Chapter 45

"I can see that she's examining me. Honestly, I didn't expect to lose myself to such an extent. But once the words are out, there's no taking them back. After she observes me at length, Lieutenant Degurechaff replies deliberately, like a shrine maiden delivering a divine message." -From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 1

Jace felt good about the height he was gaining. It wouldn't be long now until he could enter a joust – maybe a year or two. At ten and two, he was four years off from adulthood, but he longed for it. He longed to be able to enter the lists and prove himself capable. He was an able rider, and Ser Harwin said he had excellent instincts.

He knew that martial talent was only one facet of his future. He was destined to be a king – a heavy burden, and one he strived to be ready for. Currently, he was in High Tide, dining with his grandfather.

"And that is why the essence of power for any major kingdom is naval," Corlys said firmly. "Yes, dragons are a fine substitute for defeating your foes, but you won't see dragons bringing grain to and fro."

"It echoes what I've heard before, grandfather – that logistics is the heartbeat of any kingdom, and waterways, coasts, and ports are the arteries through which lifeblood must flow."

Jace recalled a particularly striking example from his younger days, when his Aunt Elaena had visited. In fact, he remembered her using that exact phrasing, so strong were those moments in his mind. His younger self had wanted to know all about his father's glorious one-night conquest of Tyrosh. How they'd done it, why they won so overwhelmingly, who fought whom, how many ships had they fought, why the fleets were where they were or were not - he was eager to learn all and forge himself into a man capable of such feats.

Though he was a loving father and a powerful warrior, Laenor Velaryon was not a man to oft speak of his own fearsome deeds, a rare but stubborn humility. Jace had learned not to test his father on this, both out of respect and no little wariness. So a younger Jace had pestered any kin who would listen for more details to sate his hungry mind.

Aunt Elaena had answered him steadily, took his curiosity seriously, and treated him with calm respect. Where other adults shied away from complexity and left details vague as if he were dumb, or eventually learned to ignore him, Elaena would answer with a kind of simple clarity, flowing from one idea to another, that made everything seem obvious.

Even while she played with or entertained Jace's younger siblings, she explained with a gentle patience. In turn, Jace had given her words great weight, and listened with rapt attention.

She had answered all of his first questions with a single one in kind:

'What if they had attacked Tyrosh without a fleet?'

Unraveling the consequences from this one question, one after another cascading into endless problems, had taught Jace the limitations of dragons when one sought to conquer, and keep one's conquests. If one could not even attack and hold an enemy island off the coast despite all the armies of their entire realm, then what wars could they win?

But Elaena had not stopped there.

Once she saw him beginning to understand, she asked him to consider what to do if they only had a small fleet. Or an unreliable fleet. Or a large fleet that could be beset upon by other large fleets at the worst time if other nations got involved. To truly hammer the point, she had outlined a 'scenario' - as she called it - asking him how the Seven Kingdoms would invade Dorne, if they had been truly responsible for the assassination attempt on his father.

Jace's childish anger at the time, still full of half-hearted hate for the Dornish assassins who invaded High Tide, saw him eagerly attempt this 'thought exercise.' His answers then had been foolish, he would readily admit, too steeped in awe and pride for his father, in the glory of reputation and knighthood.

Then she asked him to think of how to do it without a fleet.

He still shuddered to think of the cold, bleak horror painted by his aunt's grave words, her kind voice almost sad and frustrated, but powerful and riveting as he could not help but listen to her spin a tale of doom. Any choice he could make or question he asked, only further revealed disaster in the end. It was as enthralling as it was mortifying, and Jace would never again doubt that armies without logistics were akin to bodies without hearts.

When he'd said something similar back then, Aunt Elaena had given him a small smile and said he'd make a better king than most. He treasured that memory along with the likes of flying his dragon for the first time.

His grandfather's praising response shook him out of his reveries.

"Precisely, my boy! No matter how vast and fearsome a host may be, if it does not have food, it is worthless. Gods be good, let it be so that I will have long since passed before your reign begins, but I would have you remember these lessons regardless."

