69

Chapter 69: Interlude: Shaera INotes:

Two more chapters until the end of what I called the 'Political Arc'. I'll try my best to release them before 2022. I've written most of them during NaNoWriMo, but editing and making them into cohesive chapters takes a surprising amount of time, especially given how busy my unit is during the holiday season.

Well enjoy!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Chaos is a ladder."

-House words of House Baelish

103 AC, Rosby

Ever since she knew how to talk, Sarah Waters knew what she wanted.

It was every girl's fantasy to be a Queen, but that hardly ever happened. Queenship was highly exclusive even before House Targaryen took the crowns off the brows of six kings and decided to avoid marrying out of the family.

Bastards, lowborn and lesser nobility were seen as beneath most of the greater lords, much less royalty. Which meant that over nine tenths of the girls on the continent were automatically disqualified. It was seen as inappropriate for people to marry out of their station. And once that lesson set in, the fantasies turned to ash.

There would be no dashing prince to sweep them off their feet. No Prince Charming. No queenship. No happily ever after. All they had were their neighbours. The butcher's son. The guardsman. A landed knight or lesser lord.

Most ladies made their peace with this, with those that didn't either ending up in the whorehouse or Silent Sisters.

But Sarah Waters was no quitter. She swore, right then and there, that by hook or by crook, somehow, she'd become Queen. And nothing and no one could ever stop her.

———

105 AC, Fyrepit

Well, that had been a quite the stroke of luck.

Princess Rhaenyra was looking for expendable dragonriders to use as foot soldiers, and so House Targaryen had adopted all of Prince Daemon's bastards. Including Sarah herself.

Now she was Shaera Fyre. Cousin of the Princess of Dragonstone and personal cupbearer to Queen Aemma herself.

That had accelerated all of Shaera's plans considerably, and saved her quite a bit of hassle. Sarah Waters was the bastard granddaughter of Lord Gilbert Rosby, and the man was rather indulgent. Worming her way into his heart had been trivial, which had afforded her quite a few benefits. Including the right to get a highborn lady's education right beside her legitimate cousin Cecelia Rosby. An education she'd put her back into excelling at, easily outshining her cousin in every aspect, be it dance, song, poetry or more.

Sarah was talented, everyone could see that. And while Cecelia was pretty, Sarah was beautiful. And that made her valuable.

If Lord Gilbert could get Sarah legitimised, she'd be quite the catch. Many highborn would vie for her hand, which allowed her to provide both an advantageous marriage as well as wealth from the dowry. That made Sarah worth legitimising. Especially since Lord Gilbert had plenty of sons and grandsons. There was no risk of Sarah usurping Rosby from her trueborn cousins.

In short, legitimising Sarah had no disadvantages, but many advantages. The choice was obvious.

And once that happened, Sarah Rosby would be presented in court, to seek out suitors for her hand. And at court, Sarah intended on leveraging her many feminine talents to gain a position as lady-in-waiting to either the Queen or Princess Rhaenyra.

Regardless, even as a best-case scenario, it'd take Sarah the better part of a decade of hard work to get there.

So the Dragonseed was very appreciative that Rhaenyra had saved her all that trouble.

But not appreciative enough to avoid deposing her. Shaera mused as she listened in on the door to Daenys' room, pressing her ear to the door in the dead of the night. Shaera had been in the privy at the time, and had seen Rhaegar burst out of his room in shock and immediately dash to his cousin-sister's room.

Naturally, the five-year-old had to know what had spooked him so. 

"I'm serious." Rhaegar said. "I saw Laena and Rhaenyra kissing. Kissing, Daisy. Kissing."

"Brother, I trust you more than anyone, but what you're saying is unbelievable." Daenys replied.

"Believe me! Rhaenyra and Laena are—"

"No. That, I believe." Daenys interrupted. "But how you saw it, that's what I doubt."

"Come on! I told you already that—"

"Seeing it in a dream from the eyes of a bird?" Daenys scoffed. "Do you honestly expect anyone to believe such a tale?"

There was a sigh on the other side of the door.

