'If you don't like the mirror, turn it around or smash it to pieces.'
-The Early Musings of Prince Rhaenar.
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Rhaenyra saw jugglers and tightrope walkers, blind prophets and midget mummers.
The night felt strangely whimsical. Rhaenyra loved the freedom of it — loved being unrecognized. One street vendor even called her boy. The thought made her laugh.
They attended a play, and there Rhaenyra heard, for the first time, the public's opinion of her claim.
The crowd roared with laughter as the lead actor mocked her right to rule for the simple fact of her sex.
They cheered for her brother Aegon instead — for he had two things she did not: a conqueror's name, and a cock.
For just one night, she wished to be free of inheritance. One night without the weight of the Crown.
Tomorrow, she could return to being the perfect princess, to carrying the burden she shared with her father; the belief that a strong realm was needed to stand against the cold and the dark. Nothing else mattered.
As the night waned, they found themselves at a secluded brothel, where an orgy took place.
Daemon was surprised by Rhaenyra's composure; she was far less shocked than he had expected.
He wondered what she had seen — or done — behind closed doors while growing up among the young lordlings of court. The thought stirred something bitter in him.
One thing led to another. Uncle and niece came dangerously close to crossing a line, until something in Daemon faltered.
Perhaps it was Rhaenyra's desire — or perhaps he had only meant to expose her publicly in such a shameful place, as an act of spite against his brother.
Whatever the reason, Daemon lost his nerve.
He left her there, alone in the brothel.
She looked around in disbelief. Rhaenar had warned her about this, how men would invite you out only to vanish halfway through the night. Fake friends, he called them. To be avoided like the plague.
The shadows seemed to stretch and darken, and the revelers no longer appeared beautiful, but warped, almost monstrous.
Panic clawed at her chest as Rhaenyra pushed her way toward the stairwell. She was just about to climb when a voice called out—
"Rhaenar? Is that you?"
She turned. A tall dandy stood there, dressed in fine silks. His hair was dark and straight, scented faintly of lilacs. When he smiled, a gold tooth caught the light.
"Ah — the Princess!" he said. "Apologies, my lady. You look so much like your brother did when he was young."
"You know my brother?"
"He spared my life some years ago. I am forever in his debt. Arland, at your service." He took her slender hand and kissed it. "I did not expect to find you here. What brings you to my establishment?"
Rhaenyra blushed. "This is your pleasure den?"
"One of many. Forgive me, but I can't help noticing that you are unaccompanied, and this place is far too lowly for a divine creature such as yourself. If I may be so bold, you would honor me if I showed you around."
And show her around he did.
Rhaenyra was amazed at how small the night out her uncle had planned now seemed.
With Arland at her side, they ranged across the city — dances and dinner parties, shows and pageants.
Rhaenyra heard singers with voices so awe-inspiring they brought her to tears. Then Arland shifted the mood, introducing her to men so wickedly funny that those tears turned to laughter.
She was having so much fun she did not want the night to end. They laughed, danced, and ate until dawn found them seated on a rooftop, sipping wine as the sun rose over the city.
Arland escorted her back to the Red Keep. At the gate, Rhaenyra felt the night slipping from her grasp.
"I had so much fun!"
"I'm glad."
"Will I see you again?"
"That would be a mistake. People like me live in the shadows so those like you may shine. But I will carry your laughter with me always. Goodbye, Princess."
Just as Arland was about to take his leave, something halted him mid-step.
A feeling. A hunch. A toss to the air~
'Could she be the one they're waiting for? No… surely not.'
There was only one way to know for certain.
"Rhaenyra!" he called.
She turned as a coin spun toward her. She caught it and examined its face.
One side bore a wheel divided into twelve segments, each etched with strange symbols. It resembled a star chart, though none of the constellations were familiar.
"What is this?"
"Not sure," Arland said. "I'm only meant to pass it on. They say if you follow the coin, you'll find the Question. To what, I couldn't say. But if you ever seek it out, I'm sure we'll meet again. Iff we do, I'll be eager to hear your Answer."
Rhaenyra wrinkled her nose. What nonsense was this?