"I shall, Lord Corlys. Between dragon power and sea power, there is nothing the Seven Kingdoms cannot achieve."

'Tis true, with our might we are a match for any enemy. Even if some of those would be far more troublesome than others.

His grandfather smiled. "Good, good. Well, will you stay for the feast, or will you be off again?"

In truth, Corlys' stories and lessons were fascinating, but Jace had gotten his fill. However, the man was without his son, daughter, grandchildren, or wife at his side, and Jace believed it was good for him to dine with family.

"I would be honored to stay; I can always leave in the morn." Jace paused. "What do you think of having someone other than your wife help oversee the Small Council? When I am wed to Baela, I would not wish to be so long apart as you and Rhaenys have been of late."

Corlys waved aside his concern. "I do miss her, but she's best suited to watch those vipers. One of us should be here ruling over Driftmark. It will not be forever, and we have seen each other half a dozen times this year alone. Though perhaps it would be best to allow Laenor a chance to rule while I stay in King's Landing for a time. But then I would be separating him from his own wife. In any case, some level of hardship is required to hold power. 'Tis the way of things."

Jace didn't quite agree. Castellans existed for a reason, but he wouldn't hector his grandfather over it. Perhaps, when he reached maturity, Jace would ask to take on that role. It was best to look the enemy in the eye and show that you are unafraid, rather than sit and wait.

"As you say, grandfather. It seems as if my Aunt Elaena's match has borne fruit. I miss her more frequent visits to Dragonstone," Jace said, changing the subject.

"She's another you should consider listening to. If you'd hear Lord Beesbury speak of it, she is the one who truly runs the Dragon Bank," he said with a laugh. "Gods watch over her during the birthing. The weakness of the mother did not pass to Rhaenyra, but who can say if it will not find Elaena?" Corlys said in a grave tone.

Jace felt his eyebrows draw down, for he had already well learned to value his Aunt Elaena's words. To hear that her knowledge extended even further than he recalled was heartening and piqued his interest, but his grandfather's later words...

"I wouldn't worry so. Elaena has always had such vitality and energy. I could not imagine her being laid low by the birthing bed."

Corlys shook his head. "In that, my young prince, you are mistaken. My own daughter has the energy of three, and she too had a close call while doing a mother's duty. What goes on inside the womb, not even the Maesters can guess. It is a mystery. Liken it to that of a sea captain, if you will. Even the best can be beset by a sudden storm through no fault of his own."

Jace nodded uneasily; he didn't like to think that his kind aunt would face such danger.

I should visit before her labors near… just in case.

The next morning, he flew back toward Dragonstone. There, he would have lessons in dueling with Ser Harwin, lessons with Maester Gerardys, and perhaps a game or two of Cyvasse with Aenar. The routine was comforting, but he wished he could see his betrothed more often, as well as Daemon and Laena. The conquest of Tyrosh was a magnificent event, but the distance was frustrating. He could visit them in the future, but for now, there was still concern about unrest there.

Luke had been glum of late, ever since he was told that Arrax was still not quite large enough to safely ride. It wouldn't be long now, but his brother was impatient. Jace would try to cheer him up, but until he could fly in the clouds with him, Luke was determined to view everything in the worst light. Well, Jace could understand the impatience, but there was little sense in dwelling on it day after day.

'Tis a good thing I will be King and not him. It would be hard to imagine the dreary cloud that would be cast over the realm with a ruler who only dwells on what he cannot have in the moment.

***

Daeron moved his heavy horse piece deep into enemy territory. Across from him sat Isembard Arryn, Lord of House Arryn of Gulltown and known as the Gilded Falcon. Isembard had firmly carried out the King's will, but he had not been odious in its execution. Daeron had proved obedient and cordial and had been denied little – save for what the King had explicitly forbidden, the things Daeron wished for most, his family, and his dragon.

