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bohemian-nights · 1 year

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Arlī(Anew)Chapter 8

Word Count: ~11,260

Rating: 18+

Warnings⚠️: Uncle/niece incest; violence; blood; smut

Description: The realm would descend into madness if Rhaenyra was crowned and placed upon the Iron Throne. Not even men declared their bastards as trueborns. Let alone did they dare to make one king.

AN: This story takes place from episode 5 onward. I’ve changed things up a bit but I’ve kept the timeline intact

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 9

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131 AC- King’s Landing

Life is not without its seasons. There is a time for peace, love, famine, and war. Sickness, heartbreak, hope, and prosperity. Destinies play out until they reach their natural conclusion. Death. In the end, we can not escape our fate, try as we might. Life does not last forever. It is not a permanent condition. The stranger comes for us all in the end. Death waits for no man, not even a king.

The Stranger had visited so very many times in Naerys life. An old friend he had become. A vulture circling its prey. A shadow creeping in the dark. From each of her parents to Laena, Laenor, and Ser Vaemond. It had taken them all. A God's work is never done. As long as there is life, the Stranger will make his appearance known soon enough.

The story of life, however, is not death. It is not even its final act. Death is not the end. It is a reminder of the impermanent nature of life, but not the end. Nothing ever stays the same, but life always finds its way to begin anew.

Death pays for life in many ways. Change is inevitable. Empires rise and fall. The sunrises and the sunsets. Rivers wither and dry up, and snows cover what once was a meadow bed, but life goes on even after death. The cycle continues. Ever repeating. Life waits for no man. Change waits for no one.

Daemon had woken Naerys up the morning after Ser Vaemond’s petition teetering on the edge of pure rapture. They had not left for Dragonstone the previous night. It was too late and their emotions ran high. Naerys had insisted that they stay and leave when the sun rose. Rhaenyra was not a threat to her. There was not much more she could do or say to them. They knew the games she played. Her well had run dry. Her luck ran out.

In her grief, Naerys had wanted her husband to alleviate her pain. Wanting to be oblivious to the world around them for just a night at least. The events of the day had left her spent. Her husband had been all too happy to oblige. Comforting her in his arms. She lost her sorrow there. “Ivestragī aōha kepus gūrogon care hen ao issa dōna riña.” Let your uncle take care of you, my sweet girl.

Daemon had taken her twice that night. The first with her riding him. She had exhausted herself bouncing upon her husband until he had to take over. Laying down upon his warm chest as he fucked up into her. The second time she woke up in tears in the middle of the night. A few soothing words whispered into her temple and strokes down her bare back and she was under him once more.

Rocking her into their bed and tearing her apart leaving them both a heady mess, His cock remained inside of her thereafter. She wrapped herself around him to keep him from leaving, not that he would ever want to do such a thing. His presence anchors her. Naerys hated the feeling of being apart from him. Wanting to cling to him even in her sleep.

Her husband must have pulled out from within her some time ago because she awoke on her back in a heady state of arousal. Drifting in and out on the edge of blissful consciousness. She came to the land of the living to a warm tongue lapping up cream overflowing from her sweet little cunt. Bringing her to her first orgasm of the day. Her uncle had always had a healthy appetite.

The sounds of his feasting on her wetness filled their guest quarters. Naerys buried her hands in her husband's silver strands while he toyed with her small bud at the apex of her vulva, replacing it with his mouth as he pushed two fingers inside her sopping heat. Finding their sensitive target with years of practice, leaving her curling into herself on the cusp of her second peak that morning.

Naerys' body began to quiver before Daemon pulled his mouth from her. Staring up at her from between her thighs. The black of his pupils overtook the violet of his iris as he flitted his gaze at where his fingers were assaulting his niece-wife’s glistening center. A welcoming sight to see if there ever was one. “Bona iksos issa sȳz riñītsos. Ñuha precious rūs. Māzigon syt issa byka mēre.” That is my good little girl. My precious baby. Come for me, little one.

Her uncle wasted no time bringing back down his mouth to latch his lips upon her puffy little button. Which resulted in her writhing upon their bed. Pleasure overtook Naerys' body. Radiating out from her spasming cunt soaking her husband's digits and the sheets underneath them.

“Muña.” Mother. Daenys light voice and a small knock came through the oak doors of their guest bed chamber. In her hazy state, Naerys thought she had been hallucinating, but then their daughter called for her again. A little more hurried than the first try. “Muña.” Naerys went to push her uncle away, but he pinned her arms down. Placing them at her sides while he let up his feasting with a small groan of annoyance.

“Aōha muñnykeā iksos lodaor engaged paktot sir byka zaldrīzes.” Your mother is otherwise engaged right now, little dragon. She tried with no use to break free of her husband's hold, but Daemon rested his head upon her thigh with a breathless chortle at her attempt. Placing a light slap on the meat of her flesh. Enjoying the sight of the jiggle.

The Rogue Prince did not stop his finger's ministrations from within her, continuing to gently circle her engorged clit with the rough pad of his thumb. Keeping her on the edge of another peak. Naerys had to turn her head into their bed to muffle her moans though the sounds from her dripping cunt were not so easy to ignore. “Māzigon arlī isse nykeā hour. Ao kostagon jenigon pār.” Come back in an hour. You can bother her then. Her husband went back to his first meal of the day. Hoping that would be the last of the interruptions, but their daughter was persistent.

“Ziry kostagon daor umbagon kepa.” It can not wait father. She called out again. This time Daemon did not stop her when she pushed him away. Letting out a huff of irritation that matched her own displeasure at her ruined climax. He climbed up her body and bent down so that she may taste herself before she rose from their bed. Heading to her dressing chambers with a slight wobble to her step and the taste of her own slick on her tongue. Naerys put on a light dress black laced with Velaryon blue. The late summer air in Kings Landing was warm. She did not need more than that.

When she entered their chambers solar, she found that Daemon had gotten up and put on his nightshirt and robe. He sat in his chair by the morning's low fire with Daenys hand in his as he laughed at something their daughter had said. His violet eyes crinkled around the corners of his face. Naerys enjoyed the sight that her favorite pair made.

Daenys was the first to notice her mother’s appearance in the doorway. Her mother noted that she did not look too distressed. Whatever matter she had to tell her could not be that worrying. With a kiss on her father's cheek, the girl took her hand and led her out of their quarters. Promising Daemon that they would be back before morning's end. Rushing her mother out to avoid her father could question where she was taking her.

