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Rating:

Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warnings:

Graphic Depictions Of ViolenceMajor Character Death

Fandoms:

Game of Thrones (TV)A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. MartinA Song of Ice and Fire & Related FandomsHouse of the Dragon (TV)幼女戦記 | Youjo Senki | Saga of Tanya the Evil - Carlo Zen (Light Novels)幼女戦記 | Youjo Senki | Saga of Tanya the Evil (Anime)

Characters:

Tanya von DegurechaffViserys I TargaryenRhaenyra TargaryenSyrax | Rhaenyra Targaryen's DragonAlicent HightowerOtto HightowerAegon II TargaryenLaenor Velaryon

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WarOriginally Posted Elsewhere

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English

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Published:2024-02-24Updated:2026-05-20Words:319,557Chapters:58/?Comments:1,548Kudos:3,728Bookmarks:1,072Hits:221,514

A Young Woman's Inevitable Dance of the Dragons

Failninjaninja

Chapter 50

Notes:

As always BIG THANK YOU to MARch_Of_Time for proofreading and additional text to add flavor and depth.

Chapter Text

Chapter 50

"Just as the study of urban economics dictates, there is considerable advantage to be gained from proximity alone. This general principle applies to authority as well." -From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 11

Kevan watched as his wife finished feeding their perfect, adorably drowsy babe. Many noble ladies employed wet nurses, but his beloved Elaena insisted that there were numerous benefits to health for both herself and their son which she wished to make the most of. She remained further confident that she could provide the proper amount by her lonesome for Fraedrik's best nourishment and growth.

And grow well and quick, he did.

Kevan deemed it a noble endeavor, a testament to his wife's quiet compassion and unfailing diligence, for he knew they both ardently desired their son's health to be flawless in every regard. Yet Kevan could not help but harbor concerns that Elaena must rise several times each night to tend to the feedings. Still, his wife appeared to possess near boundless vigor, and the want of sleep scarcely impeded her.

But it mattered not for the pangs to his heart, so Kevan had done his best to ease her discomfort or assist where he may, whether it be adjusting schedules or merely offering a shoulder to lean upon. At such private times, with their son in her arms, Elaena often took up a look of somewhat dazed concentration. These moments spent together Kevan held most passionately dear, for in rare instants she might relax without restraint, expression tranquil, or respond to his touch without a thought amidst her distraction.

Accustomed to Elaena's familiar countenance, which oft bore a gentle smile, Kevan found heavy delight in seeing a deeper one that elevated her already comely features to greater splendor. Gazing upon her as she cared for their babe only heightened the joy and pride he felt in growing so close with such a cherished woman as his wife.

A peerless achievement, in his estimation, one he alone could claim.

Kevan lightly combed a hand down the length of her silken hair, trailing a caress on the small of her back to draw her attention, "The babe is restful; I had heard that sometimes Targaryen babes could be difficult."

Elaena nodded, long silvery locks falling from her shoulder to pool in her lap, "They can be. The Targaryens," she smiled, "we, Targaryens, are prone to extremes. I am not sure if it is genetic or if it somehow involves our unique ability to bond with dragons, but I have noticed it with my siblings as well as my nephews and nieces. 'Average' just seems far rarer than a normal distribution would suggest."

Kevan nodded, not understanding what the word 'genetic' meant, but he also knew that asking too many questions just introduced more words he was not familiar with, along with complex histories or explanations that of late they had both seldom had the time to entertain.

He could parse her reference to terms of numbers and 'statistics' well enough, from their many prior discussions, to understand her intent. All men knew that Targaryens were far beyond what could be considered normal, with the awe-inspiring feats of this age offering strong examples among the members of each generation. So he supposed it was in reference to their bloodline, their unique and vibrant beauty, and all that they consistently inherited.

It delighted Kevan that his wife was so well-learned, so unerringly brilliant. His father, too, was gushing about the improvements already made. A pristine new city with wonders that hinted at Old Valyria had the Lefford patriarch beaming with pride akin to the King's own well-known love of all things Valyrian.

Kevan had always had a high opinion of his father, but even he could see the favorable changes their marriage had brought to the man. He was more relaxed, felt more secure, laughed louder, and lacked the strain that an important lord often carried.

Just another reason to thank the Seven that Elaena chose me.

"The court being here on my father's lands, is it to your liking?" Kevan asked, continuing to gently stroke his wife's back when he felt her tense muscles loosen a degree.

She thought for a moment before answering. "I have mixed feelings. Logistically, having much of the court here while the rest remains in King's Landing is not ideal, but it does allow me to have finer influence over my father. I mislike the added ears of other powers now thronging the area; it has made my own servants' task more difficult."

Kevan knew that the new guards hired on to House Lefford had been in service to his wife for some time. They were more than just men-at-arms. They were also her ears, serving a different purpose than most. Instead of attempting to learn more about other houses, foreign powers, or wealthy notables, they worked to uncover those same powers – and the spies they relied on.

Elaena had explained that knowing who had what information made things predictable. It wasn't just about keeping secrets; it was also about planting false ones that could be revealed to those who had entered their service only to spy on them. As far as Kevan knew, she had great success, but the sheer number of guests and their entourages had muddied the waters.

I was not reared in King's Landing, but these cloak-and-dagger games seem extreme – yet my darling wife was once but a single door away from being slain by assassins sent for the Dark Storm. Royal blood wields tremendous power, but it is a double-edged sword, for the danger that comes with it is just as great. Is it any wonder that she grew to wield her status and seize opportunities with such fearsome skill?

His wife tilted her head to peer aside as if amused, her gaze stunning in the warm light, before she continued in a quiet voice, "So long as my uncle behaves himself, I have hope for peace and prosperity. The freed people of Tyrosh will take years to integrate, but their presence will help bring projects to life faster than they otherwise would have. I am always cautious, but Kevan, I truly think we near an age of progress and plenty."

Kevan grimaced, drawing himself a bit closer, hand ghosting a touch to her waist in concern. "You believe Daemon will show himself for the tourney?"

Elaena nodded. "My uncle must have his amusements. I'm told Tyrosh has fighting pits now. A messy affair, but so far only those who have committed heinous crimes and volunteers partake. I suspect their novelty will eventually wane, and he will come here to showcase his talents, aging though they be."

Kevan chuckled, remembering his duel. "Not quick enough for my liking."

Elaena let loose a small sigh, the sound somehow profound. "Targaryens, some are blessed with the vitality and vigor of young men even in their dotage. Others crumble far more quickly; it has taken much effort to ensure my father is not of the latter."

Kevan knew a bit about how in the past Elaena had run a tight ship in regards to the King's diet. A war of wills that had eventually seen Elaena triumphant, and now Viserys was much haler than the realm had expected a decade ago. Another marvel that could be laid at her feet.

"Nothing like being able to see your father personally to ensure he keeps to his promises at feasts."

Elaena turned with a smile, a sharp brightness to her eyes. She opened her mouth, and then closed it, and nodded, before speaking again.

"I trust my father, but even in King's Landing I can depend on my family and friends to speak true of his habits."

