73

Chapter 73: Chapter 49: CousinsNotes:

Sorry if this chapter feels like filler. It is.

I'm having writer's block. Haven't written for too long now.

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

Chapter Text

"WORTHY" 

-Inscribed above the doors of the Mausoleum of Fyre

111 AC, Westerlands

On a remote hill out of sight of Casterly Rock, under the starry sky, ten boys and eleven girls sat around a fire pit. Myself, Laena and the full muster of Prince Daemon's children save three exceptions.

Daena, currently in exile and off doing my bidding in Volantis. Shaera, traitor and the entire reason for this conversation. And Daenys, responsible for keeping an eye on Shaera back at the Rock.

Around the us lay our dragons, sprawled in a circle of flesh and scale, fire and blood. Even while slumbering, most of them radiated enough heat the fire pit was essentially superfluous, but the light was necessary if we didn't want to conduct this entire conversation in pitch blackness.

The conversation was light, as we shared skewers of meat roasted over the flickering flames, but there was a certain tension in the air. Like the calm before the storm. The instant before a trigger was pulled and all the gears and levers clicked into place. The Dragonseeds were my closest companions and allies in this world save Laena, and they'd gotten good at reading me. Even without any words being spoken between us, they could all tell that I was in a horrid mood.

Well, all save two exceptionally dense numbskulls.

Short and pudgy, with round faces, wide, watery lilac eyes and straw-coloured hair, ten-year-old twins Vaelon and Baelon were not the sharpest swords in the shed. In fact, an argument could be made that they were instead the dullest swords in the shed.

Those bumbling nincompoops fancied themselves prankster extraordinaires in the league of Fred and George Weasley, though their so called pranks ran the gauntlet from distasteful to plain malicious. The only good news was that without fail, their pranks would backfire on the prankster wannabes. Often in a spectacular and most humiliating manner.

Their sheer incompetence and dumbness was half the reason why despite there still being a good number of dragon hatchlings left to choose from, their mother Alanna Tarly and I had instead opted to give them dragon eggs. Eggs which hatched into the dragons non-creatively named Horn and Hill. It'd be a year or three before they were large enough to ride, and I was already dreading the prospect of Vaelon or Baelon gaining flight capabilities.

Like seriously. I'd seen dogs with more intelligence than Vaelon and Baelon. For instance, neither of them were aware that Alicent and I were feuding.

…

…

…

Yeah, I genuinely don't know how either of them missed that.

On my list of Dragonseeds from most to least expendable, Vaelon and Baelon were squarely at the bottom. And that was after Shaera's treachery. Traitorous bitch was at least competent, and had managed to get her hooks into House Tyrell.

"Vaelon, Baelon." Bell called out, when the conversation ebbed and everyone save the two numbskulls sat down, awaiting my words. "Sit down and listen."

"Eh? But we were just getting to the good part." Vaelon protested.

"Yeah, it'll be quick." Baelon agreed, before continuing their long-winded story about how their attempts to dye their stepfather's cloak pink wound up with the two of them splattered with paint.

"Oh enough." Aerion sneered, idly flipping a knife in his hands. "Shut up or be made to shut up."

Some people were born with faces that seemed perfectly sculpted for sneering, and amongst them, twelve-year-old Aerion Fyre was grand champion, even at such a young age. His blonde hair was long and straight. His brow was high, his nose straighter than a ruler, his cheekbones so sharp they could cut glass, his chin so pointy it was almost an isosceles triangle and pale lips so thin they felt like a cut on his face.

But for all that, it was his eyes which I found his most striking feature. Pale violet, they were sharp and cruel, glittering with what would have been called mischief, were the glint in a less malicious person.

Four years ago, I'd personally sent Aerion off to Winterfell, in hopes that the Starks would teach him honour, duty and integrity. Alas, that appeared to have been a failure, as the son of a whore—And that wasn't hyperbole, Aerion's mother was actually a whore—had only ever grown more unruly and unpleasant.

The brat reminded me greatly of Joffrey Baratheon. Cruel, sadistic, a bastard in both senses of the word and a general horrid excuse of a person.

Of all the Dragonseeds, Shaera may have been the most treacherous, but Aerion was the one whom was the worst of them all, in my opinion.

"Oh yeah? Really?" Vaelon challenged, raising his pudgy fists. "Come on! Let's do this! You and me, one on one!"

"You're smiling." Aerion sneered, rising to his feet, knife twirling shining circles in his hand. "I'll carve that smile onto your face."

And with a yell Aerion lunged at Vaelon, his knife descending in a blur of silver. It would have caught Vaelon in his left cheek, had a shielding spell not burst into existence between the two brothers, blade skimming off it in a trail of sparks.

With a snarl of rage, Aerion rounded on the culprit, only for more shielding spells to burst into existence, trapping him in a box.

"Let brother not spill brother's blood." Haegon prayed, staff raised. "Let them lay their swords down and kiss one another's cheeks. So spoke the Mother."

Thin and reedy, with commoner brown hair and eyes, and somewhat of a crybaby, eleven-year-old Haegon was probably the last person one would assume to be a Targaryen, much less a great sorcerer. He sat hunched upon himself, as though attempting to make himself disappear into his brown roughspun robes, uniform of young novices whom were septons-in-training.

How in the world such a religious idiot like Haegon became arguably the third or fourth best Dragonseed at sorcery I had no idea. The whole notion was baffling to me. Haegon's praying somehow enhanced his own sorcery, making his spells stronger and more effusive.

There were three steps to every spell: Formula, Will and Execution. I suppose the praying helped sharpen and focus Haegon's will, but the lad's formulas' were sloppy and his execution half-baked. But somehow, he was the most prolific healer among us all. Every day, without fail, he'd wander the streets of Oldtown, healing wounds and curing sicknesses.

People called him a miracle worker, and I suppose that was true. It was a miracle that he hadn't murdered anyone yet. Healing was one of the most magically complicated disciplines. Pouring magic willy-nilly into a body tended to lead to painful and disastrous results. Hell, half the curses I knew were originally derived from botched healing spells.