Isembard moved his dragon to defend against the assault, and Daeron immediately advanced his elephant to support the attack. Isembard studied the board and withdrew his crossbowmen. Daeron pressed forward, but after a quick exchange of pieces, Isembard emerged with numerical superiority – his offensive had failed.

"A daring move, but one doomed to failure," Isembard commented. "My young friend, know that letting an opponent win is only helpful if he does not realize that is what you are doing."

Daeron smiled. "I did not allow you to win, but it is true this was not the best strategy."

"Oh? Is not the purpose of the game to defeat your opponent?"

"Not always. The strategy I used was one I wished to test. Rather than playing to my strengths in our respective positions and winning a grinding technical victory, I opted to put my pieces in a unique circumstance that would give me experience in future games. It made for a more enjoyable game and taught me that this strategy is either ineffective or in need of refinement. Time well spent, my lord."

Isembard laughed. "Very good, Daeron. You have grown much in your time in Gulltown. I believe I could appeal to your father, though I must be certain. Tell me, what will you say of your royal nephews?"

Daeron bowed his head. "I have a plan for that as well. I wish to speak an oath to the Septon, and perhaps repeat it to the High Septon when I am granted leave to return to King's Landing. That I will forevermore refrain from speaking of their birth in any capacity."

The man in fine clothing across from him was nodding sagely. "Thus, you will never be forced to admit they are trueborn children of Laenor and Rhaenyra, for your oath binds you."

Daeron remained silent. Better to be patient than to misspeak at this critical juncture.

"You tread a dangerous line, but given where you place your ultimate loyalties, I understand. In fact, I am even willing to advise the King that this will bind your tongue more securely than any royal decree."

"Thank you, my lord. You have been a gracious host, and have treated me better than I would have thought."

Isembard smiled. "It is always wise to befriend those with power. You, Daeron, are a dragonrider. You are a prince. You have opportunity to make mark upon the world. I am a great believer in an exchange of favors, but a one-for-one agreement over specifics is gauche and demeans us. Keeping a ledger over such matters offends the sensibilities.

Always another lesson.

"I hold no quarrel with this, and a friend you have proven to be, but I am curious what favors you would wish of me."

"A time may come when my own house has a prospect for more. My liege lady will have no heir of the body. An opportunity when age or accident brings the Stranger to her door."

Daeron nodded. "So long as we are clear, I would countenance nothing that could hasten that day."

There was no guarantee Jeyne Arryn wouldn't live another forty years, but Isembard's plans extended years, if not decades or even generations. His young son was heir to much wealth, but little true power outside Gulltown and this portion of the Vale. As Paramount Lord, with the wealth of Gulltown at his disposal, it would elevate the branch house of Arryn to the heights of power, second only to the Targaryens and Velaryons. Isembard was ambitious, but also cautious. Elaena had used the phrase, 'measure twice, cut once,' but with Isembard it was more like measure three times, obtain a second review, consider it further, measure a final time, and then cut.

And given how my rash actions led me to this predicament, I cannot say he is wrong.

"I would expect nothing else, and I also know that you will never betray the path of righteousness, and would never call upon you to do such a thing, nor permit others to work toward an end with base means," Isembard replied smoothly.

I wonder if that is true. You've done well by me. You are wise and ambitious, but I have never seen you do anything untoward. And yet… I know you are a master at wearing many guises. How can I know you speak the truth, when I know your talents for deception?

"It is good that we are of the same mind. Do you think the King will lift his sanction?" Daeron asked.

"It's hard to say, but I believe the time may be ripe. Joyous news arrived of your sister, Elaena, being with child. It may be more advantageous to ask after the birth, but there is the risk that if some tragedy were to befall the child, mother, or both, the King may be even less forthcoming in mercy."

Daeron grew cold at the thought of something happening to Elaena.

"I ask that you seek leave of my punishment sooner rather than later, my lord. I would like to visit her before she enters labors."