Of course. Always a plan for everything, it comforts me to know that for every possible situation my wife hath laid schemes for the betterment of her family and Westeros. I can only hope to be one part of all that ensures her safety, as with our 'bunker' and contingencies. But by the gods, I shall suffer none who dare even try to sneak assassins or spies so close to her again.

***

Alicent at first would not believe it. Aemond, not believing in the Seven? No, this was one of his untoward games, where he chose to play the advocate for a view he did not believe, merely to incense others. But to say such things to other nobles was folly.

Only it wasn't some tawdry game of discourse – it was his genuine, profane belief. And it horrified her.

Alicent drank more wine as she stared at Aemond. Aegon and Helaena were seated at the table alongside Aemond and Daeron. Daenora was with Elaena and the baby, and Alicent's other children were safe and sound in King's Landing. Through red-rimmed eyes, she looked at Aemond and wondered where it had all gone so wrong.

"You are not jesting, or playing one of your rhetorical games, are you, my son? How can you deny the Seven?" Her voice was heavy with emotion and Aemond looked at her with contempt.

"I speak naught but the truth. Any who would examine the claims made by the Septons would realize there is no evidence. Why should I be compelled to follow the precepts of old men who betray their own teachings every time we glance? The Seven sought to forbid brother marry sister, but when Aegon came with his dragons, they changed their doctrine. And you believe their order is divinely inspired?"

Daeron's voice was heated, but controlled. "The Seven are infallible, but man is not. The Seven-Pointed Star warns against those who betray the faith, which is proof that the Seven, in their wisdom, gave man warning to not blindly trust the Septons. The Seven uniquely blessing our family is a boon worthy of gratitude, not suspicion."

Aemond just darkly chuckled. "Of course, it matters not what I say or what arguments I make, you will never see what is before your face."

"Brother," Helaena asked mildly, "what do you believe then? Do you seek to rekindle the faith of Old Valyria?"

Alicent thought that would be a disaster, but Aemond only shook his head.

"Nothing but fables and nonsense used to control the smallfolk. Their meager and pitiful lives would be dreary without the comfort of some eternal award if they obey their betters and the Gods," Aemond said, contempt dripping from his voice.

Aegon rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "In that case, brother, why do you persist? If you see the smallfolk's faith as productive to keep them in line, why do you wish to upend it?"

Daeron's eyes widened and he looked stricken for a moment.

Aemond grinned at his older brother. "Ah, so you are not fully dull. In truth, it is because I detest the lie. I detest that I am expected to bow my head and continue the farce. The vassals may be a bit less tractable if they did not believe in lies heaped on their heads, but I am up to the challenge of enforcing our position. What can they do against dragons?"

"Stop it!" Alicent cried. "This isn't a game, this isn't some tool for rulership to use. The Stranger will drag you to the Seven Hells where you will face eternal judgement and doom, Aemond! Please, come with me, let us talk with the Septons and Septas and resolve your doubts."

Aemond laughed. "They are not doubts, mother. I do not tremble in worry and ignorance, I know, there is nothing to be gained by speaking with those deluded fools. But should they wish it, I would be eager to discuss this in King's Landing in front of all the smallfolk. Let us see them marshal their arguments and I will parry each bit of drivel they can summon."

"Others take you, Aemond!" Aegon snapped and rose to his feet. "Your fate is your own, but you know that sort of foolishness is not going to be tolerated. You'll have a mob on your hands, and you will be lucky if it isn't worse than dung that's thrown at you!"

Aemond met Aegon's stare. "Vermithor will see to any foolish enough to try."

"So much noise," Helaena said, rubbing at her temple before looking back at Aemond. "What then do you believe happens to your spirit after death takes you?"

Aemond shrugs. "Nothing, our lives are finite. I mean to enjoy mine, to embrace challenges, slay foes, and have my name spoken until the last days of man. It is a form of immortality, the only one available to us. They will speak of me in wonder long after I am gone."

"Such arrogance." Daeron said wearily.

"I think you are wrong, brother." Helaena looked at Aemond. "You only see what you can see. Before our family visited these shores, or even before that, the idea of dragons that can breathe fire hot enough to melt stone would be viewed as myth."

Aemond shrugged. "And? Should the gods seek to convince me, they can appear before me and demonstrate their divinity, until then, I mock the very idea that I should be judged by anyone other than myself."

Alicent felt a clawing at her mind. Aemond was too arrogant to change his ways. Her son would be damned and there was nothing she could do about it.

No, my son, my son!

"Oh, for pity's sake, mother. Your rhetoric has not swayed me, so you think tears will wear down my resistance? I've enough of this; I do not recoil from the meeting of the minds, but I will not sit here and deal with wailing."

Aemond stalked out, and Alicent let her tears flow. Helaena came over and embraced her. Her sweet, but strange daughter did not often embrace her, but today she did, and Alicent was grateful.

Daeron spoke up. "Forgive me, brother, sister, but I must address this matter. You must have an heir that is not Aemond. I used to believe that Jacaerys on the Iron Throne would be the greatest blasphemy toward the Seven; I no longer believe that to be true. If Helaena is barren, you must set her aside and find a wife who will grant you heirs."

No one in the room took his words well, nor were their reactions kind.

***

Helaena felt the wind in her face as she flew upon Dreamfyre. Boundless joy as she freely flew, and yet slowly it dawned on her that something was wrong. Shadows swirled in the sunless, bright sky. She tried to focus on the shadows, but they were diffuse, as if they weren't really there, or maybe they were and she couldn't see them.

Dreamfyre let out a cry of alarm and suddenly banked away.

Away from what?

Helaena was firmly affixed on her mount, though there was no saddle and no chains. That was unsafe. She had always been taught that you used a saddle and kept the chains firmly secured. She could almost hear Elaena's lecture as she looked around in confusion, wondering where her saddle had gone.

I am dreaming.

The thought lanced through her brain. The shadows grew, and now she saw them for what they were. A flash of red scales before fire enveloped her. Her flesh melted from her body. Dreamfyre cried out in agony, but she did not, for her vision showed her that death came too quickly to feel the burns.

A flash of red. Who?

The next shadow appeared. It was hard to make out which dragon it was, but it was eating another, consuming it with great relish. Tears came to Helaena's eyes. It was a mournful vision, and stronger than the first.

Another shadow. Blue eyes that crackled like a storm. Shimmering bolts of lightning creased across those cerulean irises like spider webs. She liked spiders; they made pretty constructs in the less-traveled paths. Portraits and tapestries were always placed in areas where people oft walked, but why shouldn't forgotten places have art as well? They watched, attentive and inquisitive, rumbling with intensity. Spiders fascinated her, but those eyes did not. She shied away.

Shadows sprang up faster and faster, and she tried to concentrate – tried to remember. Two dragons crashing into the water. Two dragons crashing into the ground. Flames enveloping white hair. Blue flame burning snow. A tower crumbling and profaned. Seven figures holding a scale. Sightless eyes seeing. Flame gathering around an infant. Rats. Knives. Ice. Fire.

With a lurch, she woke with a scream. Her hands were covered in cloth, but she could still move.

