Chapter 13: The Seahorse and the Dragon

Second Moon, 88 AC

Alyssa Targaryen

Alyssa Targaryen was the eldest daughter. Had been since the moment she was born. Eldest, but not firstborn. In another life, a sister she had never met might have held that lofty position and not her, and Alyssa would have been glad for it.

Her shadow lied over her even now. The spectre of a child long dead and in her heart Alyssa still felt lacking in comparison. Daenerys had been the eldest daughter her family deserved, Daenerys would not have abandoned her younger sisters, for was that not what Alyssa had done?

Maegelle had clung to her as a child, and Alyssa had bristled and ignored her. Daella had been alone and it had not been who had reached out to her. For all that she had 'defended her honor' against Vaegon, how many times had Alyssa truly been there for Daella?

And Saera? She had failed Saera most of all, all of them had, even if they would not admit it. Sweet Saera, who had toddled after Aemon and Baelon, who they had allowed themselves to spoil rotten. Sour Saera, who had bullied Daella when they were children, and none but Maegelle and their mother had bothered to correct.

Aemon, Baelon, and their father had dismissed it as harmless amusing pranks. Maegelle and their mother had sternly reprimanded Saera to no avail. And Alyssa had not cared enough to teach her sister the right way, only judging her for her actions. 

Sweet or sour, in the end, not a single one of them had spoken for her when their father's wrath at last fell upon her. Perhaps she was judging herself and her family too harshly. No matter her upbringing, it remained without a doubt that Saera's choices that had led her to where she was now. Alyssa was not convinced by her own defense though, for all her misdeeds, Saera had still been a member of their family. They had not raised her right and when she had misbehaved, rather than try and teach her the right path, her family had all but made her an outcast.

But Alyssa did her best to turn her thoughts from Saera. For this day was not Saera's. It was the day of a sister she had yet to fail, though not for lack of trying.

Viserra looked resplendent in her wedding dress. A rich red velvet, with gold and silver embroidering. The cut covered her perfect form brilliantly, enough to accentuate it, but not enough to be immodest or improper. Draped around her shoulders was a cloak bearing the banner of their house, the red three-headed dragon on the black field. She looked every inch a Targaryen princess.

Her arm was interlocked with their father. Jaehaerys Targaryen was dressed no less splendidly then his daughter and his posture was straight and proud as he walked her down the aisle.

By the altar, the High Septon awaited. The wedding of a royal princess demanded no less than the highest ranked clergyman of the Faith, and the High Septon, and most of the nobles of the realm in fact, had arrived weeks ago in preparation for the day at last.

The castle sept of the Red Keep was full to the brim, Westermen, Reachers, Stormlanders, Northmen, and more. The royal family had certainly spared no expense for the wedding, lavishly decorating every pew and window with flowers, ribbons, and luxury. A reminder to their lords, that it may be Velaryon or Lannister who claimed to be the richest, but House Targaryen remained above them all.

Her sister stepped up to the altar where her husband to be awaited and the High Septon began the ceremony. Preaching all the usual formalities, courtesies, and verbose statements that characterized the Faith's ceremonies. She remembered being bored to death by them countless times before.

Soon though, Alyssa was taken back to the past when her sister and her betrothed began saying their vows. In her mind's eye, she saw herself on the day of her own wedding as she said those same vows, and felt a melancholic nostalgia as she tried to recall the way she had felt back then. Gods, sometimes it felt like a different person altogether had said those vows.

Finally, the moment had come, her father removed the cloak of their family, and Lord Corlys placed the cloak of his own around her sister's shoulders, a silver seahorse on an aquamarine shade, halfway between ocean blue and sea green. More than a change in color or animal, the cloak represented how Viserra had passed from their family to another's.

"With this kiss, I pledge my love," they both said as they ended their vows and sealed their marriage with a kiss, the first of likely many.

