Aelyx - 10
I returned to Dragonstone in the waning days of 120 AC, my circuit of the continent complete. My journey had been enlightening. In many ways, it had been unsurprising, but my encounters with the Lords of Westeros had taken me off guard in others. As best I could tell, as of now the nobility had generally if begrudgingly accepted Rhaenyra as the heir apparent to the Iron Throne. As I'd discussed rather frankly with Lord Rickard no one was sharpening their swords to rise for a boy. When you combined that with Otto's curtailed influence and Alicent's relative lack of ability to project power beyond the walls of the Red Keep, it was evident that the Green cause was, as of now, more a battle for the King's ear than a faction prepared to violently contest the succession.
But, at this moment none of that mattered. Because right now, I was meeting my baby brother for the first time. Yesterday I had been in Gulltown enjoying the hospitality of the Graftons when I received news that the princess had given birth. I immediately abandoned my plans to travel to Duskendale and Crackclaw Point and instead began preparing my return to Dragonstone. I'd taken wing the following morning, arriving on the volcanic island at midday. When I land my elated father meets me, trailing my equally excited twin sisters. He pulls me into a bear hug, squeezing me tightly, before stepping back, his hands resting on my shoulders.
"Another year and you'll be able to look me in the eyes." He says with a grin.
Before I could respond Baela and Rhaena squeezed in between us, talking over each other as they alternate between babbling questions about my trip and telling me about our new baby brother. I allow them to take me by the hands and pull me towards the keep, as I did my best to answer their queries.
The four of us enter the castle and made our way through the black stone corridors. As we walk, I enquire about both the health of Rhaenyra and the babe. Father quickly assures me that they are both hale. I already knew that of course, thanks to both my memories and my father's mood, but it was still polite to ask. Speaking of moods, it was readily apparent the servants and courtiers of Dragonstone were quite jubilant over the birth of the realm's newest prince. Nearly everyone that we pass is wearing a smile and many have yellow flowers, indicating celebration, tucked into their clothing, wound into their hair, or slipped behind an ear.
As we enter the family wing the noise level drops drastically.
My father leans over and whispers. "Aegon hasn't been sleeping well. The wet nurse had just gotten him to stop crying when you landed. If everyone is this quiet then he is probably asleep."
I glance at him and nod my understanding.
When we arrive at the nursery, we are met by a servant who confirms my father's deduction. He hesitates a moment before telling Baela and Rhaena to go find our stepbrothers. He obviously doesn't trust them to be appropriately quiet. He slowly and carefully opens the door, before turning and beckoning me to follow him into the room.
I softly pad into the chamber. Heavy drapes block out most of the light. In one corner a female servant sat. Upon our entrance, she stands and bows deeply to both of us. My father places a figure to his lips, ordering her silence. On the other side of the room, a large ornate cradle rested. I follow Father across the room and peer inside. There nestled in the finest blankets and pillows money could buy, lay, Prince Aegon, my newest brother, my father's only trueborn son. The gloom made it hard to make see any features, but I could just make out the fact that the dusting of hair atop his head was the signature Targaryen silver. I glance at the man standing next to me.
"He's perfect" I offer for lack of anything better to say.
Father smiles proudly.
"He has my nose." He declared.
"He does," I murmur in agreement. I was lying of course, in both this life and the last I had been firmly of the opinion that all babies looked the same. I was, however, diplomatic enough not to express that opinion in front of a proud parent. I tilted my head as I further examined Aegon. Whatever insecurities I harbored about what his existence meant for my place in my father's affections the fact remained that he was my brother, and there was little I would not do to spare him the fate that had been intended for him. Traumatized by watching his mother be devoured by a dragon, forced onto the throne as a child, and dying far too young. His only lasting legacy being the title Dragonbane and the bloody wars unleashed by his grandson Daemon Blackfyre.