"No, no, no, the rats are coming! Dragons war with each other. You…"

Her husband reached for her, but instead, Elaena was there. Her blue eyes seemed to glow with an intensity that Helaena found noisy. Racing thoughts and panicked explanations died as Elaena's hand found her arm. Calm radiated from her touch, and suddenly the sound echoing between Helaena's ears quieted. Her heart slowed, and her thoughts cleared.

She found herself being pulled into hug, drawn close against the softness and swell of her sister's chest. She tasted the scent of compassion and felt the rolling thunder of concern echo from where her ear pressed up against Elaena's steady heartbeat. The wafted taste of a lullaby long forgotten but dearly treasured, with the warmth of safety and home.

Her head was being gently pet. The comfort of her mother, wearing the name 'sister.'

"You are safe, sister. You had a nightmare. It cannot harm you, but it is important that you tell us what you dreamed."

The memory of her dreams scattered like smoke upon the wind, but Helaena grasped fragments still.

"Dreamfyre. She was being burned by another dragon. A red one. I also saw other dragons crash into water and into the earth. Black clouds gathered, but I don't know from where. I dreamed of a dragon feasting on another. I don't know which dragon it was. It wasn't Dreamfyre, but so much was consumed. It was horrible."

Helaena felt tears begin to trail down her cheeks despite the strange tranquility of her thoughts. It was such a sorrowful thought – dragons warring and consuming each other. Aegon was by her side and brushed those tears away.

"She seems calmer, let's not push her." Aegon suggested.

"We need to find the cause of her trouble, Aegon. Should Helaena choose to stop, she may, yet it is best she continue."

Helaena nodded. "I… I can go on, but there isn't much more. I saw a tower crumble; I think it was blue flame? No, it was a blue tower and white flame. No… I'm sorry, I don't, I can't remember."

She scrunched her eyes, trying to peer into the vapors of her memory. "Rats… rats, I see the rats. I, uh, there might be seven of them?" Helaena shook her head. "No, maybe, I don't know. The end of it was so jumbled."

The three sat together on the bed in silence while Aegon soothed her. Slowly, a well-known weariness fell upon her. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back to her pillow. Aegon was more nosy than usual, yet comforting. Elaena, though, was like a whole band of minstrels – most distracting. But she was tired. And she was safe. That was enough.

***

Laenor pinched his brow in frustration as his son glared at him from across the table. They were eating their evening meal on Dragonstone, and thunder punctuated the noise of conversation and the clatter of dinner.

Luke was adamant about being allowed to attend the upcoming tournament, but Laenor was not about to risk another incident. Moreover, he was too young to enter the tourney. Both Harwin and he had misgivings over Jace participating, and Jace had over a year of growth on Luke.

"I understand you wish to compete, but you are simply too young. There will be many more tourneys. If nothing else, we shall host one here on Dragonstone or Driftmark!"

Joffrey nodded. "Listen to your father, Lucerys. There has never been a time when there lacked for tourneys."

Luke glared at the Master-at-Arms on Dragonstone. "It isn't fair! I hold my own against Jace."

Harwin rumbled, "A knight must learn how to obey commands, even those he mislikes. Your lord father, your instructor, and now your mother's sworn shield have all told you that you will not be fighting in the lists."

The boy, just now growing his first few stray hairs upon his visage, struggled to master his tongue. He bit into some food to keep himself from speaking, then drank heavily from his cup. He was allowed well-watered wine, but never enough to cause him even the mildest of inebriation.

"Then at least let me cheer on my brother. I haven't even been allowed to see Aunt Elaena or cousin Fraedrik." Luke said with evident frustration.

Before Laenor could speak, Harwin interjected. "This is your brother's first tournament. He'll already be a bundle of worry, surely you don't wish to add to it, do you?"

Laenor covered his smile with a sip from his own cup. Ser Harwin was good with the lads. Luke, however, was willful.

"We don't have to tell him I'm coming! I can just show up. Father can take me on Seasmoke and I can hide in the crowds. I will be like the tales of old, where a prince dons the guise of smallfolk and watches with the people of the realm! Didn't Elaena say that we should broaden our perspectives and try to see things from other people's perspectives? That what is a reasonable expense for a fishwife is different than for a knight, which is also different from a lord! It is so I can advance in my studies."

Laenor struggled not to sigh at the heavy-handed attempt to manipulate.

"No, Luke," Laenor said with a sterner tone. "You have been remiss in your studies since your mother left for the Eyrie. You have also comported yourself uncouthly toward Braxton. You will be able to join the court and attend events with the King when you have proven your maturity."

Harwin's eldest, Braxton, was younger than Luke and got along well with Aenar and Aelyx, whereas Jace and Luke typically spent their time together. With Jace at the Tooth, it changed the dynamic. Luke had always been the brashest of Rhaenyra's children, and his taunts – easily shrugged off by his older and more capable brother – had bred ill will with Aelyx in particular. When Braxton had tried to break up a fight, Luke had struck him and lorded over the fact that he was a prince and Braxton merely a lord's son.

And in truth they are half-brothers by blood. Something that grows more obvious by the day…

Laenor knew that children, especially boys, would act in this fashion. But with the tension with the Queen's children, it was not something he wished to risk.

"Mother would have let me!" Luke cried out in dismay.

Perhaps she would, Rhaenyra has made foolish choices aplenty of late.

"Perhaps, or perhaps otherwise. It matters little, Luke. Conduct yourself like a prince, and I may grant you leave to attend the next grand tournament after this one. Continue to act willfully, and you shall be older than Jace is now before you are allowed to compete."

Luke stewed while Aenar tried to console him. "Tournaments are grand affairs, but they matter little, do they not? If war must be fought, we'll be atop dragons, and it matters not how skilled any of us are at jousting or fighting on the ground."

Laenor saw that those words did not breach Luke's mood, but he was glad his son had made the effort. In matters of courtesy, Aenar was most like him. Unfailing in manners and etiquette, he reminded Laenor somewhat of Elaena's social graces as well.

Perish the thought that any of my sons would be so vicious.

Aenar's words did prickle his thoughts. The Targaryen and Velaryon families had dragons. Dragons could be slain by scorpion or perhaps even by lucky arrow, but it was no simple feat. As Elaena had argued all those years ago, t'was almost to the point where one must be abandoned by luck at all to fall in such a way. Then she went on to demonstrate her argument in ways Laenor never dared to forget.

The King's rule was ironclad due to the dragons his family wielded. But what if dragons were to war on each other?

Laenor was not blind to court intrigue. The Hand had pressured his good-father to supplant Rhaenyra for Aegon. It had been his hectoring that drove him from the position in the first place. Otto was now silent on the matter, but Laenor believed that once Viserys passed, Otto would strive to unite the lords and press for a male ruler.

Given the number of dragons that Rhaenyra could summon, the Blacks had an overwhelming advantage. However, they were also now scattered. Mighty Vhagar and Caraxes were on Tyrosh. Would there be a time when dragons warred in the skies over Westeros, would Vermithor, Dreamfyre, Sunfyre, and Tessarion try to strike down Meleys, Syrax, and Seasmoke? To say nothing of the lesser dragons of his sons.