Daenys led her mother in the direction of the small council. Another ambush she supposed, but it was not the time. “My love it is early.” She tried to pull her daughter closer lest the prying ears of the Red Keep hear them. Rhaenyra or those who she found in her favor could be lurking around. She would rather avoid another run-in, but the girl continued on.

“Do not fret. We will—“ The sight of Alicent interrupted her train of thought. The queen looked grave, weary no doubt from the care of her husband, but relieved to see them. Naerys peered around Alicent expecting to see Aemond, but the younger prince was nowhere to be seen.

“Thank you Daenys.” The Hightower queen took Daenys hand to give it a small squeeze. Ser Criston stood at her side like a sentry. His tan face was unreadable though he offered her a princess as a way of greeting. Naerys hesitated but her daughter bent down to whisper in her ear.

“Please hear them out muña. For my sake.” Daenys placed a faint peck on her cheek before heading down the hall in the direction of Helaena’s chambers. Naerys let out a sigh as she made her way through the council chamber's open doorway. There was no harm in hearing whatever Alicent had to say. They had a common interest after all. Perhaps combined they might be able to convince Viserys and Daemon to betroth Daenys to Aemond and end the charade.

Naerys was not surprised to see Ser Otto standing at the head of the small council chambers, but she was surprised to see Lord Jasper Wylde, Lord Beesbury, Grand Maester Orwyle, and Lord Larys seated along with Lord Commander Ser Westerlings. No one spared her a second glance apart from Ser Otto and Lord Strong.

The first greeted her as Ser Criston had. His expression held no truths like the Dornish knight. The second man she had always found to be unsettling. The newest Lord Strong had never been unkind to her. Quite the opposite in fact, but she could sense the darkness underneath his overly friendly smiles.

Laena had never liked her good brother and she got on with nearly everyone she met. “You must watch his eyes, dear little cousin.” The eyes told all. Naerys did not miss the way Alicent seemed to be startled by his presence either when she thought no one was looking. Or how she kept her children away from the Lord of Harrenhal.

Ser Tyland Lannister arrived not a moment after her. He paused at first seeing her. Naerys had never been to a council meeting. Seeing her there must have been a queer sight. An obvious sign something was not quite right. The master of ships took his seat at the end of the table. It was clear that this meeting was not about her daughter’s betrothal. A marriage plot was not at foot. At least not only a marriage plot.

Ser Tyland was the first to speak, directing his question at the Lord Hand. He seemed to be just as clueless as Naerys though he seemed not to be perturbed by the possible nature of this meeting. He was as vain as always. Making a joke of it in the way that those of his house were fond of doing. “What is it that could not wait an hour? Has Dorne invaded?”

“The king is dead.” Ser Otto wasted no time. Naerys dropped into her chair. It was not shocking. It should not be shocking. Most of Viserys had rotted away a lifetime ago. He was a shell of his former self. The stranger had clung to him far longer than perhaps he had even meant to. His time had come. His reign had come to an end. The age of peace that had lasted in Westeros since her great grandsire the Old King Jaehaerys had come to an end. The next one would be more uncertain than the last.

Daemon was Naerys' first concern. Her husband loved his brother beyond reason. A brother who defended him despite every accusation thrown his way. A brother who he had worshiped. A brother he had wanted to be as close to as possible at one point. His first champion was dead. It made sense why she had been sent instead of him.

Though older now and a bit more reasonable the Rogue Prince had well earned his moniker. He would have no doubt throttled the Lord Hand or plunged Dark Sister into his belly if it was not taken away at the mere mention of his brother's death. Accusing him of schemes and plots to do away with his brother.

Naerys was lost in her own thoughts until she heard the mention of Aegon’s name. King. They wanted to crown him king. Plans which had been made would at long last be set into motion. Plans on who to replace amongst those who were loyal to Rhaenyra. With luck, the crown Princess had left the capital for Driftmark at Princess Rhaenys invitation. Now was the time to strike! Where ravens needed to be sent to call upon their dearest allies in the reach, riverlands, and the westerlands.

Prince Daeron, who was being fostered with his newly lorded Hightower cousin in Oldtown, needed to be sent for or at least prepared for what would come. An envoy was needed for an alliance with House Baratheon. No one seemed shocked to hear of such arrangements apart from herself, the Lord Commander, and Lord Beesbury.

Lord Beesbury was the one to voice his displeasure at hearing such plots. Reminding them all of the loyalty that they owed to Princess Rhaenyra. The king's chosen heir. The rightful heir. The lords of the realm had sworn oaths of loyalty. Visery had stayed true to his daughter. They could not go back on their words now. What was a man without his word? To do so would descend the seven kingdoms into chaos. To place Aegon on the throne would be to place a pretender at the helm.

Lord Jasper and Ser Tyland refuted his arguments in rapid succession. Aegon was not just some lord or some prince. He was the king's son. His eldest son. The king could have changed his mind. Finally coming to his senses in the end. The oaths of loyalty to Rhaenyra were made half a lifetime ago. A great many of the knights and lords who had sworn them were dead. The Great Council of 101 AC had set a precedent a male heir came before his female relations. It would be a profound error to crown her queen on the wishes of a dead man who could never put aside his remorse.

Lord Beesbury turned to Naerys. She had some authority. She was a princess in her own right and a member of House Targaryen. She could lend her voice and join him in his reason. Surely she could see past this foolishness.

This was disloyalty of the highest order, but Naerys could not agree with the reach lord. He could not truly ask her to defend her cousin's claim. Not after she had tormented her and her marriage. For years without end. Dangling the promise of sons in front of Daemon’s face. Sons that the younger princess could never give their uncle. Sons he had so desperately wanted.

The events of yesterday were too fresh in her mind. The old lord had not been present for the petition, but he must have heard the goings on around court. Of what happened to her uncle. The image of Ser Vaemond’s headless body being carried away to be fed to Syrax was a hard one to shake.

Rhaenyra might have been the king's chosen heir, but Aegon was well within his rights to claim the Iron Throne for himself. No matter how unfit he may be, and both he and his sister had the temper and gluttony of their house in equal measure, he was the rightful heir by the laws of men and Gods alike. Sons came before daughters, even younger sons.

Viserys had been wrong not to put aside Rhaenyra in favor of her brother, but he had a guilty conscience. The memories of his first wife and what he had done to her plagued his very soul. Haunting him till his dying day. Till his dying breath no doubt. He could not let down the daughter as he had the mother and the realm would be left to deal with his weakness. The seven kingdoms would pay for a dragon's pride.

