Ezekiel

The Dance of Dragons - (ASoI&F) (GoT) - [Openly Recruiting]

The Eyrie
(With Lots of People)



They'd little and less time to prepare. Darkness gathered in the Mountains of the Moon- The Knight o' Ninestars was making the perilous climb but Daeron Targaryen; youngest brother of this usurper King would be there quicker on dragonback. From the wording in the message from the Bloody Gate, Daeron had consented to wait at the Gates of the Moon when he reached them until given leave to approach. Jeyne was grateful he'd extended such courtesy but she was horrified to see how Rhaenyra would react.

"Your Grace" She tried to form some words. "I have made no invitation to any emissary from the Greens. Should you require it, I can request he remains below until you depart?" Though there was a chance here. She meant to take it. "Although..." She smiled. "Mayhaps I can make some plea for diplomacy here. Is Daeron not the mildest of Alicent's brood? Scarce like to make threats nor act rashly..." She felt the threads of a spiderweb knitting in her mind. "This might be an opportunity to get your enemies to show their hand..."

Maester Cowley put in. "No harm shall befall the Lady's guests under this roof. For what my humble word is worth, to flee before your half-brother arrives might give the wrong message. Why run if you've done nought wrong?" He smiled but Jeyne looked momentarily disgruntled. He'd never spent so long popping in and out of her chambers until the Queen showed up.

"Maester Cowley, see that a bird goes to Dragonstone to alert them of Rhaenyra's safe arrival." The maester bowed and made his latest exit. "Your Grace, I would declare for you without question if I thought you'd have ever come to visit me were it not for your need of my armies." Her hurt was plain. "I would like to hear what offer you have for me?" She smiled. "Surely, you have your own emmisaries treating with the other Great Houses? Promises of titles? Lands? Alliances and coin? Yet, am I to roll over and throw the lives of mine own bannermen to the winds because you used to be my friend?" She was to save this little speech for when the Queen was rested but the approach of Daeron had accelerated the matter.

"I came to you know because the dire situation I have been placed in required me to seek out my closest of friends, including friends I have not seen for years because under their own will they banished a member of my family, who would become my husband. I am not here to bargain, Jeyne, are you a traitor or not?" In truth, as the Queen had mentioned before, there was plenty she had come to offer the Vale in turn for alliegance, but the tone, self-serving, that Jeyne had taken with the Queen had awakened the more notorious side of Rhaenyra's persona, that on unquenching, if controlled, anger. Loyalty may be rewarded, but it was not bought.

Traitor? Jeyne composed her face and remembered the blade across her lap when the Queen was carried into the reception Hall. Perhaps she deserved that. "I hope your other emmisaries are equipped with better diplomacy, truly." She smiled. "All I ask of you is you take my Stewardess with you back to Dragonstone." Her eyes welled to hear the request voiced aloud. Aya was her everything but it wouldn't do to show that here. "It's not good for her to linger here. There are questions... Questions she must ask that I have no answers for. Did Daemon ever tell you that it was he who brought her here to foster with me as a child?" She wondered how secretive the Rogue Prince had been about the child. She had suspected Aya may have been his get but there was little of the Targaryen look about her. Indeed, it had troubled her to wonder why he'd taken so much trouble for a "Refugee of the War in the Stepstones", which, aside from her name, was all the information Jeyne had ever had of Aya.

Now, with war looming, Jeyne was resigned to the need to take a husband and provide a male heir to save her infernal cousins and nephews from squabbling over the title in the same way these Targaryens now did for their throne. Aya wouldn't like that so Jeyne had broken her own heart by making the decision to send her to court... If the Queen would have it. There were answers Daemon owed the girl, besides and Jeyne was hardly of a mind to invite him to the Eyrie.

"So, the matter that holds you back is not one of realm, but of heart." Rhaenyra left it at that, rather than expand on the matter. She had been friends with Jeyne, of varying degrees, for most of their lives, there were certain things one could not help but notice. Daemon's 'adventures' had once wounded her pride, before they had married, but now, so long as they remained in the past, she was quite comfortable with them. She could survive one more foreign bastard.

"The girl may accompany me, she seems fascinated enough with Syrax." Rhaenyra had no desire to await any other form of transport, despite her own health, even if it required her to pause in the Eyrie, Jeyne's steward would have to join her. It was the, that she finally turned her thoughts to the most pressing of Jeyne's requests.

"Daeron, true enough, suffers few of the flaws that so plague his older brothers, and young enough to be naieve. I will talk with my brother, we shall see how one of them justifies themselves to me." Some more of her fire returned at that, a burning anger that had began with the death of her daughter, and simmered ever since. For now, she refrained to clarify on the concessions she planned to provide the Vale, as focused as she was on this latter matter.

She sighed in relief but the room seemed to spin witht he weight of all she had let go. "Then, I suppose we have a prince to meet." She bowed her head in deference and escorted the Queen from the chambers in anticipation of Daeron's arrival. "Send the message Prince Daeron may approach from the Gates of the Moon..." She told Loras Lipps, a squire who was clumsy as a drunken bear. "Actually, make sure Maester Cowley sends it... you'll only scare the birds!" He scurried off without a word.

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"Blacker than a bastard up here!" Kennet Nash growled. It was a common turn of phrase he'd used and Harold, an actual bastard although scarcely black, paid him no mind. It was true, though. Since leaving Stone- the first waycastle on the climb up to the Eyrie, the track had wended its way through narrow passes and much of the time the moon and sky were obscured by towering fingers of dark stone. "I've made this climb a half-dozen times but it's always been daylight." Jon admitted. "It's seldom looked so dark."

"Bugger the dark! It's cold! Harold moaned into his bunched up cloak. He'd been quiet thus far, choosing to wrap his cloak over his mouth so his own warm breath kept the chill off his lips. Steam rose in spiralling columns each time the sure-footed garrons exhaled. Before the moon disappeared behind rock, it had illuminated the frost so that the very surface of the mountain shone like a thousand stars. Now they were as good as blind, save for their guide's meagre lamplight.

"It's sometimes better to close your eyes for these bits." Came the soothing voice of their guide, "We're making such good progress, though. At this rate, you'll have time for a nap before breaking your fast!" The girl was just a cooper's daughter from near Redfort. Earlier in the trek, she'd been talking of gossip from Wickenden Market and Jon had listened keenly; The Widow o Ninestars, his sister-in law, was a Waxley by birth but there'd been nothing noteworthy to speak of. Wickenden was for the Blacks and wanted Lady Jeyne to declare for Rhaenyra quickly. Redfort was to rise at last to Protector of the Vale; Lord Steffon was to wed the Maiden within a moon's turn. Again? Jon thought. He'd lost count of the number of times it was said Steffon Redfort had seen his advances rebuffed by Lady Jeyne.

Jon tried to close his eyes and apart from feeling quite spooked that he couldn't really tell the difference, opted to leave them open. As much to ward against falling asleep in the saddle and toppling off the mountain as anything else.

"Shit!" Cursed Harold, signifying he'd tried the same thing and nearly done exactly that.

"Tell us your name young maiden." Jon asked instead, feeling the question remiss having been in the girl's company for over two hours now.

"I am called Farla." She spoke mildly, her speech was eloquent, like a highborn girl, but she'd said only that her father was a barrelmaker and little else. "A pretty name." Jon lied. He thought the girl pleasant but her name was really shit. "How did you come to know these mountains so well, child?" He pressed on, the smalltalk was keeping everyone's mind off the blind ascent which he thought only for the good.

"I trained as a guide here on the ascent to the Eyrie and once apprenticed I had learned the way..." Jon was lost for words; it was the most boring answer he'd ever heard and he wondered if previous visitors had thrown themselves into the eternal darkness rather than talk with Farla. He tried to remember her face from their introduction at the waycastle but she'd made as much impression upon him there as her words had since. He frantically fought for some event that could keep he and his companions awake when the beating of wings shook him from his reverie. Up ahead, a thin finger of silvery moonlight betrayed a gap in the stone towards which he spurred his garron.

Harold followed and finally Kennet. Through the gap they could see out for long leagues across the Vale, its streams and fields bathed in the celestial light, the beating sound of buffeting air continued and a black shadow whisked across their stunned faces. A dragon. A dragon crawled through the ink-black night, silhoutted by the moonbeams higher and higher towards the Eyrie. Which dragon it was and why it shared a common destination with them, Jon feared to guess. Kicking the garrons on, the trio followed Farla keely, eager to see the beast up close and to meet with its owner.

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The raven had come down from the Eyrie much more quickly than Daeron had originally thought that it would, though he still had to spend considerable time at the Gates of the Moon waiting. He waited within the main keep of the fortification, where the knights stationed there joked amongst themselves about dragons, though Daeron could still hear some trepidation in the sound of their voices. Many of them came up to him personally to say that it was about time that the true king had sent someone to steel Lady Jeyne into action, but Daeron did spy a few soldiers that were keeping to themselves, staring at him in silence. Supporters of my sister, Daeron thought to himself. Even he had heard the tales of his uncle's actions in the Vale, but he had no idea that the animosity still existed and was so strong.

He did have the chance to get something to eat, in which he thanked all the knights within earshot graciously. It had been some some time since he had last ate, as he had wanted to make as much time as possible in the final stretch of his journey, so getting anything at all was much appreciated. It wasn't anything special, little more than a hunk of some kind of meat smothered in gravy with baked potatoes at the side. He had no complaints, and was hardly in any kind of position to do so, but it was filling, and that was all he cared about at this point. Being in a hearth-warmed keep with something warm to put inside his belly... already a far cry from what he had to experience during these last few days since he left Oldtown.

Daeron had been seated at the high table, though he had at first refused such an honor, Ser Bronn Waynwood, the commander of the garrison, would have none of it. He was both a stern and serious man, to the point that he reminded Daeron a lot of Ormund Hightower, and that at least made him feel much more comfortable in this unfamiliar setting. They talked as they ate, and during the whole time, Daeron couldn't pin whether or not the knight supported his brother or his sister, though his loyalty to the Lady of the Eyrie was clearly not to be questioned. Daeron didn't wish to push any further, as he was still only a guest in these lands, when it all boiled down to it, and it wouldn't do well for anyone involved if it seemed he was trying to court a sworn knight independently of their liege.

Soon enough, a serving boy appeared before them both, with a letter in his hands, to which he bequeathed into Ser Bronn's possession. He scanned the message quickly and thoroughly, all without a true change of expression. "So the Lady now awaits you, it seems."

At that, the familiar feeling in his stomach returned, and the food and ale that he just consumed did little to settle it. This was it. Once again, he offered a thousand thanks for the hospitality that he had received, in which Ser Bronn accepted as any other dutiful knight would have. He finally made his leave, as he began down the the great hall, passing tables of laughter that grew silent as the men grew aware that he was leaving. It was all foreboding, with a great weight beginning to sit on his shoulders, but he knew that he had to carry it. He couldn't fail his brothers... or war would be inevitable. He had sometimes wondered in these past few weeks if they actually wanted war, but knew that couldn't be true. What could they gain them that they already didn't have, whether it was attained through honorable means or not?

He missed the warm keep the second that he stepped outside, quickly placing the hood over his silver hair and pulling his cloak tight against him. He looked for Tessarion and found her perched atop one of the many towers, watching. For what, Daeron couldn't be exactly sure, but it still have him a much needed peace of mind. The blue dragon made her way to the ground before Daeron with the same grace that he always expected of her, and bowed her head and wings so that he could get on. She always knew when it was time to take flight.

To the skies they soared, and the the cold winds buffetted both dragon and prince. Daeron could truly say, without exception, that this was the coldest he had ever been in his entire life, no other memory even came close. It had grown dark, so it was even colder than it had before, even if Daeron didn't think it was possible. Still, Tessarion was always sure of of wing, and he didn't have to ever fear whilst he was atop of her back. Even in the darkness, he could spy the sparkling mountain streams due to the moonlight, and knew that it had to be the cleanest water in the Seven Kingdoms. But then out of the corner of his eye, surprising even himself, he could see movement on the mountain pass that winded around the mountain up to the Eyrie. He had once considered taking it himself, but there was the matter of expedience and urgency to think of, as well as it would be foolish of him to leave Tessarion behind, for any lengthy period. His curiosity pulled him to get closer to make out who exactly they were, but he knew better. He didn't want to risk startling them to such an extent that they could lose their footing. Daeron had no idea how safe those trails were. However, despite all of his feelings, Tessarion still made a defiant roar as they moved up to the Eyrie itself.

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In the High Hall of the Eyrie, one man stood in the long, austere chamber. He was tall, blonde of hair, and blue of eye. The falcon and crescent of House Arryn was blazoned on the back of his light blue cloak, draping his white and blue doublet. A falcon-pommeled longsword was strapped to his belt, next to a richly made dirk. Ser Eddison Arryn, one of numerous Arryn cousins from cadet branches spread throughout the Vale, contemplated the Weirwood throne of the Maiden of the Vale.

He was alone, the wind howling against the marble of the castle as the torch light played against the sharp countours of his cheeks and jaw. He stared at the throne for a long while, before eventually breaking the gaze and turning as he heard someone approach.

Aya was bedecked in her customary thin, muslin shift. Her tan legs exposed beneath the white fabric; her light-blue painted toenails visible in her leather sandals. She was ever the plainest dressed girl since childhood but even rising to the position of stewardess hadn't motivated the Lysene refugee to garb herself in any other way. Lady Jeyne made no complaint and everybody had grown used to it now. She had the tendency to move around the castle's environs as lithe as a cat and twice as quiet. Her golden hair a stark shock of brightness against her distinctly un-Lysene dark skin. Aya. Three letters was all she was. Not Aya Stone because she was not of the Vale, nor was she even a confirmed bastard. She answered to any surname from Arryn to Stone because it didn't matter to her. Tonight, Aya was filled with wonder. A queen was one thing but a dragon! Aya had dreamt of dragons her entire life so the visit of Rhaenyra and Syrax had made her feel half a girl again.

It had grown dark, though and despite visiting Syrax again after helping the Queen dress, it had grown dark and she'd had to come inside at long length. Eight and ten years ago, she'd been brought to Dragonstone by the Sea Snake and delivered into the care of Daemon Targaryen himself; the Rogue Prince. She'd spent those precious days gazing out across Blackwater Bay, marvelling at the magnificent creatures beating their wings out across the water. Some days, when she felt tired, sad or wan; she could swear she could see a dragon toying in the waters of Alyssa's Tears. A slim, beautiful shadow the colour of watery grey mist. Jeyne always laughed to hear it.