And what of Viktoriya? Though she is larger now than Seasmoke she still pales compared to the great war dragons. And yet… I have seen the monstrous power of Elaena. I have seen her outfly Daemon on Caraxes when still a slip of a girl. It was she that won the Stepstones, not I nor Daemon. I doubt any are more experienced and ruthless in dragonflight than she. Even in a battle against Vhagar or Vermithor, I would stake my life on Elaena proving victorious.

For many years, Laenor believed that Elaena backed her father's choice for heir. It was likely still true at this very moment. His fears made manifest would be Rhaenyra continuing to act spitefully toward her sister. When her penance at the Eyrie was complete, Daemon would once again be whispering venom in her ear.

How can I make my wife understand that the Iron Throne is secure so long as she does not quarrel with her sister?

Laenor ate, lost in thought as the table grew somber and grim despite Harwin's efforts to lighten the mood. The storm crashing outside mirrored Laenor's spirit. Dangerous and foreboding, the future seemed more uncertain than ever.

***

Jessamyn Redfort wearily rubbed her eyes as she reviewed the latest reports her little ears had sent her. The candlelight made her eyes strain and she wished she still had unbound keenness of sight and the energy of her youth.

At least my lady is not like lords who displaces their favored lovers when the first sign of age touches upon their skin.

Her disquiet with the reports was on two fronts. The first was what the Gilded Falcon, Isembard Arryn, was doing. The man had met with Lords Corbray, Royce, Hunter, and Belmore of late. Trade flourished in Gulltown, but trade was flourishing nearly everywhere across the Seven Kingdoms. This was well enough, save that the increased trade made nobles who oversaw it even more powerful and wealthy. The coffers of the Gulltown Arryns had waxed considerably, as had his influence.

Her ears had learned from a conversation Lord Belmore had with his son that when Lady Arryn passed, Isembard sought rulership of the Vale. Though not as openly treasonous as Jeyne's cousin, Ser Arnold, Jessamyn naturally worried that once Isembard had the board set as he wished, he might seek to do away with her Lady. Another wrinkle in it all was that the Gilded Falcon was high in the favor of the King. Prince Daeron had returned from his exile a dutiful and praiseworthy prince. It meant that any move against him would be fraught with peril from powerful defenders. Jeyne might be the ruler of the Vale, but the crown's protection would shield Isembard.

And while Rhaenyra is… better, I worry my lady will not be held as high in esteem by the King. Rhaenyra is not near so poised as the heir to the Iron Throne ought be.

Rhaenyra wavered between a proper lady with a ready laugh and keen intellect, and something far less formidable. Some nights she drank to excess, and her tongue turned wanton with anger when she was not weeping. One particularly embarrassing night, she went so far as to proposition Lady Arryn – and herself! It was declined, of course, but it was clear to Jessamyn that Rhaenyra lacked the consistency necessary for the conclusion of her exile to be viewed positively by the King.

Jeyne disagreed. While she admitted there was danger, Rhaenyra was currently pining for her family. With her husband, children, and other kin beside her, she would likely be more resilient. Jessamyn was frustrated, for Jeyne was far more compassionate toward Princess Rhaenyra than the situation called for. While they tried to curb her drinking, they did not outright forbid it, as they could have done.

She seeks to form friendship with the future Queen and sees the best possible outcome.

The second set of whispers that reached her ears was the court gossip. The King had temporarily moved the court to Golden Tooth, and with it came many tales. Several spoke of Princess Elaena speaking ill of Rhaenyra. This was alarming, for a sunder between the growing power of the Realm's Blessing and the Realm's Delight troubled Jessamyn deeply. It wasn't just that Elaena had her father's ear, it was that she held so much influence.

Her ears primarily sought to learn what the powerful chose to do, but they were not limited to just noble estates. What went on at the docks, the taverns, and lowborn brothels painted a larger picture. The Dragon Bank was everywhere these days. Merchants brought new goods and ways of doing things and many claimed to have spoken directly to the princess. They hailed her as someone who understood their craft, which either made Elaena a towering intellect, or very good at dissembling.

As Jessamyn considered the varied reports, she had begun to widen her net of informants. That, too, tipped the scales further in favor of the Realm's Blessing. She had connections in Essos – Myr in particular, but also in Braavos, Pentos, and even Qarth. The stories from those cities were quite fantastical, including one in which Lord Beesbury was said to be a master of dark arts who bred poisoned bees to slay his enemies. One excitable merchant claimed that Princess Elaena was under this dark sorcerer's protection, and woe betide any who interfered with his chosen pawn.

Ridiculous, but the fact that Elaena's name is bandied about in Essos in such a manner, far more than Rhaenyra or Aegon, is quite outlandish. She isn't the heir, or a potential rival claimant. She's married the vassal of House Lannister, and rides a dragon of middling size. Why is her name on so many lips?

Eyes widening, Jessamyn began to connect disparate pieces of knowledge she had collected. She traced a line with her fingers between parchment after parchment, laying them out on her desk as they all ran back to Elaena.

Jessamyn ran a hand through her frazzled and tousled hair, rubbing at the bruises under her eyes and blinking as if she could unsee what was unfolding before her mind's gaze.

"No… it cannot be."

She did not have a clear understanding of all the moving parts, but her intuition was leaping from possibility to possibility. What if Elaena sought to supplant Rhaenyra and her line? She considered how Elaena deliberately conducted the tour that Rhaenyra originally sought to do. How she spoke with powerful houses across the breadth of Westeros. Even suitors she rejected she ensured remained cordial to her and their Houses in good standing, tied close with trade, exchanges, and debts.

She thought back to what had occurred. Elaena was the one responsible for Rhaenyra being in the Vale. Elaena was the one whispering into her father's ear. That was why Rhaenyra was angry. The heir had not put the pieces together, but she must have sensed something; perhaps that was the reason for her slighting Elaena. The sisters were riven, and by design!

Only… not all was simple. Viserys threatened to supplant Rhaenyra, but give the crown to Prince Jacaerys. That would be no aid to her cause, unless she then pressed the claims of bastardy! It was well known that the Queen favored Elaena, some even claimed over her own blood children. Her ears had reported that of all Daeron's family, it was only Elaena who would visit him semi-regularly in Oldtown. And who was it that brought to prominence those accusations in open court? The very same Daeron.

Seven help us, it all makes sense now. She pulls their strings; her plans are years in the making, endless in their patience and restraint. None have ever suspected she is aught but the dutiful daughter and loving sister, but if I am right, she has carefully plotted her sister's downfall for years! Nay, even worse. Why else work so tirelessly to build and expand her influence, even while heavy with child? She has crafted a balance such that Rhaenyra acts as her own undoing, letting the heir's mistakes only further emphasize Elaena's superiority in the eyes of the lords. All they must do is check their ledgers and know whose trade, whose Bank, and whose deals enabled such prosperity. Who they owe debts to... whose vassals their vassals and sons and daughters married.

She hunched over her paper-ridden desk and clutched at the sides of her head.