There was also the issue of the legitimate line of succession should Rhaenyra be crowned queen. Her only heirs were bastards. Sweet gentle boys, but bastards nonetheless. One could not seat a bastard upon the Iron Throne. Placing Rhaenyra on that very throne would cause more of a headache in the long run than it was worth.

Lord Beesbury was not fazed by the silence in favor of Rhaenyra’s claim. Standing on his own in face of the opposition. He would not be deterred. He had known the king's wishes. He would not go back on his word. The lord was a man of integrity and honor. He had not forgotten where his loyalty lay.

A man’s honor. His honor. The path of righteousness, or a form of it, at court rarely led to recognition or a favorable outcome. Lord Beesburys defense of Rhaenyra could be considered honorable, but honor was worth little within the pale stone walls of the Red Keep.

“This is seizure!” The lord’s last protests. The old lord stood up from his chair to look around the room. Accusing everyone. “It is theft! It is treason at the least!” Grand Maester Orwyle, who had been quiet up until now, advised him to mind his tongue before it landed him into trouble, but the lord continued on despite the advice of the dark maester. Making his gravest accusation against the council yet. Regicide.

Naerys held her breath. If her husband had been there with them he would have been in agreement. His misplaced grief would lead him to it. Searching for someone to blame for his brother's end, they all knew the truth.

The king's death was a natural one and a long time in the making. Lord Jasper asked the reach lord who he suspected of the murder, but he could not say. The king was dead and he believed it was at their hands. “Whether it was one of you or all of you I care not. I will have no part-” With a swift push of his head into the table Ser Criston had been the one to silence Lord Lyman Beesbury before he could finish his allegations and take leave of the council to alert his queen.

Lord Bessbury’s skull had been punctured by the marble ball he had placed in front of him. Vicious crimson fluid spilled out from the side of his head onto the small council table. Grand Maester Orwyle went to check for signs of life, but it was a wasted effort. The blow had killed him instantly.

It could have been an accident. It was more than likely one, but the force Ser Criston used had been excessive. The queen looked shocked by her loyal knight's actions reaching out to grasp Naerys arm when she jumped in fright. Ser Criston himself could not take his dark eyes of the old lord's lifeless body

The Lord Commander stood shocked as the rest of them, but he pulled out his blade once the surprise had worn off. Seeing what could happen Ser Tyland quickly moved out of the way lest he be caught in the crossfire. Ser Westerlings asked his subordinate to vacate his position on the Kingsguard and turn in his sword and cloak immediately. He had killed a defenseless man. He was not worthy to wear the white cloak of Kingsguard. He would stain it with his misdeeds.

Ser Criston would not hear of it. Pulling out his own sword in defense. “I will not suffer insults to her grace the queen.” The two men stood at odds. Staring at each other from the tips of their weapons. The Dornish knight only lowered his blade once his queen assured him that she had not been insulted.

Grand Maester Orwyle suggested that Lord Beesburys body be removed, but Ser Otto held him off. They had business yet to discuss. Council reconvened as a steady stream of blood leaked from the dead lord's head.

The issue of Storms End and its lord became the next topic for consideration, but Naerys remained lost in her fright. Images of Ser Vaemond’s headless corpse and Lord Beesburys combined. Each death played over in her mind. The first acts of violence before the ensuing chaos. Statements. Each of them. It hit her then. The true meaning of this meeting. They were going to war. That is why she had been called for.

“Do you plan on killing Rhaenyra?” A sense of dread led her to ask the question. Naerys did not need an answer for it. Alicent would do anything to insure her children's safety. Ser Otto held little love for the would-be queen and had always thirsted for her uncle's throne.

“Princess, a living challenger invites battle and bloodshed.” The Grand Maester supplied her with as if she was a halfwit. What could she expect? It was a sacrifice that had to be made in order to usher in Aegon’s peaceful reign. She knew the logic behind it. The younger princess herself was finding it difficult to feel sympathy for her cousin at times, but she did not wish for her death.

“Perhaps my aunt might help her to see sense.” There had to be another way around it. Rhaenyra was many things, but not even she deserved death. She was no real threat anyway. If someone were to get her to recognize her younger brother’s claim and conceded to it she would be no threat.

If Rhaenys could convince the younger princess to bow out gracefully there would be no need for bloodshed. She was a woman with bastards for heirs and a thinning list of allies. She could not challenge Aegon.

“Do you believe that your cousin would extend the same courtesy to you princess if you were in her position?” Ser Otto stood up to stand behind her chair. “Do you not wonder what Rhaenyra might do if she is crowned queen?” The Hightower knight grabbed her hand. Admiring the dark bruise on her brown skin from where the would-be queen had clawed at her on the way to Ser Vaemond’s petition yesternoon. “She has always been less than fond of you and overly fond of your husband.” He placed a pat on her hand before he released her. “A queen’s limits are few to none.”

When Naerys did not protest further, sitting in a half-daze, Ser Otto called for Lord Commander Westerlings to take his knights to Dragonstone and do away with Rhaenyra. The commander's reply was to turn in his cloak. He served the king and would continue to do so. He would not kill the king's heir. A woman he had known since her girlhood. Ser Westerlings left without another word.

“Ser Tyland is right.” Naerys unsteady voice interrupted the heavy silence that had fallen over the council chambers in the wake of Ser Westerlings' unexpected departure. “Lord Baratheon will side with you if you offer him a betrothal.”

She grabbed hold of her own bruised arm. Rubbing her wrist as she brought it to her chest to calm her nerves. “He does not hold his cousin in high regard.” The present lord of Storm's End had always cared little for his cousin. Viewing his late father's devotion to Rhaenys as a misplaced effort. “He holds less affection for Rhaenyra and her sons.” The man never and he had sworn no oaths of loyalty as his father had.

“Daeron would do nicely for the eldest of Lord Borros’ daughters then Ser Otto went back to his seat looking pleased though he tried his best to hide it. Alicent took her hand, gave it a squeeze, and offered her a small smile. Color was returning to the queen's cheeks.

“He would prefer Aemond.” Aemond was third in the line of succession and second if the realm wanted stability. The Baratheons were not overly ambitious, but they did have enough self-importance to make up for it. Especially Borros Baratheon who was a brute if there ever was one. To offer him a third son for his eldest daughter might be seen as a slight. They were descended from a dragonseed after all and they were a great house. They wanted their fair share.

“Aemond is already spoken for.” Daenys. Her willful girl. Her daughter had made a deal without her. She and Aemond. Naerys could not be surprised. The two young dragons wanted each other just as much as the other.