"Regardless, you keep that information to yourself." Daenys firmly stated, voice like iron. "No one can know. Especially not the rest of our family."

"Even Queen Aemma?"

"Especially Queen Aemma!"

———

105 AC, Maegor's Holdfast

"And that's what they said." Shaera reported to Queen Aemma, bowing her head and avoiding eye-contact. Pretending to be guilty about tattling on her siblings.

The Queen let out a long moan of despair and slumped in her chair in the most unladylike manner.

Oh she was just so easy to manipulate.

Shaera didn't know why Aemma and Rhaenyra were at each other's throats, but it didn't really matter. The Queen was singularly predisposed against her daughter, and hence always saw the worst in the Princess of Dragonstone.

What Shaera had told her was hardly reliable testimony. Nobody would believe her tale. Not when it was her word against the Heiress to the Iron Throne. But Queen Aemma was a mindless broodmare and a religious idiot.

She'd buy what Shaera was peddling.

"I'm… I'm not in trouble, am I?" Shaera hesitantly said, faking fear and trepidation. "I… I mean… it was so alarming that I just had to say it, but I don't want anyone to get into trouble and—"

Shaera was cut off when Queen Aemma hugged her, whispering sweet nothings into her ears.

"There there." Aemma soothingly said. "There is nothing to be afraid of. You did nothing wrong. In fact, I am proud of you for bringing this up to me. You were so brave, Shaera."

The Queen stepped back and gently petted Shaera on the head.

"No need to worry, sweetling." She smiled. "Auntie will take care of this for you, alright?"

———

105 AC, Dragonpit

For the first time in her life, as she looked down on the corpse of Aemma Arryn, Shaera Fyre was terrified.

For a brief few months, Rhaenyra had been beaten. Dragged down from her pedestal and disgraced. Queen Aemma had been actively searching for prospective suitors, and had found a promising few. Faraway lords that couldn't agitate or rock the boat. Lords with firm beliefs about the place of women in the world whom would never tolerate Rhaenyra's scheming.

Shaera had many plans for the future. As cupbearer, she intended on subtly poisoning the Queen to make her never bear another living child, before arranging for the young prince in her belly to die in infancy. Then it was a simply a matter of persuading the king and queen on naming Shaeterys the new Prince of Dragonstone before wedding him.

The Targaryens insisted on keeping the blood pure, and none of Shaera's five older sisters intended on marriage. Daena, Baela and Rhaena sought adventure and freedom. Bell would slit her own throat before any wedding and Daenys loved books more than boys. In short: Shaera was the obvious choice for Princess of Dragonstone.

And then Aemma died with her son, and all of Shaera's plans fell apart.

Rhaenyra, Shaera had learnt, could kill simply by doing nothing. The Princess of Dragonstone had pulled off the single greatest assassination of the century, and no one would ever know it was her. The regicide was flawless. Aemma's death was at her own hands. Killed because she'd been made to fear the cabal, but they were but the brazier Rhaenyra lit to draw attention away from her hidden knife in the shadows it cast.

She'd somehow known. That the birth would kill the Queen. Before using that knowledge to commit regicide without even lifting a finger. And that scared Shaera.

The Queen was a nitwit. That was obvious, but the sheer ease at which Rhaenyra disposed of her scared the young Dragonseed.

Was this what Aemma feared? Why she was so determined to see her daughter as an enemy to be disposed off?

That was when Shaera realised that Rhaenyra was the better player at the Game of Thrones. And that wasn't even counting her position as the forerunner of the race, with the king himself in her corner. Which meant that Shaera was quite frankly, outclassed and outmatched.

"You've won this round." Shaera conceded as she stood over Queen Aemma's corpse, placing a wreath of flowers in front of the coffin. "And will likely win the next one, and the one after that."

She released the flowers, bowing her head in a mummery of grief.

"But it doesn't matter how many you win, as long as I win the last one." The Dragonseed whispered under her breath.

———

111 AC, Highgarden

Shaera practically choked under the sheer amount of rage that suffused the air around them. Already she could hear the sounds of war. The marching of soldiers. The hoofbeats of horses. The screams of terror and the cries of battle. For how could anyone bear to look upon such evil? The only thing left to do, the righteous thing to do, was to raise their swords and cut out the rot. Rip it out root and stem.