Everything came back to the Dance and the ambitions of the Hightowers. As much as I wished to, I did not believe that there was any way for me to stop the coming conflict. I supposed I could make a suicide run atop Vhagar and try to kill Aegon, Aemond, and Daeron. But dragons were rather imprecise weapons, and even if I were willing to burn all of the Red Keep, killing thousands of innocents in the process, I had no desire to die young or spend the rest of my life running. More subtle assassinations were also an option, but such things were difficult to arrange when one was dealing with a prince continually surrounded by protectors. And even then, the odds of the deed being traced back to myself were higher than I was comfortable with.
That was the real rub, I supposed. So long as a male child of Viserys the First lived Rhaenyra's claim would never go completely unchallenged. And the reverse was true as well. Even if, in an act completely contrary to her character, Rhaenyra abdicated her claim to the throne, her very existence and that of her children would remain an existential threat to the Greens. The unfortunate truth was that the day Viserys had chosen Rheanyra over Aegon he had made violence inevitable. That was the troublesome thing about claims to the throne, they existed irrespective of the claimant's actual desires. Someone could swear up and down that they didn't want the crown, but as long as others remembered they had a right to the royal title there would be trouble.
Once I had accepted that the war was inevitable, I had chosen to embark on a path that would see the deck stacked in my family's favor. I believed that I had made good progress on that front. I had denied the Greens their greatest asset in the form of Vhagar and I knew that the memory of my recent tour of the kingdoms would linger for years to come. I hoped that years from now when some lord was sitting in his keep and reading a raven message demanding his allegiance to Rhaenyra he would remember Vhagar in all her great and terrible glory and choose to raise his banners for the Blacks.
The thoughts of my recently completed tour brought me to the task that now awaited me with my return. I would need to make a quick trip over to Driftmark sometime within the next fortnight and give Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys a thorough briefing on the attitudes of the Westeros towards Rhaenyra and the Blacks. I would of course also take the opportunity to slip in bits of my more extraordinary knowledge. My choice to speak with the Lord and Lady of Driftmark was one that had not been made rashly or quickly. I had considered giving my report to my father or even to Rhaenyra as she was the nominal leader of the Blacks, but the unfortunate truth was that I did not trust either of them not to do anything rash. Were I for instance to tell Father, that I was not completely sure of Borros Baratheon's commitment to seeing the crown on Rhaenyra's brow there was a distressingly high probability that a very messy murder attempt would ensue. No, I had long since decided that it was best to speak with Corlys and Rhaenys who I believed would act with a certain amount of subtlety when shoring up the position of our faction.
Aelyx - 11
I sat perched atop a boulder on the beach watching the waves crash against the shore. To my right, Corlys and Rhaenys rested on their own rock. None of us said anything. Aside from the greeting they had given me when I'd arrived yesterday afternoon the last time we'd spoken had been when I offered them my condolences at Laenor's funeral. I realized uncomfortably that between my claiming of Vhagar and my presence on the docks that fateful day, they most likely associated me with the deaths of both their children. However, they were political veterans, and so long as they did not hold me responsible for the deaths, they would put aside their unease to cultivate a valuable resource.
There were few better locations than this for a clandestine meeting. The space was open enough that we could easily see anyone approaching, while the sound of the surf would prevent our voices from carrying. Furthermore, convening here removed the tinge of 'secret meeting' that our conversation might otherwise have had. Three people meeting behind closed doors aroused curiosity, those same three people meeting on a beach did not engender much suspicion.
"Your note said you wished to speak with us." Corlys began our discussion.
"Aye," I respond. "I thought perhaps you would like to hear my thought on the moods of the nobility of Westeros."
"I might not have set foot in on the mainland in years, but Driftmark is hardly isolated." Came the riposte. The master of Hightide was evidently annoyed by the insinuation that I could tell him anything that his information network couldn't.
"Then I suppose you know how little Borros Baratheon thinks of Princess Rhaenyra," I asked, affecting a casual tone.
"Borros is my cousin." The Queen Who Never Was cut in, her eyes glinting dangerously. "His father was my greatest supporter at the Great Council."
"And when was the last time you spoke with him." I counter. "Do you think he has so little pride that he will answer the call of long-neglected familiar ties?"