Alicent would not deny her second son what he desired nor would her father say a word against the match. Dragonstone had long been sought. It would even the odds in the war to come. Ser Otto would not let it get away even if it was for a Baratheon. At any rate, Lord Baratheon would not don his war hammer in favor of a queen who he detested. Daeron would have to do for them.

Naerys felt a mixture of emotions on her walk back to their chambers. Unease being the chief among them. The Red Keep was eerily quiet. Ser Otto had ordered half of the court to be locked within their chambers or made to swear oaths of loyalty to their new king whose present location was unknown.

Those that refused were placed in the Black Cells beneath Maegor's Holdfast while they searched for Aegon. They could keep their honor and loyalty, but they would wither away in it. The princess’s aunt Rhaenys had been among those who were confined to their quarters. That matter would have to be dealt with later. There were more pressing issues to deal with now

The princess would have to tell Daemon of his brother's fate. She would have to break the news to her husband. She would have to walk a delicate balance. Naerys knew her husband. His reaction to Viserys' passing would not be pleasant.

For all the bitter disagreements throughout their long years between the two men she knew what they meant to each other. Naerys knew how Daemon felt about his elder brother. He loved, worshiped, and resented him in equal measure in various degrees throughout his life. Death would not vanquish his sentiments.

Viserys always stood out of reach. Keeping him at an arm's length had frustrated his younger brother to no end, especially in his younger years. He was the second son desperate to belong somewhere. To be at his brother's side. He had been born for it. In another life. If circumstances were different. If they were different they would have been more. Targaryen's obsession with blood purity dictated it, but in this life, he had to forge his own path.

True enough the Rogue Prince was no longer blinded by his feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing. He had grown to see past his own lusts and wants. To see past himself. To find unselfish happiness and devotion to something more than just Targaryen tradition and customs. While admirable it did not change the fact that his brother in many ways had been his first love.

Naerys came back to their bed chambers to find her husband putting on his riding leathers. Their servants had come in and left. Most of what they had brought had been packed away. “Daenys needs to stop bothering my brother.” Daemon let out an amused sigh greeting her with a grin as he motioned his wife over to help him button his undershirt.

“If she keeps this up he won’t make it till the end of the moon much less the year. She gets that from you, you know. Your beautiful stubbornness.” He kissed her forehead. Naerys tried to distract herself with her task at hand. Each second would bring her closer to having to tell of all that had happened. Daemon was always two steps ahead. Noticing that she had not met his eyes once since she arrived back to their guest chambers. With a stroke down her soft cheek, he took her face between his rough hands to bring her gaze up to meet his.

Her husband's eyes darkened when she began to worry at her plump little lip. Taking the offending feature between her teeth to calm her nerves as Daemon stared down at her. “What did they do?” His eyes traveled across her face. He could see the look in her amethyst orbs. He knew.

Naerys could never hide anything from him, try as she might. She had always been a terrible actress. Her uncle could always sniff her out without her even having to say so much as a word. “What did they do to my brother? She knew that his ire was not directed at her, but he would, sure enough, try to find some target for his anger. The princess reached up a small hand to stroke her husband's pale cheek mirroring his actions in the hope that it would provide him comfort in the wake of such news.

“Viserys died in the middle of the night kepus.” Naerys swallowed hard and released a breath that she had been holding back. She felt her eyes watering. It was unexpected and not completely surprising when her husband collapsed. Falling to his knees and burying his pale face into her stomach. “I am so sorry.” She caressed his pale head placing a kiss upon it. The bond of brothers. Targaryen brothers at that. They had shared more than blood. Daemon had never lived in a world without him. He had always been there. Waiting.

“That bitch he calls—called his wife poisoned him.” His voice was muffled as he spoke it into her skirts. Venom was clear in his gravelly voice. She knew he did not really mean it. Viserys had looked worse for wear for the past ten years. He had grown ill so very long ago. Aegon had been ready as ever to take the throne for just as long. If Alicent and father had wanted Viserys gone they would have done so moons ago.

“He did not have to marry her. He had Rhaenyra. He had me.” It was said more to himself. The slight that had never been righted. Daemon had been his heir even before Rhaenyra. He had been good enough, but Viserys still sought to deny him his rights. To replace him with others when he had been right there. His rejection still stung. “I could have provided him with heirs. We could have. Worthy heirs.”

“You did your duty to him. There is nothing left that you could have done for your brother.” She tried to soothe her husband's brooding thoughts. His regret. The last of his wants and needs to be accepted by his brother would never be fully realized, but he had been more than adequate.

Naerys placed another kiss on his silver head. Petting the strands with a practiced hand. There was no way to stop Viserys' fate. There was no point in worrying about the past. Of what could have been. All her husband could do was grieve for his loss. “He’s at peace now, kepus. He does not have to suffer more.”

Daemon let himself be comforted by his wife. Letting her soothe his inner turmoil with soft strokes to his white head. He was like a child in her hands. A child who needed reassurance. He would do the same for Naerys. He had done the same. It was only right that she provided him with a balm to his mournful soul.

It was no surprise when her husband sprung up from his kneeling position. Cupping her face between his hands before crashing his mouth upon hers in a searing kiss. Making quick work of their clothes as he does so as to bring her to their bed. Tumbling on top of the freshly made linen without breaking apart. Never forgetting her needs, Daemon moved a strong hand down to Naerys center. It did not take much to arouse her. Merely igniting the flame from earlier that morning with his skilled fingers.

Daemon plunged his hard length into her willing channel in a matter of minutes. Driving in and out of her sopping heat with a frenzy. The sounds of their lovemaking overtook their guest quarters. No words were exchanged between them. Only a symphony of grunts, whimpers, and moans.

There was no battle. She let him use her like she was a doll. His doll. She was his beloved lady wife after all. He was well within his rights to gorge himself and slack his lusts and pent up emotions on her supple flesh.

Their coupling is not unkind. Daemon was not truly rough. Only impassioned. It was never unpleasant, not even in his anger and hurt. Whatever ill feelings he held within dissipated. He drew as much comfort from her as she does from him. Give and take. Equals in their own way. All too soon he spills his seed inside her. Her own peak followed not moments after from his continued pressure and small rough circles made upon her little pearl.

As they lay in a sweaty naked heap of bare limbs upon the now-ruined bed the chamber descended into silence. Daemon remained half hard inside of his wife, keeping their combined spends from leaking out onto what was once clean sheets. He was far from being down with her as he rested his head upon her breast.