I'd have assumed the religious aspect was a mask to make his sorcery more palatable to the masses, but unfortunately that wasn't the case.

The boy could recite the Seven-Pointed-Star entirely from memory, and was convinced that his sorcery was 'a gift from the Seven'. That was one thing, but the boy's grand goal in life was to become a septon, and bring the gospel to the masses of Essos. Converting them with the Light of the Seven.

Yeah… even Maegelle and Daella Fyre— mindless religious nitwits whom let the Seven-Pointed-Star do the thinking for them— knew how badly that that would go.

"You son of a bitch!" Aerion snarled, before calling magic to himself, concentrating fire in his hands to to blast his way out of his prison.

"Fire was a gift from the forge of the Smith." Maegelle Fyre smoothly prayed, her voice clear and like a bell. "I deem your usage of it reckless and wanton."

I felt Maegelle's will ripple out from her. She snatched ahold of Aerion's mana, tore apart his spell formula, before slapping her own in. Like a candle smothered, the flames that Aerion was calling to himself guttered into smoke that harmlessly drifted out of the box of shielding spells Aerion was stuck in.

Maegelle and Daella Fyre were both blonde and indigo-eyed. Their mothers were identical twins, making them in a sense full-siblings, though for all their great resemblance, Maegelle was tall and thin while Daella was short and plump. The cousin-siblings were both deeply religious. Well… Maegelle was deeply religious and Daella simply did whatever her older sister did.

In another life, Daella might have been the dumbest Dragonseed, given her airheadedness and general lack of good sense, but she was obedient and quiet. She knew when to shut up and obey, which was more than could be said of Vaelon or Baelon Fyre. It helped that of all the Dragonseeds, Daella had the single largest mana pool of them all, boasting one nearly twice the size of mine. Though given her lack of sorcerous ability, Daella tended to let Maegelle use her as a living mana battery.

And speaking of Maegelle, the girl was gentle and matronly. Rhaegar had a bad habit of forgetting meals. Daenys tended to lose track of time when buried in a tome. Haegon was too fond of fasting and Daella not exactly the brightest bulb. As such it was Maegelle whom was responsible for ensuring that all five of the Dragonseeds living in Oldtown were fed and watered.

As a sorceress, her skill was only so-so, but Maegelle was the one whom pioneered what I called a 'Hijack'. For while her sister Daella had the single largest mana pool, correspondingly, Maegelle had the single smallest mana pool among the Dragonseeds. Her pool was nearly nonexistent, forcing Maegelle to have to rely on Daella's in order to cast anything. In summary: Daella provided the power, Maegelle crafted the spell formula.

But humans weren't dragons. You couldn't really draw on a person's mana pool for power the same way you could for a dragon. I mean, you could, but there was a very fine line between harmless extraction and potentially fatal consequences.

As such, Maegelle had developed a method where Daella would gather her magic and prepare a simple spell, and Maegelle would promptly hijack the spell. Ripping apart the original spell formulae and slapping her own in.

Wordlessly, Haegon dropped the shield, and Bell stepped in, furiously backhanding Aerion and sending him sprawling onto the ground. The boy snarled, and attempted to leap back to his feet, but a small hand was laid onto his shoulder.

"No." Seven-year-old Visenya Fyre declared, and Aerion's froze like a man before Medusa, unable to move neither muscle nor sorcery.

Electrum-haired and grey-eyed, even at such a young age Visenya Fyre already had a stern cast to her face. She could be sweet and charming and playful when she wanted to be, but Visenya was plucky, and undaunted by being third youngest of the Dragonseeds. She took no shit from anyone and was more than willing to use force to maintain order.

It helped that she was good with a bow, better with a sword and downright prodigious with magic. In a few years, I'd expect her to surpass even Shaera or Haegon in terms of sorcery.

"Oh, you petrified him? Impressive work." Laena praised, amusedly smirking as Aerion attempted to move, straining his muscles and trying so hard to move that veins appeared on his forehead. "I can't do that."

"Whoo! Who's so big and tough now huh?" Baelon mocked, trotting up to Aerion and mockingly wriggling his butt at his older brother's face. "Come get me, idiot!"

A tiny foot slammed straight into Baelon's ass, propelling the boy forward. His forehead slammed right onto his twin's and both Vaelon and Baelon went down like bowling pins, squealing in pain.

"Sit down, you idiots." Daemon Fyre snapped irritably, lowering his leg. "We've wasted enough time as it is."

We all had our doppelgängers. Back on Earth, I was a dead ringer to my Uncle Jimmy. Similarly, my cousin Kai looked like a younger version of Mom. And even in this life, Shaera looked like Aemma's clone. Viserra looked like mine. Jaehaerys Junior, from the Great Council so so long ago, greatly resembled his namesake, and so did Daemon Junior.

I still remembered the Rogue Prince. How could I forget? When he was the very first person I'd ever murdered. And you never really forgot your firsts.

Silver haired and indigo-eyed, a long and slender face set with sharp cheekbones. A dancer's physique, lean yet taut with muscles. Six feet tall and with a dashing, roguish smile.

Six-year-old Daemon Fyre was yet a second Rogue Prince though. His cheekbones still had baby fat clinging onto them. He was three feet tall at best, the shortest of the Dragonseeds. He was paler than his namesake, and his hair not as long, for his mother Mysaria insisted on cutting it short, such that his ears were visible.

A scowl perpetually scrunched up his cute features, and tufts of his hair stuck up stubbornly in all sorts of directions. Probably due to how often his siblings ruffled it. That the young Fyre disliked the ruffling did nothing to dissuade any of them, much to Daemon's frustration.

Despite his youth and size—More accurately, the lack thereof— Daemon Fyre was the indisputably the single most dangerous Dragonseed. A prodigy, Daemon learnt reading and writing faster than Daenys, picked up martial arts almost as fast as Bell, rivalled Shaeterys with a blade, was near as good an archer as Daena and almost as good on horseback as Rhaegar.

Even his sorcery, which lagged behind the rest, was better than most of his elder siblings, and definitely placed in the upper third of the Dragonseeds.