"Blood is blood." Came the sharp reply.
"Let's be serious your grace. Lord Baratheon cares naught for Rhaenyra's claim to the throne. Should she need his aid, she will be forced to offer him concessions. I spent a week in his company and I can assure you that his kinship to you does not weigh heavily upon his mind."
An uncertain expression flitted across Rhaenys face, while her husband glanced from me to his wife, his lips pursed. I took the opportunity to press my advantage.
"Yes, your grace is the daughter of Lady Jocelyn Baratheon, but you cannot deny that the connection has been allowed to atrophy since the death of Boremund."
Now the uncertainty was replaced by a flickering of shame.
"Borros is a very proud man." I empathized again. "He has not failed to note how nothing has been done to maintain the old alliance. He would not take it well if the Blacks were to simply presume his favor."
"He's right" Corlys cut in. "We need allies, reliable ones. We can't assume the support of anyone who is not loudly professing their commitment to ensuring Rhaenyra's succession. The good news is, King Viserys is hale and healthy. It will likely be years before we need support against the Greens. There is plenty of time to rebuild our connection with the Stags and draw others into our camp."
I relaxed slightly I had been worried that the two would brush off my concerns. That they would refuse to acknowledge the inevitability of resistance to Rhaenyra's ascension or the necessity of cultivating alliances. There was a good reason I had chosen to address the Borros first. I had no idea if overtures from the Blacks would gain any traction with the Storm Lord or what kind of demands he would make, but the fact remained that maintaining ties forged by marriage pacts was an essential part of Westrosi politics and something that Rhaenys and Corlys should already have been doing. The Velaryon couple knew this, and as such, could not really argue with my observations. I hoped that having accepted my advice on this matter they would be willing to hear me out as a discussed the rest of Westeros.
"You went to the Reach after the Stormlands, correct?" Came the prompt from Corlys, clearly eager to move the conversation away from the failings of him and his wife. "How did you find it."
"A bubbling cauldron about to spill over" I replied instantly.
"Oh," murmured Corlys, his interest clearly peaked.
"You know as well as I do, that since the moment The Conqueror elevated them, the Tyrells have struggled to maintain their hold on the Reach. Oldtown especially has long been a law on to itself. It appears as though a royal marriage has only increased to the arrogance of the Hightowers."
"Did you spend much time in Oldtown?" Rhaenys asked.
"Only a single day. Skipping it entirely would have been too deliberate a snub, given that I visited Houses far less prestigious." Which was a shame, the risk of a knife in my back or poison in my cider would have almost been worth it, in exchange for a few days in the Citadel.
"Lord Hightower has tied his House closely to Redwynes and together they dominated trade in the southern Reach."
"That's hardly a secret," Corlys remarked.
"But, did you know that they have been trying to assert their influences on the Reacher Houses south of the Mander?"
"Well, that would certainly engender some resentment." Murmured Corlys, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Perhaps we could extend a hand to the Houses in the region. Create some sort of network to contain the Hightower influence."
"We would have to be subtle of course. Viserys would hardly tolerate us moving openly against his wife's family." Rhaenys put it.
"We would have to be pretty blatantly targeting the Hightower to stir him. So long as we maintain the fiction that Princess Rhaenyra is simply making connections in preparation for her reign, I doubt the king will interfere." I gave my opinion, drawing thoughtful nods.
"Now, as for the Westerlands, I am afraid I cannot offer much that you don't already know. Lord Lannister was fairly cagey for all that he publicly professes obedience to the King's will. As for the rest of that realm, the Lannisters have a firm grip. As it stands now whichever way the Lords of the Rock sway the rest of their kingdom will follow. My visit was just too brief to glean anything that wasn't readily apparent."
Corlys hummed thoughtfully before turning to his wife. I sat patiently while the two carried out a rapid and silent conversation utilizing only their facial expressions. After a few seconds, the Sea Snake turned back to me.
"I can certainly send men there to see which way the wind is blowing, but unless we can find some sort of lever, I am not sure how much progress we will make in the region." He trailed pf drumming his fingers on the rock.
