Chapter 23: The Coming Tides

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123 AC, Dragonstone

Rhaenys returned to the bedchambers provided for her, feeling slightly faint after her conversation with Viserys. She was to be Hand, now. She was to essentially rule the realm, as she would have had she been Queen. A small part of her relished at the thought, at the vindication as the man who had won against her, who the realm had chosen in her stead, admitted to needing her help.

And yet, the larger part of her just felt tired.

Her children's deaths had changed her, all but extinguished the flames of any ambition she had to rule. What was a throne compared to seeing her son and daughter soar happily on their dragon? What was power compared to the sound of their laughter echoing in the skies? What use was a crown when there were no little feet running through Driftmark's halls, no wide eyes looking up to her with pride and trust? The realm could keep its titles. She would have given anything, everything, for just one more day with them.

She entered the room, seeing Corlys waiting for her, obviously pacing around, "Well?"

"It seems that my cousin decided that I am to be Hand."

Her husband's shoulders slumped, likely from relief, before putting a smile on his face, "Finally, the King has acknowledged you. You will make a splendid Hand, Rhaenys. It only took a miracle from the gods for that to happen."

The Queen who never was snorted in amusement, "Nothing of the sort. Viserys knows that this won't look good, especially with the lords who supported him during the Great Council, but he finally realised that the spat between Rhaenyra and Alicent is more than just some words spoken. He needed someone who would not favour one side or another. I think that he realised how much authority he gave Otto Hightower during his illness and now needs to balance the scales in his court."

Corlys gave her an odd look, seemingly realising what she meant. Rhaenys disliked Rhaenyra and Daemon. The two were alike in many ways. They held the same arrogance, the same recklessness, and the same dismissal of non-Valyrian lords of the realm. It was somewhat acceptable when they were younger, but as a man and woman grown, with children of their own, it was very hard to justify much of their actions and their decisions. However, she could have lived with this dislike. She hated them with a passion for what happened to her children.

She had made no effort to hide this from her husband, even insisting that their granddaughters inherit Driftmark, and yet Corlys had refused.

Rhaenys would not favour the Hightowers; the mere thought of it was ridiculous, but she would not favour Rhaenyra either. This was why Viserys had chosen her, after all. It wasn't because he felt guilty for usurping her, not because he thought she would make a good hand, but because she would not favour one claim over another.

Corlys, though, looked angry, even if he started to hate it, "You would not support your grandson's claim?"

"Jacaerys is a wonderful boy, husband," she replied evenly, "And Laenor loved him, but he is not our grandchild. You know that, right?"

Corlys slammed his hand on the table. "He has my name. It is enough."

"And if everything goes well, if Rhaenyra becomes Queen, what do you think will happen when Jacaerys inherits the throne? If you think that things are tense now, then it will be worse when a man, rumoured to be a bastard, sits on the Iron Throne. Viserys' miraculous recovery likely saved the realm from tearing itself apart. He realised this and wanted to save it, even if everything seemed lost."

He stared at her, jaw clenched, fury simmering behind his eyes. But he didn't speak, because there was nothing left to say. They had argued this too many times before. But this time was different. This time, she had power. It was her own, independent of her dragon, of Corlys, of Driftmark. She loved him still, gods help her, but the Iron Throne had become his obsession.

"I will do my duty," she continued, voice softer now, but no less firm. "I will sit at the council table and keep the realm from bleeding. But I will not burn it down for a name, not even ours, not that it matters anyway."

"How could it not?" he asked, gritting his teeth.

"Making me Hand isn't something that Viserys came up with. I know my cousin, and he wouldn't have thought of it. It definitely wasn't the Hightowers or Daemon. Rhaenyra would have preferred to be hand, herself. No, this was someone else's work, someone who Viserys listened to more than Otto Hightower."

"The sorcerer," Corlys muttered in realisation, "Viserys would listen to the man who saved his life. But why would a foreigner, with magic or otherwise, advise the King to make you, his Hand?"