He'd be a right terror once he grew up, that much was obvious. For now I'd bet on Daena, Bell and maybe Shaeterys over him, but in a few decades time, once the age and size gap had closed, I had absolutely no doubts that Daemon would number among the single most lethal fighters on the continent.

Of all the Dragonseeds, it was him I was most thankful that I'd preemptively leashed and shackled.

One didn't let such a dangerous hound out to prowl, after all.

Vaelon and Baelon looked like they wanted to complain, but whatever they saw in Daemon's eyes gave them pause. The twins fell silent, and Daemon turned to face me.

"Why have you summoned us all, Rhaenyra?" Prince Daemon's lastborn asked. "What situation is so grave as to require the attendance of near the full muster of Dragonseeds?"

I said nothing, but simply sat up straight. Leaving the relaxed position I'd had while cuddling with Laena.

"Oh this is gonna be good." Laena grinned, seeing my face."

I took a deep breath, and let everything flow out of me. My morals, my emotions and my love for my family. As I did so, I forced iron into my spine, let my emotion bleed out of myself as I consciously shutting down all involuntary movement, I let my body become a stone statue, my face a wax mask. Rhaenyra Targaryen, cool big sister and loving cousin, went to sleep. And out came the Dragonqueen, ruthless enforcer, cold-blooded killer and heartless monster.

I let my gaze sweep over the Dragonseeds, enjoying the way backs straightened and eyes averted. Even Daemon, dauntless as he was, seemed perturbed by me now.

"Shaera." I simply said, my voice soft and loving, almost a purr. And yet every single one of my relatives shuddered at the word. "Has betrayed me. This cannot stand."

"Shaera's done and finished." Aerion dismissively sneered, Visenya having released him. "You've chained and beaten her. Why do we all have to bother with her."

"I beg to differ, brother." Visenya objected. "Daenys is but a bandage tied over a gaping wound, not a panacea in herself."

Aerion opened his mouth to reply, but Visenya held a single finger up.

"Before you speak, remember that you technically do not need your tongue to live." The plucky girl threatened. "I'm sure few would mourn your loss of such an appendage."

"Visenya is correct." I interjected, before the argument could spiral out of control. "I want a productive discussion now, and if any of you speak out of line again, I'll order Bell to discipline you. Painfully."

There was a reluctant murmur, and the Dragonseeds all fell silent once more. Even Aerion, for I'd been deadly serious.

"But I fail to understand why Shaera is a problem." Haegon said, breaking the silence. "Daenys has neutralised her. Shaera cannot plot treachery with our sister looming over her shoulder."

"Daenys is simply too valuable to be permanently assigned as essentially a glorified babysitter." Six-year-old Rhaella Fyre rebutted. "The situation as it currently stands is untenable."

Ah Rhaella, how I loved you.

With hair of white gold, eyes that sparkled like amethysts and a wide, angelic smile, Rhaella was a charming lass. She often went around asking how everyone's day was, and offering hugs to people that looked down. She loved inviting people to her tea parties and had a lovely singing voice.

All of that was a lie. A mask carefully cultivated in order for her to best exploit her youth and innocence while hiding that behind it sat the third best political mind among the Dragonseeds.

Varys had become one of the most staggeringly successful spymasters because of his little birds. Children beneath the notice of adults. People tended to let their guard down around children, often believing them unable to truly comprehend or understand what was really going on behind the scenes.

And Rhaella Fyre was my little bird. Singing the sweetest songs about my political opponents and rivals.

"Can there not be reconciliation?" Eight-year-old Naerys Fyre asked. "Shaera has already been shamed and punished. Should she show remorse and repent, can we not let bygones be bygones? Wash away the bad blood down the river."

Naerys Fyre's platinum hair was nothing to write home about, but her eyes most certainly were. Bottle-green, they were a colour not seen on any other Dragonseed. We weren't completely sure where they came from, given that her father Prince Daemon had indigo eyes, and her mother Adanna Celtigar had brown eyes so light they appeared gold. Our best guess was that Naerys had inherited her eyes from our grandmother Princess Alyssa, whom had heterochromia, sporting one purple eye and one green eye.

"You're too kind for your own good, Naerys." Eight-year-old Lucerys Fyre protested. "Listen to me. The real world is not as kind as those fairy tales you so love. Shaera cannot be redeemed."

"As the Mother says, there is always light in the heart of even the darkest sinner." Naerys rebutted. "Shaera can yet be redeemed. All we have to do, is offer forgiveness."

"Shaera didn't burn dozens of bridges just to roll over and heel at the drop of a hat." Viserra denied. "She won't turn over a new leaf just because we asked nicely, no. Face it, sister, she's beyond redemption."

"Yeah. Even Lucerys agrees that Shaera cannot be redeemed." Shaeterys emphatically nodded. "Lucerys, Naerys, Lucerys. I think that should prove beyond all doubt that Shaera is too far gone."

Well, that was one way of putting things. Lucerys Fyre resembled his mother Jaehaera Velaryon, sporting platinum hair and violet eyes exceptionally similar to those of my girlfriend. But more importantly, was the fact that he was the biggest optimist in the family, greater even than Viserys himself. The boy could find a silver lining even in the darkest, most blighted storm cloud in a dark and overcast sky.

That even he agreed that Shaera was an enemy beyond redemption was a glaring red flag.

"But…" Naerys floundered. "Come on Maegelle, back me up here."

"I hate to agree with what was spoken, but they're all right." Maegelle reluctantly agreed. "Our sister is a sinner, and an unrepentant one at that. All that we can do now, is to give her the Stranger's blade, and pray that the Gods take mercy upon her in the afterlife."

"Really? Then why is Shaera still alive?" Aerion drawled. "I agree wholeheartedly that we should 'mercy' her. In fact, I'll volunteer for such a deed."

As he said the word, Daemon's sixthborn drew a line across his throat, making his threat apparent.

"Unfortunately for us all, Shaera is too valuable to kill." I reluctantly conceded. "I'd hate to pass up an opportunity to sink my hooks into House Tyrell."

"But after she births an heir, all bets are off, yes?" Rhaella asked. "I hope we've got a plan to, as Aerion so eloquently put it, 'mercy' Shaera. And preferably one with plausible deniability."