She looked happy, Alyssa thought. Happier then she had ever seen her, save for the few moments she had spied of her alone with her dragon. Lord Corlys made her happier than their family ever had, so Alyssa supposed that it was only right that she be happy, like she deserved.

Alyssa regretted the hostility with which she had treated her sister for so long. It had been undeserved, the lashing out of a mourning woman still unable to process her grief and jealously hoarding what little she judged herself to still have.

Her son was dead before he had even truly lived. Little Aegon had lived for barely a year, hadn't even made it to his first nameday. A year in which Alyssa herself had been bedridden, fighting desperately to cling to life and recover her health. Sometimes she wished she hadn't fought so hard, if her reward at the end of it all was to be told her son was dead and she would bear no more.

She was tired of being tired. Weary of being weary of the world. More than anything, she wished to once again be the Alyssa that had married Baelon, that had so recklessly taken her newborn sons flying on her dragon. That Alyssa had been so full of life and energy, so full of everything that she lacked now.

As the ceremony ended and the wedding guests dispersed for the feast in the Great Hall, Alyssa surprised her husband and sons by embracing them each in her arms and holding them tight. She brushed off their concerns, because there was no need for them.

She had not been the best daughter, sister, wife, or mother, and she probably never would be, but from now on, she could strive to be the best that she could be.

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The Lady of Oldtown

"Viserra, you look gorgeous!" Laena Celtigar née Qoherys cooed as their friend preened at the praise. Bethany Darklyn had all but leapt from the table in squealing delight and placed a violet flower that matched her eyes when she arrived, and the three of them had been left awestruck by their friend's beauty, enough to match any angel of the seven heavens.

Never let it be said that Viserra Targaryen shied away from a compliment, Rylla thought. In all the years she had been her companion, Viserra had almost actively gone out of her way to get praised for her beauty and intelligence.

If she was being honest, it had always seemed vain to her. but she had held her tongue. She had been but the granddaughter of the King's Master of Ships. What place had there been for a mere lady to correct a princess?

"Viserra, you look beautiful. Congratulations on your wedding," she said to her friend.

Viserra smiled again and Rylla felt her heart torn between delight and ugly jealousy at how beautiful it looked on her immaculate face.

"And congratulations to you too Rylla! I'm so sorry I couldn't attend your wedding," Viserra said in kind as she sat in the empty chair and engaged them in conversation.

Rylla smiled and thanked her for her kind words. A sincere smile, if one tinged with melancholy. Try as she might to shake off the thoughts lingering at the back of her mind, Rylla could no sooner escape them then escape the reality that her friendship with Viserra was doomed to fade.

Their houses were now opposed. It was no blood feud, no great game where the players won or died, yet rivals they remained, and that could sour any relationship. The house of her birth and her husband would never allow themselves to be surpassed by the Velaryons without fighting every inch of the way.

No matter who Viserra had married, the relationship between the four of them had always been destined to fade away one day. It was simply the way of the world.

Laena had already wed, marrying Clement Celtigar. Bethany was betrothed to Desmond Darry, and Rylla herself had wed the Lord of the Hightower, Lord Hobert. Chances were, Laena, Bethany, and Viserra might maintain their friendship, being all of them still in the Crownlands, especially Laena and Viserra. Seven knew they had always been closest and the two families they had married into were close allies and kin. She foresaw their friendship remaining strong for years to come.

But for Rylla? Viserra's wedding had been the first time she had returned to the capital since her wedding. All of her time was spent busy helping to run the oldest city on the continent as her new husband's family plotted and researched endlessly, seeking to compete with the house her friend had now married into.

For now, at least, their friendship could remain, a relic of girlhood. Yet how long before allegiances to their house, to their husbands and future children took precedent? Blood was thicker than water.

And she saw her fears come to light when her husband and Viserra's came at the same time to pick them up for a dance.

"Lord Hobert," Lord Corlys greeted, "a pleasure to see you on this fine occasion." His words were polite, but empty platitudes at best for the lack of sincerity in them. The smile he wore did not reach his eyes.