Jessamyn knew that the waters were muddied. Her ears told her that Elaena had stayed by Laenor's bedside for days while he hung in the Stranger's grasp. Was it out of affection? Or hopes that feverish delirium would let slip that he knew Rhaenyra's children were not his own? Knowing that Laenor favored men for bed sport, which was why he tolerated being given horns.

Gods, she waited for a moment when he was at his most frail to try to unearth proofs that her nephews were bastards. Are there no depths too deep for her?

Shuddering to herself, she questioned what she should do. Her lady would most likely have this information given to Rhaenyra. But would that be best for Lady Jeyne and the Vale? Dare they try to pit themselves against such a conniving foe? A chill made her tighten the shawl betwixt her shoulders. Jessamyn knew she had to proceed carefully. She needed to think, to ponder what offered the greatest odds of success. One wrong move against such an able foe would send them all down a precipice they might never crawl out of.

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Published:2024-02-24Updated:2026-05-20Words:319,557Chapters:58/?Comments:1,548Kudos:3,728Bookmarks:1,072Hits:221,514

A Young Woman's Inevitable Dance of the Dragons

Failninjaninja

Chapter 51

Notes:

Special note of thanks to MARch_Of_Time for their proofreading, suggestions, and enhancements!

Chapter Text

Chapter 51

"There's no time to debate. I'm not accepting objections." -From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 5

Laena was delighted to soon be arriving at Golden Tooth. As she flew on mighty Vhagar, she couldn't help but smile, musing on her designs. They depended in part on Daemon proving victorious in the tournament, but there were few who could match him. It seemed an outcome safe to assume for a first option.

And if my Rogue Prince does not succeed, we have other options.

She had confidence in her lord husband. For the Master of Tyrosh, Lord of the Stepstones, and brother to the King felt the touch of time but lightly. The latest maiden from Lys had rekindled some of his waning ardor, and though she was oft overbold, indulging her had left Daemon in fine form before they departed their city.

Caraxes let out a screech of draconic fury and joy as they drew ever nearer to the Westerlands. Once they made their grand entrance, the King would welcome his brother. Should Daemon prove victorious, he would ask for a boon: the release of his niece from the Vale to be restored to Dragonstone.

He has been advised to ask it on behalf of the King's grandchildren, so that they may see and be with their mother again. It will tug on the heartfelt desires of familial bonds our King so strongly values.

Laena was also thrilled to see Maegor once more. Her son would be six, and though the letters they sent tempered her yearning for him somewhat, they did not suffice. That was the second portion of her plan. She wanted Maegor back with her; the fostering had been long enough. Daemon did not want him, unable to look past his physical defects, but he also wanted a male heir.

It frustrated her that Maegor would not be considered, her only son, Daemon's own blood and kin, but it was his domain to pass to whom he will. The proposal she would give to him was that they try once more for a son that he would accept, but if she could not give him one, then they would convince Rhaenyra to have Daemon adopt Aelyx. Maegor, bless him, the only trueborn son and fruit of their union, could thrive on other paths in life. She could hope to grant him that at least. With Rhaenyra freed by dint of Daemon's skill at arms and persuasive plea to the King, she would be in their debt enough to make a push for all to be satisfied.

I do fear what has become of her in the Eyrie. My brother has said there were difficulties still, and that Rhaenyra would not see sense. I am hopeful she still loves us as dearly as she did before her departure. Much of Daemon's designs on Westeros depend on Rhaenyra cooperating with his desires once she becomes Queen.

With them were their daughters, Baela and Rhaena, both riding atop Thraezarys. Moondancer was still too small to ride, much to Baela's dismay. Little Visenya was to remain behind. At three, she could have made the journey on Vhagar, the sheer bulk of her beloved draconic partner shielding the harsh winds, but it was still an arduous journey for one so young. Her egg never did hatch, and a replacement was something she wished to secure from Rhaenyra in time.

Elaena was growing to be a formidable and mighty lady. Beyond the wealth and power of founding a new city, she was thought of fondly by most of the nobility, as well as the smallfolk. Daemon still was vexed with her, as was Laena, but Laena understood. The war would have been costly, and she truly believed it was not personal.

She has grown to be such a fine young lady, and Seven help me, her hair. It's simply a blessing to behold. Not to mention her enthralling intensity when she gets serious, it almost reminds me of Daemon at times. Why I…

She saw Caraxes bank down toward the bones of the new city. It was progressing nicely, and already some portions were complete, but it was far from done. Laena could not help but admire the sheer audacity and boldness of the design. Years of increasing responsibilities in the administration of Tyrosh had raised Laena's appreciation for such things, to say nothing of the pleasing aesthetics. It would not be as large as King's Landing, but it would dwarf Gulltown and hold beauty to rival the Free Cities. The wide roads leading to it from multiple directions could even be seen from dragonback. Plentiful gardens and fountains would certainly keep it smelling better as well.

Caraxes descended with a great cry that Vhagar echoed, announcing their presence. Three other dragons answered back from nearby, one of which was visible, the Red Queen, Meleys, her mother's dragon. It would be good to see her again. The roar of the other dragons sounded like Vermithor and Silverwing, but she couldn't be certain.

Surely there should be more dragons. Perhaps they are sleeping or hunting, or too unsure of themselves to answer the call of the greatest of their kind.

A massive set of red and black flags denoted a place for dragons to land, and despite Caraxes veering off, Laena directed Vhagar to it. Caraxes rejoined her, and they landed with their daughters. Men in Lefford heraldry, the blue and gold designs prominent, greeted them and had both horses and wheelhouses ready.

She was impressed by how well-disciplined the mounts were. The scent of dragons caused instinctual fear in most horses. Even when the trained steeds of knights held firm, they whinnied and showed signs of nervousness. These did not, though the reek of dragon would cling to Laena's riding leathers.

They were welcomed by Lord Lefford, his son, and Elaena. Bread and salt were provided, and the Lord of Golden Tooth spoke highly of the honor of hosting the King's brother and conqueror of Tyrosh.

"Will my esteemed guests be wishing to be given rooms near Ser Laenor and Lord and Lady Velaryon?"

Laena nodded. "That will be well. Now, forgive me, but it has been a long flight. Show me to my quarters, have the servants draw a bath, and then let me see my son. It has been too long since I've set eyes on Maegor."

Rhaena said happily, "Yes, we want to see him too. I want to take him flying."

"I am sure you were well versed in caring for your passengers, but if you are to do that, I insist on checking the saddle chains." Elaena offered mildly, brows raised with a sense of calm and amused indulgence toward her young cousin's outpouring of excitement.

"Sure!" Rhaena nodded without a hint of concern, even though Daemon's face clouded. Then he tilted his head and upturned his lips for the briefest moment, before speaking.

"As you will, but I must see to the King. I am surprised he was not here to greet me."

Lord Lefford gestured, "Come, my lord, surely you wish to get refreshed first? The King holds court even as we speak, but I am sure he will be eager to meet with his beloved brother."

Laena watched as Daemon, ever so delightfully troublesome Daemon, insisted on interrupting court, and greeting his brother directly there. Humfrey Lefford was taken aback, but quickly agreed to the request.