"The means to an end, are in fact an end in themselves, this time. Plenty of women and girls die in the birthing bed." Daemon clinically assessed. "Especially young brides. Once her husband gets her with child, we can swiftly remove her from the board with no one the wiser."

"Yeah, what's taking so long on that, anyway?" Vaelon asked. "They've been married for half a year by now."

"Uh huh. The stork should have arrived by now, so why isn't Shaera pregnant?" Baelon added. "I wanna be an uncle!"

There was a long beat of stunned silence as everyone gaped at those two idiots.

"Did their mother drop them on their heads while babies?" Baela quietly asked Rhaena.

"I don't think so. We've been dropped on our heads as babies, and we're perfectly fine." Rhaena muttered back. "This is something else entirely."

"How… how?" Visenya got out between gritted teeth. "We've spent years with Sylvie. Even I know babies are made."

Silver Sylvie, as she was popularly known as, was a whore whom worked at an upscale brothel on the Street of Silk. A Valyrian, Sylvie had platinum blonde hair and sparkling amethyst eyes. With her looks, Sylvie had habit of roleplaying as a Targaryen Princess for her patrons to despoil, which made her wildly popular among the lordlings—and even a few ladies—at court. A role she still played even now, despite approaching forty, birthing three children, and being offered a place in the Fyrepit.

At some point, Daemon met Sylvie and grew infatuated with her. Or as Sylvie braggingly put it; she 'hogtied the pouting prince', 'stole his maidenhead' and 'had her wicked way with him all night long'. I normally wouldn't buy such a salacious story, especially if the Prince in question was the Rogue Prince, but if there was one woman in the Seven Kingdoms whom had the gumption to do such a deed, it'd be Sylvie.

That woman had absolutely no shame, and loved regaling everyone—And I do mean everyone, there was a reason why I'd never seen the need to give the Dragonseeds The Talk—about her torrid affairs with Daemon. And let's just say the details… were way too detailed.

Regardless, what couldn't be denied was that Sylvie had birthed no less than three Dragonseeds. The largest number among all of Daemon's lovers. Daena, the eldest, barely a month after my own birth. And then twins Baela and Rhaena two years later, after Daemon returned from the Vale.

In fact, there were rumours that Sylvie might have been a Dragonseed herself, fathered by either my grandfather Baelon or his older brother Aemon. Though I'd surreptitiously performed a bloodline ritual on Daena some time back, and found no evidence that Sylvie was a relative of mine.

"Daella." I sighed, massaging my temples.

"Yes Rhae?"

"Do me a favour; take Vaelon and Baelon and go secure the perimeter." I ordered. "Make sure no one is eavesdropping on our little fireside chat."

A rather pointless endeavour, given that I had Rhaegar on overwatch, and even Daella seemed to realise that. But thankfully, she got my hidden message and got to her feet obediently.

"Alright, come on you two, we're on a mission!" Daella enthused, the three of them trotting off happily.

I waited until they'd gone down the hill before speaking again.

"Dumbasses." I grunted. "I'd assign them suicide missions, if I weren't so sure that they'd bungle even that up."

"Well, look on the bright side." Lucerys smiled. "At least you have an heir and a spare for Mushroom. I think Vaelon and Baelon will look great in motley."

"There is no bright side. Vaelon and Baelon aren't funny. Their sheer incompetence is so ridiculous that it loops back around to depressing." Baela grunted. "At this point, it's more pitiful than amusing."

There was murmur of agreement from everyone.

"Back on topic." I ordered, the Dragonseeds all straightening up once more. "We need Shaera to start whelping out little rosebuds as soon as possible. I'm open to suggestions."

"But I thought that you swore an armistice with Lord Otto Hightower?" Rhaena asked. "Does this not count as meddling in the Reach?"

"Given how much Shaera screwed Lord Otto over?" Viserra dryly replied. "I don't think he'll particularly mind us screwing dear Lady Tyrell over in turn."

"Yeah, I won't bring up the specifics of our arrangement, but suffice to say, Shaera is fair game, despite the armistice." I agreed.

"Actually, on that note, why hasn't Otto murdered Shaera yet?" Rhaella added. "She's pariah amongst everyone in the Reach. Nobody would complain about her death, and offing her would allow Lord Lucas to remarry his original betrothed Malora Hightower."

I opened my mouth to answer, but was beaten by another.

"Viserys." Daemon Fyre muttered, cupping his chin contemplatively. "Of course, Viserys. Traitor or no, Shaera is still family. He'll take it as an act of war if either side of this conflict murders Shaera."

"A most succinct and astute observation." I praised. "Yes, Daddy Dearest wouldn't take things lying down if either Otto or I murder Lady Tyrell."

"But what if we did it with plausible deniability?" Baela suggested. "Like, I'm sure you've got at least a few undetectable poisons stashed away somewhere."

"We could pull it off, no doubt." Shaeterys agreed. "But can the same be said of Otto Hightower? It's Shaera, she's probably got all sorts of nasty contingencies that will be triggered by her death. No, I don't think Lord Hightower will want to risk it. Now while we sit here, plotting her death for him."

"More like, he'll go after Shaera's children instead, after we murder her." I nodded. "Far safer and less traceable. Babies have all sorts of ailments. It wouldn't be too suspicious if they die in infancy. Then Lord Lucas will be out of heirs once again.

"But of course, that's a problem for another day. First we have to deal with Shaera first." I declared. "There's no point in planning how to protect her children if she doesn't have any children to protect."

"I can brew up a fertility potion." Rhaegar offered. "With a little work I can disguise it as Moon Tea. If she drinks it after her husband has visited her chambers, we can all but guarantee a pregnancy."

"No point. Shaera will delay having a child as long as possible. It wouldn't surprise me if she was taking Moon Tea nightly." Daemon snorted. "Assuming she hasn't convinced Lord Lucas Tyrell to wait until she is of age to safely bear children."

"Unfortunately for us all, Lord Lucas refuses to touch her." I grumbled. "And she didn't even have to persuade him. The boy wants to wait until Shaera is of safe childbearing age."