Unlike the lot in Oldtown, the lords and ladies here in Highgarden were Rhaenyra's loyalists, and it showed. They were angry and irrational. Eager to lash out at those that wronged them.

Unless something happened quickly, the Crown might have another war on their hands.

And yet. Shaera thought, mind running through every possible scenario. Rhaenyra wasn't dead, that much was obvious. It was a subtle thing, but Shaera had noticed that the black knight was of slightly broader and taller build that the Prince of Dragonstone. The armour and cape hid it—and hid it well— but not well enough that Shaera wouldn't take notice.

Especially after 'Ser Alys' had killed Ser Perkin though illusion sorcery. Shaera was no Daenys, whom could pulp a knight in armour with a wave of her hand, but she prided herself in illusions and glamours. The velvet glove to Daenys' iron fist. The key to her ram. The subtle poison to her obvious sword. 

The glamour that deceived Ser Perkin was splendidly crafted, with only the mercenary knight seeing the second sword, but magic always left traces.

Still, while Rhaenyra's survival would dent the cause, it wouldn't extinguish it. Inciting a war between the Reach and Stormlands was still feasible.

Shaera sunk into herself, paging through the glass candle transmissions all across the breadth and span of the Seven Kingdoms. Hmm, as expected, Rhaenyra's loyalists in the northern half of the Realm would remain steady, but the south would fall into disarray.

It made sense, really. The northern half of the continent was the poorer and less populous half of the Realm, which meant that they were far more reliant on southron gold and supplies to remain prosperous. In that sense, Rhaenyra remaining in charge was for the best for them, as her policies tended to favour them.

Meanwhile the southern Kingdoms were mostly self-sufficient, which meant that they had coin, men and grain to burn on schemes, instead of focusing solely on survival. In short, they could afford the luxury of being malcontent.

There was opportunity in this, and Shaera Fyre was not one to miss opportunity.

———

111 AC, Skies above Reach

The Hightowers were moving their catspaws into place all across the south. Shaera could see it.

Lady had grown large enough to be ridden, so the Dragonseed was able to fly all across the Reach, and Shaera's sorcery allowed her to extract the truth of the matter out of the minds of Hightower agents with them none the wiser.

With them, Shaera Fyre now had a better grasp on Otto Hightower's plans than anyone else in the Prince's Party.

Queen Alicent was trying to convince King Viserys to split the Realm in twain, once Aegon came of age, proposing a competition to settle the inheritance. She was also quite blatantly stacking the deck, which everyone except Viserys himself could see.

Like really, did the King seriously believe that the Conclave of Archmaesters would ever side against House Hightower—the House that provided over half the funding for the Citadel—ever?

And while the Queen sold the King on the scheme, the former Lord Hand was hard at work in the background. The man was stirring up all sorts of trouble, trying to bog Rhaenyra down. Stymie her reforms, occupy her days with petty squabbles even as he slowly flipped House by House to his side. There were many soft ways to oppose a ruler without outright rebelling, and Otto Hightower knew all of them.

And eventually, seeing his heir try and fail to make the great strides in the Seven Kingdoms that she promised in her ten years of Handship, Viserys would frown, and agree to the Viceroyalty plot, which would very likely end in King Aegon II Targaryen rising to take the Iron Throne.

It was a good plot, but it wouldn't pay dividends, for Otto had gravely misread Rhaenyra. He was playing the Game of Thrones believing that he was sitting across a younger King Jaehaerys, when in truth it was King Maegor with Teats on the other side of the board. Rhaenyra had absolutely no compunctions about being the King of Ash and Bones, all that mattered to her was that she'd be King. Her benevolence was a facade. Only there because it kept the masses docile and obedient, not because the Prince of Dragonstone genuinely cared about the people under her dominion.

That lack of empathy extended even to her family, which was another misconception that Otto had. You see, the man genuinely believed that Rhaenyra loved her father, and would stand by his side, come hell or high water.