As she approached the Hall, silently as usual, she let out an audible sigh which gave her away to Ser Eddison. A cousin of Lady Jeyne and ever a serious character. For all their long years in service here, they'd only really spoken a dozen times. Her excitement had won her over, though and she gushed; "Oh Ser Eddison! Have you seen the Dragon!? Such beauty I scarce thought there existed in the world!" She beamed, before feeling abashed that she'd disrupted his thoughts so crudely.

Eddison smiled and bowed his head to Aya as approached. How does that woman stay warm up here in that whore's getup? he thought to himself, but he stood and said, "Oh indeed I did, my lady Aya. I was one of the first to approach the Queen when she fist landed. Her dragon is surely a wonder of the world. Though, a nightmare to some as well surely." Edd had always wondered what it'd be like to fly, like the falcon on his sigil. Seeing that dragon land in the courtyard confirmed what he already knew. That those who ruled the sky, ruled the world.

The Arryn knight said, "Are you not cold, Aya? I can offer you my cloak. More appropriate to these temperatures, and it will only get colder as the months go on." Though Edd was sure, Jeyne liked her whore just that way.

"What brings you to the High Hall? Do my cousin and the Queen fare well? If the gossip is to believed, we have more visitors incoming." Ser Jon Templeton, and Prince Daeron Targaryen. Both men that he had to speak to. And mayhaps, make a friend.

Aya scarce heard a question more oft than the question of whether she was cold. Though she often wondered if Ser Eddison's line of questioning wasn't more to do with her naked legs making him feel uncomfortable. Knights and their honour was a source of constant mirth. "I have come inside to escape the chill of the courtyard, Ser." She lied. "I had hoped the fires in the hall might warm me some. Keep your cloak though, I shall soon thaw!" She giggled girlishly. "To be sure." She perched on one of the varnished wooden chairs of the High Table, crossing her slender legs demurely. "I heard of the approach of Ser Jon and the Prince when Maester Cowley broke the news to our Lady..." She smirked at that. Jeyne saw to it that Aya had any news concerning the castle's affairs more swiftly than most.

"It's a conundrum, is it not?" She asked playfully. "I mean," Her deft fingers played with her hair thoughtfully. "The Queen and Lady Jeyne have always been such firm friends... Yet..." an exasperated sigh as though all the unavailing quarrels of the realm lay upon her nimble shoulders. "She's left us in the cold all these long years but thinks to come scrounging for aid now somebody's deigned to knock the golden goblet from her grasp..." She was mischievous as an imp, baiting the idle question well; Edd would scarce be able to respond without signifying some preference or other, though would he pick up the words of his cousin in the voice of her Stewardess?

Edd played the role as the dutiful kinsman and knight, "Mayhaps the lady would do well to wear more substantial clothing then. The latest Vale fashion is both stylish and functional, as my sister tells it. I myself would prefer to avoid fire as much as possible. It seems to me we may be facing an excess of it in the near future."

He absorbed Aya's words, and pondered them quickly. She was Jeyne's stewardess, as galling as that was. And Edd knew his cousin. Aya could be saying anything to get some kind of information out of him, but it was likely she spoke for Jeyne. Edd had been a squire when Daemon had ravaged the Vale, and he had grown up witnessing the frustration the Rogue Prince caused to the knights and lords around him, despite the love they may have had for Viserys and the Realm's Delight.

All of which was only interesting to him in so far as he could use it. Edd replied, "Certainly, the issue is complex and multi-faceted. Surely the Vale and its leader have hard choices before them. But I am just a humble knight, and servant of Jeyne. Whatever direction she takes is the path that must be followed." Unless there was a better option of course.

"If I may be so bold, what would you advise our lady? As her trusted companion and advisor, you have her ear. I suspect her decison will be influenced as such." Something which, many of the knights of the Vale aren't pleased with . Good for him.

I have a lot more than Jeyne's ear, truth be told Aya knew. "Far be it for me, Ser Eddison, to think to school our Lady in the ways of diplomacy." Her face was a pantomime of innocence. "She was born into such matters whereas I... I can say little of my own birth." She had enjoyed this altercation in the outset but was beginning to remember why the two of them had scarce spoken before. He's less warmth than the tip of the Giant's Lance, this one.

As though on cue; a commotion could be heard from behind them, in the direction from which Aya had entered. The Courtyard. Her eyes betrayed the exhilerating delight she felt at the notion of beholding a second dragon in a single day and night. There were shouts and the faint beating of wings from without. THe doors and walls ought to have obscured the furore but in the still of night it was the only motion detectable and without bidding even a goodbye, Aya dashed back the way she had come, still with no more clothing to shield her from the elements.

Edd smirked as she left. Lowborn whore though she was, she did have a nice arse. He pulled on the gloves as she left and followed the "lady", and stepped out into the light snow. Mayhaps the gods would do him a favor and have her freeze to death in the courtyard. It would save him the trouble of having to arrange an accident later.

It was time to see what this Prince Daeron was made of.

And from the dark skies above, a she-dragon descended, resplendent in blue scales with a cobalt underbelly. While other dragons were ferocious, she was nimble, landing in the courtyard with far less noise than any dragon rightly should have. It was deathly cold. Daeron could feel it even more up here, in the Eyrie. Fortunately, the warmth coming from Tessarion was helping him through it, as he realized that he should have brought much warmer clothing. It was too late for that now. His father often said that Targaryens had the blood of dragons, and stayed warmer than others in the cold. He wasn't entirely sure if that was true or not, but with the light snow beginning to stick to his clothes, he didn't want to stay out here to find out. His boots crunched in the snow as he jumped off of Tessrion to the ground below.

It was well into the night by this point, so it would have been difficult to see much of anything if it wasn't for the torches, lamps, and other sources of light that surrounded the courtyard itself. Even under the glow of artificial light, everything seemed to be so gray and dreary. The Arryn kings of old had once ruled everything below from this very mountaintop, Daeron had learned, but even they had to bow to the might of dragons. Still, he had other solemn thoughts to fill his head. He hadn't forgotten the words of the Knight of the Bloody Gate, and if true, that meant he wouldn't be the only dragonrider at the Eyrie.

He didn't have to venture far before he saw a dragon of yellow scales. Syrax. It was certainly a large dragon, but nothing when compared to either Vhagar or Caraxes. She was bigger than Tessarion, there was no question about that, though the yellow dragon had clearly grown fat over the years. He had heard personally heard much mocking that Syrax had grown as fat as Rhaenyra, though Daeron had never spent any time partaking in those kind of jests. Daeron took a single step towards the other dragon before a large blue wing swept infront of him, shielding him from any potential danger. With half a smile, he looked up to see Tessarion standing over him, staring intently at the other dragon, ready to pounce at any sudden movement. He removed his thick leather gloves and tucked them into his belt, so he could truly feel the worth of her scales upon his bare skin.

"There is nothing here for us to fear."

At that, Tessarion backed down, and Daeron resumed his advance towards Syrax. By this time, the dragon was well aware of the company that she had, now staring at the young prince and following his every movement. He raised his arms, and to an outward observer, it was probably impossible to tell whether he was trying to offer the dragon a loving embrace or to challenge her directly. In truth, it was neither, yet it didn't stop him from shouting a single word at the top of his lungs.

"Syrax!"

With unimaginable speed, the yellow dragon came for Daeron, half in flight and half in an thundering run towards him. It would be a wonder if this display didn't wake up any who were already asleep, but it didn't matter to Daeron in the slightest, he was in the moment. Syrax stopped before Daeron, her own face only an inch away from his own, snarling and gnashing her teeth at him. Daeron wasn't scared, no. What kind of Targaryen would he if he was frightened of a dragon? He knew their destructive potential and was well aware of why others would be so wary of them, but he had grown up amongst them, and counted many as great friends. He gave the she-dragon a sincere smile as he spoke in the High Valyrian that he had learned as a child.

"I bear Rhaenyra no ill will. You know that to be true." With that he reached out and touched the side of Syrax's muzzle, and realized for a moment, that she was warmer than Tessarion. Syrax only huffed some hot air at Daeron, which melted most of the snow that had accumulated on his clothing. The dragon then turned her back to him, and returned to where she had been resting, seemingly content that he no longer posed any danger.

"I expect the two of you to play nice... and with any luck, the same may be true of Rhaenyra and me." Daeron grinned as he looked up towards Tessarion, who only gave him a look that seemed to imply that she'd love to do nothing else but knock him off the mountain. Still, if anything, this encounter meant that Rhaenyra was still here, and that he'd have to confront her, for better or for worse. Was he truly ready? It didn't matter. He was past the time where he could doubt himself.

"I've seen many things in my life, but I don't think I've seen a man pet a dragon as if it were a horse."

Edd stood with a torch in hand and a friendly smile on his face, "I know you likely grew up with them. But still.. quite a bit of bravery to approach a dragon bonded to one's rival. Mayhaps they should call you Daeron the Daring."

The knight bowed his head low, clasping his fist to his chest, and said, "Ser Eddison Arryn, of the Snakewood. Sworn Sword of Lady Jeyne, of the Vale. This is Lady Aya, Stewardess to Lady Jeyne. Welcome to the Eyrie, Prince Daeron. It is my honor to greet you. Shall we enter the Hall? You may be unsused to the climate of our land, and I would be remiss in my duties if I allowed a Prince to catch cold. There is warm food and fine drink waiting for you, as well as my lady."

Aya raised an eyebrow at Ser Eddison's queer introductions but merely smiled and curtseyed a welcome. When Daeron's features caught the torchlight she noted his face was young and handsome, but swiftly her gaze returned to the new Dragon. Hard to admire properly in this dark but beautiful beyond doubt. She had an urge to run and pet the creature but was able to restrain herself. She'd been too impetuous by far tonight and had to remember she had been a woman grown ten years now. Those beasts made her half a girl again!

Daeron nearly jumped at the sudden voice that came from the darkness, but managed to restrain himself enough to not look completely childish or foolish. It would have likely been an odd sight indeed, after facing down a dragon before. He could make out two figures that were approaching him, and he could make most of their features out, since one of them was carrying a torch with him. The first was clearly a Knight of the Vale, tall, blonde, and blue of eye. Almost as if he was cut from a story or a song, Daeron thought to himself. The other was a woman, dark of skin and light of hair, seemingly wearing as little clothing as she could manage. It made Daeron wonder if she was aware of where exactly she was, or perhaps she didn't care at all.

He lowered his hood, revealing his silver hair to all. He gave both a slight bow. "I deeply apologize for any noise that I may have senselessly caused. I swear that it was not my intention."

Daeron wondered if it had been Lady Jeyne who had sent the both of them here to receive him, or if they had come of their own voalition. He supposed that in the end, it didn't really matter. He regarded the knight's words slowly and carefully, and he would have smiled at many of them, but he was nothing but reserved in this different setting. "I would not recommend for you to try to the same."

"Daring?" Daeron did frown at that. "I should hope that doesn't stick, else Aemond would never let me forget of such a stutter."

Sworn knight and stewardess... both were lofty positions if Daeron had to guess. Both likely were closely associated with Lady Jeyne herself, and were probably noting his every move, if only to possibly use it against him later. They were still their own people, and certainly had their own ambitions, opinions, and desires. What they could be, Daeron couldn't guess.

"I am humbled to meet both of you. But yes, I would be appreciative of any courtesies that you may think I am worthy of receiving. It is cold out here, if nothing else."

He smiled gallantly at the Prince once more, "There is nothing to forgive, Prince Daeron. I've never seen a dragon before, much less two. Or met a Prince. This is a moment, I shall be glad to tell my grandchildren of."

Edd laughed, "I would not presume to do so. I rather like not being another's lunch. But, I must admit, I envy your bond to so impressive a companion. It must be a wonder to fly."

Aya smiled sweetly and asked with momentary genuine concern. "I trust your flight wasn't too treacherous, Prince Daeron? Please if you'd care to follow inside, you may partake of our Bread and Salt. My Lady and Queen Rhaenyra are within." She stated as though it weren't obvious.
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By morning, the Templeton trio had arrived though a return of snow flurries had delayed them long enough that they'd scarce had time to break their fasts before their leader shambled wearily into the Arryn's impressive High hall for a meeting Jon doubted he had a place at. Harold and Kennet Nash, at least had retired to rest but the Knight of Ninestars, the Blackstar, had been permitted, indeed compelled to attend this meeting. The snows had yet to abate again and Jon feared he'd be marooned up here for the war's duration unless he could commandeer a dragon!

Jeyne greeted the familiar face cordially. He's not slept yet he's thought to shave she noted. The Knight was all courtesy, or maybe he was out to impress... The light was bleak without and filtered bleakly in through the high-arched windows. Aya stood at Jeyne's side rather than take a seat but was slightly more formally garbed in a blue tunic and a light, flowing gown of spun cotton. She still looks like she should be cold, though. Thought Jeyne. Ser Eddison had been tasked with escorting Prince Daeron to the Hall as he had seemed to strike up a rapport with the visitor from Oldtown. Jeyne wasn't sure what to make of that but had more pressing concerns.

Loras Lipps was bid awaken the Queen and Jeyne shuddered to think what dreadful calamity the imbecile squire might make of the endeavour. In truth, she ought to have kept him close by but his presence was a source of constant irritation. With Aya bound for Dragonstone, Jeyne feared, she'd have to endure the lad even more frequently.

Daeron had been prepared to be summoned immediately upon his arrival, so he had been more than glad to be taken to his own sleeping chambers instead, to wait for the morning. He was more than tired, but already knew that he would be getting much sleep. There were far too many things on his mind. At least with a hot bath, he'd be somewhat presentable to the Lady of the Vale. They did call her the Maiden of the Vale, so Daeron wasn't entirely sure if that also meant that she was some kind of beauty to behold, or the exact opposite. He supposed that he would find out soon enough.

As he lay in the bed, trying to find the sleep that refused to come to him, all he could think of was his half-sister. He had entertained the possibility that the Blacks would have their own envoy to the Eyrie, as well as the chance that he could run into them... but to think it was Rhaenyra herself... The last that he knew, she was with child, and she must have already gone through childbirth by this time. To think she recovered so quickly- or worse, she greatly risked her life just to fly here. And would she have left a newborn infant behind just to come here herself? That truly made Daeron think of the worst.