"Useless impotent idiot." Aerion sneered. "If I were him, I'd put a child in Shaera immediately, even if I had to have my guards hold her down kicking and screaming."

I very nearly hit Aerion Fyre with a wave of sorcerously induced pain for that, before reminding myself that it would be a hassle to wipe the minds of the assembled Dragonseeds afterwards. Nearly the full roster was present and wiping the memory of me torturing their brother in cold blood was more trouble than it was worth, even with Daenys and Rhaegar helping.

I mean, none of them would complain about Aerion's suffering, but I didn't want to tip my hand just yet.

Luckily though, I had other methods to discipline Aerion.

"Bell."

"Yes, Nyra?"

"Spank Aerion. Ten times."

"With pleasure." Bell grinned, standing up and cracking her knuckles enthusiastically.

"Oh no you don't!" Aerion snarled, springing up to his feet. "I've learnt from our last fights. You won't be able to touch me."

And with a flick of his wrist, Aerion tossed a particularly nasty rotting curse straight at Bell's head. Of all the Dragonseeds, Bell was the least magically talented among them, worse than even Daella or the prankster twins. As such, her magical defences were essentially nonexistent. That spell would be the death of her.

I drummed my fingers, my will rippling out and shredding the spell formula. Before the curse could gutter out, I created my own formula and wrested control of the spell. The hijacked spell turned around in midair, orbiting Bell's head harmlessly before the rot compressed into a ball of pure kinetic energy and shot at Aerion with twice the speed, slamming straight into his groin.

He crumpled, and Bell's uppercut caught him straight in the chin, throwing him up into the air. He crashed back onto the ground, landing on his back with a groan. He tried to rise, but Bell grabbed ahold of his collar, hauling him up onto his feet.

Kicking and screaming, Aerion was made to bend over the barrel of water we'd brought, and his pants mercilessly pulled down, revealing his pasty ass. He tried to fling more magic at Bell, but I flicked a wrist at Aerion, and forcefully shut down his magic.

Bell raised a gauntleted hand, and brought it down forcefully.

Smack.

"Arrrghhh!" Aerion screamed.

Smack.

"You'd think he'd learn to keep his mouth shut by now." Viserra mused. "But noooo, the prick just has to keep pricking."

Smack.

"This is the… how many-th time is this we had to discipline Aerion?" Laena curiously asked. "I'll admit I lost count."

Smack.

"Sixth or seventh?" Shaeterys frowned. "Around there, I think."

Smack.

"Really?" Lucerys smiled. "There's so few times. Why, Aerion's been practically a saint this month. You see, people do learn."

Smack.

"No." Haegon shook his head. "It's just that I've gotten good at calling down the miracles of healing. So the Prince has gotten sterner with her punishments. There may be lesser in number, but harsher individually."

Smack.

"I'm pretty Bell has beaten him senseless at least twice this month alone." Rhaegar contributed. "Not that anyone noticed, given how comprehensive our healing magic is these days."

Smack.

"Seriously?" Daemon muttered. "Surely by now even he should have learnt better."

Smack.

"It's Aerion. He never learns." Rhaena sniffed. "Hopefully he doesn't soil himself again. I don't need the stench on me."

Smack.

"Oh he didn't. Lucky us." Baela idly noted, watching as Bell finished administering the punishment, Aerion groaning senselessly in pain, still bent over the barrel.

I smirked in a most satisfied manner at the many red handprints that covered Aerion's butt, before turning my attention back to the topic at hand.

"Now where were we?" I asked.

"Discussing how to get Lady Tyrell pregnant." My girlfriend reminded me.

"Ah yes." I nodded. "Like I was saying, I'm open to suggestions."

"Lord Lucas Tyrell is the lynchpin of this operation." Nine-year-old Aemon Fyre spoke up.

The golden-haired and magenta-eyed boy was quiet. Exceptionally so. Aemon rarely spoke up, preferring to listen rather than speak, but when he did, it was oft with wise words and sound counsel. He was an exceptionally skilled swordsman, already rivalling his older brother Shaeterys. And although four years younger than Daemon's eldest son, Aemon was nearly as large as his oldest brother.

"There can be no children." He solemnly declared. "Without both mother and father."

There was a beat as we all considered the options.

"Hey Rhaegar, can't you just possess Lord Lucas and get him to do the deed?" Viserra asked.

"You would have a brother rape his own sister?" Haegon disgustedly spat, making the sign of the seven across his chest. "How could you say such a depraved thing."

"It's Shaera!" Viserra protested. "If anyone deserves to be raped, it's her!"

"No point." Rhaegar denied. "I can't do it, anyway."

"Oh thank the Seven." Haegon sighed in relief.

"I don't really mind doing the deed, but it's too difficult to possess a human." Rhaegar clinically assessed. "I can only do it if he's sleeping, drunk, or otherwise mentally incapacitated. Otherwise the host will fight me."

"What?!" Haegon wailed.

Naerys didn't say anything, but got up and ran off into the night, sobbing.

"Rhaegar, I thought better of you!" Maegelle glared, before rising to her feet as well. "I will have no part of this hideous plot to murder our own blood sister."

And with that she departed, running after Naerys. There was a beat of silence as everyone looked at Haegon, but the boy didn't make to leave, so conversation resumed.

"Alright. So how can we get Lord Lucas mentally incapacitated in such a manner?" Visenya asked. "Shouldn't be too difficult."

"No point." Rhaegar waved away. "I'm pretty sure Shaera can force me out of her husband's body anyway. She's paranoid about my skinchanging abilities, and had developed many countermeasures."

"Why are we assuming that Shaera can expel Rhaegar or glamour us all?" Rhaena asked. "The shackles seal her sorcery, no?"

"Better safe than sorry." Shaeterys pointed out. "Shaera is most resourceful and cunning, with no morals or standards to boot. I for one, wouldn't be surprised if she's found a way around the shackles."

"But I thought one of the enchantments on the shackles forced Shaera to tell the truth, no?" Lucerys asked. "Can't we just force her to confess her schemes?"