"You traveled to the Riverlands next?" Princess asked.
"The Riverlands are unsurprisingly the exact opposite of the Westerlands." I began. "In the Reach, the Tyrells can at least claim an edge in power over those who seek to usurp them. The Tullys lack even that luxury. All of their authority flows from King's Landing and their vassals know it."
"Is it really that bad?" Rhaenys questioned, leaning forward, eyes slightly widened.
I nodded grimly. The chaos in the Riverlands was old news in Westeros, but I'd had no idea how bad it had gotten. It gave me new respect for Hoster Tully. The fact that he had gotten the majority of the Riverlands to follow him in rising against the Mad King spoke of immense political skill.
"I had five different lords approach me about interceding on their behalf at the Royal Court. Don't misunderstand, I had plenty of people in the other kingdoms attempt to circumvent their liege, but they at least attempted subtlety. In the Riverlands, it is as though the Tully's overlordship is a polite fiction as best."
Corlys let out a low whistle. "The River Lords have always been unruly, but what you are describing is beyond the pale. I find it hard to believe that the situation could have disintegrated into such a state without it becoming common knowledge."
"I think it is because the River Lords are so quarrelsome that the signs have been missed. When you hear rumors about a cattle raid or honor duel coming out of the area you just shrug it off as typical Riverlander behavior."
"It doesn't help that we have not exactly been focused on news from the Riverlands these past few years. All of our attention has been turned to either King's Landing or the Narrow Sea." Rhaenys added.
"This will take some serious thought." Corlys opinioned. "There are several different routes we could take in order to make inroads into the Riverlands. "We could bypass the Tullys altogether and deal with the individual Houses directly. Or we could do the opposite and intervene on behalf of the Tully's and help them tighten their grip on the region, ensuring that their stable rule was tied to our prosperity."
"Speaking of prosperity," I cut in. "Lord Rickard expressed serious interest in tying the North more closely with the Velaryon trading network."
"Oh." That caught his interest.
I quickly relayed the contents of my meeting with the Lord of the North to the Valarian couple. Corlys was very intrigued by the idea of tapping into the North's resources. And declared that he would immediately send more formal negotiators. The subject of whaling, however, had him rubbing his chin in contemplation.
"I must confess, that I know little of the trade. My vessels have certainly carried their share of whalebone and whale oil, but the sailors of Driftmark have never actually hunted them. I suppose it would not be difficult to send men to Bravos and see if they can scrounge up some designs that the Bravosi have copied from the Ibenese. No, better just to send them straight to Ibben if we do end up building these ships, I want to have a least a few men on hand who have actually seen them."
"And what of the Vale, Lady Aryen is the Princesses' cousin, surely, we can rely on her support. Or does she feel slighted by the lack of communication as well?"
I grimaced slightly as Princess Rhaenys raised the question of the Vale.
"The Vale was almost as uncomfortable as Oldtown." That was a slight exaggeration, as I had not worried about murder attempts in the Vale, but I had certainly not felt welcome. "The Maid is a supporter of Rhaenyra albeit a somewhat lukewarm one. The problem was me. The Vale very clearly remembers the insults my father paid to Lady Royce and the kingdom as a whole. The lords were not exactly throwing open their doors for the son of a man who made very public insinuations about their fondness for sheep."
"Yes. That would certainly make things awkward." Corlys muttered. "But, so long as she is loyal, I do care what her opinion of Daemon is." He paused, marshaling his thought. "You have given me a lot to think about. Do you plan to stay on Driftmark long? I would like to quiz you further on the attitudes of individual lords."
"I was going to leave tomorrow, but I can certainly extend my stay. I lived here for half a decade after all, no one would think my presence strange."
Aelyx - 12
The wind whipped through my hair as I leaned against the rail of the galley. Baela and Rhaena clustered on both my sides watching the rolling sea with fascination. I reached out and ruffled Baela's hair drawing an annoyed look from the young girl.