Golden Tooth had far more portraits, banners, and heraldry of House Targaryen as of late. Laena smiled at the sundry portraits of Elaena. Her niece had finally found some of her family's wonted haughtiness. Not that it was undeserved, she was quite fetching.

After a luxurious bath that was delightfully near scalding, she felt like a new woman. Maegor was brought to her, and she felt her heart beat faster, a heaviness in her throat as her boy rushed toward her in a deceptively agile waddle. She took him into her arms and lifted him.

"Mother, I've missed you!" His voice had the purity of a child and it made Laena's heart ache.

"And I've missed you my sweet, sweet boy. You have grown so much. Come, I want to hear everything."

***

Jace sent Vermax ever higher at Baela's urging. His betrothed sat behind him, and although the chains might have fastened her to the dragon, she held him tight regardless while she screamed in his ear. In truth, her childish cries were beginning to wear at him, but he was committed to being the gallant future husband. It was important that the eventual King and Queen of Westeros were bonded closely.

Thraezarys, her sister's mount, had difficulty keeping up with the smaller and lighter Vermax. Jace gave a command and Vermax headed back. He did not want to engage in a race whilst little Maegor was riding Rhaena.

Not that she would risk him. She seems more level-headed them some her age.

"Is Vermax tiring already? Don't embarrass your poor dragon, Jace." Baela's tone held a mocking tint to it, and Jace steadied himself, remembering that it was Daemon who was her father. The Rogue Prince had a reputation for a sharp tongue, and there was no doubt now that his progeny had inherited it.

In truth, though Maegor was startlingly well-behaved, some of his comments were occasionally sharp despite his youth, and no one would ever claim that his mind was as thick as his body. The boy had, embarrassingly enough, already beaten him at Cyvasse.

"I do not wish to leave behind your sister and Maegor, nor do I wish to encourage her to try to match Vermax," Jace shouted over the roar of the wind.

Flying was always a pleasure, but it had felt less freeing than normal as of late, with stress hounding him so. Upon return to the ground it was time for him to make ready for the events of the day. The early morning flight had been meant to reinvigorate him and ease some of the tension, which only grew instead as the tourney's impending start loomed like the Dragonmont over his mood. A dour, forbidding shadow indeed.

"Will you win today, Jacaerys?" Baela asked, something unreadable in her questioning tone.

There were to be several minor events, some not even martial, such as the glee telling contest. The main attraction was the squire's tournament, and that was mostly due to the various princes participating. The true joust and grand melee would be occurring in the following days.

Jace looked away. "Aemond and Aegon are both my elders, it will be difficult to overcome them."

"You are the son of the Dark Storm, surely that must count for something. I want you to win," Baela demanded, well, rather petulantly.

Rhaena gave her twin a shove. "It's his first tournament, and Aegon is what, five years his elder? Jace shall do well, but he is still three years from his majority."

Baela stuck her tongue out at her sister. "Just don't embarrass me," she turned to Rhaena. "At least my betrothed is allowed to compete, yours is still on Dragonstone."

Maegor was still stroking Thraezarys, not seeming to be interested in the conversation. Jace was concerned however.

"Is Maegor safe being so near your dragon?"

Rhaena nodded. "Oh yes, I've taken pains to ensure he knows humans are not to be harmed. I've even let bold retainers and guards do the same. I want to take my dragon with me everywhere, and having that be a danger to smallfolk would be awful."

Jace had mixed feelings over the matter. His father had always impressed upon him that dragons were not truly tame. They were their bonded partners, who had volition all their own.

Perhaps it is caution begot from the slaughter Seasmoke has wrought. Save for the three that came with Aegon, has any dragon ever spilled as much blood as my father's? Does such capacity merely depend on each dragon's own temperament, or has it to do with the strength of bond to the rider? Is such restraint truly reliable to train?

Elaena's Viktoriya is said to have been calm and unhesitatingly obedient from her hatching day onward, and that gentler dragon has never flown to war. Does my father's fathomless wrath drive Seasmoke's will, where instead Aunt Elaena's serenity might soothe such instincts in Viktoriya? Could thoughtful and patient Rhaena be more alike to her, and Thraezarys of a less wild heart..? Still, I am loath to set aside lessons from the Dark Storm so quickly, and it all makes me uneasy.

There was no time for further delay, and Jace, with the aid of others, prepared for the lists. The armor he wore was as knightly as any other, just sized for him. He was not short for a boy of three-and-ten, but still, shorter than almost all fully grown men.

First came the gambeson, the padded attire important to lessen the impact of potentially harsh blows. A knight's armor, save for the weakest portions near the joints, was nearly impregnable. Even more so as the lances were made of light wood as opposed to castle-forged steel.

After the gambeson came the hauberk. Hundreds of interlocking rings of metal formed an additional barrier. The weight of it settled over him, and Jace twisted his neck to the right and the left, trying to ease some of the disquiet that was causing his neck to stiffen. There would be thousands watching: his father, his grandsire the King, his betrothed, so many.

The breastplate was the final layer of defense for his vital organs. It was polished to a fine sheen and proudly bore the heraldry of House Targaryen. His father's house would be upon his shield, but the breastplate was the three-headed dragon. The breastplate was not the last piece of armor, as the pauldron, greaves, steel gloves, gorget, and helm all came after. His helm was not yet on him when his father visited.

"Clear the room, squires."

Which they promptly did with but a few backward glances of awe at the one who gave the command.

"Father, I thought you would have already been in your seat."

The Dark Storm took him by the shoulders. "And miss the opportunity to give you some last pieces of wisdom? Perish the thought."

Jace knew he was not his sire by blood, but in every way that mattered to him, Laenor Velaryon was his father.

"Don't fall off the horse? I believe I have that part down."

He chuckled. "You have the details of jousting down. Joffrey, Harwin, and I saw to that. No, my purpose here is to remind you that this is just a tournament. The stakes are tongues wagging for a time, and then there will be another, and another after that. The attention and sentiment of the populace is fleeting. Relax," he said with a smile, "and enjoy the spectacle."

Jace swallowed. "Thank you, father." He gave a hesitant grin. "I shall."

Several minutes later, he was astride his steed and waving to the crowd. It felt so much louder and more intense while he was in the center. Almost every important noble in Westeros was there. Jace knew it was not all of them. The Hand was still in King's Landing, and many of the Northern Lords had stayed in their wintery domains.

His opponent was a boy two years his senior from the Riverlands. Jace felt his breath come too quickly, and focused on his last interaction with his father. He felt a calm suffuse him as he commanded his horse forward. Hundreds of hours of practice came to the fore, and by pure rote repetition he followed what his instructors had taught.

Shield firmly affixed, eyes on the enemy lance, his own lance aiming for the enemy shield, slightly off center. Legs braced for the impact.

Wood splintered, his body reeled backward with a sickening feeling of disorientation. For one fateful fraction of a second, he thought he was falling, but no, his legs were still tightly gripping the horse's flanks. The same could not be said for his opponent, who had been smashed into the dust.