In the end, Daeron did manage some sleep, even if it only felt like it lasted a second before he awoke again. The room was warm, even if the hearth had been reduced to cinders, and upon a look outside, he knew that it had become morning. Fortunately, he had brought a change of clothes, which consisted of a red and black doublet with fine trousers. It would seem that he would at least look like a prince when he was called before Lady Jeyne. Before long, he heard three distinct knocks on the door, which was Ser Eddison coming to escort him to the High Hall. Before he had retired to his chambers the night before, he had talked with the knight at great length, over a variety of different matters. He liked him just fine, but the reason as to why he was here was still weighing upon him, and prevented the young prince from becoming too comfortable.

Before leaving with the knight, he made sure to fasten his sheathed sword to his belt, the same one that he had brought with him from Oldtown. He had to admit that he had a few daydreams about the talks souring and him enforcing his his will with nothing but his sword, as well as fighting off all the Knights of the Vale in the process. Of course, that was hardly going to happen. He rested his hand upon the hilt of his blade regardless, and followed Ser Eddison out of the room.

Ser Eddison was dressed differently from when he first met the Prince. Now he wore armor, silvery plate that was handsomely forged with falcons as the pauldrons and a crescent moon worked onto the breastplate. A light blue cloak, with snow-white gyrfalcon feathers on the hem, draped from his shoulders and he wore his sword, only his head was bare. It was ceremonial certainly, but there was little doubt it would also serve well in battle.

Eddison inclined his head, "Good morning, Prince Daeron. I trust you slept well." He gestured the Targaryen scion to follow him down the elegant but austere marble halls of the Eyrie's guest apartments, on their way to the High Hall. "Do you require any food or drink before you meet with our Lady and her other guest? I know Rhaenyra only by reputation, but you may wish to partake, as I fear this may be a long, ardous affair." Of which Edd would be watching every moment.

The knight smiled slightly, "Many blessings you have, Prince Daeron, but I do not envy you in this."

His companion looked every inch a true knight in the armor that wore, and made Daeron wish that he had his own, if only to make him look more bold, older, and more confident. In the end, he knew that it didn't really matter what he wore, as it would not change his words. The hall that they walked down was as fine as any in the Red Keep, he was certain of that. Was he truly worthy of such treatment, just because he happened to be the son of a king and brother to another? He quickly discarded such thoughts from his head. If there was any time in his life for him to act like a prince, it was now.

"There were cold biscuits and cheese set beside my bed. I had a few, but I can't say that I'm terribly hungry." That much was true, though he was at the same time blessed to have eaten a hearty meal at the Gates of the Moon before his ascent to the Eyrie. He wasn't sure if Lady Jeyne was going to bring both siblings into the same room as one another, but Ser Eddison's words seemed to confirm just that. He didn't know if he'd rather have a full or empty stomach when he faced his sister, but he doubted it would make much of a difference.

"I did not wish to bring our familial dispute to your doorstep, yet I fear it may be inevitable. I hold no disdain for my sister, but I do not know if she holds similar feelings for me. We were... never close."

Perhaps that was his greatest fault... not doing more to bridge the gap between his brothers and his sister. Could he have been that single missing link that would have made all the difference? He didn't know. His mother... brothers... cousins... had always been set against against each other for as long as he could remember. He just went along with it, being too young to understand... and here they were, on the brink of a civil war, all because they couldn't get along.

He only gave a faint smile. "At least you have a front row seat to view the whole thing, eh?"

Their footsteps echoed on the marble floors as they passed room after room. Quite a few of the bannermen, lordlings, and assorted knights of the Vale had been gathering in the Eyrie to take counsel with Lady Jeyne, and many of them would be in the High Hall to witness the talks. They would be among the last to arrive. As such, the guest halls they walked down were quiet and tranquil, "Understandable, I wouldn't have much of an appetite either."

He smiled good-naturedly, "It is no fault of yours, Prince Daeron. The Eyrie was always fated to be a party to whatever strife may occur among the royal family. Jeyne and your sister are cousins and friends. And your uncle is infamous in our province. Even without either of you here, the lords and knights of the Vale have been content to take up the dispute on their own." A situation that Edd could certainly benefit from.

Edd shook his head ruefully, "Family, they can be both a man's strength and his weakness. My own house has suffered its fair number of struggles. After Lady Aemma's death, and Jeyne's... reluctance to wed, a fair number of the Arryn men have been arguing about who should be heir. It is sad to see power cause such rifts between those who should be closest. I am glad to take no part. Serving my cousin with pride and honor is enough." For the moment, but not much longer.

They exited the guest halls and then began winding their ways to the High Hall, where they were being awaited by Jeyne and Rhaenyra. The Eyrie may have been the smallest of the palaces and fortresses that any Great House of Westeros possessed, but it was still a mighty hall, and one could still get lost. But Edd lead Daeron through the passages quickly and efficiently, passing many understated but elegant and tasteful decorations such as marble statues, paintings, and windows that offered fantastic views of the Vale below.

The knight shook his head with a laugh, "Believe me, Prince Daeron, if duty did not compel me so, I would rather not attend. I have little taste for these court intrigues if truth be told, and the dishonesty and trickery that comes with them." He glanced at Daeron with a wry smirk, "I would also hate to get burned in the crossfire. When dragons dance, everything on the earth must be wary of fire." And when dragons danced, oppurtunities arose, brave or smart enough to avoid their flames.

Edd continued to speak to him as they walked, "A word of advice if I may, Prince Daeron. Lady Jeyne is the picture of a noble lady, but she is strong of will and heart and brooks little foolishness. I would recommend that you comport yourself as properly and confidently as possible, no matter how much your sister may rattle you."

On their approach, Daeron did take the time to admire the decorations and architecture, as he did not know when he'd have another opportunity to visit the Eyrie, if ever. It was all a bit unsettling really, to imagine that the High Hall would be nearly full by the time they reached it, which meant that the most important people in the Vale would all be gathered, waiting on him. What exactly would they all expect out of him? Maybe they figured he was a lot like his brothers, or they could be set against him before he even enters the room. Daeron was hardly adept at the intricate politics that dictated the Vale itself, but he knew enough that he could use to his advantage, if he needed to. He had no pleasure in hearing the stories of his uncle's rampage in these lands, and he knew the terrible misfortunes it had wrought on the countless numbers of people. However, if he could use any of the fervor to prevent the coming war, then he knew that it would be worth it.

How long his sister had been at the Eyrie for, he couldn't possibly know. It was certainly possible that she had already made her case and already won the hearts and minds of Lady Jeyne and her lords. Even if there was only a small chance of him being able to sway the Lady of the Vale, he was obligated to try. Else, so many would die over his family's mistakes and he truly did not want to see that happen. This was greater than himself, or his brothers, or even Rhaenyra herself. There were so many egos that constantly collided with each other... the realm was at its breaking point.

"My father always upheld the idea of family above everything else. I wonder if that stopped him from pushing too hard when it came to the matter of succession. It was never anything I had ever wished to think upon, and I'm sure the same could have been said of him."

His hand gripped the pommel of his sword more tightly, as it was the same one that had been given to him by his father those two years ago. Indeed, his father may very well be watching over this meeting between him and his sister, and it only worried him that his father would wish for his sister to prevail over him. If his father ended up turning in his grave, then so be it.

"My sister will not rattle me, ser. Any past transgressions that she may think were committed against her were not done by my hand, and if she wishes to press the issue, she'll likely only end up embarrassing herself."

Daeron was well aware of the temper that could sometimes consume his half-sister, and it may prove a good tactic to provoke her. He didn't want to go there, nor to cause a scene, as it certainly would not help his cause any if he did. They paused right before the entrance to the High Hall itself, the sound of voices seeping out from the doors, proving that those inside had been there for awhile. He wasn't sure if he could completely trust Ser Eddison, but if nothing else, the man was a knight, so he surely followed some kind of code of honor. He just hoped he wouldn't need to rely on anyone else during this confrontation with his sister.

He turned to Ser Eddison, likely utilizing one of the final smiles that would be afforded to him for quite awhile. "Perhaps your lady will even find me a little charming?"

Edd nodded in sympathethic understanding, "I could never know your kingly father as much as you, but I imagine it is a great burden to bear either children or a crown, much less both. I couldn't imagine being in such a position, it is no wonder he never pushed the issue further. Choosing one child over another? With a kingdom on the line? A great and unenviable dilemma." And one that Viserys should have made a clear choice in, else this whole mess would never have happened. Not that Edd was complaining. He could turn Viserys' foolishness to his benefit.

"I'm glad to hear it Prince Daeron. The Knights of the Vale will follow our lady, of that there is little doubt. But your brother has his sympathizers in these halls. It would do you only well, to present yourself as best as possible to Lady Jeyne and her bannermen." It was very likely Jeyne had already sworn herself to her friend Rhaenyra in private. And the Lords of the Vale were too honorable and insular to offer much overt dissension. But even so, not everybody in the Vale would be happy about it. A situation that Daeron, and especially Edd, could find oppurtunities in. Which is why Edd made certain to ask a few, key personages, to attend.

Edd didn't disappoint and favored the Prince with a warm smile, "I suspect she may, and all for the good. No matter what may transpire, Prince Daeron, I wish you good fortune." He extended his hand for a firm handshake before knocking on the doors.

They were opened by Lorn Lynderley and Emmon Corbray and Ser Eddison lead Prince Daeron into the High Hall. The chivalry and nobility of the Vale were well represented. The gallery was standing room only, as lords and ladies and knights from all the major houses and families from Gulltown to the Three Sisters stood and talked among one another. Edd found the eyes of a knight in gilded bronze armor, a young man with a long, solemn face and dark hair and eyes. They traded a look and a slight nod, one that would be unnoticed in the hubbub of the gathering.

Ser Rohls Royce, cousin to the Lord of Runestone. One of those key personages, Edd had brought to this meeting. Edd also espied Ser Jon Templeton, the Blackstar, and one of the most powerful men in the Vale. Another important man, even if he himself didn't know it. Soon the chatter died down as they all turned to face Ser Eddison and the Prince.

Upon the weirwood throne sat Lady Jeyne Arryn, the Maiden of the Vale, as elegant and beautiful as ever, but Edd knew he would look better on that seat. Her whore, Aya, the High Stewardess of the Vale, an appointment that had angered and galled many among the proud families of the Vale, stood by her side with that clumsy Lipps squire. Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, Queen of Dragonstone at least, stood out from every other face.

She was still a pleasant sight, even after her multiple pregnancies. Some men preferred their women slight, but Edd did not discriminate. Beauty was beauty. And she represented some interesting oppurtunities. Edd knew he would have to exchange some words with her before this was all over. And now he would know more about her while she had her little talk with her brother.

He turned to Daeron and nodded minutely before addressing the court, in a strong, clear voice "My lady, your grace, lords and ladies of the Vale, Prince Daeron Targaryen." He bowed his head and pressed his gauntleted fist against his breastplate in Jeyne and Rhaenyra's direction, before taking his place among the Arryn Honor Guard at one of the pillars in the High Hall. Now it was time to watch the show, and plant the seeds afterwards.

Truly, the High Hall itself was overwhelming, and if Daeron hadn't been already prepared, he likely would have looked like a small child before near all the lords of the Vale. Instead, Prince Daeron Targaryen stood tall in this room of great lords, and likely, amongst the oldest of them, he appeared much like the bold, young Prince Viserys during the Great Council of 101 AC, where he was chosen to be the heir to old King Jaehaerys by a vote of twenty to one. That, along with his silver hair and dark purple eyes, made the young dragon prince quite the striking image when compared to many of the others that had stood in the room in the past. By the time he had gone far enough in the room, Ser Eddison separated from him to take up his own posting by some other knights, signifying that Daeron was now on his own.

As he looked upon the woman that sat upon the throne that was made of weirwood, Daeron was partially relieved that she was pleasing to look upon, but more perplexed that she had never married. He briefly wondered why she had chosen such a path, though he knew it was ultimately her own decision. Maybe she thinks it best to not allow any power-hungry lord to push his authority onto her, Daeron thought to himself. And then to the Lysene stewardess that he had only just met, wearing only a little more clothing. It wouldn't surprise Daeron in the slightest if she was someone's spy, though he was sure that Lady Jeyne was astute enough to uncover such a scheme.

He looked directly at the Maiden of the Vale, completely unwavering. "My lady, it would be unbecoming of me if I didn't give my thanks for your hospitality and giving me the privilege to come before you in these trying times. I hope we may join together to weather the storms that are about to blow over all of Westeros." At that, he did notice some nods among those gathered, but everything remained mostly silent.

Jeyne rose to receive the Prince. Courtesy was courtesy and to tell truth, Oldtown bragged of him to be a virtuous and well-governed youth. She would not for all the wealth in the Kingdoms, here in her house, do him disparagement. "Prince Daeron, I trust your accommodation was up to the standards of Lord Hightower's own." She smiled. "Please take a seat. We have much to discuss." He was a comely young lad. A real heartbreaker, this one.

"A warm bed and good food was all I needed. Everything else was far more than even I could ever deserve."

Daeron then turned to his sister, who wouldn't mind seeing his head on a spike, he didn't doubt. She was ever so stunning, despite her plumpness, yet he did spy dark bags under her eyes. Whether this was from her recent pregnancy, worry about things that have recently come to pass, or a combination of both, Daeron was unsure. She was likely the visage of Queen Visenya herself, though he was glad she wasn't a warrior like her. My uncle is more than terrifying enough on a battlefield to make up the difference.

He looked upon her, his face warming into a gentle smile. "Rhaenyra... it's good to see you. It's been such a long time."

The young Prince lacked none of the striking beauty that ran in the blood of Valyria. He was not so different, if a little less plump, than her distant memories of her father before he was named Prince and King. She held on to that thought for now, reminding herself of the connection they shared would be one way to control her emotions, while not forgetting the man who's final will they wished to usurp.

"I trust your flight was a safe one, Prince Daeron?" She asked as if this was no more than a family reunion, although without forgetting the boy's title in such a formal gathering. She did not know what his older brothers had taken to calling her, but simply because his brother pretended to be a King, did not strip the younger of his Princeship. Not yet. Of course, thoughts of his own flight, stirred memories of her own, how dangerous an affair it had been.

"But, I have my doubts it is really I, who you are here to see."