"I do not know, and I intend to find out," she replied hesitantly. "He is obviously playing a long game. He manipulated Rhaenyra into saving her father with that magic potion, something that shook the current state of affairs in a way that made me the perfect candidate as Hand. No one saw this coming. I don't think anyone would have ever expected this, and I can't help but wonder what else might be coming, what else he might be planning. We need to be prudent here, Corlys, very prudent, and not bet everything on Rhaenyra and Viserys' blindness when it comes to her actions."

It was concerning, to say the least, that a sorcerer, a man with unknown ambitions, had so much influence over the King of the Seven Kingdoms. From the sound of it, the man spent barely more than a few minutes with him, and yet Viserys was like a changed man, akin to a frantic man who wishes to fix the realm before he dies.

If she were to be Hand, she needed to know the threats to the realm. "I'll have to meet him."

Her husband stiffened as he realised what she had just said, "You wish to meet a known sorcerer, alone. Do you not remember what I told you of Asshai? What I experienced there?"

Ah, he had. Asshai was a city known for its open practice of the Higher Mysteries. Corlys loved to boast of his journeys, of his adventures there, but he rarely, if ever, spoke of what happened in this city, only that he lost half of his crew, but there was more to it, a melancholy that she rarely saw in him. Rhaenys never pressed, but she knew her husband enough to make a few guesses. There was a woman involved.

Rhaenys didn't begrudge him for it; this was before their marriage, but losing someone he loved to magic in Asshai had made him very wary of the craft. From Corlys' grief, the woman was likely long dead, leaving scars that hadn't faded even after decades of marriage.

Nevertheless, she was resolute in her decision, "This is out of necessity, Corlys. If I am to be Viserys' Hand, then I must know of any dangers to the realm, which includes sorcerers from foreign lands who have a disturbing amount of influence over his decisions. I am not some useless maiden; I am a Dragonrider and was once a candidate to rule the Seven Kingdoms. Have faith that I will succeed, husband."

"I am not doubting you," Corlys protested, "Magic is… dangerous. Far more dangerous than you could ever imagine. It has rules, and Viserys' healing must have had a price. I just fear that you would be the one to pay it."

"If this Harry Potter proves to be a threat, then I suppose he would make a good meal for Meleys."

Her husband let out a brief laugh, "Not everything can be solved with dragons, my love. But I refuse to let you meet this man alone. I will come with you."

Rhaenys was touched at that. Her husband feared magic, and that he would force himself to face it again, just for her sake, made her heart warm slightly. It made her realise that they hadn't truly enjoyed each other's company since their children's deaths.

Deciding not to push him further, she joked, "You only wish to ask the man of his gifts to the little princes."

Corlys didn't even deny it, "You don't understand, these gifts could change sea travel forever, a way to always find North, and a far better far-eye than I have ever seen, and it can fit it in the palm of my hand. I must know of their origins. I suspect that magic was used, but I cannot know for certain."

With the mention of these gifts, any hesitation he expressed had disappeared. Of course, Corlys only cared for objects relating to seafaring, but Rhaenys had to admit that in the brief time she had seen the children's new trinkets, they were very impressive.

Rhaena and Baela's gifts were impressive: a small thin dagger for the eldest and a bracelet with some sort of dark crimson gemstone for Rhaena, but it was the boy's gifts that raised some eyebrows. The collapsible far-eye and the North pointer had fascinated her husband, and even little Joffrey's toy dragon that somehow moved its wings, made her suspect magic as well, the moment she knew of their origins.

From the sound of it, the children had loved 'Lord Harry' and 'Lady Daphne', but Rhaenys did not have the time to ask for more information before she was summoned by Viserys, something that she regretted now that she knew of the man's capabilities.

She looked out of the window and saw the moon's silver light shining outside. An idea sparked in her mind. She stood up and said, "Come. We have barely rested since we got Viserys' raven this morning. Let's walk for a while."

Corlys didn't protest, didn't ask where. He just gave her a faint smile, rose and followed, as he always had. The halls of Dragonstone were near empty at this hour, save for the occasional guard standing still as stone. "We used to walk together, just the two of us, for hours on end."