Isembard agreed and even said he would seek to enlist aid from those who might have the ear of the King. Daeron longed for his exile to end. He found comfort when he prayed in a Sept, but always after he left, the longing for his dragon and for his family would strike him. He had not done wrong by speaking up, but neither had he done right. Isembard had taught him patience. If a move yielded no fruit, what purpose was there in making a move? Better to wait until the critical juncture, the correct time where a wrong could be righted, to do something.

"If you are successful in convincing my father, I intend to reside with my family in King's Landing. But I would welcome the chance to return regularly and speak with you over a game or two of Cyvasse."

"Of course, my prince." His smile was warm and inviting, but it always was with those in his favor. "My home will always be open to friends."

***

Rhaenyra was taken aback at the flash of rage that flew over Daemon's face.

"What do you mean, 'no?'" Daemon hissed.

"My father hopes to be remembered as Viserys the Peaceful, dearest. But what you are suggesting would bring war upon us."

"A war we would win swiftly. These cities will fall one by one, and fear of drawing our ire will keep the rest at bay until it is too late. The time to strike is now. My wife has secured Baratheon cooperation, and we have our excuse. Lys will fall as Tyrosh did, and Myr will follow in turn," Daemon reasoned, his voice quick and harsh. "The rest of Essos will be mollified when we claim it is only the Triarchy we wish to punish for their past transgressions. We have never gone to war with Volantis or Braavos."

Rhaenyra thought back to the almost painfully damning reasons Elaena had given in her letter condemning further wars in Essos. She recalled them as she spoke to her lover. "We are still integra… integrating the Tyroshi. The Seven Kingdoms having a foothold in Essos itself will turn them all against us. My father has taken great pains to reassure the ambassadors of the various cities that we seek no further expansion. Would you have him break his word of honor?"

Daemon stalked around the table and seized her chin, locking eyes with her.

"Who has put those words on your lips? Was it Rhaenys?" he demanded.

Rhaenyra glared up at him. "You think I do not know what goes on in the realm I will inherit?"

Daemon's harsh laugh flushed color into her cheeks. He released her jaw. "You are often a delight, but matters of state are not what interest you. Someone has been whispering in your ear – someone bound by secrecy."

They must have talked to Rhaenys about this, but she most like tried to dissuade them. Daemon thinks she then told me, but it was truly Elaena. I don't wish to cause further animosity in either direction…

"You know my sworn shield's brother is the Master of Whisperers, yes?" Rhaenyra lied through her teeth, her voice dripping with scorn. Larys was in King's Landing, and Rhaenyra was on Dragonstone, so there had been no talk or reports from Lord Larys Strong about the realm.

Daemon studied her carefully before nodding. "So you refuse me knowing your realm will not grow? You do not want to be Queen of all the world? To indulge in every delicacy from every corner, every form of silk and jewel at your fingertips—is that not what you desire?"

Rhaenyra leaned back, fiddling with her wine cup. It was an enticing thought. But still… it had been Elaena's words, yet her logic rang true. Their father had given his word, and to make the world believe him a warmonger and untrustworthy would be a cruel blow.

"When I rule, we can consider it. Or we can take it to my father and lay it before his judgment. But I will not support going against his word, Daemon."

Daemon stared at her in silence for a long, tense moment, eyes considering before he shifted. "After all I have done for you? I have supported you, stood by your side, protected you from Alicent and Otto, and now you deny me what is mine? Assassins from Essos nearly killed Laena! Do you care so little for us?"

Rhaenyra swallowed from her cup.

"I do care, but there's no certainty it came from Lys or Myr," she said as she tried to regain her stomach for defying Daemon with drink.

"Who else?" Daemon let his voice drop low. "Who else but those who know they have wronged us? Will you seek vengeance only after one of us is slain? Does a corpse make a better bed companion for you?"

Rhaenyra shot to her feet. "You go too far!"

"Too far? I do not go far enough! You deny my adoption of my son. I acquiesced so that your claim would remain stronger and so he could be by your side. You withhold support for necessary action, and you care more about my brother's reputation than the lives of the two you claim to love."

Daemon turned away and stalked away from the hall, and Rhaenyra's heart lurched in her chest.

"Daemon, wait! Please!"