Ser Jon Templeton watched the exchange with interest. Prince Daeron looked vibrant and healthy; his half-sister careworn and tired- yet clinging to her former beauty notwithstanding. Ser Eddison's body language piqued his interest. What was that Arryn lickspittle up to now? He couldn't guess but Jon guessed his interests would be singular and self-serving. Ser Edd was well-liked but struck Jon as a man of little warmth. Ronnel would have liked him. Ronnel had liked everyone.

Aya stood still as a spear, beside the throne upon the dais. A fair assembly. Loras Lipps was on the other side of Lady Jeyne's throne and the Queen had the seat of honour to her right hand. Daeron was assigned a seat to the left but his chair was notably further from the throne than Rhaenyra's place. Games thought Aya. Forming the circle was The Knight o Ninestars, clean shaven and handsome with close-cropped dark hair and laughing eyes. Ser Emmon Corbray and Ser Lorn Lynderley who were the chiefest members of Jeyne's Personal Guard sat beside Ninestars. Ser Rohls Royce glowered from his seat; a beast in Bronze mail. Ser Eddison Arryn had a seat close to Prince Daeron but Maester Cowley had the seat in between them; his counsel ever welcome to Jeyne these past few years.

Kevan Sunderland of Sisterton was beside Ser Eddison and Aya noted the aging Sisterman was fidgeting restlessly and wouldn't meet Ser Jon Templeton's gaze. Artur Grafton came next, dressed in so much mail one might have thought he was heading into battle; the burning tower of his sigil flashed upon a red and black tunic.

Alongside Ser Grafton was his squire; Rolly Arryn of Gulltown. His sigil was the Arryn Falcon with a fat salmon in its talons. Absurdly he held a dead salmon in his lap and had eyes that looked in different directions. Lady Jeyne hadn't even troubled herself to acknowledge him when she'd bade Ser Artur welcome.

Then there were more blackstars. No they're starfish! she realised. This was Robett Ruthermont; Aya couldn't remember where he was from. Somewhere on the Fingers she guessed. Finally came newly knighted Ser Aron Donniger, his resplendent arms a blazing red sunset on a yellow field sinking into an iron-grey sea, and Lady Gemella Upcliff of Witch Isle in a flowing gown of turquoise and black velvet. For her two and forty years, she was not uncomely.

And there were many and more, crowding the hall and looking on at the table. Not every lord or lady had been able to make the journey in the short time, but by now surely the Gates of the Moon were hosting a great many more noble guests; and practically every house of any note was represented by one of its members in the hall. Edd managed to stop from sneering in disgust when he noticed one of his young second cousins Rolly at the table. Thankfully his dead salmon wasn't quite rotting yet but it was getting close.

Why he had such proximity to the dignataries and why such a simpleton was a squire, the world may never know. Perhaps the gods were showing him signs of how he must hurry to save the Vale from Jeyne's inadequacy and the ill portents and omens it sent through the realm. If so, Edd got the message. The knight made a mental note to quietly end Rolly's life at some point so he didn't keep muddying the Arryn name any further. Or at least persuade Ser Grafton to have him shipped off to the Sisters instead. The fishmen would find him a paragon of elegance and wit.

Edd kept his silence, looking at all of the speakers discreetly, watching the way they moved and listening carefully to the tone of their voice. Jeyne was polite as ever, but there was a clear undercurrent of tension barely restrained by protocol between the siblings, more so from the queenly sister. He had to stop from smiling. It would be entertaining to see how this developed.

He didn't know what he had expected from his sister. A countless number of different things had all run their course through his mind during his flight here from Oldtown. Even so, they all were created fantasies, trying to predict the actions of a relative that he knew so little. He had hoped that she'd be more personal, yet she felt so distant. He was sure that he was receiving a warmer reception from her than either of his brothers would have gotten, but it still felt cold. This was the great game that they were about to play, and even if he had little interest in playing it, he really had no choice in the matter. To favor a brother over a sister, why in seven hells was he forced to make such a condemning decision?

As he sat in his assigned seat, he should have been comfortable, but he wasn't. It felt like he was sitting upon the Iron Throne itself, in which he was more than glad that he was far removed from ever having to assume such a responsibility. It was still more than fitting. He didn't tend to rest easy while he was here, such complacency wouldn't get Lady Jeyne on his side. There were likely a thousand reasons for her to support his sister over his brother, and that was fine. He only needed a single reason to convince her otherwise.

"I was fortunate to arrive here whole, healthy, and unscathed." He made eye contact with his sister, as that was what he felt was appropriate for the situation. "The last I heard, you were abed with child. Surely you did not leave a newborn behind only to chat with an old friend?"

And risk you own life in the process. Do you truly desire the crown and throne so much?

"When I spotted Syrax in the courtyard, I must admit I was surprised. The fact that we happen to be here together is a strange coincidence, and one that we shouldn't just forget." If anything, Daeron knew, they should take this as a sign. This could potentially be the chance for them to start the process that could reconcile the grievances that both sides of their families had with one another. Perhaps he was being overly naive, or maybe he just saw things more clearly than any of his other relatives?

"I am uncertain if a proper funeral was held for our father. If not, then I do not hold my brothers or mother in contempt. It has been hard for everyone during these last several weeks." Still, it would be a lie if he didn't have some anger towards his family for leaving him out of everything for so long. Their hunger for power may even eclipse Rhaenyra's, though it may not be fair of him to assume all of his sister's intentions.

"Whatever the truth of the matter may be, I intend to hold a memorial service for father once I return to King's Landing. I do not know exactly what you are feeling right now, but you have every right to be there as well, along with our entire family." And if the gods had any mercy, his brothers and Rhaenyra may be granted a chance to put all this nonsense behind them, regardless of how the talks with Lady Jeyne go.

"My daughter died." The words that escaped Rhaenyra's lips were almost blunt in nature, but behind the cold fact roared an ocean of grief and rage, one that was escaping in rivers of malice. Her eyes turned once more on her younger half-brother, an inkling of the distaste she felt towards the elder members of Alicent's brood forcing itself to the surface of her gaze.

"Do you know why this was?" She did not pause long enough for him to answer before she continued.

"My father, were it possible for him to be at ease, has not be laid to rest, he likely spent days rotting in the Red Keep before his death was even announced to the wider world." She spoke with increasing passion and fire, the imperious charisma of the Realm's Delight pushing past the facade of the wounded Princess.

"Do you know why this is?" She added again, once more moving immeditately to speak of another connection to such events.

"I cannot come to King's Landing, to see the body of my father, to walk the halls of my own family, to put to rest the memory of a great man." Grief once more, she was almost drowned in it, these past days.

"All these things and more are because your brother decided to have himself crowned king. He and your mother allowed 'our' father to decay in his bed while they plotted, while they removed rivals from the Red Keep, many by sword. They did so in full contradiction to the will of 'our' father who now lies dead, shunning his memory. And when I heard of this, days later, when your brother had himself crowned by traitors and sycophants, my child died, before she could even live." It was perhaps more honest that the honeyed words expected of a diplomat, but it was no black rage that Rhaenyra could at times be known for, it was a surge of calculated rage, in contrast to the well-meaning, but naeive efforts of the young prince.

"I am... sorry." The words that escaped from his lips were barely above a whisper, but they were loud enough for Rhaenyra to hear them, at least. He hadn't even guessed for a moment that there was a possibility that her child may have been stillborn. Not even giving herself a single moment to mourn before she saddled Syrax to come all the way to the Eyrie... without even taken the time to recover physically. He couldn't possibly imagine what the pain of losing a child could be like, and fully expected that he wouldn't until he had children of his own, if he ever was so blessed. And just for a moment, as their eyes finally met, purple against purple, Daeron finally saw the hatred, disdain, and anger that she felt for his entire family.

He knew that no words would be suitable to alleviate the pain that his sister was clearly going through, and with how the conversation had already headed, perhaps it was best not to say more. Rhaenyra's words against his family... he couldn't completely believe in them. Despite all their flaws, whatever preconceived notions that so many others had placed on them, he knew that they were good people. Or at least, he hoped that they were. He had heard the rumors of what had happened after his father's death, and they must be the same ones that Rhaenyra had heard herself. Was she privy to some information that he was not? He did not think so. But to blame his family for so many of her woes... did the hatred run so deep? Or was just merely a byproduct of all the pain and grieving that she had gone through in such a small amount of time?

Was she so deluded, seeing snakes in the grass, believing that nearly everyone was against her? To blame his brother for the death of her child, that only seemed like insanity to Daeron, no matter what weak reasoning that she used to justify it. Was his dream of peace impossible to achieve? Daeron didn't want it to be so. He didn't want to see people die when it could all be easily avoided, at least in his opinion. But Rhaenyra seemed to be set on her path, legitimized by all the slights that she believed have been made against her through all these years, even before Daeron was born. His family wasn't completely innocent in this regard, he knew, but it seemed that this way of thinking was so shallow, especially when you painted the other side with such a wide brush. In the end, where would it get all of them? He knew, even when he wished that he didn't. It would be nothing but fire and blood.

Was she somone that truly deserved to be queen? It was well known that his father had chosen her to be heir, but things had likely been different all those years ago. What he looked at before him was not someone who he'd be proud to bend his knee to, at least based on what she had said so far. He had his own issues with his brother, to be sure, but he could be reasoned with. He would actually listen. Was the same true for Rhaenyra? He was beginning to have his doubts.

"I do think that no one would dispute that you are the elder, while I am the younger." He wasn't pressing his claim to the Iron Throne, and in its simplest terms, this was a dispute between Aegon and Rhaenyra. As their brother, he had to do what he thought was right. He didn't want to have to betray either sibling, if there was a viable alternative that meant everyone could finally get along.

"Despite all of this, if true, what would you have me do?" Whatever Rhaenyra said next, Daeron didn't want hear any lies or falsehoods. No veiled promises or otherwise. Nothing but the truth would suffice and show him how she actually saw things. And in that, he would, if only a bit, get to know his sister a little better.

Edd was as surprised as Daeron. Surprised at the shocking news that was just revealed to be sure. But also surprised at the vehemence that surged out of the queen to be at her own half-brother, a youth who was either as good a liar as Edd or was truly honest and honorable. He could only imagine the hatred that Rhaenyra would surely feel for her one time stepmother, or Daeron's older brothers, the infamously cruel Aemond and the hedonistic Aegon. Rhaenyra kept her anger focused and controlled. But the knight could tell that the dragon queen was capable of far greater rage. The legendary kind of black anger that could drive one to do unimaginable things.

Excellent. For it was the kind of rage that lead to war, and chaos. And those presented many oppurtunities.

Edd didn't allow himself to smile but his eyes widened in surprise at the news of Rhaenyra's miscarriage, blending in with the other nobles who all had similar reactions, women covering their mouths to stifle gasps or knights leaning in to each other to whisper.

This was the most excitement the Vale had seen in quite some time. A potentially continent-shaping family squabble playing out right in front of them. And Edd was enjoying every second of it. He watched Jeyne out of the corner of his eye to observe her own reactions for a moment before turning back to the fiery spectacle. Every other pair of eyes was engrossed as well.

Though one couldn't tell in Rolly's case.

For now Rhaenyra's anger was controlled, but Edd was curious to see how well and how long the Queen could do so. And if there were a limit to Daeron's congeanility and chivalry. He had little doubt now that the young prince truly was an honorable sort, but he might still have the famous Targaryen ember in him.

Her personal anger for the younger Targaryen blunted at his words, while an apology in such a situation would have usually made her incredulous, she was not yet so set in crusade against the Hightower-get that she would ignore what seemed to be honest. She would take no joy in setting herself against Daeron, he did not deserve his siblings. She remained silent for the moment, allowing the anger to drain out of her voice, before she responded to his reply in full;

"Your niece was not long for the world, young brother, but she deserved a place in our crypts." She almost choked at that, by the time she left the Vale, she would ask the young Prince to take the ashes with him, back to King's Landing, of all of them, he was the most likely to accept, but she did not think she would remain composed while she did so. "Your words do mean much, even if they mean less than action, I could ask that you support the will of our departed father, to uphold what was deemed the just succession, before his will was subverted only after his death, but I do not believe you will clash with your own brothers, for reasons far more just than I believe can be said of them. All that I may ask, if that you return to them, and council them away from war in the pursuit of their false claim."

When her friend spoke of the babe she'd lost, it was all Jeyne could do not to clasp her hand in comfort but she had to maintain the illusion of impartiality. Truly, there could be none who would envy Daeron's position. Clearly sent to the Vale in the vain hope something could be achieved, Jeyne knew his words were wind in this hall if she declared for Rhaenyra. The Upcliff widow dabbed at her eyes sadly with a turquoise handkerchief at hearing of the babe's demise and Rolly Arryn seemed to clutch that absurd fish closer to his chest at the sorrowful tidings.

Ser Jon Templeton puffed out his cheeks as though the news were a heavy blow. Young Loras Lipps seemed to quiver nervously from his station just over her left shoulder. Jeyne prayed he'd keep his composure. Daeron spoke earnestly and it was a pity the handsome Prince had made his visit in such a tumultuous circumstance. She surveyed the thronging masses filling the hall and pondered whether these several bannermen were here in a show of solidarity or if any of them were operating with their own agendas. She could hardly expect Ser Rohls Royce, for instance, to pledge his sword to fight alongside Daemon Targaryen. Yet if he took up arms against the Vale? There could scarce be forgiveness for such dubious loyalty.

"That had always been my intention." He had many questions for his brothers, and some of which were more demands than anything else. However, he feared that they had long ago passed the point of no return, and he'd likely be forced to jump from the same cliff as them. Under different circumstances he might have seen himself opposing them, but that wasn't the man that he wished to become. He couldn't betray his brothers, no matter what they may be accused of. He didn't truly believe them to be in the wrong, he knew they had good reason for what they did, even if it jeopardized the peace that they could have had. And though he appreciated these last words that his sister had given him, if she didn't have any flexibility when it came to his brothers, could he expect them to not do the same? She would not step in King's Landing again until she sat the Iron Throne, and Aegon would never give it up willingly. He still wished for peace, but it seemed it would be a forgone conclusion, with only words alone.

His thoughts did steel him for the task ahead. If Lady Jeyne declared for Rhaenyra's claim, it would be disastrous if any rational discourse were to occur in the future. The greater a disadvantage that his sister saw herself in, the greater the chance for her to seek terms. Peace was still attainable through those means, by showing her that it would be foolish to drag this into a true conflict. Anything less than that, and Rhaenyra would be just as unforgiving and unyielding as she appeared before him now. Blood would run over Westeros, and he'd be caught in the midst of it.