"Lord Velaryon, my congratulations to you and the Princess for your marriage. May it be fruitful and happy," her husband answered back. Rylla knew him well enough to know he was doing his best to remain polite. It would not do to make a scene at a royal wedding.

"Thank you. How is the Hightower and Oldtown? I have not had the pleasure of seeing them for many years now."

"Doing well indeed. We are pushing ever for more research and trade, more construction and expansion. His Grace's rule has been good to Oldtown, allowing it to prosper in the peace. The Citadel is already deliberating new policies to match with the universities springing up across the realm, and our shipwrights and those of our friends across the straits at the Arbor test new designs for ships. You keep us all on our toes Lord Velaryon, and us less adventurous folk must find other means to keep on the road," Hobert said, his words polite yet with a note of tension simmering beneath.

"Well I am pleased indeed to hear of it. A little friendly competition never hurt anyone. I look forward to seeing if you could catch up to us, I'm sure it will give my lazy shipwrights and researchers a drive of their own," Lord Corlys all but taunted.

"I like to think we will manage to meet your expectations my lord," her husband said, a glint in his eyes.

Their war was with niceties, their swords the false flatteries they spoke. Every sentence left Rylla feeling more and more sick of it all, of how fake it all was.

Hate was a strong word, and Rylla would not say that the two men hated each other, for indeed both had many reasons to admire and like the other. But allegiances to one's house came first and foremost, and it was inevitable that rivalry would color their every interaction.

Having failed to get a rise out of her husband, Lord Velaryon took his leave and Viserra with him for a dance. As they left, Viserra turned back with an apologetic expression on her face.

Oh Viserra, this was only the beginning.

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The Prince of Dorne

Even in Dorne, word had come of the wedding of Princess Viserra Targaryen to Lord Corlys Velaryon. While those in the northern kingdoms might greet the news with cheer or joy, if for some interspersed with feelings of rivalry, Prince Morion could feel only anger, and fear.

The Targaryens were a threat. Why had his father not seen that? They had marched their knights into the Red Mountains, Dorne's mountains, and his father had done nothing. No action to aid their fellow Dornishmen when the Targaryens fell upon the latest Vulture King in Lord Rogar's War.

That cowardice was a mark against Dorne's pride, and one that left him feeling gravely concerned. It was not so long ago that dragons had flown in the skies above Dorne and brought their wroth and devastation upon their lands. And now there were more dragons than ever before and the Iron Throne encroached upon Dorne with their most loyal bannerman as a proxy. With his father's cowardice still in memory, who was to say that the Iron Throne might not encroach further still and seek to complete Aegon's Conquest at last?

Only a fool could not have seen the writing on the wall when the Targaryens and Velaryons had established a presence in the Stepstones, when their fleets had begun clearing its waters and islands of pirates. They meant to annex the Stepstones, that was for sure. No doubt they would give it to their pet Sea Snake, and then they would have a foot on the throat of Dorne's trade and a dagger at Sunspear ready to strike at any time. And Morion was not the kind of man to think that there would not be a Targaryen who would take advantage of that one day.

He had been readying for war, as much as he could, for the past few years already. Though Dorne had yet to truly recover from the Dragon's Wroth, strength and valor they still had. His vassals had already pledged their support, seeing as he did the existential threat a Targaryen-Velaryon Stepstones was to Dorne.

For the first time since Nymeria's ten thousand ships, Dorne had a navy once again. Their ports and ships built with generous loans from the Iron Bank and with the aid of the pirates driven out from the Stepstones by the Velaryons, pirates whom he had offered Dorne as a refuge and a means to revenge. Soon his fleet would be ready, and every ship was armed with scorpions of the like which had brought down the great Meraxes.

Perhaps it was all a fool's gambit, but ultimately there was no other option. Fight now for a chance for Dorne or prove himself a coward like his father and let the Targaryens take yet another step to crushing them once and for all, and Morion meant very much to fight, even if it cost him everything.