Alas for him, Shaera knew for a fact that the only reason why King Viserys still lived and breathed was because Rhaenyra wasn't of age yet, and was mandated to have a regent by law. And as things happened, Otto Hightower was one of the foremost candidates for such a regency. If he weren't though, then Shaera had no illusions that Rhaenyra would have already committed patricide and seized the Iron Throne.

But once Rhaenyra turned six and ten, in three years time, all bets were off.

So really, was three years of stonewalling really going to cut it against the Prince of Dragonstone? Because Shaera would bet her right hand that King Rhaenyra I Targaryen's very first decree would be the extermination of House Hightower.

No, it'd be bold strokes that decided the runner-up— For Rhaenyra had already won this round, it was just a matter of time—in this round of the Game of Thrones.

And as King Rhaenyra's second decree was very likely to be the purging and execution of any of her less-than-loyal supporters, Shaera had a vested interest in being said runner-up. Of course, Shaera was fine with any result that wasn't a loss, but to be runner-up would make the subsequent rounds of the Game of Thrones far easier. Power begat power, after all. There'd be plenty of time later, after King Rhaenyra had won and grown complacent in her victory, to reattempt usurpation.

Regardless, Shaera was pretty sure that Rhaenyra was still unaware of her prior betrayal—Shaera was still alive, even after Queen Aemma died, after all—but it paid to be prepared. Damaging secrets had a bad habit of getting out. Which meant seizing power, and lots of it. Enough that Rhaenyra couldn't kill Shaera no matter how many lines she crossed to acquire said power. It'd cost her, tipping her hand to such an extent, but victories weren't cheap.

"Now then, Rhaenyra's victory condition for this round is the usurpation of the Iron Throne and the extermination of House Hightower." Shaera mused to herself as she flew to Oldtown. "So how can I make their death throes shake the tree in the way that is most beneficial for me?"

———

111 AC, Whispering Sound

Communicating with Otto Hightower directly was far too dangerous. Shaera was certain that Rhaenyra and Mysaria had contingencies in place to stymie any form of correspondence between the Prince's closest allies with either the Queen or the former Lord Hand, but there were always holes in every net.

In this case, Shaera instead used her glass candle to communicate to her sisters Maegelle and Daella Fyre. After all, there were nothing suspicious at all about a trio of sisters chatting.

Maegelle and Daella were cast of the same mould as Queen Aemma, nitwits whom let the Seven-Pointed-Star do the thinking for them. Those two numbskulls would confess everything they heard to the High Septon, Ceril Hightower. And if he wasn't a pawn of Otto's, Shaera would eat her shoes.

Through them, Shaera had fed breadcrumbs of information to the Hightowers. Nothing that would make or break Rhaenyra's cause, but enough to verify her credentials. Enough to make it clear to the Queen's Party that she was not as loyal as she professed.

Eventually, through a bewildering series of intermediaries, the invitation came. A face-to-face meeting with the upper echelons of the Queen's Party.

Mysaria had eyes everywhere, which was why the meeting had to be performed on quite the remote location, with barebones in the way of participants.

As such, when Shaera landed Lady, it was on a tiny spit of rock—barely an island— just of the coast of the Three Towers, deep in the Whispering Sound.

Shoes landing on the slick rock, Shaera approached the ship on the other side of the island.

A mere sailship no larger than a cart with a lateen sail atop it. Brightly painted and exquisitely carved, with the Maiden herself as the prow, it looked like the type of sailship that young lordlings would take their friends out on for leisure and fun. Laenor himself had a small fleet of them, and absolutely enjoyed taking his male companions out on them. So far, they'd sailed the span and breadth of Blackwater Bay, and occasionally beyond.

But the man awaiting her belowdecks wasn't one of the usual lordlings that went on jaunts with these vessels.

"Ser Gareth Hightower." Shaera curtsied elegantly, drawing power from Lady and weaving sorcery into her voice. "I am honoured to be in the presence of someone of your high status."

"Lady Shaera Fyre, you do truly resemble the late Queen Aemma, gods keep her close." Otto Hightower's eldest son gallantly greeted, pressing his lips to her knuckles. "But alas, I doubt that this is a pleasure trip."