"Yeah, I wouldn't be surprised if she found a way around that as well. Bitch is more slippery than an eel." Laena muttered. "Unfortunately, Rhaegar's skinchanging is too chancy a plot."

"Not to mention hideously reprehensible." Haegon glowered.

"It's better than nothing." I overruled, ignoring Haegon's indignant squawk. "Any other ideas?"

"Just rape her bloody." Aerion groaned.

The boy was still leaning painfully on the barrel of water, but he'd pulled his pants up and was now coherent enough to resume conversation.

"If Lord Tyrell… refuses to do the deed, then get someone else to put a baby in her." Aerion painfully said. "Then pass the bastard off… as his."

"That might actually work." Laena reluctantly conceded. "I do know a few dashing rogues and pirates we can send to seduce her."

"Valyrian, I hope." I asked my girlfriend. "Don't want the cuckoo act to be discovered."

"Doesn't Lord Lucas have male relatives? Brothers or cousins?" Rhaella asked. "Mayhaps they'll be the better people to seduce Shaera."

"I don't think she'll fall for this." Aemon denied. "Shaera's not the sort to cheat on her husband. Not unless her lover has wealth or power she wants. Our sister is horridly mercenary."

"Oh quit pussyfooting around." Aerion sneered. "Just find someone to do the damn deed. Rape her if he has to. Anything as long as Shaera gets pregnant."

"We'll table this suggestion for now." I interjected, seeing that the debate was fast heading for unproductive territory. "Does anyone have any other suggestions?"

"Yes!" Haegon emphatically piped up, jumping to his feet eagerly.

The religious Dragonseed got a round of sceptical looks thrown at him, but was undaunted by them all.

"If I may be allowed to speak with Lord Lucas, I think I can persuade him that he needs an heir to inherit his holdings as soon as possible." He requested, waving his staff around for emphasis.

"And what argument shall you be making to dear Lucas?" Laena asked, a mocking lilt in her voice. "That the Father will rot his cock off unless he puts it to good use?"

"That it is the will of the Seven that a man have children." Haegon continued, ignoring the Velaryon scion. "Strapping sons to inherit his wealth and fertile daughters to wed those he bids."

Behind his back, Baela was visibly gagging, and Visenya looked like she was contemplating murder with a skewer stick.

"Similarly, it is the duty of a wife and woman to bear these children, and refusal to do so is a failure in her marital vows and duties." The pious Dragonseed finished. "Should I get an hour alone with Lord Tyrell, I am certain I can persuade him to this point of view."

There was a long silence as everyone wondered just how Haegon expected such a plan to work. However persuasive Haegon might be, Shaera was easily ten times more silver-tongued. The plan was a failure from the inception.

Just as I was about to inform Haegon about that fact, a most truly unexpected Dragonseed spoke up.

"Sylvie." Bell suddenly said, causing everyone to turn towards her.

Daemon's secondborn was a blunt instrument. She knew that, I knew that, we all knew that. She never contributed to any planning session of ours, because she knew she was a poor fit for scheming.

"What about Mama?" Baela curiously asked.

"Didn't she tell that story once?" Bell asked, vaguely gesturing with her hands. "About the fermented eel or something?"

"Uh what?"

"Something about smugglers whom brought in buckets of fermented eel." Bell replied.

"Oh! You mean fermented crab?" Lucerys snapped his fingers. "A bucket of that will triple a brothel's earnings, but the crabs they come from are very rare, and get taxed heavily at the gates. Ergo, smugglers."

"Yeah that." Bell nodded. "Can't we just feed Lord Lucas a lot of fermented crab, and then lock him in a room with Shaera?"

There was a minute of utter silence as everyone contemplated that idea.

"It's a simple plan." Aemon noted.

"Simple tends to work best." Shaeterys replied. "Overly complicated plans have far too many points for failure."

"Yes, this is a far better plan." Haegon enthused. "A husband has his duties in the marital bed, after all."

"I like it." Laena smiled. "One spoonful of fermented crab is enough to reinvigorate a spent man. Feed Lord Lucas a cupful of it, and he'll be unable to keep his hands off Shaera."

"It might be prudent to dose Shaera as well." Visenya suggested. "See if lust and arousal will dull her wits."

"I don't think fermented crab works on women." Baela objected.

"Not a problem." Rhaegar nodded. "I am more than capable of brewing up a similarly potent aphrodisiac for Shaera."

"How hard will it be to persuade Lord Lucas' own family members to help in this little scheme?" Rhaella asked. "I'm sure there are at least some whom would love to see a new heir to House Tyrell."

"I'll talk to Lucille Tyrell." I agreed. "See if she's amendable to backing our plot."

There was a round of nodding from everyone, and the plan further hashed out. Rhaegar and Daenys would brew the fertility potion, as well as the male selection potion. Shaeterys was responsible for acquiring the ingredients necessary to brew the aforementioned potions, some of which were not found in Westeros. Baela would source the fermented crab.

"And now, for the single most important role." I said, once the roles were distributed. "The person whom will take over as overseer."

There was a ripple through my cousins at my words, neither anticipation nor dread, and yet both at the same time.

"Me." Rhaena volunteered reluctantly, raising her hand. "I'm the only plausible candidate."

"That's not the case." Shaeterys concernedly said. "There are—"

"The overseer must be female, so that she can follow Shaera everywhere, even the bath and privy. Not to mention sleep in the same bed as her." Rhaena interrupted in a matter-of-fact tone. "And if we count the number of us whom will not be deceived by Shaera's sorcery, silver tongue or general trickery, that leaves only three viable candidates."

"Daena, Daenys and yourself." I agreed. The former exiled, and the latter too valuable to keep on babysitting duty. Thus, by elimination, there was only one possible candidate left.

"Precisely." Rhaena nodded. "I don't want the job, but it's not like anyone else can do it."

Good girl. I couldn't help but like people with that sort of attitude.

She wasn't the best choice, of course. Needless to say, Daena and Daenys were both better options than Rhaena Fyre, but even the other sisters were nearly all better in their own way. Visenya and Maegelle better mages, Rhaella and Viserra better at politics, Bell and Baela were immune to Shaera's silver tongue. But of them all, it was only Rhaena whom had every single one of those competencies that would allow her to leash Shaera.