"We were younger then. I don't think you could make it an hour before complaining about your joints," Rhaenys teased.

Her husband let out an affronted huff, "I'll have you know that I'm at the peak of my strength."

She rolled her eyes, "Whatever you say, husband."

They walked in a comfortable silence for a few minutes before speaking up, "You do know that your new post will change things. Rhaenyra and Daemon will expect you to support their cause, and your desire for neutrality will not go well."

"And yet, I expected that tying my children to them wouldn't have ended with them dead. We do not always get what we want."

Corlys' eyes flashed with grief for a second, "You are not the only ones who grieves them, Rhaenys."

"I know. I apologise."

Her husband remained silent before changing the subject, "As I said, you will be expected to support your grandchildren, and that comes with Rhaenyra's claim to the throne. In a way, your neutrality will be a sign of supporting Alicent's cause, as you wouldn't be acknowledging Rhaenyra's children as Laenor's. This will have many repercussions, both for Rhaenyra's cause and our House's reputation."

Rhaenys knew that her husband was correct on that point. She was expected to support Rhaenyra, even if she loathed the woman, for Jacaerys' claim as her heir. Her neutrality would let rumours of their parentage have more weight, and Rhaenyra could leverage Rhaena and Baela to make things complicated.

They didn't know of Baela becoming the next Lady of Driftmark, which she could use to foster her granddaughters in her and Corlys' domain, removing Rhaenyra's ability to use them as leverage.

Truth be told, even if Rhaenys liked Rhaenyra's children, they were not her own. It was their mother's responsibility to secure their inheritance, not her own. Rhaenyra would need to fend off the rumours herself.

Then again, Baela inheriting Driftmark would be the final nail in the coffin for the accusations of bastardy of Rhaenyra's children, a clear show that the Velaryons did not think of them as their own. Corlys would likely be furious at the slight to Laenor, and Rhaenys knew that her son loved the boys as if they were his own, but her granddaughter's birthright was more important, and she would not give it away, not for anything, and especially not for Rhaenyra.

Corlys might concern himself with their house's reputation, and would likely be angry when this was announced, which was why she would keep it to herself. She'd need to convince him first, and with Viserys' support, she would be successful. But things were too unstable, her husband was too wary, to support Lucerys' removal as the Lord of Driftmark. It would hurt his name, the legend he had spent his life crafting, and he would be enraged with that.

When had things become so complicated?

She could remember, just a few decades prior, Corlys walking beside her, regaling her with tales of his adventures. He had been so proud of his voyages and the wonders he had seen. She had listened, amused and intrigued, as he spoke of distant lands and forgotten gods, of merchants who traded in shadows and spices, of cities carved into glass and bone. He had brought her shells from the Thousand Islands and pearls from Yi Ti, each one handed to her with a smile and a story.

Back then, the world had felt wide and full of promise. Now, it felt small, boxed in by grief, and she was all but plotting against her husband to make their eldest granddaughter inherit his seat. She hadn't sought this out, but Viserys' promise had made it too much of a prize to ignore.

Rhaenys prepared to say something, only to pause mid-breath. A flicker of motion caught her eye, low to the ground, just beyond the arch of the next corridor. Her eyes narrowed. It was a slight figure, creeping along the edge of the hallway with the awkward silence of someone who'd done it more than once. Silver hair glinted in the moonlight, and perched on her shoulders, wings tucked tight, was her new hatchling, Solarys.

Her tone sharpened. "Rhaena Targaryen."

The girl froze like a rabbit caught in torchlight.

Corlys stepped forward, voice flat. "What in the seven hells are you doing out of your chambers?"

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AN: I thought that the last chapter was a bit heavy on the lore side, so I decided to go back to Dragonstone for this one. I'm really excited about the next few chapters. As usual, please let me know what you think and if you have any suggestions.

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If you want to support me check out my patréon at https://www.patréon.com/athassprkr

I tend to upload drafts of early chapters on there to get people's opinions of them so you can read up to 20 chapters ahead as a bonus.

Thank you guys for your support in these hard times.