He had done it! He had won his first tilt in a tourney! Smiling like a madman from within his helm, he enthusiastically waved to the cacophony of cheers. As he trotted his destrier away from the field to make room, he knew he shouldn't be celebrating too grandly. The pairings had been created purposefully to have him not contend with his uncles until the later, more final rounds. That would be the real test for him.

***

Helaena's father sat in the royal stands, and beside him was her mother, the Queen. Elaena sat to mother's left, and Kevan had been beside her. Helaena didn't like all the noise, both kinds, and so had Kevan and Elaena switch seats, so that Kevan sat next to the Queen as opposed to Elaena. Helaena did enjoy Kevan's company, but she wanted to be beside Elaena.

Daenora was eagerly clapping beside her, and was proving to be quite the chatterbox.

I just hope my dreams were wrong.

In the several months since Elaena had been aiding her, much had improved in Helaena's life. She recalled her dreams less now that she had removed some foods from her diet. Nuts, fish, and chicken were no longer things she consumed.

When she did dream, the ability to have someone quickly write it down had calmed her as well. She no longer felt as much fear upon waking. Elaena now had a record of all she ate, the times she dreamed, what she dreamed, and how much sleep she received. Her energy throughout the day improved, and she could focus more, though in times such as this, that was not always pleasant.

Her brothers were doing well. All had won their first couple of jousts. Daenora was thrilled with each and every clash of wood and steel, but Helaena grew ever more nervous. One of the few recurring dreams of late was that of a dragon, the coloration changing in different iterations of the dream, stumbling and collapsing as a leg became twisted and bent.

Helaena's heart hammered in her chest as Aegon took the field again. His opponent was a bastard from Dorne and had ridden exceedingly well earlier in the day. She gave a cry as lances splintered and Aegon was thrown to the ground. Elaena's touch calmed her almost instantly, and she breathed out a sigh of relief as Aegon stood up and waved to the throng.

My love is uninjured.

"They are dreams, Helaena. You knew the joust could lead to injury, and that real and worrying fear caused your mind to circle it. 'Tis all they likely are, just dreams." Elaena said soothingly, shifting closer as her sister's hand found hers.

For a time, she merely closed her eyes, eyelids fluttering on occasion as she savored the placid humming tones emanating from Elaena's presence.

Helaena wished she could believe her mo- ...her dearest sister's words, but try as she might, she didn't believe it. Elaena could be so convincing, so sure and confident, but in her heart of hearts, Helaena knew there was something more to them.

Alas, for how do I know what is true and what is false? How do I know if a dragon represents a dragon or a member of my family? What would the shifting colors mean? Is it even for this joust, or a joust yet to come with my brothers? Or is it something that will not come to pass for centuries? Elaena asks me these questions, and I ponder them, but I also feel the urgency in ways I cannot express in words to her. I simply do not know.

Helaena wanted to leave and comfort her beloved brother, Aegon. She knew that her husband would be disappointed in his loss. She was held back by propriety. It would be an insult to the other competitors to withdraw, and Aemond and Daeron were both still competing. She kept her seat, a dutiful princess.

As the matches grew closer to the finalists, there were four competitors left. On the yard were Jacaerys and Aemond. Aemond was not in position, for he had steered his destrier around toward where they were seated.

"Princess Elaena, as hostess and fairest witnessing my coming victory, I would be honored to wear your favor for this joust."

Daenora giggled, and Helaena realized this was all rather unseemly. No squire tournaments that she had ever witnessed involved this. It happened during proper jousts between knights, especially in the finals, but for these lesser events it simply was not done.

Elaena took it in stride and drew forth a handkerchief emblazoned with the heraldry of House Lefford and tied it to Aemond's lance. Aemond's brow furrowed when he saw the sigil, and Helaena saw that the two locked eyes for a moment or two.

Turning back to his spot, Jacaerys looked hesitant as to what to do. He looked over where his own betrothed was sitting and seemed to think about heading over. Instead, he remained where he was, and his mount gave a whinny.

Then the two were charging at each other. Aemond's lance moved higher than it should be almost a full second before the clash, but at the very last moment it was brought down perfectly. His nephew had shifted his shield, and it was not as steady as it should be, and the clash sent Jacaerys twisting off his horse.

He hit the ground hard, and a cry went out from the downed prince. Helaena felt a chill take her.

"He was the dragon wounded in my dream," the words whispered to herself.

Elaena's eyes snapped to Helaena, and then she stood abruptly and hastened down from the stands toward Jacaerys. A path cleared for her like clouds split in the wind, and Helaena caught sight of a small hand gesture, which prompted an escort of silvery-armored guards to fall in step beside and behind Elaena. Other knights and squires were already on the field, and Laenor had vaulted down instantly. Daenora was standing on her tiptoes, trying to see over them from the stands.

"Is he dead? Did Aemond kill him? Is this going to start more fighting?" Daenora said in a tone that Helaena found off-putting.

"No, it is just his leg."

A stretcher was being called for, and they caught a glimpse of Jacaerys. He was in pain, but he raised his hand to wave to the crowd. Helaena saw a Maester trailing after them.

Daeron won his tilt, and Helaena saw that neither Elaena nor Laenor had returned to their seats. The final round would pit brother against brother. The two boys had been at odds ever since Aemond declared his contempt for the Faith of the Seven.

Helaena found the whole contention rather silly, but in an exhausting way. Both extremes were unpleasant, and their loudness only compounded it. Had they both no mind to accept room for the unknown, to acknowledge not knowing? As if they were the only ones who thought themselves right above all others, despite knowing so little?

She herself was reminded every night that she must accept not knowing, to confront mystery, to glimpse hints of the world being so much more. What did they know of gods and magic? What did they know of dreams that came true, or came from what seemed to be the depths of some hell?

She could almost envy how assured they felt about what was real or not.

But for all of it, at least she had this Aegon, her Aegon to love so dear. His loudness and turbulent thoughts she found herself wishing to soothe, as Elaena had so often done for her. As Elaena had done for them both.

Was it so wrong of her to feel as if Aegon's distress were a call, a tie that drew her ever toward engulfing him in her arms, sharing with him her comfort? When instead her other brothers felt like waves repelling her, their loudness trying to drown her under their own self-centered sound?

Helaena was mostly just relieved that her love was unhurt. She again wished she could go to him, but first she must watch her kin vie and clamor with noisiness.

The two figures raced toward each other, and both lances were split upon each of their shields. Daeron nearly fell but managed to gamely stay mounted. Aemond shouted something to his brother that could not be picked up, as the roars of the watchers drowned it out. Fresh lances were fetched, and they clashed again.

Aemond's horsemanship, lance placement, and stature proved sufficient for the win. Helaena nervously dug her nails into her palms. She wished Elaena were with her, but she had not returned. Kevan leaned over and patted her on the back. His gentle presence helped, at least a little, that reminder of her sister's reassurance.

"Look, he's coming to his feet; your brother is unharmed." Kevan's voice was kindly, and Helaena was glad to have gotten to know her good-brother over these last months.

It was true, and Helaena was grateful. She watched as Aemond sent his mount circling the yard. He removed his helm.