Daemon occasionally took a nipple within his mouth to suckle upon. Leaving her little brown peaks engorged and themselves in a constant state of arousal. He was sated. Naerys continued to console and dote upon her husband as he returned and basked in her affections with a tight grip on her person. It was a spell before either spoke again. “Skoros gaomagon se vipers jaelagon?” What do the vipers want?

Daemon lifted his head from her breasts to gaze down at his niece. His face was still ashen, but she could see that he would heal from this setback. Some of the mischief had returned to his violent orbs. Naerys felt relief. He would come to terms with the nature of his brother's death. “Skoros gōntan pōnta call ao syt byka mēre?” What did they call you for little one?

Daemon was not stupid. He knew what Viserys death entailed. Why they had called his wife to a council meeting instead of himself. It was not just his propensity for violence that caused them to seek out Naerys to deliver the news. No, above all else the schemers and lackwits that had run his late brother’s court and council wanted a mother’s heart. A mother’s gentleness would convince a dragon of a father to see the merit past the blatant ambition.

“Aōha tala se Aemond jaelagon naejot dīnagon.” Your daughter and Aemond wish to wed. It was better to start out with words of love. To remind him of the familial bond he shared with Aemond. To dance around Otto’s true aim. Dragonstone.

Naerys knew that they saw Daenys as a means to secure their seat and the arsenal it held, but that did not mean that was an absence of fondness. Of care and affection on the part of the young people around. It was their duty as Targaryen’s to marry for the good of their house. Why not wed the two who wished to be together? Perhaps duty and love could coincide. No matter how rare, it would not be the first case of it nor the last.

Daemon was not heartless. He could be rash, but even a dragon's heart could bend to those who laid a claim to him. He loved Daenys. He would die for her as he would live for her. As they all would. Let his love for his daughter sway him towards acceptance of the union.

“Ziry iksos tolī hāeda.” She is too young. An excuse. A poor one at that. Daemon himself had wedded and bedded her when she had been little older than their daughter and he was twice her age. Aemond was only a cousin rather than an uncle. There was a mere six years between the two. Her uncle had no room to talk.

Naerys would not usually push the issue, war or no war, but the two did care for each other. Daenys had been smitten with her older cousin since she could talk and Aemond was a stern enough though devoted boy. Matches were made with less. Her own had. She barely knew her uncle when she was thrust upon him.

“They love one another.” That counted for everything. It had to. “If we do not agree to it, she will be lost to us.” Daenys had too much of her father’s spirit. She would play nice for now, but her desire would win out. Aemond was little better. He had inherited the dragon's blood. All fire and blood willing to burn for each other. It was sweet if not a little terrifying.

“Skoros would ao gaomagon lo ao could daor emagon issa? What would you do if you could not have me?” Naerys brought a hand up to caress his jaw. Clenching her heat around her uncle’s member. It was playing dirty, but she was left with no choice. Daemon had said that she was made for him. She had been what he needed and he reviled in her light.

The Rogue Prince would gladly commit every sin according to the gods old, new, and anyone else in between for her. He had threatened to live in sin to have her. Was it truly damning to have someone you wanted by your side? If an old dragon could not be made to give up what he desired, what made him think that two young dragons would give in to his commands?

Aemond and Daenys could not be stopped even on Daemon's account. They were both young, hot-tempered, and too caught up with each other. The two would force her father’s hand if he did not give his blessing willingly. A scandal that could be avoided if the old prince saw reason.

“Ziry iksos nykeā Hightower.” He is a Hightower. Daemon brought his forehead down to nuzzle hers as his violet eyes closed shut. He breathed his wife in as he held back a groan from his wife’s inner walls fluttering around his cock. She would be the death of him, oh but what a blissful end it would be.

Naerys tried and failed to stifle her laugh which turned to a whimper when Daemon rocked up into her swollen cunt. A playful punishment for her cheek. Kicking a poor man while he was down. Her husband had acted like a spoiled child who seemed to take joy out of denying his nephew. He was running out of excuses and they both knew it.

“Ziry iksos aōha lēkia tresy.” He is your brother’s son. Aemond was a Targaryen even if his mother was a Hightower. Targaryen’s appeared to always be meant for another. He loved Daenys and she loved him. There could be no argument about their feelings toward each other. There was certainly no argument that could be made on who would be more suited for her than Aemond. “Who would you rather have her marry?”

A part of Naerys knew why her husband hesitated to wed the two. It was more than a father's overprotective nature rearing its ugly head. Targaryen’s were a special lot. There was no denying that. Blood belonged with blood. Daemon had wanted his blood for his daughter. It was more than just a want for an heir. He wanted a son for Daenys. It was natural. It was what was expected. His parents had a natural blood mate as had their parents. Why not his daughter?

But Naerys had failed to give birth to a living son. Daemon would never hold it against her, but she knew why he resented Aemond’s presence so much. He stood as a reminder of what could have been. Perhaps in another life things were different, and things were just as they should be, but in this one, their nephew would have to do.

Another part of her, the naive young princess that her husband had first married, wondered if he had truly found peace. If he were as happy as he claimed to be. He defended her to no end, but she still could not stop the dark thoughts that roamed around in the back of her head.

To marry Daenys to Aemond would mean cutting off Rhaenyra for good. To side against his niece. His first niece. The princess he had originally put all of his hopes and desires into. There would be no going back if he chose this path. A war would permanently separate the two.

There was always another option. Daemon could choose to honor Viserys' wish. His brother's last decree. To marry Daenys to Joffrey. To take up for Rhaenyra’s cause. To give her the legitimacy she so desired. To crown her queen.

Daemon did not miss a beat. He kissed away the worry that washed upon Naerys little brow from her troubling thoughts. Sighing into her temple. Not for the first time did he regret his treatment of his little wife during the first moons of their marriage. He should have told her of his sooner of his feelings toward her, but he had been too clouded by his own conceit and resentment.

He had almost lost her in her attempts to prove herself worthy. She, apart from their daughter, meant more to him than all the breath in his body. His brave gentle girl. He did not deserve her yet he had her heart and devotion nonetheless. He should have stayed away from her. Let her marry one of her Velaryon cousins as Ser Vaemond had planned, but he had been too selfish. Too greedy to be denied her. If he couldn’t have Rhaenyra he’d have his other niece for a wife. Daemon was better off for it in the end.