Daemon opened the door to the private sitting room adjoining Rhaenyra's bedroom. She chased after him before he could reach the next door leading to the hall.

"I would not see you leave with a bitter heart. Come, return, and we can speak more," she said in a quieter tone, mindful that beyond this room was a hall that servants frequently traversed.

He looked at her. "You must choose, Rhaenyra. Me and Laena, or those who seek to bring us down. I will not let you sacrifice my children on the altar of my brother's reputation."

Rhaenyra thought desperately. "They can stay with me on Dragonstone, Laena too. You can employ food tasters and guards. If they try again and there is evidence, we can take it to my father. Then I can support you in your ideas of conquest."

Daemon's face shifted slightly, his countenance softening. "Not even Dragonstone may be safe. Essos is home to the Faceless Men." He advanced a step and caressed her face. "Do you know that Laena weeps with fear sometimes? My brave and beautiful wife fears not for her own sake, but for Baela, Rhaena, and Visenya."

She closed her eyes as Daemon pressed his forehead to hers.

"You love your father, but he is weak. Above all else, we must look after each other. Can you not see that?"

Rhaenyra wavered, she didn't, perhaps couldn't, deny him outright. She had to try to convince him, so she wracked her mind seeking a possible alternative.

"Yes… yes… of course, but there are considerations beyond. What if your actions spark even more fear in Essos, and they become more serious in their attempts on you and Laena? Would it not make sense to avoid upsetting so many cities that are making overtures of friendship? Would not the risk become even greater?"

Daemon's face twisted at her words.

"Ever an excuse to not do anything. Truly you are your father's daughter," he said with spiteful contempt.

Worry and fear turned into a flash of rage. Rhaenyra responded with a slap to Daemon's face, only he caught her hand, used his other to seal her mouth and push her against the wall away from the door.

"And now you even raise your hand to me? Me?"

Rhaenyra tried to speak, but words failed her, and Daemon simply held her there, studying her as a cat might study a mouse.

"I am leaving now. Do not speak as I go. I cannot tell you what I will or will not do about the threats against my family, against our family. But unless you fly to Tyrosh and apologize to me and to Laena for your betrayal, we will have nothing to do with you."

Daemon let his grip linger for several more seconds before releasing her and stalking out of the room.

Rhaenyra shut the bedroom door and fell onto her bed, tears coming freely now – tears she had held back while arguing with her uncle. She truly knew not what to do. She needed Daemon and Laena in her life, yet… upsetting her father, Elaena, and doing something she knew was most like the wrong choice for Westeros felt impossible.

Gods, what am I going to do?

***

Selene Falwell frowned as she examined the cloth. "The yield improved, yet not to the level expected."

The weaver looked nervous. "Perhaps the loom still needs more refinement, my lady. The shuttle's speed is good, but the tension on the threads could be causing unevenness."

Selene sighed, tapping a finger on the edge of the table. "The foot-powered loom should be making more of a difference according to the inventor, but it seems there's more to be done. We'll mark this as a partial success."

"As you say, my lady."

Selene dismissed the weaver and then went back to reviewing the letter from the Reach. The Alan Bridge was nearing completion; that would make Elaena happy. The two years had seemed to go by in the blink of an eye. She had no idea her days could be filled with so much effort, with her mind pulled in so many directions. It shocked her that, as much as she and the other handmaidens did, it was a pittance compared to Elaena's own workload.

In truth, Selene loved what she was doing. Elaena had opened an entirely new world for her, and she was fascinated by it. Important decisions about her future needed to be made soon, as she now had several potential offers of marriage. Her own father had advised her that whichever match kept her in the good graces of Princess Elaena was the one she should pick. The princess, someone who valued self-determination, had simply said that whichever match pleased Selene would be the one she desired as well.

The problem was that few men were like Kevan Lefford. Few would tolerate their wives having such autonomy and power. Additionally, Selene did not wish to leave Golden Tooth and its new wonders. The bones of a new city were being laid down, one that would one day compete with the other great cities of Westeros. Elaena had shared her vision and had admitted there would be difficulties that only the vastly improved roads and economic efficiency could overcome.