"Alas." Shaera easily said, taking a seat at the table. "I shall be frank, for I wish for there be absolutely no misunderstandings between us."

"As you wish." Ser Gareth agreed, leaning forwards. "Speak your piece."

"Your father is going about things the wrong way." Shaera bluntly told the Hightower knight. "Playing it safe with Rhaenyra is practically surrender."

"I beg to differ." Ser Gareth denied. "Rhaenyra has proven that moving recklessly against her won't work. Look at Ser Borros, she played the entire court like a fiddle. My father has surmised that the Prince has too many countermeasures and contingencies for a direct strike like that to work. It is the subtle game, the hidden knives, that we must use here."

"So that's your plan?" Shaera asked. "Quietly flipping one House at a time against her while your father sets fires to distract Rhaenyra?"

"Yes." The knight agreed. "My father estimates that in a decade's time, he'd have amassed enough support to force a Great Council to dethrone Rhaenyra."

"Or force the Queen's Viceroyalty plot?" Shaera idly asked, Ser Gareth going utterly still in response.

"How do you know about that?" Ser Gareth got out, hand drumming on the pommel of his sword. They were in the middle of the sea, out of sight of any land, and the knight was nearly triple Shaera's age. It would have been child's play for him to murder her and dispose of the body with no one the wiser.

But Shaera was undaunted. She was no stranger to risks.

"Shaeterys." The Dragonseed told the Hightower knight. "He was eavesdropping on your sister when she brought the notion up to the King. And I know, because I was eavesdropping on him when he told Rhaenyra."

The knight rapidly paled at the realisation that the Prince of Dragonstone knew about their little scheme. It was one thing to oppose her with the element of surprise on their side, but an entirely different beast without.

"That… that changes things." The shaken knight replied.

"Yes, do you really think that Rhaenyra is really going to roll over and let you tear the Realm in two?" Shaera rehotorically asked. "If she isn't already taking countermeasures against your little plot, I'll eat my dress."

"Then what do you suggest?" The knight asked. "You wouldn't have gone this far just to give us a warning."

"I'm telling you that the time for playing things safe is coming to an end." Shaera informed him. "It is bold strokes that will decide whom wins this tussle for the Iron Throne. And that means no more of that sneaky manoeuvring in the shadows. No more courtroom intrigue. It's time to let the blades sing." 

Well, strictly speaking, Rhaenyra had already won this round. But that didn't mean that the defeated pieces had to go out quietly. They could still make a big enough mess that'd allow the other players opportunities to ascend and prepare for the next round.

"Going to war against Rhaenyra is the epitome of foolishness." Ser Gareth retorted. "Did you not see how easily she won the War of Four Directions? Her dragons would torch any and all that raise a sword against her with extreme prejudice."

"Here's the thing about Rhaenyra; She'll never ever commit treason." Until she was sixteen anyway. "Which means that she'll always side with King Viserys no matter what."

"Yes, we are aware of that." Ser Gareth slowly said.

"So then what happens when King Viserys goes to war against Rhaenyra's own allies?" Shaera quizzically asked, Ser Gareth's eyes widening at her took in her suggestion.

"So either Rhaenyra commits treason and gets disowned, or she destroys her own allies for us." The Hightower knight said, awestruck at the realisation. Ser Gareth paused, and shook his head. "No. It wouldn't work. Rhaenyra would nip any such plot in the bud."

"Ah, that is true." Shaera conceded. "But here's another thing about Rhaenyra; She may be invincible, but there's only one of her."

Shaera stood up and began pacing across the tiny cabin that they were in.

"The glass candles allow her to cheat, yes, but they're not a solution in themselves." Shaera elaborated. "Look at the current situation; In the immediate aftermath of Borros' Trial, Rhaenyra was unable to stop the border troubles or the Riverlands exiling Daena. She was forced to settle the court in King's Landing, which prevented her from intervening in time. Leading to consequences."

"Daena got exiled. The Reach quite nearly went to war with the Stormlands." Ser Gareth agreed, hand on his chin as he thought.