“Ziry jāhor emagon naejot sagon gaomagon gō aegon iksos crowned.” It will have to be done before Aegon is crowned. He whispered it to his little wife. Conceding at long last. Neither Ser Otto nor the prince would trust one another before the deed was done. Too much bad blood stood in the way without the tie of kinship keeping them from harming each other.

“Se Zaldrīzes Ripo jāhor emagon naejot gaomagon.” The Dragonpit will have to do. The Rogue Prince would not have his daughter marry in a sept and they did not have time to journey to Dragonstone and back to wed her in the proper place. Naerys felt the bulk of her woe disappear as she let out a breath of relief which quickly turned into a moan. Her husband had captured her mouth in another sweet yet feverish kiss.

There was no need to prepare themselves for their next round of coupling. With a swift thrust, Daemon was once more buried deep within her love-soaked heat. Where he belonged. The day was still early. They could worry about the ceremony later. Right now her husband had need of her. He was still grieving after all.

Mid-afternoon descended upon the Red Keep before Daemon ceased his amorous affections. He had left his wife feeling achingly sore and reluctant to leave their bed chamber, but there was much to still be done. The castle was in a somber state of half mourning as they prepared for their new king's coronation on the morrow.

Aegon had been located, but the soon-to-be king was found in a drunken state hiding within the Grand Sept. He was dragged back to the Red Keep by a disappointed Ser Criston and a disgruntled Aemond.

The lecherous prince protested bitterly against taking up his late father’s mantle. He did not wish to see himself seated upon the Iron Throne. The boy had some awareness. Naerys would give him that. “Let my sister have it or one of my brothers. I don't care! I do not want it!” If it was up to Daemon she knew that he would place Aemond in his stead with Daenys at his side. Their grandson would be the future king.

The realm might be better for it, but they had chosen the side of duty and order or at least the appearance of it. Aegon would be made king whether he wanted it or not. It was not an issue with which Naerys would concern herself. His mother and grandsire had it well within hand. Rhaenys was at the forefront of her mind now.

“Are my granddaughters safe?” Her aunt's unnaturally cold voice greeted her before she could even shut the door to her chambers turned holding cell. Rhaenys stood facing her windows. The shutters were closed leaving the fire and freshly lit candles to provide light on the eve of the dying day. The older princess' body was rigid as she stared out below at the sweltering capital.

“They arrived safely back to Driftmark this morning.” She reached out to lend a reassuring hand but the older woman flinched away. It stung as Naerys moved her arm back to her side. Wringing her wrist to keep her hands busy. “No one will go after them.” She would not stand for it. She would allow it.

Naerys owed Laena who had been a sister to her in all but name. She would not see any harm come to her late cousin's daughters. Laena would do the same for her. At any rate, the Greens did not have any quarrel with either Baela or Rhaena. They were mere girls who had the misfortune to be betrothed to their bastard half-brothers. “You have my word aunt.”

“The word of jailers and traitors means little to me Naerys.” Rhaenys finally turned her rapidly graying head around to face her. Narrowing her violet eyes in cool inspection. The younger princess tried her best not to cower under her good aunt's gaze. It is a funny thing how we revert into the children we once were from something as simple as a disapproving glare.

“Aegon is the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.” Naerys held her ground. Her aunt let out a huff in amusement. As if her words were so ridiculous. Truth had become humorous in the face of lies that they had told for so very long. Mayhaps she had even forgotten it. What a strange world they lived in. “From where I stand, Rhaenyra is the traitor.”

“Traitor to what exactly?” Rhaenys would not lend her candor to the situation. She had made her bed with Rhaenyra. She would not give in now no matter the truth. It need not be said. They could skirt around it for all they like. The truth after all was a fickle thing that changed as easily as a late summer breeze. “She is the king's chosen heir.” That meant little now and they both knew it. To crown Rhaenyra queen would be folly.

“She has obvious bastards for heirs.” Her aunt could not even refute it. It may not be treason per se, but it was chaos. The realm would descend into madness if Rhaenyra was crowned and placed on the Iron Throne. Not even men declared their bastards as trueborn. Let alone did they dare to make one king, but her cousin had Targaryen conceit in abundance. “The realm can not withstand her reign.”

“You are so quick to tear another woman down Naerys.” It was Naerys turn to let out a snort in amusement. Though she did not flinch back as she had when the older princess reached out to admire a silver curl with a sneer. She had forgotten that her aunt was a Targaryen like the rest of them. A dragon rider with a dragon’s heat.

“I thought I taught you better than that.” Her aunt knew good and well why she would not side with her cousin. Rhaenys had been there when Rhaenyra tried to accuse her of treason. Her cousin had judged her to be an enemy and wanted her head just as she had wanted Ser Vaemond’s.

“We would not be in this mess if you had not let them steal your crown out from under you.” The Naerys spat out. She would not be dismissed as a woman acting out of malice and spite. If her aunt wanted cruelty she would show it to her. If she wanted to hurt. She would hurt back. It was petty, but she had reason enough. She would not cower and hide like a frightened girl.

The Queen Who Never Was. Naerys knew how Rhaenys hated it. Hated being called it by those closest to her. The constant reminders from her uncle the late Lord Boremund Baratheon. Whispers from her husband Lord Corlys. Even Ser Vaemond’s mocking sneers

Rhaenys was the firstborn daughter of the firstborn son. She was the rightful heir, but the Old King wanted a male heir to succeed him rather than his late son's daughter. Her position as heir died the moment her father had.

Rhaenys was passed over thrice. First by her uncle, Naerys grandsire, then Naerys father, and finally Viserys. The crown should have gone to her, but it went to a worthy successor with only a whimper of a protest and that came from her uncle the Sea Snake. Her aunt had always said she had gotten over the slight, but she could see a brief flash of envy in her violet eyes sometimes when they gazed upon the Iron Throne, Viserys, or even Rhaenyra.

“You talk of the good of the realm. Everything I have done has been for the good of the realm.” Her aunt's face was set in stone. Her eyes held little light in them. Years of practice made the lack of emotion on the subject appear natural on her pale visage. “If I recall your mother made the same decision when she let Viserys take your crown as well niece.” Though her tone was not biting, Rhaenys curled her lips in a jeer. A blow for a blow.

“My mother did not even have the support of her own brothers.” True enough, Ser Vaemond had supported her father’s claim, but he did not put up much of a fight once Prince Aenys had been sent to an early grave. Lord Corlys had offered his protection. He would never let a hand raise in harm against his only sister or his babe niece, but he offered little else.