Every major city in Westeros was also a port, but the Lefford lands were landlocked. Elaena had said that urban planning would be important, and if done correctly, they would be enjoying some incredible amenities thanks to the water systems that Elaena had dubbed 'plumbing.'

Hmm a heated bathing area you can walk into sounds divine.

But first, the work must be done. Returning to the matter of suitors, she considered once more her problems. Ser Medrick was everything she once thought she wanted in a match, but it would require her to move to White Harbor.

And be parted from all this heady progress? Be parted from the wonders Elaena builds here?

He was fair to look upon, chivalrous, a great warrior, and took an interest in her. And yet, she struggled. She had four other potential matches, and three paled in every aspect, save for location, compared to the future Lord Manderly of White Harbor. She liked Medrick, but she did not like the idea of the cold North. The last option was one not as fair to look upon, but could grant her more of what she desired. Lord Larys Strong had spoken plainly that he had no desire to keep her from her work; in fact, the few in-person discussions they'd had in the last couple of years showed he was insatiably curious about the work going on in Lefford lands. Obviously, she knew part of his curiosity was due to his role as secret collector and revealer, but the spark of life in his eyes when they spoke of such matters was difficult to feign. Even if such interest was conflicting to consider in retrospect.

Larys had said that he had no lands given to him, though the King may well reward him for loyal service, but that he would be tied to King's Landing for the foreseeable future. His needs were minimal: a few weeks a year by her side to produce a child or two, though the travel could prove annoying or disruptive for them both. Most like Elaena would simply take her along on her frequent trips to King's Landing, but she sometimes took Kevan and three would be too many. He would also be able to provide a sizeable bride-price for her father, though her father already approved of her efforts enough that she had little need to please him further.

This appealed to her desire to stay a part of what Elaena was doing in the short-term, but there were other considerations. She didn't like the look of him, both in general and in his oft-strange demeanor; she knew many ladies would openly scorn and pity her for being tied to a man with such an affliction. Others would be wary of ever speaking to her about anything of note, due to her husband's role on the small council.

Perhaps most disturbingly, the idea was present and she knew from Elaena's own elaborations in the past that marrying one with malformities would risk any children of hers or her descendants inheriting the same or worse. Such a thing was disquieting to the extreme, and no small problem.

Still deep in thought, she was joined by Cerenna Sarsfield.

"You look troubled," the pious woman remarked.

"I am contemplating the future, but it is not something you can assist me with. How is she doing today?"

"Her mood is as always," Cerenna said simply, "and she's still stubborn about reducing her daily tasks. I tried to speak with her about it while I did her hair, but she shut it down quickly."

"We figured as much, but it was wise to make the effort," Selene replied. "How are the new arrivals settling in?"

"Well enough, they can see how prosperous the Tyroshi we took in are doing, and the comparison has made them pliable." Cerenna's expression changed to one of satisfaction. "I've won over several more converts to the Faith of the Seven among that group."

"So long as it is clear that wasn't a requirement, you know how Elaena feels about those who come falsely to the Seven," she warned.

"I do not forget the instructions, no requirement was made of them, they chose to come freely after I spoke about how much the Maiden and the Crone has helped me in my life's path," Cerenna replied.

"Good, you came here with purpose, what was it?"

Cerenna nodded, "The Dark Storm has arrived and there will be a feast within the next two hours."

"Ser Laenor? Did Princess Rhaenyra come with him?"

She shook her head, "No, it was just him. One of the guards said that he seemed remarkably hurried. I thought Lord Lefford's immediate announcement of a feast was premature, but he insisted."

"Why wouldn't we want to honor Ser Laenor?"

"The Dark Storm… hurried? Elaena has not spoken to her good-father before he made the announcement. It will be embarrassing if he doesn't have time to feast. I can think of few reasons for a man such as him to be hurried."

Selene pursed her lips; she had a point.