Daeron rose to his feet, and to those gathered in the hall, it may have seemed rather sudden. To the young prince, it wasn't at all, and ever since he had known that he'd have to come to the Eyrie to speak to Lady Jeyne Arryn, he had known what words that he wanted to speak. Perhaps they were not the ones that his brothers would want him to say, but they had entrusted him with this task, so they should not be surprised at how he decided to handle it. The lords and ladies assembled had begun to truly take notice of him now, though many were still reacting from the news of Rhaenyra's unborn daughter. He couldn't blame them, yet he didn't believe that such a tragedy should be used to legitimize going to war. Whatever she may have become, that could only sully the memory of a child who was never given a chance to live.

And now here he was, about to make a plea before a lady of a great house, who had in all likelihood had already given his sister her support in private. Until you spoke the words aloud for all others to hear, however, nothing was binding. At least, he hoped that would be the case, as that seemed to be his only chance to steer Lady Jeyne from nearly inevitable war. In spite of his feelings from before, it was probably better for his cause to be surrounded by so many lords and ladies. They may end up getting Lady Jeyne to see things differently than she would have otherwise.

"My lords and ladies," he began by speaking directly to all those within the room, "it is no secret that I have come before you all on the behest of King Aegon Targaryen." A point that everyone already knew, but it did allow the prince to briefly see the differing reactions from everyone who was here, both good and bad. "Whether or not you believe him to be the rightful king or if his claim is just... it is not my place you tell you what to think. Look into your own hearts and come upon your own conclusions, whatever they may be." Others in his place may have told them of their duty, their oaths to the crown, or the crimes of Daemon Targaryen... but he did not to include himself in this insane cycle of telling others what to do, often using fear as a motivator.

"I have not come to offer you gold, titles, offices, or other half-hearted promises that will be forgotten within a summer. To what kind of bribes could I possibly give to make someone raise their hand against their dearest friend?" As he said that, he turned away from everyone else so that he could look at the Maiden of the Vale herself. He wondered what she had expected of him. To make her a thousand and one promises within a single breath? He was a stranger to her, and this was the first time they had ever met. In what world would he have been able to tear two friends from another? He was no fool, or, at least not one who would think Lady Jeyne would ever march her armies against Dragonstone.

"You need not concern yourself with my family's failings. Not a single Valeman needs to die just because my father did not want to cause strife with daughter or wife. If we manage peace instead of swords being drawn, then nothing is lost. If not, then you save so much by not being dragged into our insanity." He meant those words, almost with every fiber of his being. So many others were willing to kill each other over this, and if he was able to keep the Vale out of the coming war, how many lives could he potentially save? To him, this was the only sensible option.

"And when the dust is settled, know that you betrayed no one, and did so to preserve the peace and security of your people. You have my word and honor that no repercussion will be pursued against you if you maintain neutrality. I am confident that my brothers would feel the same as me. War is not their goal, only what they believe is best for all of Westeros." The lure of the crown was likely a motivating factor in their decision as well, and he did not know how many were whispering half-truths into their ears.

"I can only ask that you consider my words, and I hope that you can rise above where so many others have fallen." He glanced at his sister, not with contempt, but with disappointment. With war being the normal state of affairs, was following his heart a folly?

Jeyne heard the young Prince's plea. He was in earnest, she had to concede, but words were wind and one look at the fire in Rhaenyra's eyes was proof enough that this desperate peace Daeron spoke so passionately was as likely as a midsummer snow in Dorne. She bore this lad no enmity, however, and spoke kindly. "You speak well, Young Prince, and do your family credit with your courtesy in visiting the Eyrie." She smiled,, "Would that you were Alicent's eldest and we might make one another's acquaintance in happier circumstance..." She tossed her tousled raven tresses languidly across her shoulder. "You should know my heart is ever with your sister, though. What say you of Daeron's comments Your Grace?"

"It is tempting indeed to believe the words of the Prince, he may even truly do so himself, but I would remind you, lords and ladies, of the character of his brothers." Rhaenyra was quick to respond, although not desperately so. While her emotion from earlier may have won some to her cause, lords would always worry about the 'fickle emotions of women
' in a ruler, and so, for now, she reamined calm and precise.

"Daeron loves his brothers, but can you ever trust a man who would forsake the will of his father the moment he is dead? What is more, can you trust him to restrain his brother?" She paused just long enough for those who knew Aemond to picture him, the heartless one-eyed monster who had prowled the royal courts they may have visited. "Aemond has never forgiven a slight, and to a man such as he, not acting will be deemed as nothing less. Vengeance may not come now, it may not come for many years, and it may not be direct, but you will feel it's sting, the whole Vale will do so, if you do not stand with the traitors."

"Or, you can aid me, and with victory, ensure that the Vale will rise, High as Honour, for your children, and their children, such as it always has." She had promises enough for the Vale, should they follow the true Queen, but such matters could wait, let the sit with the visions of Aemond's fury.

Jeyne winced at the cheap quoting of her House words but smiled a thin accord as Daeron moved to retort.

"I would think that I know the character of my brothers better than you ever could. I grew up with them." Daeron was more annoyed than angry at the words of his sister, as if to imply that she knew her siblings so well when she had practically disowned them so long ago. He had gone out of his way to avoid any personal attacks, but it seemed nothing of the sort was holding Rhaenyra back. He could have sat back and told them all about the past actions of his uncle, and to startling effect... but was that really the path forward that he wanted to pursue? It wasn't, and that would likely put him at a severe disadvantage to someone who seemed to love nothing but to declare the flaws of his brothers aloud.

"And now you seem so comfortable in being able to speak for me, after so many years of unending vitriol for my mother and brothers." He wasn't sure how she truly felt about him. Did she not care at all, or just lump him in with the rest of his family? That only made him grimace at the thought of it all. His own family was hardly innocent in this entire ordeal, but where did it all end? "Should I be blamed for supporting the brothers that I know over the sister that I don't?" Daeron was not frightened to be driven by his emotions, and that was possibly one of his greatest flaws.

"Aemond has his own faults, but who doesn't?" That was putting lightly, and Daeron had many issues with his brother, many of them being personal. He had his doubts that Aemond would ever listen to him on any issue, but if he could get Aegon on his side, he wouldn't go against the both of them. "He is harsh towards his enemies, aye, but only to those who would raise armies against him. Neutrality will be respected, I swear to that."

"Half the realm denies your right to the throne. Have you ever stopped to consider their opinion when it comes to the succession?" As he said the words, he eyed nodding heads among the throng. "Our father won the right to the become king by the lords of the realm. Why can we not do the same now, instead of war? Present your claim and Aegon can present his. The realm can decide this matter, and no blood has to spilled for it." He had no idea if Aegon would even want to agree to a great council, but if Rhaenyra was in favor of it, Daeron saw no reason why his brother would refuse.

"Help me settle this between you and Aegon. We need not rip ourselves to shreds when there's still time to avoid it all. Let history speak of this as the time where we came together... not apart." If Rhaenyra refused him, he could only hope that Lady Jeyne saw reason in what he said. If not, the realm would bleed... and for what? So that one arse could sit the Iron Throne instead of another? He walked over to where Rhaenyra sat, and stood before her, his eyes searching for any remaing warmth that was within her. It had to be there, he told himself, so he stretched out his hand, offering it to her. "Rhaenyra... you can trust me."

Jeyne felt a pang of sorrow for Daeron then. He made his empassioned plea and when he spoke of a parley she could see the sense in his words too. In an ideal world, the realm could decide and a Great Council could pass a decree dictating which of these imminently warring siblings ought to succeed the late Viserys. But an ideal world this had never been and neither Aegon, she guessed, or Rhaenyra, she knew, would budge a yard on their respective claims- let alone trust their birthrights to diplomacy. But it was the Queen he addressed so Jeyne kept her own politic silence awhile longer.

"You speak speak of such an outcome while you yourself offer your intimacy with your brothers as justification for your own support? Our father was chosen, because Jaehaerys the Wise chose no new heir after the death of his beloved son, should the claim of all those who usurp the crown be respected? Shall beggars in the Streets declare themselves King and be given fair platform to argue their case? If the will of Kings can be ignored, then what a trifle it will be to ignore the will of lords, of nobles. Aegon has shown that he does not even respect the word and will of his own father, the man that raised him, that loved him, for all his days. How then, do you trust that man to rule you?"

Rhaenyra spoke as much to the room as she did Daeron. How close they might have been, her own sons, and the boy who now played at Prince. A closeness that was snubbed out so quickly. Aemond, if her father had been sterner with him, if that fight on Dragonstone had not taken place, then perhaps all this, could have been avoided. Or perhaps not, the Hightowers had been plotting for this since Alicent had been carer for the Wise King. If only her mother had lived. Her eyes settled on the Prince before her, at last, as he came before her. Emotion swam within her, they shared blood, something of her father was reborn within him, just as it was her. It was enough to soften her somewhat, but only furthered her resolve. This was the same father they denounced and cursed through their grasp for power.

"If your brother abandons his treason, then indeed, no blood will be spilt, of that, you can trust me. But I do not forget my father so easily."

Daeron withdrew his hand, while letting out an exasperated sigh. Why must Rhaenyra be so unyielding? She knew that Aegon was just as stubborn as herself, and yet she only offered him ultimatums that he couldn't deliver upon. The woman wanted the crown, yet Daeron wouldn't mind giving it to a beggar on the street instead. They definitely would have more humility than what he was seeing before him. This was becoming akin to bashing his head against a wall, and there was little he could expect to achieve against a sister who believed that she was right no matter the counter-argument. "Not even kings are infallible, but I did love our father, the same as you. Yet the more you speak, the more I balk at seeing you as Queen." He was blunt, and didn't mean to sound so severe, but he may as well offer his true feelings. There was no need to hide them any longer.

He slowly began to walk back towards his seat, more than happy to leave his sister in her thoughts for a few moments longer. He knew not what the lords assembled were beginning to think by this interval, but it was likely a mixed reaction. That hadn't been what he intended when he came here, as he had hoped that they could possibly unite together in solidarity. He was naive. He looked back upon his sister, unsure of how she was feeling by this point, but it was beginning to no longer concern him. She sat there, so confident that she was in the right and that anyone who even rose the question was nothing but a traitor. And yes, perhaps she had that right. She had grown up her entire life believing that she was rightful heir, and yet made so many choices that would do nothing but make so many doubt in her capabilities. She was likely her worse enemy.

"If my brothers' path is treason, then allow me to come before you as a traitor as well, your grace." With that, he took his seat.

Edd listened and learned, having gained quite a bit of insight into the character of each royal. Rhaenyra was proud, unbending. But time would tell whether she was iron or steel. And he detected a slight note of sympathy when her brother came to her, but nothing more than a note. Daeron had more fire in him than Edd had initially thought. No shrinking violet then But still honorable. If he had been born a Valemen, he surely would have become a praised knight. But mayhaps he was a tad more daring than was wise. His last outburst had surprised Edd, and he was far from alone.

None at the table spoke initially, but the gallery behind them erupted into frenzied chatter. One man stood and said, "He admits treason by his own words! My lady, my queen, by your leave I would demand satisfaction on your behalf! To first blood!"

"Nay, clap him in irons! To the Sky Cells with him!"

"Throw the traitor out the Moon Door!"

The Queen's supporters all either expressed their displeasure with murmurs and disdainful chatter while a few stood up with the prior men and called for all manner of punishment to befall the young prince, with some volunteers to duel Daeron. Then some stood up to oppose them. Most of either side were young, bold, and did not possess the same refinement or manner as the older noble lords and ladies in the hall. Men who had been born in summer and had just tasted knighthood.

"He speaks courageously. No man should be punished for that!"

"The Prince has been only courteous and chivalrous!"

"Daeron is a guest of Lady Jeyne, no harm should befall him as long as he has guest rite!"

A dozen or so youthful knights in all were arguing. Soon the two sides began to shout loudly at each other, while more men, largely their elders or superiors, experienced and hardy men and exemplars of knightly virtue, stood to seperate the belligerents and quiet them down, citing the nobility and sanctity of the hall. The chivalry and courtesy expected of them. The majority of the remaining gathered nobles, began whispering and debating amongst themselves about everything that had been discussed so far, clashing in a far more restrained but no less spirited manner than the knights of summer who were butting heads now.

Edd saw that Ser Rohls was growing tense, visibly having to calm himself as the shouting continued. He smiled internally at that. Then he saw that a few of the young knights even began putting hands on the hilts of their swords, even as others sought to calm them. They were not so uncouth as to draw steel or throw a punch, but conflicts of loyalty that had been bubbling in the Vale for years were now coming to a head as two symbols of that conflict, Rhaenyra and Daeron, themselves clashed. The Knights of the Vale were a force to be reckoned with when united. But just as solidarity was their strength in battle, disharmony harmed them greatly. But it provided oppurtunities for Ser Eddison.

Which was why Edd had those young knights cause the ruckus in the first place. They had been ninthborn sons, scions of minor lordlings, or poor squires. Edd had helped them all become knights, become attached to powerful lords and influential courts, quietly and subtly, and now they were his. This display would likely be excused as youthful folly, but it would serve to at worst to further water the seeds of argument, and at best show the bannermen an example of Jeyne's mismanagement of the Eyrie.

If Jeyne didn't lay down the law and assert her control right now, it would only grow more and more difficult to stamp out the dissent. The lords would follow Jeyne no matter what, as their honor commanded, of that Edd had little doubt. But every Knight of the Vale was taught to be loyal. Jeyne had to assert who their primary loyalties were to. Or else the rank and file knights may begin to decide their loyalties to a King may outweigh their loyalty to her. And if the lords' confidence in their liege was undermined, it was only to his own benefit. Edd stood from the table, his hand on the hilt of his sword, ostensibly waiting for his lady's command. Most of the knights had calmed, but two youths who had evaded their elders were right on the edge of calling a duel as guardsmen stepped forward to restrain them.

What would his cousin do?

Daeron did regret the last words that had come out of his mouth only moments before, but not for the disorder that had transpired throughout the entire hall, though that was also unintentional. It had been both overly harsh and childish, and even if he was still only a boy, he didn't want to appear as such before all the assembled lords of the Vale, especially not before Lady Jeyne Arryn herself. He had only wished to issue words that would sting Rhaenyra just as much as her words had him. That didn't mean that he necessarily wished that he hadn't said those very words, he still truly valued the loyalty that he held for his brothers, even if it sometimes didn't do him any favors. His hand briefly brushed against the hilt of his sword, making him remember all the lessons that were taught to him by his father, most notably the ones about supporting the family. He had always believed that sticking close to his brothers was the best way to follow his father's advice. Rhaenyra's interpretation was the exact opposite- with him bending his knee before her for all the Vale to see. Now, with son against daughter, would their father be disappointed?