“She had no choice! I was a child! You had the might of House Velaryon at your disposal. You had a dragon!” At the time, only Daemon had claim to a full-grown dragon. Little stood in her way. “You had a son who would rule after, yet you still gave up your crown for a man not even worthy to rule Dragonstone, let alone the Seven Kingdoms!”

Viserys was a weak man who spread disease and poison wherever he went. He played the role of peacemaker, but he caused more damage than all of them. Trampling on tradition while he gained everything he had ever had from it. “You won’t even stand up to her husband to make Baela heir.”

“Do not lecture me niece.” Rhaenys laughed. It was a bitter one this time. “Everything I do is for my granddaughters.” The years of pent-up frustration brewing finally bubbled over at the surface. “You are a mother now Naerys. You ought to know better. You are a woman grown now. Since you are so concerned with who is a worthy heir, push for your claim and your daughters. Ask the Greens that you side with to call for a Great Council. Ask your husband to start a war for you. See where that gets you!”

She did not doubt that Daemon would start a war of succession for her. It was well within his nature, but there was no denying that it would only end in needless bloodshed. Naerys had no sons and no means to provide the realm with them other than Daenys. While the smallfolk might love their Rogue Prince the lords of the land were less than fond of her uncle and would like him less as their King consort.

Truth be told it was a relief in a way that she had not been made queen. Aegon was right. Above all the Iron Throne was a curse more than it was something to covet and hold in one’s possession.

“Our house finally has the chance to seat a woman upon the throne and yet you stand in your cousin's way the same as the men who stood in our way.” Perhaps Rhaenys had deluded herself into thinking that Rhaenyra would be a just and fair ruler. Perhaps Rhaenyra might be a good queen, but Naerys would have no part in helping her cousin to the throne.

This went beyond who was worthy of holding the throne. “You side with the men of the realm just the same.” Her aunt tried one last time, but it was in vain. Naerys would not be bullied into acceptance by a hypocrite who sided with a woman who had made her own daughter's marriage a misery. “We all must make sacrifices Naerys.”

“She accused me of treason.” After ripping out the tongues of her Velaryon cousins and ordering the beheading of her uncle no less. Naerys would no longer dance around the truth. She could not. She had the bruise to prove Rhaenyra’s intent for her. If it was not for her husband's affection toward her, her head would surely be in Syrax’s belly next to Ser Vaemond’s. “Forgive me if I am not so sympathetic to her plight.”

“I will send for someone to deliver you to your granddaughters.” There were still those loyal to the crown princess. It would not take much to sneak her out of the Red Keep. She could enlist Ser Westerlings' help if need be.

Naerys would not see Baela and Rhaena alone in this world. The girls had been through so much. They would undoubtedly be pushed aside if their grandmother was not there to protect and defend them. Even if it meant giving Rhaenyra one more dragon rider, Laena's girls needed her.

Rhaenys reached out to grasp Naerys. Seemingly releasing the mistake in her chastisement. She had been too cruel, but the younger princess flinched away. Pulling open the chamber doors she did not turn around to face her aunt. She could not do so without crumbling. “Good luck aunt.” Making her way back into the hall Naerys let out a silent prayer to the Mother that she would not meet her in worse circumstances than this.

Aemond and Daenys wedding ceremony was a quiet and hurried affair. Neither she nor her cousin turned nephew turned good-son seemed disappointed by this fact. A septon had been procured with surprising speed, but Daemon insisted that he would officiate the ceremony. After of course he had called his soon-to-be good-son to their chambers for a pre-wedding bonding of sorts.

“If you ever hurt my daughter.” Her husband sat upon his armchair polishing Dark Sister in his sword hand. His other pale hand he placed upon Aemond’s shoulder. “If I find out that you have ever made her unhappy.” He gestured to the blade in his grasp. Twirling it around with a small smirk that did not reach his darkened eyes. He looked every bit the vengeful Valyrian God of old. “This will find a home in that empty hole you call your eye, sweet nephew.”

The younger prince did not flinch at his uncle's words. Only bowing his head slightly. “I would gladly accept that fate, nuncle.” It was his simple reply. One that seemed to satisfy Daemon who got up from his chair to place a heavy pat on Aemond’s with a mirthless chortle.

Naerys did not doubt Aemond’s sincerity. He was utterly devoted to Daenys. She had not seen him so much as looked at another maiden. He was not a drunken lustful fool like his older brother nor was he neglectful as his father had been.

He had some darkness in him, but it was familiar. The same darkness she saw in her own husband. The same need to prove himself as a second son, but he was overall a dutiful Targaryen prince. In any case, Naerys would burn Aemond herself with Silverwings' help if he was ever untrue to their daughter.

Daenys' lady companion, a bubbly girl of ten and six who was the daughter of their steward, had brought Naerys wedding robes to the Red Keep at the young princess's request. To that, her mother could not be surprised. It was clear that her daughter had not planned on leaving Kings Landing without what or rather who she wanted.

Helaena had taken care to pin flowers picked by her children into her little sister's hair alongside her headpiece after Naerys had pinned up her silver curls. Beaming at the finished result. “Ao jurnegon hae pretty hae aōha muñnykeā byka zaldrīzes.” You look as pretty as your mother little dragon. Daemon’s violet eyes were glassy in the candlelight as he gazed at his daughter. There was no denying that Daenys looked every bit the Valyrian bride. Though her mother thought that the robes fit better on her daughter’s frame than they had ever looked on her.

Naerys could not help, but compare her daughter's wedding to her own. Truthfully could only remember her nerves. The bulk of that fateful day had been a blur. Even when it had been fresh in her mind. She did recall though that Daemon had to draw her blood for her. Her hand had been too shaky.

Daenys had been able to cut her own lip without Aemond’s assistance. She did not wince when her new husband placed their combined blood upon her forehead, the only person who had done so had been Alicent though her bright smile held the truth of her feelings towards her new good-daughter.

Daenys repeated her vows in Valyrian with perfect diction. She beamed up at Aemond, who looked the happiest Naerys had ever seen, as she did so. Daenys was a glowing vibrant bride and her mother was glad for that.

The feast afterward was a rather interesting experience. Aegon had sobered up enough to attend the family gathering in late fathers Nos his private solar. He had not, however, recovered enough from his past libations to have full control of his wits. The soon-to-be crowned king had called for the bedding twice. The first was met with dark glares from both Aemond and Daemon which should have kept him from egging on the situation, but not a quarter hour later did he call for it to be done again.