If one were to chart every single female Dragonseed characteristics and find the median, you'd probably get a result that looked a lot like Rhaena Fyre. Twelve years old, Rhaena was Daemon's eighthborn and fifth daughter. Her combat skills were decent, her magic ability not bad. Her political acumen was adequate, her wits good enough. She was a skilled dragon rider, and quite the looker, but apart from that she had few distinguishing characteristics, as compared to her far more rambunctious and tomboyish twin Baela.

Truly, she was master-of-none to the highest degree.

"Do you understand the roles involved in the overseeing?" I asked my cousin.

"Yes. I'm to be Shaera's constant shadow. Wherever she goes, no matter how private, I am to be there right beside her." Rhaena nodded. "Otherwise I'm to stay in the background, and report on the going-ons of the Tyrell court and Reach in general. And at random intervals, I'm to interrogate Shaera for information on her schemes, using magic to force her to tell the truth."

"You're also to ensure that our little plan comes to fruition." I added. "The exact details will be finalised at a later date, but for now, proceed under the impression that you'll have to surreptitiously dose Shaera with the male selection potion, then secretly feed Lucas Tyrell the fermented crab, before locking him in a room with his dear wife. Then, the next morning, dose Shaera with the fertility potion."

"And torch the maester's pennyroyal stash. Prevent Shaera from getting ahold of any abortifacients for the next nine months." Rhaella finished. "Do I also have to kill her during the birth?"

"Good thinking about the pennyroyal." I approved. "And don't worry about the birth. I'll personally handle that one."

———

111 AC, Casterly Rock

"Why can't I participate in the race?" My girlfriend whined for the umpteenth time.

"The same reason why I'm not participating." I shot back irritably. "It would be unfair to compete with our dragons."

There were about a dozen dragons participating in the dragon race, and all were about a third of Vhagar or Silverwing's size, being the size of fighter jets instead of a Boeing aircraft. While it was true that smaller dragons were considerably more agile than larger dragons, and the largest dragons slowed down due to increase air resistance, by and large, the larger dragons would easily outspeed all of the adolescents.

That was not to say that all of the younger dragons were the same size— Syrax was twice the size of Lady— but the difference was lesser. They were all still in the rough ballpark of 'adolescent' dragons, which meant that things like fitness and skill actually made a difference in flight.

Think along the lines of a video game. A level 5 could feasibly tussle with a level 10, if the player was skilled enough. But a level 10 most definitely couldn't fight a level 50 and expect anything but a curbstomp, even if they were the best player in the game. They'd be buried by sheer dint of impossible stats.

Like, I once played Infinity Blade using just the stock gear, without levelling up anything, as a self-imposed challenge. Sure I actually made a pretty decent showing, and even killed the God-King twice, but after a while, it just didn't matter. No matter how skilled I was, the enemies simply grew too powerful to handle as the game ramped up in difficulty, leading to my death. Again. And again. And again.

No. It wouldn't be fair to allow the big dragons—Vhagar, Vermithor, Silverwing, Meleys and Dreamfyre—to participate. This was to be a competition, not a walkover.

As such, Laena, Daenys and I had decided to act as referees of a sort. We'd ensure that everyone played fair and square, while simultaneously keeping a tight hold over the dragonhorns, in order to avoid any accidents.

The arrangement we'd come to was that there would be three laps. The dozen contestants would start at the summit of Casterly Rock, fly all the way to Lannisport, circle the city walls once, then fly back to the Rock and circle that as well to complete a lap.

I'd be waiting on Silverwing above the finish line, while Daenys would be at the turning point at Lannisport a mile away. Laena herself would be following alongside the contestants, though I'd had to browbeat my girlfriend considerably before she agreed to slow down and not race them herself.

———

111 AC, Skies above Casterly Rock

I watched from the skies as the Dragonseeds made final preparations, tightening saddles and adjusting seats.

There was Bell on Balefyre. With the depletion of the Kingsguard, Bell had been forced to take over some of the White Knights' duties. When Ser Jessamyn was resting, Bell was the one standing guard by my side. Tirelessly bodyguarding me no matter what. This was reflected in her dragon as well. Balefyre wasn't the fastest or the strongest of the younger dragons, but it most certainly was the most enduring. The mint-scaled and pearl-winged dragon knew not the meaning of exhaustion or surrender. Relentlessly trooping on without complaint, no matter how hard Bell pushed it.

Beside her was Shaeterys on Artys. Daemon eldest son had fallen quickly into the role as my designated courier, frequently flying from one end of the continent to the other, mostly due to his desire to see his scattered siblings as much as possible. As a result of Shaeterys' travelling, Artys had clocked the largest number of miles travelled among all the younger dragons. The white and yellow dragon being the most comfortable in the air of them all.

Then there was Aerion on Sunfyre. After their stellar performance during the War of Four Directions, my father had granted the Dragonseeds the right to freely claim dragons from the Dragonpit. I'd been intending to save Sunfyre for baby Aegon, but Aerion had beaten me to the punch. The brat had ridden down to the Dragonpit within the hour of my father giving the Dragonseeds the right and claimed Sunfyre before I could protest.

It had taken me all of four seconds to realise that this was still an acceptable outcome. If the Dragonseeds claimed all of the older dragons, then my baby siblings would be only left with the dregs. Hatchlings or young dragons, essentially defanging them, so long as my control over the largest dragons remained uncontested.

I mean, Aerion was a bad egg that'd probably betray me at some point, but he was significantly less dangerous than Aegon, and even Sunfyre wouldn't escalate his threat level significantly.

The twins Baela and Rhaena rode Nightfall and Daybreak respectively. At time of claiming, those two dragons had been the smallest rideable in the Dragonpit, but that was years ago. Now both were splendid young dragons brimming with youthful vitality. Nightfall was ash and indigo, Daybreak was sunflower yellow and white. And more importantly than the mounts were the riders. Among the Dragonseeds, Baela and Rhaena were surpassed on the dragon saddle by only their eldest sister. According to Mysaria, the twins were the audience's current favourites for the victory.