"Rhaenyra could have easily gotten rid of all of those troubles had she been there." Shaera told him. "But she wasn't. She was too busy settling the court, forcing her to use lesser tools to deal with the situations."

"King Viserys, sent into the Riverlands to pacify them. The Legions, to force space between the Kingdoms until Rhaenyra herself was free to come down and settle the border." Ser Gareth recited.

He paused, before speaking once more, voice slightly disbelieving.

"Is that it then?" He asked. "Beating her is as easy as forcing her to be in two places at once?"

"Oh no, Rhaenyra can mitigate such defeats." Shaera denied. "But what if the situation was so dire that there was no mitigation?"

"War."

"Nothing less will suffice."

For the next five minutes, there was only silence, Shaera returning to her seat while Ser Hightower thought.

"Why tell us this, Shaera?" He finally asked. "What's in it for you?"

"Ormund Hightower." Shaera lied.

"He is betrothed to Lucille Tyrell."

"Not anymore." Shaera lazily said. "Unless you want me spilling this little talk we had to Rhaenyra. And don't think of killing me. I've taken several… precautions that will trigger unless I return home safely."

"Not anymore." Ser Gareth agreed.

———

111 AC, Highgarden

The Hightowers must have taken Shaera's advice to heart, for barely three months later, men in the service of House Hightower murdered Lady Relena Tyrell in broad daylight. 

Of course, no doubt when a detailed investigation took place after the war, it would be found that House Hightower had been framed for the deed. That the men in their livery were actually imposters intent on triggering a civil war in the Reach. And mayhaps even be linked to someone in the Prince's Party.

But regardless of the truth of the matter, none could deny that men dressed in Hightower livery had just killed the Lady of Highgarden in front of hundreds of witnesses.

The castle had been full of Rhaenyra's loyalists at the time, all gathered for a tourney in honour of Lucille Tyrell's seventeenth nameday. And when the Lady of Highgarden was brutally murdered by Hightower men, all of the assembled young men answered that sword in hand.

Within the hour, fourteen-year-old Lucas Tyrell's betrothed, Malora Hightower, was run out of the castle by an angry mob. Her sworn swords were all killed by the Tyrell household knights. Her retinue butchered with extreme prejudice. The thirteen-year-old Hightower scion barely escaped with her life, forced to flee alone with her last surviving guard on horseback, while Rhaenyra's partisans armed themselves with hunting bows and chased after them.

Lord Matthos Tyrell had protested, but his younger brother Ser Garth Tyrell ended the argument by putting a crossbow bolt through the Warden of the South's throat.

"My brother was a traitor!" Ser Garth proclaimed to the mob. "He bowed and scraped to the Hightowers! Begging the favour of a man whom has killed our Lady, and even now, plots and schemes the death of our rightful King and ruler!

"Well no more! House Hightower has always been overmighty! Arrogant and grasping! No more, I say!" He drew his sword, baring the blade southwest, where one could almost see the Hightower scraping the sky in the distance. "As the new Warden of the South, I hereby proclaim, here and now:

"We will return to our castles and holdfasts and call the banners! We will assemble our armies, march down the Honeywine, and tear down the Hightower once and for all!" Ser Garth roared. "For Lady Relena! For Prince Rhaenyra!"

"For Prince Rhaenyra!" The mob roared with him.

———

Shaera snapped her fingers and the image vanished, the glass candle fading until it was little more than a stick of obsidian.

"You see now?" She asked the people sitting across the table. "He intends on usurping the mantle of Warden of the South and Lord of Highgarden. But to do so, he needs all other possible claimants to die."

Lucas Tyrell whimpered at that, the boy clutching his older sister Lucille's skirts fearfully.

"We need to escape." Seventeen-year-old Lucille Tyrell declared. "Uncle Garth has whipped the mob up into a frenzy. And our guards can't protect us for much longer."

"We cannot escape." Shaera denied. "My dragon is too small to carry more than one person. And with Malora's escape, the stables would be under guard. And even if I called Rhaenyra right now, House Targaryen cannot send help immediately. It will take hours if not days for help to arrive. We don't have that long."