"My victory was due to my skill! No hand of the Warrior guided me. Today my brothers may be given knighthood, but I reject the title. I am a Prince! I am a Targaryen; I bow to none save the King of Westeros!"

Several cheered, almost certainly not fully understanding what Aemond was saying, but others did and either remained silent or muttered amongst themselves. Her father rubbed at his forehead while her mother had gone three shades paler, her face frozen solid to avoid showing her displeasure.

Her father stood. "If you will not swear the oaths of a knight, you will not be a knight. Congratulations on your triumph, my son. I will, however, knight Aegon, Daeron, and Jacaerys. Tonight will be an evening of contemplation for them, and ere the sun rises next morn, they shall take their knightly vows!"

***

Laenor's heart had leapt into his throat when his son fell. His years of knightly training, and countless tournaments observed, told him it was grievous. The way the leg was twisted sent his mind racing through the possibilities as he reached his son's side.

"I'm here, Jace, I'm here." Laenor's voice was made steady for his son's sake, though inwardly he was wracked with disquiet. He could not fully tell how wounded he was due to the armor, but the leg was misshapen.

They took his helm off, and his pale face was slick with sweat. His son's eyes were pained, but even so he waved to the crowd, signaling his good health. Laenor knew his son. He knew that Jace would be concerned about appearances. To act with such poise while in such pain made him proud.

His attention was fully fixed on his son; that was probably the only reason he saw Elaena's hand swiftly brush Jace's cheek. Laenor's eyes widened as his son's expression grew more relaxed, and less pained.

Seven have mercy, is there naught that she cannot do?

He was grateful, but still ever fearful. No one, save for his Joffrey, knew just how deadly dangerous the 'Realm's Blessing' truly was. Rhaenyra did not know her peril. His wife risked all over a pettiness. Worst of all was that Laenor held partial responsibility. It was he who took the message of what Rhaenyra had planned to do, to Elaena. It had been the right choice, but he feared now the discord between the sisters.

Maester Faldon was the Maester of House Lefford, a virile middle-aged man who had an impressive chain, especially for one not gray of hair.

"Quickly, milk of the poppy, and removing his armor will be extraordinarily torturous," Faldon barked toward one of his assistants, who ran off to fetch it.

"Time is of the essence," Elaena's clear voice said firmly, "my nephew is made of sterner stuff; it will be removed now, and he will endure it."

Jace gave a nod, and, while he did wince in pain, there were no screams or writhing.

Faldon shook his head, and muttered to himself, but Laenor heard his words. "Orwyle's treatises on Targaryen exceptionalism may hold more truth to them than even he surmised."

Laenor's teeth clenched as he saw his son's wounded flesh. His thigh to knee was an utter ruin. Bone splinters poked through shredded skin, and the flesh around the knee had swollen painfully. He heard Faldon curse.

"My lords, my Lady," the Maester spoke quietly but with urgency behind his words, "we may need to remove the limb. The damage is severe, and the risk of corruption would be great."

Jace shook his head in mute horror.

"No," Elaena said simply. "While there is risk, it can be mitigated." She looked at Jace. "I assume you would rather keep your leg?"

"Yes." Jace replied with a hasty hiss.

Faldon shook his head. "My Lady, your knowledge of construction and architecture rivals that of an Archmaester, but I have made a study of the healing arts. The risk is too great." He turned to Laenor. "Ser, your son may survive if we do not cut, but the risk is exceedingly high, and it will never fully work properly."

Laenor looked at his son and then at Elaena. "Speak true," he said, while keeping his voice even, "can you promise he will live if we try to save his leg?"

Elaena tilted her head ever so slightly. "Nothing in life is guaranteed, but I would say that it is as assured as your victory over the Stepstones pirates was all those years ago."

That is as good as an oath to the Mother.

He turned to the Maester. "Repair the wound, do what you can. I trust my good-sister's judgment."

"But…"

"DO AS I SAY!" Laenor roared, and one of Faldon's assistants fainted in terror. The Maester himself was of heartier stock, but still he flinched from the unexpected shout. Elaena directed a glance toward the fallen assistant and then pinned Laenor with perhaps the most quietly wry expression he had ever seen on her face.

He shuddered on instinct and looked away. Only to meet eyes with another assistant, who promptly quailed and trembled.

Gods preserve me.

Milk of the poppy was given to Jace, and the work began. Elaena took the place of the Maester's fainted assistant and used her own hands to adjust the broken bone and flesh back to some semblance of order. It was only Laenor's faith in the power Elaena wielded that he believed there was any hope of Jace avoiding becoming a cripple.

Joffrey has found his happiness even with his ailments, but it took many years of bitterness. I would not wish that fate upon my son.

At one point he rose, as his mother wished to speak with him. Elaena had forbidden any additional individuals who might 'further contaminate' the area. Laenor stepped out, and his mother embraced him.

"How is he?"

"The Maester fears corruption, they have packed the wound with tinctures to prevent it, but he has given grave warnings."

"Is the injury so severe? I could not tell from where I was sitting."

Laenor grimaced. "Aye, the Maester wished to cut my boy's leg away from fear, but I believe all will be well in the end."

"Laenor… tongues are wagging, you were heard. Some buffoons are saying that the wound is worse than what was believed, and that you ordered the Stranger to stay his hand. But among the less foolish, it is believed you simply gainsaid the Maester's judgment. Please, my son, do not risk him over your desire to see him match you as a warrior one day!"

Laenor was taken aback and rubbed at his eyes.

Of all the-

"Mother, it isn't that. Though worry still twists my heart, I am convinced he will survive and not be maimed either."

She searched his face, her own lined features still stern as ever, and then she nodded. "You believe that," she exhaled heavily. "Then that is enough for me. May I see him?"

He shook his head. "Not yet, but I will have someone fetch you when the wound is sealed."

The bones had been placed together, though parts were missing from the whole, and the flesh sewn, and the limb braced. Jace had fallen unconscious and the Maester arched his back and wiped his brow.

"I will leave instruction to be fetched if there is any sign of fever. That is the worst possibility. The wound will be examined every few hours, but we cannot see inside the leg. Should the worst come to pass, we may still need to remove it. I wish to give you no false hope."

Laenor lightly grabbed the Maester by the shoulder. "You have done good work; fear not, if anything should happen to my son, I will not look to you as responsible. Thank you for what you have done for me and my family."

As he said the last, he had caught Elaena's eyes, and her chin lowered by a subtle fraction before returning to its level height. No doubt Elaena would not leave his son's side until her prediction proved true. Jace would survive, and though it was of lesser importance, Laenor suspected he would joust again as well.

If only his heart would cease worrying over how he once more owed Elaena a debt he could scarce hope to ever repay, all for aiding his family yet again. The same family who kept wronging her with their pettiness and foolishness even as she worked nigh-miracles time and time again.

The gods are cruel, but it is Elaena's patience turning to wrath that I fear more still. Rhaenyra may yet be the death of me, and all the sooner should my heart give out from the stress!

Laenor all but collapsed onto a nearby bench, dropped his head in his hands and sighed like life itself fled his lungs.

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Chapter 1012 - 51