attend the tilt so she’s fucked off out riding. Mind you! She’s probably back be now but will have gone straight to bed. She somehow tamed that fucker that killed our Kurrgan. Came riding home bold as brass. Cold as the grave that one.” Kane admitted.

“But we’d need to take her too. If there are so few unicorn riders?” Norrey was pleading and Kane was resigned. “No. We’d need to take her because she commands my fucking cavalry!” He shook his head. “But this is all, Norrey, mebbe there’s ten can ride a unicorn but each o’them’s worth twenty heavy horse. You saw out there before.” He quaffed the rest of his mead.
“We’ll be glad to have you our sworn br..”
“I’ll swear nowt. Aye, we’ll come, we’ll fight and afterward, we’ll return. There’s hard winters in these lands Norrey, worse’n ever you get in them northern hills I’ll wager. I’ll not leave the Skaggs to face it alone… And I want my share. I’ll command my lot and leave you to yours but the spoils get split fair.” He levelled a knife at Norrey’s eye.

“You’ll get your due, though what you fuckers would spend gold on around here I shudder to fucking think!”
Crowl only laughed. “Shudder away! That need be none of your concern. Aye, write to this Snake prick. Tell him he’s Just In Time For Dinner…” The Crowl words, often mocked on Skagos and Westeros alike, had scarce sounded so shit.

(Also done with @EricRP . Thanks buddy!)

One last day, it seems. One last beautiful day. The green stretched across rolling hills, as far as the eye could see, dotted with golden-headed flowers. Frados tried to imagine a dragon tearing through these meadows, burning the crops with a spiteful breath and toppling the walls with a sweep of its mighty tail. The thought made him shudder. Still, sitting out in the field and putting off the inevitable was perhaps not the best plan of action. Reluctantly, he picked himself off the ground and began making his way back to the circular walls of the Ring.

"Good servant, kindly show our guests in," grumbled Frados, rubbing his weary eyes.

Without a word, the servant bowed, and left the chamber, returning with a single-file group in tow. "The Lord Frados Roxton welcomes the esteemed Hightowers to his humble keep!" He shouted. "Presenting the noble Hightower family, to see his lordship!"

"Gods! It's blasted cold! I thought the Reach was a land of sunblessed splendour. At least, it was last I left Oldtown!" Ser Otto cursed. His squire said nought, they'd travelled light, with no banners or design in order to draw no attention on their long passage from King's Landing. In truth, the day was bright and clear, the landscapes picturesque but Otto was an old man these days and he felt the chill keener than most. Summer was over and with it, he feared, peace. As Hand of the King he ought to have stayed by Aegon's side, he knew, but he was a Reachman first and foremost, if he could visit with a few of these lesser lords, mayhaps he could secure the majority of their power and best serve the new King.

He had a few ripe targets in mind, but The Ring happened to be his first stop and he had ever found the hospitality of House Roxton to his liking. He was tired, old and cold but he was sure this visit would not be in vain.

"Lord Frados!" He called as he rode through the raised portcullis, "Your greeting warms us on this chill day!" He offered a slight bow to his host and his squire, Evand Flowers, slid from his saddle to hand the horse reins to the Roxton stableboy.

"Ser Otto, you've traveled far," greeted Frados, approaching the old knight. Ser Haraway followed at his heels, quickly scratching notes on paper. "I hope you'll forgive the day. It is not my place to dictate the will of the Seven." With a gesture of his hand, the stableboy ran off to attend to the horse. "Now, shall we get straight to business, or would you prefer to enjoy our hospitality first?"

Ser Otto was hungry, but it could wait. If Roxton was to declare for Rhaenyra, best he heard it, made his appeal and if unsuccessful, move on. It wouldn't do to reveal his route in that instance as he'd make himself ripe for capture. "I'll take of your bread and salt Lord Frados, and we can get straight to business. Afterwards, you must tell me how your lovely family fares!" He smiled, he was always a man to remember his courtesies and knew Lord Frados was as much a family man as he. "Come, let us talk as friends..."

"Bread and salt for the guest," Frados said, and Ser Haraway relayed it to a servant. "I'm afraid since one of your esteemed family has last visited, my family has unfortunately become . . . smaller than it once was. My father, may the Stranger be gentle with him, has been caught in an unfortunate duel. My sister-by-law, bless her as well, had an incident in birth. Shattered my brother's heart, it did. He didn't last long after. That leaves but three Roxtons in the whole world, if you can believe it. My little niece, the Lady Roxton, myself, and . . ." Frados grimaced, trailing off. He didn't like to talk about the third.