Like it or not, they were on their own.

"So then what do you propose?" Lucille asked.

"Gather all your men. Everyone who you know is loyal. Find servants to wear the clothes of the two of you and have the men fight their way to the river." Shaera ordered, lacing her voice with magic to make it more compelling.

"A ruse." Lucille appreciatively said. "We hide in the cellars in the meantime?"

"No. Find the Septon. We're barricading ourselves in the Sept." Shaera declared.

Lucille blanched at the implication.

"You don't mean to—" She gasped.

"There is no other way to ensure we win." Shaera placatingly replied.

———

111 AC, Castle Sept, Highgarden

The elegantly carved oak doors of the Castle Sept broke down, men in Tyrell livery bursting in, led by Ser Gareth Tyrell.

The Dragonseed stepped forwards to meet them. She was naked, blood running down her legs, but Shaera was utterly unfazed. All of the men froze at the sight of her, Ser Garth rapidly paling as he realised just what had happened.

"Men! Ser Garth Tyrell is a usurper, traitor and murderer." She ordered. "Arrest him, now!"

"No! What have you done, Shaera Fyre?!" Ser Garth yelled, face ashen. "What have you done?!"

"Oh no. Not Fyre. Not anymore." Shaera Tyrell laughed. "I am now the Lady of Highgarden. Wedded and bedded to your nephew Lord Lucas Tyrell, the true Warden of the South."

Lady Tyrell leaned forwards, teeth bared in a vicious grin.

"Now then, in the name of my lord husband, the Warden of the South, I order that this ridiculous war come to an end." She ordered them all. "There shall be no marching down the Honeywine. No sieging of Oldtown and no tearing down of the Hightower. All are to lay down their swords and submit to the adjudication of the Crown."

———

111 AC, Highgarden

The peace was tenuous, but it held. A tense standoff, instead of outright war. It was a dictated peace, of course, with all the widespread discontent and roiling tensions that implied, but neither side was willing to be the one to break it.

House Hightower couldn't be seen declaring war. They needed to be the ones warred against in order for King Viserys to come down on their side.

And mob were Rhaenyra's supporters, which meant that they couldn't raise a hand against either the Dragonseed or her lord husband, no matter how much they wanted to go to war. They all hated her, of course, and no doubt Rhaenyra herself was livid, but Shaera was untouchable.

None of the lords in the castle could even so much as harm a single hair on her head, for to do so would mean betraying the Prince of Dragonstone. With immolation via dragonfire being the most likely consequence.

And even should Rhaenyra descend in a murdering mood, the Crown Prince couldn't do a thing against Shaera. Not unless she wanted the Tyrell-Hightower war to restart, which would cost her half the Realm.

Assuming that she even could come down.

Last Shaera heard, Rhaenyra was pretty committed in the Westerlands, what with her stripping young Tybolt—no longer Reyne, but now Lannister— of his lordship, naming Lord Lucius Serrett General of the Sixth Legion while assigning the Lannister Twins under him as high-ranking officers. Within two months, Shaera estimated that Rhaenyra would have finished collapsing Cerelle Lannister's coalition, reducing the Lady of Casterly Rock to a mere figurehead owned body and soul—possibly literally—by the Prince of Dragonstone.

But until that goal was accomplished, Rhaenyra couldn't leave Casterly Rock, not unless she wanted Otto to help Cerelle back to her feet. Which meant that Shaera had that long to consolidate her own power base, before the Hand of the King came calling.

Still, Shaera was not above getting additional… insurance against Rhaenyra.

"I had no choice, Uncle." She wept, burying her face in her hands. "There was no other way I could avert the war before it began. No other way I could save my friends. No other way I could spare the Realm. I'm sorry, sorry for my reckless behaviour."

"There, there." The King placatingly said, he moved to pat her shoulder, but his holographic hands went right through it. "Hush dear, nobody is blaming you."

Shaera faked a loud sniff, picking up a lace handkerchief and blowing her nose noisily on it.

"Don't worry, my dear." King Viserys smiled. "You did the right thing. The brave thing. I'm not angry, I'm proud of you. So so so proud of you, niece."