Beside the twins was Shaera on Lady. The Lady of Highgarden had managed to arrange for Lady to be brought to Lannisport, in hopes that with her mount by her side providing her mana to fuel her sorcery, she could unshackle herself.

Alas, Daenys and I were three steps ahead of her. While it was true that Shaera could feasibly damage the fetters that bound her, the leash that we'd slapped onto her would still remain. We'd taken precautions to ensure that even a dragon wouldn't allow her to slip it. As such, while Shaera was eagerly mounting her lilac and frost coloured dragon—the smallest of all dragons participating in the race today—it would be an exercise in futility, for Lady would not free Lady Tyrell.

After Lady, the next smallest dragon was Urrax. I didn't know what Haegon was thinking when he named his dragon after the beast that Ser Serwyn of the Mirror Shield had slain, but I heavily suspected that it had something to do with his religious devotion. I personally considered the name Urrax a bad omen. It felt like naming a cat 'Schrödinger' or a dog 'Roadkill'. With names like that, you just knew that things weren't going to end well for the poor animal.

After Haegon were Maegelle and Daella. The two cousin-siblings were mounted on Syrax and Tessarion respectively. Back during the War of Four Directions, I'd borrowed these two plus Sunfyre as reinforcements for my campaign, having Bell command them with dragon horn. I'd also taken that opportunity to name the three of them.

After the 'Sunfyre Incident', I tried to get the two dragons riders, but the Dragonseeds had been… reluctant. They remembered how pissed I'd been at Aerion for stealing Sunfyre, and didn't want to incur my wrath by claiming the other two medium-sized dragons. As such, Baela and Rhaena—my first picks for riders— skipped them over for the smaller Nightfall and Daybreak, while Shaera and Haegon chose hatchlings.

In the end, I'd browbeaten Maegelle and Daella into claiming the dragons, the duo only agreeing mostly because they'd dragged their feet on claiming a dragon that pretty much all of their siblings had already chosen their partners, leaving them with last pick.

And last but certainly not the least, Laenor on Seasmoke. The only non-Dragonseed participating, my future husband was proudly flying the Velaryon banner, in stark contrast to the other ten riders, whom bore the black dragon on red.

I'd vaguely considered ordering the Dragonseeds to throw the race, in order to boost my consort's standing and repute, but upon seeing the children's' enthusiasm, I couldn't find the heart to deliberately order them to lose.

Just then, a round of trumpeting from the Lannisport brass band drew me out of my thoughts. The first dragon race since the Doom of Valyria two hundred years ago was about to begin.

Notes:

Updated Dragonseed roster:

Daena: Born 97 AC, 2 months younger than Rhae. Oldest. Rides Caraxes. Mother was Sylvie, a whore in King's Landing. Best archer. Currently in exile.

Bell: Born 98 AC, oldest Vale bastard. Rides Balefyre. Mother was Alla, a serving girl at Runestone. Squire to her stepfather Ser Wingood. Best in terms of brute strength.

Shaeterys: Born 98 AC, oldest son. Old name was Strat Stone. Rides Artys. Mother was a tavern wench in the Vale. Best swordsman and jouster.

Rhaegar: Born 98 AC. Old name was Raybar Stone. Mother was Rhea Royce's cousin, Lysa Stone. At Oldtown becoming a Maester. A skinchanger. 2nd best mage. Cleverest.

Daenys: Born 99 AC. Old name was Daisy Stone. Mother was Mysa Stone, Lysa's twin. Rides Dreamfyre. At Oldtown becoming a Maester. Best mage.

Aerion: Born 99 AC. Youngest Vale bastard. Old name was Pate Stone. Mother was a whore. Fostering at Winterfell. Rhae considers him a bad egg. Best hunter. Rides Sunfyre.

Baela and Rhaena: Born 99 AC. Twins. Same mother as Daena. Fostering at Runestone. Rides Nightfall and Daybreak respectively. Baela is more tomboyish, Rhaena more girly.

Shaera: Born 100 AC. Old name was Sarah Waters. Mother was Cerelle Rosby. Lady of Highgarden. Most politically savvy. A traitor. Rides Lady. Tied for 3rd best mage with Haegon.

Erik: Born 100 AC. Mother was a sailor in Hull. Fostering at the Arbor. Best sailor.

Haegon: Born 100 AC. Mother was a maid in Dragonstone. Fostering at Oldtown. Plans to become a septon. Considered too pious for his own good. Tied for 3rd best mage with Shaera. Rides Urrax.

Maegelle: Born 101 AC. Mother was Mya, a septa in Stokeworth. Fostering at Oldtown. Plans to become a septa. Rides Syrax.

Daella: Born 101 AC. Mother was Kya, Mya's twin and also a septa in Stokeworth. Fostering at Oldtown. Plans to become a septa. Rides Tessarion.

Vaelon and Baelon: Born 101 AC. Twins. Mother was Alanna Tarly. Fostering at Horn Hill. Have the dubious honour of being the dumbest and most expendable Dragonseeds. Dragons are Horn and Hill respectively, a pair of hatchlings.

Viserra: Born 102 AC. Mother was Harriet Stokeworth. Looks like a younger Rhaenyra. Second most politically savvy.

Aemon: Born 102 AC. Same mother as Haegon. A surprisingly good swordsman. Considerably more sensible than his older brother.

Naerys: Born 103 AC. Mother was Adanna Celtigar. Wants to go to Oldtown and become a septa. Too sweet for her own good.

Lucerys: Born 103 AC. Mother was Jaehaera Velaryon. Most optimistic Dragonseed.

Visenya: Born 104 AC. Mother was Jenn, a maid in Driftmark. Good with a bow, better with a sword, a prodigy with magic.

Rhaella: Born 105 AC. Youngest daughter. Mother was Falyse, serving girl from Duskendale. 3rd most politically savvy. Uses her youth to make people underestimate her and spy on people.

Daemon: Born 105 AC. Youngest child. Mother is Mysaria. Most dangerous Dragonseed.