"And Jon." Ser Otto finished for him. "I'm grievous sorry to hear of your losses. We had word of the duel, a grim business to be sure. All the more prudent we shield the children. Tis they who will inherit whilst the likes of me will be dust and bones." His mouth tightened. Would Aegon go on to build this new world? He wondered. He must. Nodding to a page, he partook of the bread, lightly salted and dressed with a dark oil that tasted of vinegar. It was too sharp to Ser Otto's taste but he made no sign of it and thanked the lad. "I trust you've had tidings of King Viserys' sad demise?" He began.

"I think the hermits in far away Yi Ti and Asshai who lament the loss of our great king," Frados said. "No matter the king, it is the duty of the kingdom to mourn his passing. And now, I think, the kingdom mourns louder than ever. To be frank, both I and my neighbors can see the coming war. Mighty houses like your own perhaps would not understand, but we are a small domain, and we tremble for even the smallest conflicts. We have so much to lose from so little, you see."

Otto raised a hand at these words, "I assure you, Lord Frados, nay, I promise you, we share these concerns. The King is my grandson and I have great grandchildren besides. If it is to be war, they all are in danger and Kings Landing is the skirmish line..." He paused, his own words had affected him and he felt genuine fear for the children, steeling himself, he pressed on. "We will offer Rhaenyra peace, the offer has been made, but as you might imagine, whilst we hope for the best we must needs prepare for the worst." He offered a wan smile.

"Yes, of course . . ." Frados mused. Already, he was weighing up the sides, knowing that when the time comes, whether one side or the other is more fool, the most foolish thing to do is to stand alone. "If I hear correctly, your allies within the Reach are many. If you would allow me to say so, the lords are quite eager to stand at your side. It even sounds as if the Tyrells would soon declare in little Aegon's name. Now, those reasons are many, I agree, to join them in their thought. However, if the . . . distasteful rumors in my court are to be believed, Rhaenyra has something of a marked advantage, both in air and water. What say you to that?"

Ser Otto was relieved to hear Frados go on, he sounded like he wanted to declare for the Greens yet had obvious misgivings. "Rest assured, the Sea Snake and his vessels are no match for the fleets of Oldtown, Kings Landing and Storms End..." He smiled, "Yes, by now my grandson Aemond should be wed to one of Lord Borros Baratheon's girls. We needn't worry on that score. Dragons? Aye, they've a handful more but we're talking young hatchlings, wild dragons and those that have scarce been ridden in a generation. The history will tell you, it isn't who has the most dragons but who has the biggest. Vhagar is sister to Belarion lest we forget." He smiled his reassurance. "I'm here as your guest, Lord Frados, not as the Kings' Hand. As a Reachman, like you and a friend. I've visited nowhere else before here because I know you've ever been a faithful vassal to Highgarden and I hope I can count on you to be a faithful vassal to the King. Our True King..."

"You've given me much to think about," said Frados. The conversation was reaching its conclusion far too quickly for his liking. "I appreciate your blessing my humble home with your visit, though I'm sure you have many others to attend to. If you would like to stay for a day or two, I would be more than happy to show you the guest chambers. If you would like to get on to the Wythers some leagues hence, I will have your horse brought to you." Making a decision this early, he knew, would lead to an unfavorable end.

Wythers... the squirrels were long leagues North-West of here, Otto knew, but if Lord Roxton believed that was his destination, all well and good. In Truth, he would have visited Inchfield first if he were heading that way but he was due to strike towards Smithyton and House Shermer from here. "You are prudent to take your time, Lord Roxton, you have suffered losses few could imagine of late. All I would ask is that you declare one way or other with your family in mind. These lands are our home, yours and mine, and we must needs stand together for the common good and for what is right. I'll rest up here tonight, begging your pardon, and will strike towards Wythers on the morn." He lied, Alicent and Cole knew his journey but it was an agreed ploy that his route be kept secret from the Lords he courted lest one of them chose to inform Rhaenyra.