“Your bride is very pretty brother.” Having been banned from wine and ale for the duration of the feast Aegon took a swig of water from his goblet. Continuing on with a half-drunken smile. “It is a pity that Good Queen Alyssnne saw fit to do away with the first night.” Helaena who sat next to her husband blanched, though his next words would cause them all to stir in anger and recoil in horror.

“My dear little sister could have had two princes breaking her in tonight. Perhaps she still might.” The singers had stopped their music at the last of their new king's declaration. The room went deathly silent. Before either Daemon or Aemond, who were both armed, could enact harm against Aegon, before he was even crowned no less, Ser Otto sprouted up from his seat at the table's end to diffuse the situation.

“I believe that it is time that you retire, your grace.” The hand of the King motioned Ser Criston over to where his eldest grandson sat by a furious Aemond who had only been stopped from committing kingslaying and kinslaying from his young bride's honey hand on his pale one. “You will need your strength for tomorrow.” Aegon protested, but Ser Criston and some of his men were able to lead him back to his bed chambers without too much fuss.

While there was no bedding that did not stop Daemon from trying to hold off Aemond and Daenys departure for as long as he could. The thought of his daughter being swept away to be misused by his nephew made him ill. So he took to glaring at Aemond from where he sat on Daenys left during the duration of the feast. Taking his daughter's smaller hand in his and placed a paternal kiss upon the honey skin. It was almost amusing at first, but as the feast progressed it soon enough became an unbearable sight to watch. The Rogue Prince's mood only became more gloomy with each minute that passed.

Daemon would not even let Daenys join her new husband for so much as a dance, lest Aemond might somehow whisk his daughter away to defile her. Never mind the fact that he was well within his rights to do so now. She was his wife.

Aemond returned his new good father’s glower in kind, but he did not say anything to the older man. Not wanting to provoke his uncle's ire at his own wedding feast. Their poor girl, despite her smile, looked like she was suffocating under her father's smothering. Having to placate both men who she sat into between.

Naerys did not like the idea of what would happen after the feasts either. Their daughter would always be her baby. Her only living child who she had been blessed by the Gods to carry inside her belly for nine moons. It was she who had cared for her before anyone else had known her. She had been a part of her and would always be. She knew Daenys better than her own self, but the young princess was a married woman now. It would not do for her husband to act as he did.

It was only when Naerys had been asked by Ser Criston to join him for a dance, that her husband turned his back on the newlyweds long enough that the two were able to sneak out and head for Aemond’s chambers. Away from prying eyes as they spent their first night as man and wife.

Naerys could not hold back her laughter at the look on her husband’s stern face when he realized that his daughter and good-son had left for their chambers. He was pale as a ghost as he scanned the king's private solar for a glimpse of Daenys. “īlon jāhor ūndegon zirȳ isse se tubis kepus.” We will see them in the morning, uncle. They did not get much rest that night though she counted it lucky that Daemon had not sought to make their daughter a widow on her wedding day.

The ride to Aegon’s coronation the following day was pleasant enough. Naerys rode with her daughter and niece, the soon-to-be crowned queen. The girls sat huddled opposite to the older princess exchanging whispers and giggles amongst themselves. With a rosy flush coloring her honey face, Daenys was the very picture of a new bride. Outside their wheelhouse was a different story.

Both Aemond and Daemon rode ahead of them on horseback. The two had not spoken to each other since the ceremony, but as long as neither prince attempted to harm the other their wives would not force a connection between them. At least not yet anyway.

The hopes for the coronation were low. The Dragonpit had been filled enough with small folk. Though completely sober for mayhaps the first time in his adult life, Aegon was sullen and pale as he made his grand entrance. His eyes watering over as he kneeled next to his sister-wife to be anointed and blessed by Septon Eustace in the frail High Septon’s absence.

Ser Criston held up the crown of the conqueror for all to see before placing it upon the prince’s white head. Proclaiming him the heir and king in the name of the seven. From the corner of her eye, Naerys noticed her good-son staring at his brother's head. A second son bound by duty. Daenys grabbed her husband’s hand in comfort. Aemond gladly took her little honey hand further into his grasp, but his eyes remained on Aegon.

Alicent went forward to place her own crown upon her daughter's fair head. Giving her a kiss on her cheek before bowing to her. “My Queen.” The girl would not quite meet her mother’s eye though the dear little queen did accept her mother's gesture with a half smile.

Ser Criston had been the one first to bow his head to their new king. He had done so without thought. Tradition dictated that they follow the Dornish knight's lead. In recognition of their new king, each standing on the Dragonpits dais, apart from Helaena who remained kneeling, dropped to a half curtsey, a head bow, or a jerk of the head in Daemon’s case which had been stiffer than Aemond’s half-hearted attempt. Naerys' husband would give him no more than that.

Aegon turned his hollowed-out eyes to gaze at his family and council before turning to face the crowd. King Aegon. The second of his name. For a brief moment, it seemed as if the boy’s low spirits would continue on, but then the crowd began to cheer. He was king. He was the lord of the seven kingdoms. Protector of the realm and he only just now realized it. He basked in the small folks' acceptance of him. Pumping his sword in elation, until an unexpected visitor arrived.

Rhaenys. In her full armor, she rode on top of Meleys. The scarlet she-dragon burst from underneath the floorboards. Crushing the small folk who had been unlucky enough to be in her path. Naerys had not forgotten her aunt. Nor how they left things between them, but she did not expect her to pay her kindness with this.

Chaos reigned over the Dragonpit. Ser Otto commanded the gates to be open as the occupants inside scrambled to exit from the dome lest they wind up crushed or trampled by the Lady of Driftmark and her dragon. Naerys found herself being pushed behind her husband. She let out a breath of relief when she turned her silver head and saw that Aemond had done the same with their daughter who stood clinging to her husband.

Meleys and her rider stared down Aegon and Alicent. The dowager queen ordered Ser Criston to protect her daughter who had moved back from the center of the dais, drawing her son in back of her. Naerys felt all the blood leave out from her body when the dragon began to growl down at the mother and her son.

Her aunt had never been a violent woman, but war makes monsters of us all. Meleys let out a piercing roar at the dowager queen and the freshly crowned king. No heat came. A scream. A battle cry. Nothing more.

Naerys was left reeling as Rhaenys took to the skies heading for Driftmark. Her aunt could have left in peace with Ser Westerlings. The loyal knight had been more than willing to offer her his sword. To take the older princess quietly, discreetly back to her home, Or gather her granddaughters from Hide Tide and bring them here to her, but she had chosen to torment them instead. She had chosen to play at war. She had chosen her queen.

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