He wished to ponder further. but the noise erupting within the room prevented him from doing so. Daeron had never intended to divide the room into sides, if anything, he had wanted to do the opposite, but he only proved to be far too idealistic. Through all the posturing, threats, challenges, and many declarations of support, he kept silent. It was fortunate for all those involved that it was him here, rather than that of Aemond. That's not to say that Daeron wasn't slightly unnerved at the fact that so many were wishing death upon him. It was quite the new experience for him, as well as something that he'd do his best to avoid in the near future. In the end they were the passionate words of men barely older than him, and it wasn't exactly his place to further add fuel to the flames at this point. He was disappointed in himself for being a willful contributor in making this mess, and knew it would be best to allow Lady Jeyne to handle the situation and finally declare which side she truly favored.

Jeyne grew weary of this unseemly clamour and raised a hand to quell the dissenters. "Enough of this bawdy disruption!" She bellowed in a voice as fearsome as any man's. Order was restored but there were still grumblings and scowls aplenty.

She deemed it meet to speak her mind and declare her position. She rose to address the assembly. "I thank Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daeron for their visits here today. Would that we'd had the opportunity to gather here in happier times." She smoothed the silk of her dress as she spoke. "Daeron speaks well of the sense in a parley or a Great Council in which the realm decides the destiny of the crown but I fear matters have progressed too far for that. Viserys was clear in his wishes his entire life and the only reason Aegon has support is from those who deem a woman unworthy to rule." She let the slow understanding sink in. Even Daeron could scarce deny that to not support Rhaenyra would be to weaken her own position. "I'm fortunate enough to be amongst friends here today who will no doubt attest to the merits of a female figurehead." She joked but the masses murmured their support. Ser Edd curiously failed to meet her eye but mayhaps he was pondering how best to organise his own forces in the broil to come.

"No, I'm afraid I must act in accordance with my heart in this. My Queen, My friend my swords and ships are yours as and when you require them. Prince Daeron, I urge you to appeal to your brother to set aside his ludicrous claim as soon as you next meet." She eyed him with the compassion gone from her doe-brown eyes. "To my leal bannermen, my family and my Knights of the Vale, it is my express wish that you lend me and Queen Rhaenyra your support in this. I will give orders for our assembled strength to form up shortly" She was'nt about to reveal their movements in front of Daeron.

"My Prince, I shall give you until noon tomorrow to take your leave of us and will see that you and your mount are sufficiently provisioned for your onward journey.

The room grew silent as the Lady of the Vale began to speak, something in which Daeron was appreciative of, but as her words continued, he quickly found little reason to celebrate them. He always knew that he would have to overcome a near insurmountable challenge when it came to ask Jeyne to support Aegon. That was why he had espoused the benefits of neutrality instead. Clearly, even that was too much to ask. He wondered what promises Rhaenyra had whispered in Jeyne's ear before his own arrival to the Eyrie. Daeron shook such paranoid thoughts out of his head as soon as he thought of them- he was better than that. It was their friendship that had allowed them to stick together even under such extreme circumstances. He could almost envy them...

...If he didn't pity them instead. Jeyne cast aside the potential for peace with hardly a second thought, as if it was some impossible task. Unimaginably difficult, to be sure, but still attainable, and he didn't care if others saw him as naive for believing so. As well as reducing the cause of the dispute into its simplest terms, ignoring the issues that many had with Rhaenyra that was much more than the fact that she happened to be a woman. If she believed that her position would be jeopardy if she didn't support Rhaenyra, then she was entitled to the line of thinking, even if Daeron happened to wholeheartedly disagree with it. The decision had been hers to make, and now they were all past the juncture in which Daeron had any hope to convince her otherwise.

As Lady Jeyne finished, Daeron arose and he could feel everyone's eyes upon him, even if he didn't stop to regard any of them. With nothing but a short sigh, he only smoothed out the wrinkles in his clothing that he had accrued from sitting, and began to descend to the level below, walking near to the sealed moon door, where so many had fallen to their deaths. He had soared through the air many times before upon Tessarion, yet he couldn't fathom the fear that would consume him if he fell without a dragon underneath him. "Once again," Daeron spoke loud enough for all to hear him, "I'd like to thank Lady Jeyne for all the hospitalities that were provided for me ever since my arrival." His back was turned to Jeyne, Rhaenyra, Aya, and several others as he began to unfasten the belt that held his sword against his hip. "If there has ever been a time for me to speak honestly and truthfully, then I believe it is now, with you having made your support for my sister clear to all."

The sword and scabbard that he held above his head for all to see was clearly extremely well made, with different colored dragons running up and down the scabbard itself, ending with the hilt being that of a dragon head carved in dragonbone with sapphire eyes. "This sword was given to me by my father before I was sent off to Oldtown as a squire. I brought it with me here not as a sword on my belt, but as a memento of my father... so that I could..." He trailed off, fighting back the tears as he began to speak more intimately about his father.

"So that I could believe that he might be watching over me during my time here." Daeron knew that it was probably foolish of him to think that. Why would his father be watching over him when he was opposing his own flesh and blood? If anything, the opposite could be true. He was the third son and youngest child- an afterthought, something in which his own brothers always found time to remind him of when they were all small children. Still, it had given him the strength when he needed it the most, and his resolve had never been stronger.

He turned to face his sister, the sheathed sword still in his hand, and a smile on his face. "When I was a child, I dreamt of being a king just like our father, dispensing justice to the wicked, ensuring that good would prevail over evil, and sowing peace and prosperity all across the realm." That brought him back to the precious few memories that he had of his father, with him seated on his father's lap, listening to stories over a whole manner of different things. Those would be something that he'd remember for the rest of his life, and he was thankful for that. "I saw our father as being larger than life, and I always wanted to be just like him."

"In the end, I'll never be like him. I'll never be a king, and I'll never sit the Iron Throne. And I've come to understand long ago that I don't ever want to have such a burden." He'd likely never understand why either Rhaenyra or Aegon pursued the throne with such unbridled desire, but at the end of the day, the only person that he truly knew was himself. "I've come to understand that I can't be some inferior version of my father... I have to true to myself and become my own man."

"Please understand that I have not forgotten about our father... not for a single day. I will not deny that he would have wanted you as Queen and standing against you would be in open defiance of his wishes." He looked down at the sheathed sword that he held in his hand and squeezed it hard, searching for the next words that he would say. Whether it was his father or some other force, he found the resolve that he needed and looked back up at Rhaenyra with unflinching determination. "I stand before you as my own person, and I find it impossible to act against the brothers that I grew up with... and yet you would have me to support you; the sister that I barely know. If that tarnishes the memory of our father... then so be it."

Daeron then turned to face Lady Jeyne herself, with his demeanor not shifting in the slightest. "I accept your decision to support Rhaenyra so long as you're aware of what will happen to you, your house, and the Vale should you lose." He held no intentions to elaborate further on such matters, nor to make any threats or demands. All those assembled in the High Hall could come to their own conclusions. "If a dusty old tome should ever speak of what transpired here, then let it say that you came to your decision without a single doubt in your mind."

"As you said yourself, this conflict has progressed to such a point that it would be no more sensible for me to ask Aegon to set aside his claim than it would be to ask Rhaenyra. It pains me to say as much, but I will make the same appeals that I made to you to my brothers once I return to King's Landing; They will not listen." Daeron truly wished that they would, as would any other sensible person, but he knew his brothers better than anyone else alive. In addition, he had no misgivings about announcing that he had ever intention of heading to King's Landing from here. He had nothing to fear. "I had hoped that if I came here, I could single handedly make peace on my own. Now I know that I was naive and foolish for believing so. If anything, I am thankful for the lesson that was taught to me today."

As he spoke next, he regarded both the women that sat before him. "I'm sure that you see me as a traitor standing before you... yet I could say the same about the two of you." He stretched out his arm before him, clenching the sword and scabbard in his hand. He threw it to the floor, and it clattered before him until it hit the steps leading up to where both Jeyne and Rhaenyra was seated above. "I do not say this lightly... this will be the last sheathed sword I will ever offer you."

"And one final thing," Daeron began as he turned to once again address only his sister. "You may keep the sword. I'm sure Jace, Luke, or Joff will find use out of it. Think of it as my last parting gift as their uncle... and your brother."

Daeron then offered one final formal bow and said, to no one in particular: "I wish you all good fortune in the wars to come."

Edd had left his hand on the hilt of his sword, as a bodyguard should when his liege was potentially in danger. He hadn't expected Jeyne to let the situation grow too out of control, even he had to admit that she was too savvy for that, but it had been worth the attempt at any rate. The rowdy young men had all calmed and the room then turned it's attention to Daeron.

The Arryn knight watched with keen interest, as the young dragon prince made his impassioned speech. Daeron continued to surprise with his verve and daring, and in him Edd saw the makings of someone who could be a knight they'd sing of for generations. That was provided the youth survived the coming fire. Brave, heroic, young warriors died as often as they grew into great men.

The lords of the Vale watched as well, and though many seemed dismissive of the prince they saw as a foolhardy boy, others also saw the seeds of greatness. Aegon the Elder may have cut an uninspiring figure. And Aemond One-Eye may have begat more fear than love. But in Daeron, some of the Valemen saw a man who could have been king in a different life. Someone worth following.

It was not enough to sway the high lords and great knights of the Vale to abandon their liege lady. But it was enough to move at least one man. The one man that Edd needed to be moved. Ser Rohls Royce, stood from the table and Edd suppressed a smile.

Ser Rohls, with his fierce grey eyes, black hair, and sharp cheekbones, encased in his runic bronze gilded armor, raised his voice, "Prince Daeron shames us all with his courage and conviction. He speaks nobly and truly. My lordly cousin may be content to side with the woman whose husband brought fire and death to our home, but I am not! I will not brook such dishonor!"

Rohls marched over to Daeron's side, parting with all the other Valemen nobles. He turned to face Lady Arryn and Queen Rhaenyra, "My lady, I have served loyally for all my life. But I must to my own honor be true. And I must avenge the death of my father, my father who died fighting the so-called King Daemon."

Rohls raised his bronze gauntleted fist in the air and shouted so that all in the High Hall could not miss his words, "I will not follow the Rogue Prince! I will not follow Queen Rhaenyra! I will follow Prince Daeron, and his brother, King Aegon! All men of the Vale who would seek justice done should join us!"

The bronze knight turned to Daeron and said, "My prince, I will leave immediately and I will gather every sword I can to fight on behalf of your brother's claim, we shall attend you in King's Landing within the month," he turned back to the other nobles, "I join the Prince in my hope for peace, and I would beseech you Lady Arryn to pursue it, so that brother need not spill the blood of brother and the Knights of the Vale not war amongst themselves. But I will be likewise prepared to fight, even if it means my death!"

Edd stepped forward now, "You speak treasonous words, Ser Rohls. It is you who would divide us, and it is you who would bring dishonor to us all. The Knights of the Vale owe their allegiance to Lady Jeyne Arryn, and all true and honorable Valemen will abide by her word. We fight not for our own vendettas or our own glory, but for the honor of all the Vale. And our honor means nothing if we would break faith with our rightful liege."

His voice turned to steel, "You are lucky you are a guest Ser Rohls. Prince Daeron does what he thinks to be right, but you are forswearing your lady. Such would be grounds for death. I would instead advise you to leave this very moment." Rohls' grimaced at Edd, and the Arryn knight couldn't be more pleased.

The subsequent outbursts had caused a great chorus as the lords and ladies of the Vale turned to each other and began to hotly debate on what must be done. Some called for peace, some called for loyalty to Jeyne and Rhaenyra, while others called for justice against Daemon and hailed the courage of Daeron.

Rohls' declaration had been a surprise. No longer was it just an outsider prince, now one of their own had very publically and passionately called to support Aegon's claim. Perhaps it had not outright convinced any of the bannermen, but Edd could see them all mulling what to do as the household knights and younger sons once again began shouting at each other.

At the very least Edd knew Rohls could round up a large amount of hedge knights, secondary heirs, freeriders, adventurers, and sellswords to his cause. A few thousand swords, most of them mounted, and all for Aegon. A drop in the bucket of the Vale's military power, but enough to make a difference in a battle. Especially if it inspired even more men to declare for Aegon as well.

Edd stared down Rohls, immensely pleased with the direction of the talks. Queen Rhaenyra had to respond, to state her case to the other noblemen and why they should stay true to Jeyne and follow her. Or else she risked even more of the Vale's fighting men answering Ser Rohl's call to arms and the rebellious host swelling. And if she called for Rohls' death, it would only serve to make a matyr of him and men would still be driven to Aegon.

No, the Realm's Delight must instead use words and not fire and blood, if she wanted to mitigate the damage caused by Ser Rohls' call. Edd wondered if she was up to the task, and what she would offer to placate the Valemen if she was.

As the room erupted into yet further bawdy chaos, at least by the standards of the Vale's nobility, Rhaenyra stood, gently rising to her feet and moving towards the immediately rebellious lord. She did without drawing great attention to herself, the room only responding to her as she made her way off the dias, the skirts of her gown trailing behind her. Standing before Rohls, she lacked the height advantage the trapping of rule would usually give those of prestige in Westeros, the Queen was as striking as any of her blood line, and her presence still held firm. When she spoke, her voice was loud enough for the room to hear, but still seemed to only address the noble before her in person.

"Ser, I know mere words are beyond fixing what my husband has broken, only my own actions, henceforth, as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms might one day, in part, remedy these mistakes. I understand your rage, believe me, to have been hurt and betrayed by those you would call family, be it through blood or marriage. You may declare for my brother and I would think no less of you, but the principles that your noble house has lived by exceed far more than those expectations." She paused before she continued, almost daringly close to Rohls, if the man had truly wished to end her claim to the throne here and now, no doubt he could have struck her down before any could intervene, but she had higher regard than that to the Knights of the Vale, and her own ability to disarm with charm and force of personality alone.