She turned the coin over. The other side was blank, polished to such a sheen that her face stared back at her, warped and shimmering.
When she looked up again, Arland was gone.
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Admiral Corlys stood at the bow of the Sea Snake and beheld the sight before him.
The island of Tarth lay ahead, green in all its glory.
"You have been busy."
The industry was impossible to miss. Port hamlets dotted the shoreline, sprouting like weeds. Shipyards and warehouses crowded the coast, while farther inland hundreds of silos rose from the hills, fingers reaching toward the morning sky.
Rhaenar stood beside him. "Lord Selwyn has been a friend since I was a child. When I asked to make use of his lands, the terms were generous."
"I presume that means a committee seat on the Grain Exchange."
"That is part of it. I won't deny Tarth plays an important role in the endeavor."
"And what endeavor is that?"
"Part investment, part contingency," Rhaenar said. "The Grain Exchange is in the early stages. For now, we only have headquarters along the east coast — Dragonstone, Tarth, Runestone... As we speak, a northern location will be completed. I wished to set up as far as the Wall, but the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch is a difficult negotiator. He'll take my coin, but remains adamant about staying out of worldly affairs."
Corlys raised a brow. "Where in the North are you thinking, exactly?"
"Forgive me, Admiral, but that is classified."
Corlys crossed his arms. "Based on what you've said, it would be somewhere along the east. Perhaps I should send a few ships and find out."
Rhaenar beamed. "Perhaps you should. Oh, don't be jealous, Corlys! You are far more important than some northern lord whose land I want to use."
"Not so important as to know a crucial location."
"In time, you'll thank me for the ignorance. We have more important matters to discuss, no?"
"Hardly," Corlys said. "I understand well enough. You want me and mine to handle the Narrow Sea. What makes you think we're so eager for this task?"
Rhaenar leaned against the railing, eyes on the coast. "My offer expands your power, grants dominion over waters you know better than any man. It casts your name far beyond that of the richest on the continent. You'll have more autonomy — more authority — than ever imagined. Why refuse?"
Corlys exhaled slowly. "For one, this puts me at odds with the Crown."
"On the contrary," Rhaenar said. "It makes you the only man with insight into my activities. Present yourself as one who accepted my request under threat of dragonfire, if you must. Lay yourself before the council. In their desperation, they will keep you close."
"You ask too much. My days would be consumed by ships, routes, coordination — dawn to dusk without pause." Corlys shook his head, "Perhaps if I were twenty years younger, with nothing left to prove. And that's before we discuss what you want of my son. Laenor is the most desirable bachelor in the Seven Kingdoms! What he needs now is stability. Family. He won't find that enforcing your peace."
Rhaenar's expression shifted, settling into that eerie, neutral mask he reserved for most of the world.
"Corlys. You understand very little. You think of Laenor like yourself. Yes, he loves the sea and its glory, and carries something of his mother's fire — but Laenor is his own man, with his own desires."
Rhaenar paused, then continued more deliberately.
"Let us strip away sentiment and look at facts. Laenor is dragon Lord. You have seen him these past moons. We have rained fire, wrought destruction. There is no going back. Do you know what it is to spread such death? To hear the screams? To shift from fear, to guilt, to routine? To feel your heart go numb beneath the weight of the power?"
He turned at last to face Corlys.
"Make no mistake — your son has known horror. But it's happened. Laenor has burned. He is beyond your reach now."
The thought made Corlys sad. He remembered watching his children frolic in the gardens with Rhaenar and his sister. How the four of them laughed and played. How simple those times were.
"Then you, also, have changed."
"Have I?" chuckled Rhaenar, "This life is in our blood. My offer ensures Laenor will never lack for purpose, nor the Velaryon name for influence. Corlys — my offer is made to you, but it rests on your acceptance of reality. There is no going back," his expression hardened, "You are of the Dragon now."
Corlys peered toward the horizon. He took a skin from his belt, uncorked it, and swallowed a mouthful of rum.
"Be that as it may," he said, "if I accept, there will be more lucrative terms in my favor. Otherwise, you would not have wasted my time."
Rhaenar grinned. "Naturally."
The two watched the shore for a while before returning to business.