"But… but… what about Rhaenyra?" She wailed. "I'm scared. I'm scared of what she'll say once she arrives to settle the Reach."

"It's alright, Shaera." Viserys soothed. "I'll have a word with my daughter about this, alright? She'll be angry, of course, but I'll talk her around. Remember that her anger is born of her love and worry for her cousins, and that she'll forgive you, in the end."

Shaera frowned, and nodded uncertainly.

"I'll provide the dowry and once you've flowered, arrange and pay for a proper wedding to take place." The King added, pawing at his moustache. "A grand ceremony, worthy of the Lady of Highgarden."

"I… thank you, Uncle." Shaera got out between fake sobs. She paused before speaking once again. "But what of House Hightower? Lady Malora was betrothed to Lucas Tyrell. I did not intend to slight them, but even so…"

A lie that. Shaera had absolutely no qualms or compunctions about how she'd double-crossed them. It had always been her plan to play Otto against Rhaenyra, letting them take swings at each other while she picked up the pieces to build her own pedestal.

"I'll settle House Hightower, don't you worry about that." The King firmly said. "Lord Lyonel Hightower has recently come to me with the request to legitimise quite a few Hightower bastards. Agreeing to that, as well as offering halved taxes for the rest of this year, ought to placate them."

"Very well then." Shaera slowly nodded. "Thank you so much, Uncle."

"No problem." Her Uncle waved away. "Anything for family."

Shaera nodded and waved her hand, deactivating the glass candle.

Lady Tyrell laughed softly to herself the instant the light faded from the obsidian. Oh manipulating him was so easy, no wonder why Rhaenyra did it all the time.

She'd dearly like to see Rhaenyra take a swing at her now that she'd gotten the King on her side. 'Daddy Dearest' as Rhae liked to call him, would take quite the dim view of his heir punishing the Lady of Highgarden.

Besides, Shaera knew how to buy her way back into Rhaenyra's… good graces was a stretch, but definitely into her tolerance. Lady Tyrell was confident that given time, she could settle the unruly Reach for the Hand of the King, using her newfound influence and power to contest the Hightowers, neatly neutering them both as they vied for hegemony over the Reach.

It would keep the two largest thorns in Rhaenyra's side— herself and Otto— out of her hair for the foreseeable future, allowing the Crown Prince free rein to do pass whatever reforms she wanted in the remaining Kingdoms instead of being bogged down putting out fires.

Of course, Shaera had no intentions on being neatly neutered like someone's unruly dog. House Hightower was on borrowed time by this point. Once the Dragonqueen got her throne, she'd murder them all. And without House Hightower to hold them in check, House Tyrell would be free in the aftermath to devour the Reach wholesale.

Which also meant that Shaera had until that long to secure her position. She needed something. Some form of leverage over the Heir to the Iron Throne. Something that prevented Rhaenyra from putting her head on a pike right next to Otto Hightower's. There were a few nets Shaera could cast, the Dragonseed had some modicum of idea on how to strongarm Rhaenyra, but odds were that the Dragonqueen would willingly take a wound if it meant that she could permanently end Shaera as a threat.

Regardless, Shaera Tyrell was no stranger to risking her life and limb in the Game of Thrones. You either won, or you died. There was no middle ground.

"And I have no intention of dying, Dragonqueen." Sheara told the night sky. "I swear, here and now, that no matter what, I will snatch your crown off your brow. And nothing and nobody. Not gods, not men nor all the dragons on the continent would stop me."

She raised a hand, reaching into the inky blackness, as though she could reach up and pluck the stars from the sky.

"Long may I reign."

———

The glass candle lit up, light shining from it twisted and warped, until it formed the illusion of Rhaenyra Targaryen. One so lifelike she appeared to be present in person.

"Rhae, I…" Shaera began, rising to greet the Hand of the King when another hologram appeared right beside the Dragonqueen.

"Good morning, Lady Tyrell." Otto Hightower greeted from his place right beside Rhaenyra Targaryen. "The Prince of Dragonstone and I have much to discuss with you."