"When Jonos the Kingslayer rebelled against the rule of my kinsman, King Aenys, it was House Royce of Runestone that led the loyal forces of the Vale against him, that penned the traitor in the Eyrie. Aenys was weak, and Maegor cruel, but House Royce stood beside them, the rightful Kings of Westeros, in turn, to defeat the traitor. Your house has always done what was right, the will of their King, despite the difficulty of doing so. I would remind you of this, ser, before you ride out, and throw the lives of your men at Aegon's feet." Her hand briefly brushed the Knight's arm, a sad smile on her lips, before moving away from him, the final finishing touches on a call to the man's honour and heritage.

"The Lords, and Ladies, of the Vale, will have their loyalty to their King, and his true heir, rewarded. The loyalty and honour of the Vale is without question, and for those who fly as High as Honour, it has long been its own reward." Once more she waited for her initial point to sink across the room, a momentary reminder of the presitge that sat in this hall, and the memory of great lines that they bore. "But, as your Queen, I promise you more than such expecations, as generations of loyalty deserves. Wealth shall flow through your ports, your shores shall be protected by the full might of the Sea Snake and the Vale shall prosper beyond what you could hope for." She did not add that the expected favouritism they might win from Braavos would only strengthen this promise, not in the presence of Daeron, should Aegon seek the loyalty of The Three Daughters. "While past deeds may not be forgotten, their consequences will be swept away, it is that, or burn on the Pyre of my brothers' ambitions, the man who usurped his father's wish, and his one-eyed brother, who can only claim to be crueler." Her eyes met all the promiment lords' as she addressed the room, turning slowly so that all might feel as if she spoke to them alone. "And in gratitude for her true friendship, Lady Jeyne may name one of you, as she chooses, to sit on my Small Council, and the Knights of the Vale shall ever be prominent in the reign of your first Queen."

She stopped speaking only to regard the sword her half-brother had left, for her sons as it were. Rhaenyra moved to pick it up herself, turning the sheathed blade over in her hands, before her gaze followed the retreating form of her brother. She spoke softly, not even knowing if Daeron would be able to hear "Seven watch over you brother."

The whispering lords and ladies and bickering knights all fell silent as Rhaenyra spoke, and Rohls Royce met Rhaenyra's eyes with great difficulty, making no move to his sword, though several of Lady Jeyne's guards had stepped forward. He and every other Valemen in the High Hall listened intently to Queen Rhaenyra's words. Ser Eddison, standing nearby, watched the Queen speak, looked at his fellow Vale knights, and knew that Rhaenyra was just as influential as her brother if not more so. She may not have been the same girl that the realm had adored years past, but she cut a strong and formidable figure all the same, projecting the confidence and charisma that made a natural leader.

Even the knights who had seemed partial to Daeron were obviously in contemplation, and no man was so conflicted as Ser Rohls Royce. Edd knew he could do nothing but watch at the moment, and see how the bronze knight would respond. Eventually after Rhaenyra finished her entreaty, Rohls, who was visibly shaken bowed his head and said, "Your grace speaks just as well and nobly as your princely brother, and I find myself as a knight in a rare moment where the path ahead of me is unclear. I wish no harm towards your grace, and indeed I believe you would be a fine ruler of the kingdoms. I would have been honored to serve you as well."

The knight of Royce looked back up, "And yet I still have a duty to my blood, as you point out. I can blame no man here for staying true to Jeyne and you. But I cannot allow your husband to escape without any consequence." Rohls smiled sadly at the Queen, clenching a bronze gaunleted fist to his breastplate and said, "I will do everything I can to ensure peace. I will try to convince your half-brother to meet with you or set aside his claim, so that we may conclude this without fire and blood. And I will swear on my honor and the memory of my father, to raise no arms or do no harm to yourself or any member of your family, save the one whom I truly have a grievance with. And that should it come to battle, we will abide by all the laws of combat and treat any sworn man of yours with honor, Valemen or no. I will tell all the Vale of what you and your brother have said, and any men who still follow me, I will have them swear the same oath. If King Aegon does not accept this, then he shall not have my swords, should the worst come to pass."

Rohls looked into Rhaenyra's eyes, "It is my enduring hope that brother and sister need not fight. And I hope that if we see each other again, we shall see amity return to the realm. But even if peace comes to pass.... I swore on my father's grave that I would see justice done. Please give King Daemon my regard as a knight. But tell him that war or peace, I intend to face him with my blade." He bowed his head to Rhaenyra, to Jeyne, and left the High Hall and all the other nobles and knights behind.

Ser Eddison watched Rohls leave and turned to Rhaenyra, "My lady and my kinswoman swore to serve you, and for the love I bore your father and the honor of House Arryn, I will swear the same. Let all men of the Vale declare their loyalty now or leave as Ser Royce has." Edd knelt to Rhaenyra, drawing his sword and bowing his head, "Long live the Queen!"

Two more men stepped forward, Lord Desmond and Ser Willum of House Royce, Rohls' cousins and the Lord of Runestone and wielder of the Valyrian steel sword Lamentation respectively. Desmond, a comely if somewhat slender man declared, "House Royce will not break faith with House Targaryen, even if a wayward son does. Runestone swears to defend the rights of Queen Rhaenyra and to see her sit the Iron Throne, with swords if necessary." Desmond drew his sword, with a hilt of bronze gilded steel and runes along the blade while his brother Willum took the dark mystical blade out of its' sheathe and they both knelt, saying simultaneously, "Long live the Queen!"

None stepped forward to leave after Prince Daeron and Ser Rohls, though Edd did not doubt that Rohls would find his supporters elsewhere in the Vale. But for those gathered in the High Hall, their loyalties seemed clear. More lords and knights stepped forward, drawing their swords and kneeling to the standing Rhaenyra, both great lords and humble sworn swords, their voices echoing in the High Hall in a righteous chorus of, "Long live the Queen!"

Ser Eddison looked up at Rhaenyra, "The Knights of the Vale stand with our lady and you, my queen. If you lead us to the Seventh Hell itself, we will follow."

Rhaenyra was sorry to see Ser Rohls leave, she had hoped she might convince him, but the concessions he made to her was a worthy enough sign of the doubt she had fostered within him. Doubt among the allies of her brother were almost as useful as direct allies of her own. She allowed more emotion than she truly felt to show on her face as he left, close enough to sorrow. In reality, there were few among those whom would declare for her half-brother that she would be sorry to see burn.

As the declarations of loyalty echoed through the room, she allowed the cries of the Lords and Knights of the Vale to wash over her, smiling, if solemnly, at their support, with the addition of Ser Eddison's words, she raised one hand, giving the room pause to allow her to speak once more.

"Your words move me Ser." She smiled directly to the Arryn knight, before addressing the room as a whole; "As does the continued honour of the Lords of the Vale. To mark this day, I would declare the creation of a new knightly order. The chivalry of the Dragon and the Falcon shall come together as the Brotherhood of the Sky. My Lady Jeyne and I will be hinoured to bestow our blessing and favour upon those selected to ride in this new Order." With that, Rhaenyra drew the blade that Daeron had left, the elegant weapon sliding clean and free in the hands of the Queen. She may have been a woman, but the stock of Valyria had both fire and blood in their veins, and she was not stranger to steel.

"Step forwards, Ser Eddison." It was a simple, but formal, process to redub a knight the member of a new order, but given the circumstance, it had far more weight to it, as the Knight of Arryn knelt before his Queen before the nobility and strength of the Vale.

Edd stepped forward, his head bowed, and was the first man of the Vale to be dubbed by Rhaenyra's blade, the lords and ladies of the Vale applauding as he was made the first member of the new Brotherhood of the Sky. Edd hadn't been expecting the honor, but the smile on his face was genuine, as he kept his head bowed.

"Arise Ser, and with this new order, and the might of dragonfire, the Crown and Vale shall crush its enemies, be they the traitors in King's Landing, or the savages that still plague your mountains." She allowed her words to sink in, a murmer of agreement passing throgh the room. "Before I leave the Vale, Syrax shall burn their raiders, cast them into ash, and with your homes safe, the might of the Vale shall be free to support the Crown, in war or peace, whatever the future may hold."

Eddison arose, and Rhaenyra's creation of this new order, with her pledge to put an end to the raiders of the clans had an immediate effect on the gathered lords and knights. They all cheered and applauded the Queen, many of the younger knights already champing at the bit to ride out with their Queen and burn out the wildlings. All were eager to be similarly honored and join this new, glorious brotherhood. Edd raised his sword and shook it in the air, calling out, "As High as Honor! Fire and Blood!"

The knights raised their swords with him and shouted their own words, and the Targaryen creed echoed throughout the High Hall, and the Eyrie itself. In the days that came later, many would claim that from Gates of the Moon to holdfasts and villages miles away, men could hear the calls for Fire and Blood.

Warhammer 40k: Mortis Daemonicus - An Ordo Malleus RP (Interested?)

Interested.

Nobody expects etc etc

The Dance of Dragons - (ASoI&F) (GoT) - [Openly Recruiting]

The North
(With @AtomicNut )

The dishes and japes alternated throughout the hall as a reduced but very vocal host attended the dinner in the keep. Truth to be told, there had been little to no need to actually send off ravens or make the gossip spread the news. Everyone from the surroundings had seen the dragon, and had acted accordingly to the news that a Prince had visited Winterfell. Even the bards who were playing during the dinner were making an extra effort to show their talent, albeit the North was often far too cold for the throat and the fingers played. Lord Cregan, seeing the display, decided to actually dedicate more servants and food to the banquet, although only the Lords and the Prince would eat the freshly hunted Venison, cooked in generous spices. And yet, even cooked vegetables and salted meat were appreciated by the retinues of the men, who sometimes could get ahold of freshly baked bread and pies that were passed around. The wine however, was far mor generous. After all, men could live without wine, as long as water existed, so the stock for the winter was a no concern regarding that.

Cregan, as his condition of host, had decided that it was the Prince the one honored to seat in the best seat next to himself as honored guest. He was wearing fine, yet rather simple clothes and pelts, and sometimes he took a bite or two off the food, eating it in a steady fashion, which showed neither apathy nor ravenous hunger. He however, was sometimes dedicating frowns and stares to the improptu cupbearer that was serving them.

In the end, even lord Cregan Stark could not keep his sister secluded in the room, and he had decided, after pondering that it would be better if she had some part in the banquet. After all, Cregan feared, there would be a long time until the next big event. Arsa was dressed in her finest embroidery, and even she had spared some time to let her hair combed and wear some sparse accessories. Even if she was just a bastard cupbearer, she did look more like the noble sister of Lord Cregan than a Snow at this point.

Not far from there, an Umber and a Mormont were arm-wrestling for a pork meat pie, while a disenchanted Manderly shook his head, sipping some fine Reach winery. On their side, Ser Mors Bolton shifted around, surprisingly armed with a quill and a pen, drawing what-knows-bodypart of his food, while he carefully poked at it with the knife. A Reed woman was explaining the size of her latest capture to a taciturn Karstark. What was more surprising is that the tables were a gradual transition with no clear segregation. High Nobles, Low nobles and even sometimes rank and file and bastards feasted and talked as one, exchanging japes and food.

The wild abandone, at least in comparison to the South, of the Northern feast brought something of a permanent grin to the young Prince's features. He sat, in his place beside Lord Stark, in a doublet of black, trimmed with red, and the sigil of his house sown into the torso. With the hearths roaring, it was almost possible to forget the chill of the North. At least, as a Dragonrider, the Prince was used to biting chill and wind in comparison to most of the Southern lords.

The Prince sipped from wine, and took odd bites from the food, as he watched the events of the hall unfold, pausing for a few long moments to evaluate the much-watched arm wrestle, his smirk extending for a moment, before he turned back towards Lord Stark to speak;

"My thanks again, for this welcome to the North." He paused as he sipped again from his wine, stiring the goblet in his hand, before placing it down. "I must admit, while there may be less...planned, entertainment, the guests are certainly more lively." He chuckled, stealing a quick smile to the rather finely dressed cup-bearer at her brother's behest.

"Tell me, my lord, where would you hold this parlay that so many of us want?"

Cregan scratched his chin, as he took a sip of his cup. He eyed the rest of his guests with bemusment. "In the North, hospitality is a matter of life and death. We might not be the most warm folk, but each and everyone of us is a brother and sister before the dangers of cold and winter." The Wolf said eminently, as he eyed the prince, before formulating an answer.

Only to be interrupted by a coarse shout. "MORS, STOP PLAYING WITH YOUR FOOD!" The Umber wrestler cajoled to the Bolton Knight. "FIND A WOMAN!" He continued. His opponent, the Mormont, did not miss a heartbeat.

"OR TWO!" Racuous laughter deafened the halls for a brief moment, even lord Cregan indulging in making a chortle that looked like the yelps of a drowned puppy. " A place, huh?" He added after the jape.

"Oh, I bet he would say King's Landing godswood!" Arsa piped in as she refilled both of their cups. "Nothing like an old fashioned oath by the old gods!" She chimed, beaming. Cregan simply shook his head and eyed the prince.

"Harrenhal." He stated. "So that we may never forget what could have been of the Seven Kingdoms if we went to war."

Jace chuckled along with the Lord of the North at the outburst of the two Northern lords, as much from the absurdity of it all, as genuine amusement. He laughed again at the exchange between true-born lord and bastard sister, shaking his head slightly.

"It seems your brother is less conservative than you believe, huntress." He smirked a little more, before replying to Cregan; "Mhm, central too, even for those from the far corners of the Kingdoms, ships can travel along the Trident. A fitting location, if any." No better option could show the full might of dragons brought to wrath than Harrenhall, and there would be plenty of that, should the war prove unavoidable.

"But, I suppose we can wait to discuss wars and their making till after we are done being jolly."

"Dorne is another good option." A mellow voice snuck from Jace's back, the mumblings of lanky Mors Bolton almost a gutural whisper, as he shifted his sight almost like if he was some kind of owl towards the prince. "Also, blood from the heart is bright red and the one that returns to it is more faded.Did you know that, prince?"

Cregan eyed Mors Bolton, choosing to ignore the latter...out of place rant he had. "Well, that is a fair point Mors." He looked at the Prince, with a complicity stare. Apparently he said things like this all the time.

"I suppose we can discuss wars after the feast." He asserted, as he eyed Arsa's hip swaying who was being pretty exaggerate now. He nursed his head. He probably was going to have a problem of teenage love in the making. And there she was, leaning towards the prince to talk in accomplice words.