"Well and good. Ser Haraway, if you please," Frados commanded, and Ser Haraway leapt ahead of the group to show Ser Otto the guest chambers. Frados watched them go, stroking his chin. Ser Otto would be gone soon, and he made many good points regarding his allegiance. Still, to choose that path would have both him and his niece cross paths with Cousin Jon, a dangerous man if there ever was one. Perhaps it would be best to think first, and when the time is ripe, the Ring must stand with the winning side. To slip now, when such a critical moment was approaching regarding his enemies in Wythers, would cost the house everything, and he can't have that.

Lord Ralf Crakehall

Theme - youtube.com/watch?v=NknjE2SBPxw

---

The sweet, chill breeze of northern winds grazed Ralf's face as he enjoyed a moment of tranquility, using what few moments by himself to enjoy the imagery infront of him. The King's Road, stretching farther than horizon, flanked on both sides the beauties of nature. Woods, wildlife, nothing. The King's Road in these parts were usually packed with journeymen with all intentions. Not now, however. The hour was early, earlier than folk like. Ralf had a tendency to do this, spend an hour or less on just enjoying the view. This exact view on a hill overlooking the grounds before it. He had done this for more than twenty years, every time he rode this path.

But the World tends to stop - nay, ruin moments like this. The voices of his retinue, armor clanging and banging, horses neighing, finally got the Lord out of his state of tranquility. They had finally catched up with him. As they always does. A choir of "My lord or M'lords" hang in the air as he turned around to face the retinue. All eyes set upon him. Ralf knew the men were eager for the sweet comforts of King's Landings' many a taverns and brothels. Usually, the Lord liked to tease the lads, using his sweet time in preparing himself for departure once more. But this time, he was in agreement with the rest. T'was best to reach the Capitol soon, no more delays. The band was a day or two away from the city.

As the band began their journey on horsebacks once more, a thought within Ralf's head made him curious. How was his children doing? As he glanced over his left shoulder, Ralf saw his heir, Roderick, with some of the younger men-at-arms that held security over the retinue. There was nothing but laughs from his son and his friends. This pleased Ralf, seeing his son becoming friends with those that serves Crakehall. Being friends with one's subjects makes the prospect of ruling much easier. And loyalties are more easily made. Ralf had done the same in his youth, and now he is surrounded by hardened men with swords that would die for him.

Now he glanced to his right, where his daughter rode, his Sweet-Apple. She was the opposite of her brother. Being friends with someone was something she had never experienced. There hadn't been much of friends for her back at Crakehall. There was close to none of her age that was of worth to be her friends, atleast not within the Castle's vicinity. She had only grown farther away from her family, spending the days with her mother and the Sept that had been assigned to learn her on how to become a proper Nobless. It wasn't healthy for her, Ralf had said oft to his wife, but she would have none of it. To become friends with lesser folk. Ralf had a hope within him, a hope to find a proper and worthy match for his Sweet-apple. Someone to bring joy to her life, take her away from Crakehall. If she stayed longer with her mother, he feared she'd become just like her. Disturbing thought.

A deep, troubled sigh escaped Ralf as the retinue moved on. Signs of life on the King's Road began to show. Merchants and normal folks travelling. Men and women alike payed their respect to the Lord Crakehall and his retinue by offering simple gifts, fruits and such. Ralf and his band graciously accepted, spreading word that Crakehall would love to house merchants and the like for their services. The lands of Crakehall had become somewhat desolate of strangers lately, and new-faces was rare, but dearly welcomed. Perhaps some of the merchants would take Ralf up on his promise on housing in return of their sales.

After Ralf had exchanged some words with a fur-trader from north, he noticed that his son had positioned himself by his side.

"Father, if you don't mind, why do some of the small-folk pay you respect? They're not your subjects, they've no reason to offer your such gifts."

A chuckle escapes Ralf, raising a finger and points it towards the Crakehall banner which one of his men were carrying.

"To give a nobleman a reason not to plunder their supplies and sully their women. A small, but gracious gift shows their devotion and loyalty to those of higher-birth. None would question should a nobleman, like you and me, decide to raid some of these poor-folk of their belongings."
A simple "Ah" comes from his son, not the reply the boy had expected, Ralf was sure. Nothing more than silence was exchanged between the two for a while, until Roderick decided to re-join his band of companions a tad further back the retinue. The lord did not mind. His mind was set upon the high towers in the horizon. They had finally arrived at King's Landing.

(Collab with @EricRP and @NecroKnight)