"He is just a grumpy wolf who would rather put a scary face so that everyone is in peace. He is a softie at heart, believe me. He spoils Rickon rotten, and he does the same with me." She whispered in the prince's ear.

"I did, actually, I've spent a good while studying with the Maesters, and that did come up." The Prince managed a somewhat awkward smile in response to Mors Bolton's somewhat out of place statement, before he replied to the more relevant suggestion; "While Dorne may be quite the setting in of itself, I doubt they can be trusted to not use it as an opportunity to rid the world of my good-father." He chuckled slightly, Daemon had certainly earned himself a number of foes, something that was coming back to haunt them all the sooner.

The Prince titlted his head, ever so slightly, away from Cregan as he responded to the Northern maid suddenly whispering in his ear, not so obvious as to dramatically offend a host, but enough to keep their conversation between them; "I cannot imagine he is alone for wanting to spoil one such as you, for different reasons no doubt," His grin did not leave his face, even as he continued on a more serious tone; "Mhm, one should seek the council of grumpy old wolves, with winter on the way."

"I will say it now." Cregan sighed, deciding to take a more direct approach. "Your life and maidenhead is your own problem. But what you are doing is not advisable, Arsa. Stop bothering the Prince." Cregan spat, simply turning off any kind of pretension of diplomacy, before fetching the pitcher from her hands and serving his wine himself. He grumbled afterwards, looking under the table. The snout of Marrow was there, crunching bones from the deer as he licked the marrow, his favorite meal. He decided to toss the Direwolf another bone. Arsa stood there, her mouth agape. She did not believe what Cregan had just said. It would take several moments to even process his words.

"But yes, Dorne could feel too ...tempted for such a thing. And they are the only kingdom with the honor of being dragonslayers." He added as a concern.

Jace's outward response was little more than a raised eyebrow, his eyes flickering between the two Northerners, before releasing a breath, carrying on with the latter line of conversation as if the former had not occured. Diplomacy, after all, was the most pressing cause of his visit.

"Mhm, although, I wouldn't mind a brief trip to Dorne, I hear the beaches are quite lovely. " He chuckled faintly, before continuing; "But yes, poor connotations for my family at the moment. The Eyrie usually remains aloof from outside politics, but with Lady Jeyne being a childhood friend of my mother, I highly doubt the Greens would accept that. Harrenhall, or another riverlander seat, seems to make the most sense, without involving foreign soil." He sipped his wine, calming himself further, even if his gaze momentarily searching for Arsa and her reaction, slow as it was.

Arsa simply recomposed herself, and smiled and bowed politely, subdued like a servant more. That is, until she grabbed another pitcher of wine, and offered it to Lord Stark. All over his head.

The party went silent, all eyes went wide. Umber, who had won the wrestling match, stood there, the pie falling from his mouth. Mormont's wine cup clang to the ground silently. Reed and Karstark both decided to distance themselves. Manderly was livid, trying to rein in his nerves as he shook visiblely. The bards stopping singing.

Underneath the table, Marrow let a loud whine. Cregan stark barely reacted, wiping himself out of the wine, and stood up, his icy eyes overseeing the scene, before eyeing Arsa. Fury was visiblely seen in his factions.

Arsa's eyes shifted from fury to dread, after realizing what she had done. Lord Stark's nostrils flared, as his voice, thin and crackling as new ice, spoke.

"You know, Arsa Snow." He said, before grabbing yet another pitcher. "You are a very clumsy cupbearer." This time, the red tide splashed her. "Look at how your dress is ruined now."

It was Mors the first to laugh, and soon others followed. And then from the underside the table, Marrow came out, and tried to lick Cregan's face to no avail. Only for the now drunken dire wolf to trip Arsa directly into the Prince's lap.

Mors reaction sold it all. "Oh dear, my parchment got soaked."

And the laughter of Northmen roared. Before long, Arsa had joined the laugh aswell, and Cregan did, in his own peculiar way.

What was a flurry of motion and wine, was equally tempestuous within the mind of the Targaryen Prince, from cold dread at the initial 'spill' unto Lord Stark, Jace had been wondering how his first official act of diplomacy had gone so very wrong. He had stifled a laugh at Cregan's reaction, in case it was simply part of a much more serious punishment. Then, when the room had erupted at the comments of the unusual Bolton, Jace had joined in with the boisterous laughter.

It was in the midst of this that a rather damp Arsa landed in his lap, almost spilling them both over, but Jace was not so slight as many princelings, and so held them both from tipping, his eyes catching those of the woman now sat atop him.

"Well then, found yourself in another spot of trouble?"

"At least I get to die in a prince's arms." Arsa flirted back as she readjusted herself with surprising dexterity, as if she was a cat in Jace's lap. "Oh, but I got your garments ruined, my prince! How can I ever repay you?" She said, as she eyed Cregan standing up after fending off his own drunk direwolf.

"Please excuse this poor of a half-sister, my Prince." He said, quickly bouncing back to being somber and worrying more that Arsa's mess had spilled unto the Prince. "Arsa, go get a change of clothes." He said in a rather brotherly coaxing. "And apologize."

"Well, I am dreadfully sorry, Prince Jacaerys. This humble servant will accept any kind of punishment." She said, as she finally got up from his lap with the same dexterity she had positioned herself.

"...and bring me another parchment." Mors voice was heard in the background, before Mormont roared. "AND WINE!"

The Prince, as a young man, had already become acustom to the advances of women, in some form, but this was a rather different ordeal. With the feline grace of Arsa shifting in his lap, Jace was moved to a restrained silence, at least for the moment. When she moved away, it was a mixture of relief and frustration for the Prince, although he quickly recovered into a laugh and smile.

"It is no matter, black and red doublets are hardly a rarity in my family." He smirked, waving a hand as if to cast aside all worry. " I am...ah...sure, that your own dowsing has quiet evenend the score." He just about managed, diplomatically, at the girl's final words, before she disappeared with her lists of demands, a strained sigh escaping the Prince.

"The North may remember, but I doubt I will be forgetting it, either."

Arsa bowed down graciously, as she went in a rush to get changed and supply the demands of those present. Cregan still on his condition as host, sat once again, and stroke his chin, he was obviously thinking on something, probably the events that had happened. He was murmuring something. "Old Gods, Cregan, you really have a tough choice here." He paused and pondered.

"Tell me, Prince. What shall I do with her?" He rubbed his temples. "She has brought considerable distress to you." He said to his guest.

"More so to yourself, I wager, than to me." The Prince responded, leaning back in his chair as he spoke, his clothing barely damp in comparison to either of the Stark-born. "On my account, I'd have you do nothing, but, I suppose, a cupbearer cannot be allowed to douse her lord in wine." Jace chuckled. While the North was not so different from the South when it came to such things, he found it difficult to seriously advise in the matter, when he may not know quite how seriously matters were taken.

"Perhaps take away her priviledge, if only for a short while." He offered, genuinely and honestly, before a slightly more devious thought crossed his mind; "Of course, Southern courts are stricter, she may learn how best to serve you, my lord, among halls that will gasp, not laugh, at her antics."

"South, huh." Stark sighed. "I dont think anything short of dragonfire will temper her. She is wild as the north, prince. A true northwoman at heart." He paused. "But she should serve you well." He said, as he scratched Marrow behind the ear. "In the end, it works for me. The people here expect at least a token punishment, and to show my love for my kin. I can do both that way." He said in a low voice. "Please try to return her alive after all is said and done." He finished. Even if you two end up in bed. "We shall meet after the feast to sort out the details."

"Tame, perhaps not, but the ability to control herself, can only benefit both yourself, and her, in the long run." Jace mused quietly, his thoughts quite elsewhere, on the subject of their conversation, rather than hall itself. He paused before answering Cregan's more personal line of questioning; "I promise, no harm to her, and that was not my intention...with the suggestion." It was a half truth, Jace would have never been so bold as to openly act so, he was not his uncles, but the wildness of the North was infectious, but not so much as to make him obvious.

"Details a plenty, my lord, not merely may matters of your kin, but my own, and the people across these Kingdoms."

Sins of the Father =][= W40k Dark Heresy RP

Looks very fun, interested!

The Dance of Dragons - (ASoI&F) (GoT) - [Openly Recruiting]

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.

-

Staring Back With Chrome Eyes - Vampire/Cyberpunk

Poke for interest.

Seems fun.

The Mythlands - High Fantasy Collaborative Worldbuilding

Seems interesting :) Will start pondering an idea.

The Dance of Dragons - (ASoI&F) (GoT) - [Openly Recruiting]

Princess Rhaenyra

A young Rhaenyra Targaryen, The Realm's Delight

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen

Unlike most noble or royal women of Westeros, Rhaenyra was raised with the expectation of rule. The only living child by her father's first marriage, and thus his only child to be more than half-Valyrian by blood, she was named his heir by the age of eight. At the time, this snubbed Prince Daemon, the King's brother, and later his father's new wife and her sons. Charming and beautiful in her youth, Rhaenyra has been known as the realm's delight, even though she could be quick to anger and unforgiving in her grudges.

In her youth, Rhaenyra proved the epitome of a Targaryen heir, she first rode her dragon, Syrax, at the age of seven, and became her father's cupbearer only a year later, proving as charming at court as one might expect. From then on, it was rare to see the King without Princess, even after, following the death of her mother and would-be brother in childbirth, Rhaenyra was named Princess of Dragonstone.

During these years, Rhaneyra became particularly smitten with two men in general, firstly her uncle Daemon, who was always sure to bring her gifts from his travels, despite the snubbing of his inheritance that Rhaenyra represented. Ser Criston Cole, equally became a staunch ally of Rhaenyra after his admittance to the Kingsguard, when he crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty at tourney. From then on he wore her favour, and was named her personal protector. Such was her headstrong nature, Rhaneyra only considered her proposed marriage to Laenor Velaryon after her father threatened to withdraw her inheritance should she refuse, one of the only times King Viserys ever considered the notion. Despite this, their three children were dark of hair, surprising given that both Rhaenyra and Laenor were Valyrian of feature.

The most prominent of her notorious grudges has been her conflict with her step-mother, after King Viserys refused to clarify on the succession after the birth of his sons to the new queen, a previously strong relationship between Princess and Queen grew sour, resulting in the creation of two informal factions, the Greens and the Blacks, the latter for Rhaenyra, at court. In the early days of this factional conflict, the Princess seemed to have the upper hand, knights sworn for her being more successful at tourney, but that was while the King still lived.

With the deaths of the spouses of both herself and her Uncle Daemon, Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon have more recently been married, away from court and without the permission of King Viserys, this drove yet another issue between the royal brothers, but they did reconcile, no small part due to the efforts of the King's favourite daughter.

The latter, more recent marriage, has been to her uncle, Prince Daemon, and unlike their brothers, Aegon and Viserys appear the full bloom of Valyria. While still young, these continued pregnancies have had their effect on the Princess, her body growing thicker, even if she has yet to lose the innate youthfulness and beauty of the Valyrian dynasty.

When her father died, Rhaenyra was away from court, having been confined to Dragonstone for the birth of her sixth child, thus making it impossible to become involved in the immediate politicing following the death of Viserys I.

Sons
Jaecarys
Lucerys
Joffrey
Aegon
Viserys

Jaecarys Velaryon

Lucerys Velaryon

((A little short right now, but won't be on much for the coming week, so tried to get what I could out))

The Dance of Dragons - (ASoI&F) (GoT) - [Openly Recruiting]

Rhaenyra's pretty much done, even if I still have to work on the sons.
May I drop her in the Characters tab?

The Dance of Dragons - (ASoI&F) (GoT) - [Openly Recruiting]

Princess Rhaenyra

A young Rhaenyra Targaryen, The Realm's Delight

Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen

Unlike most noble or royal women of Westeros, Rhaenyra was raised with the expectation of rule. The only living child by her father's first marriage, and thus his only child to be more than half-Valyrian by blood, she was named his heir by the age of eight. At the time, this snubbed Prince Daemon, the King's brother, and later his father's new wife and her sons. Charming and beautiful in her youth, Rhaenyra has been known as the realm's delight, even though she could be quick to anger and unforgiving in her grudges.

In her youth, Rhaenyra proved the epitome of a Targaryen heir, she first rode her dragon, Syrax, at the age of seven, and became her father's cupbearer only a year later, proving as charming at court as one might expect. From then on, it was rare to see the King without Princess, even after, following the death of her mother and would-be brother in childbirth, Rhaenyra was named Princess of Dragonstone.

During these years, Rhaneyra became particularly smitten with two men in general, firstly her uncle Daemon, who was always sure to bring her gifts from his travels, despite the snubbing of his inheritance that Rhaenyra represented. Ser Criston Cole, equally became a staunch ally of Rhaenyra after his admittance to the Kingsguard, when he crowned her Queen of Love and Beauty at tourney. From then on he wore her favour, and was named her personal protector. Such was her headstrong nature, Rhaneyra only considered her proposed marriage to Laenor Velaryon after her father threatened to withdraw her inheritance should she refuse, one of the only times King Viserys ever considered the notion. Despite this, their three children were dark of hair, surprising given that both Rhaenyra and Laenor were Valyrian of feature.

The most prominent of her notorious grudges has been her conflict with her step-mother, after King Viserys refused to clarify on the succession after the birth of his sons to the new queen, a previously strong relationship between Princess and Queen grew sour, resulting in the creation of two informal factions, the Greens and the Blacks, the latter for Rhaenyra, at court. In the early days of this factional conflict, the Princess seemed to have the upper hand, knights sworn for her being more successful at tourney, but that was while the King still lived.

With the deaths of the spouses of both herself and her Uncle Daemon, Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon have more recently been married, away from court and without the permission of King Viserys, this drove yet another issue between the royal brothers, but they did reconcile, no small part due to the efforts of the King's favourite daughter.

The latter, more recent marriage, has been to her uncle, Prince Daemon, and unlike their brothers, Aegon and Viserys appear the full bloom of Valyria. While still young, these continued pregnancies have had their effect on the Princess, her body growing thicker, even if she has yet to lose the innate youthfulness and beauty of the Valyrian dynasty.

When her father died, Rhaenyra was away from court, having been confined to Dragonstone for the birth of her sixth child, thus making it impossible to become involved in the immediate politicing following the death of Viserys I.

Sons
Jaecarys
Lucerys
Joffrey
Aegon
Viserys

Jaecarys Velaryon

Lucerys Velaryon

((A little short right now, but won't be on much for the coming week, so tried to get what I could out))