"Don't do that." She demanded while batting away my hand.
I chuckled. "Older brother prerogative." I proclaimed and received a pout in return.
I was glad to see that neither of the twins appeared to suffer from seasickness. Neither one of them had much experience with sailing. Which was someone ironic considering their mother came from a traditionally naval family while their father had attempted to forge a kingdom from an island chain. However, both their parents had preferred the sky to the sea. Had the twins remained on Driftmark their grandfather would likely have taught them to sail. But, with the move to Dragonstone, the responsibility for connecting them to that part of their heritage fell to me. It was hardly a burden; I had spent almost my entire life living on islands and developed a deep fondness for the sea.
The vessel we were currently on had been commissioned by Rhaenyra years previously when she had first taken possession of Dragonstone. The ship had been designed and built for cruising around Blackwater Bay, it was a pleasure craft, not a merchant vessel or patrol boat. A casual questioning of the assigned crew had revealed that after being built the Princess had only taken a handful of voyages aboard, before abandoning it. These days it was primarily used to ferry messages and people between the Narrow Sea Houses. The thought left me with somewhat mixed feelings, on one hand, I was glad, that the ship had not been left to rot at anchor once Rhaenyra grew bored, on the other hand, the idea of such a beautiful vessel being reduced to drudge work was almost physically painful.
Acquiring the craft had been easy, a simple request to my father a few days ago had seen the ship prepared for the cruise this morning. I was unsure if he had asked Rhaenyra for permission to use the vessel or if he had simply issued orders to her crew, nor did I wish to find out. I intended to stay far away from the power dynamics of Rhaenyra and Daemon's marriage.
I glanced at the ship's captain who was standing a respectful distance away, while still keeping a close eye on us. I wondered if he had been instructed to report on my interactions with my half-sisters or if he was just well aware that if anything happened to us his remaining life span could be measured in hours.
"What are we supposed to do?" asked Rhaena, her voice much softer than her sister's.
"Right now, just enjoy the ocean," I told her. "Next time we go out I will start teaching you how the ship works, and by the time you are my age you will be ready to command one."
"We're going to do this again!" Baela exclaimed; her excitement palpable.
"Of course we will, you're Velaryons aren't you? The sea is in your blood, it's your birthright. So, I am going to teach you everything I know about sailing."
Baela's brow furrowed in thought. "What about Jace, Luc, and Joff? They are Velayrons too, aren't they? Shouldn't you be teaching them too?"
The smile on my face froze, as did several sailors in earshot. Well for one their only Velaryon blood comes from their great-great-great grandmother I thought sardonically. Truthfully, I did not care that Rhaenyra's three eldest were bastards her claim to the throne came from her father, not Laenor so if she wanted Jacaerys as her heir that was her business. But I could not deny the burn of anger that came from the knowledge that Baela was being cheated out of her inheritance to maintain a lie.
However, I understood the necessity. As of now the truth of the Strong boys' birth was something of an open secret, but it was one that only the most reckless individuals would bandy about in public. Furthermore, the fact that Laenor was as close to openly gay as one could get in Westros made many somewhat more understanding about her choice to bed Breakbones. So long as neither Rhaenyra nor anyone in her inner circle acknowledged the rumors, they would stay just that. That would change of course once Viserys died and the Greens would need to dredge up every bit of slander in their arsenal to discredit the Princess of Dragonstone. But, for now, snide whispers were the furthest anyone was willing to go against the king's favorite child.
"Aelyx?"
My focus snapped back to Baela, the odd expressions on her and Rhaena's faces told me that my pause had dragged on long enough to become awkward. I forced a cheerful, but patently false grin.
"Princess Rhaenyra's sons are indeed Velaryons." I lied smoothly. Out of the corner of my eye, I noted several of the eavesdroppers relax. "But they are only my siblings by marriage. And as such they are not my responsibility. Of course, if the Princess wishes I will of course teach her sons to sail." I felt comfortable making that proclamation as I was absolutely certain that even if she chose to have her sons learn to sail in order to reinforce the illusion that they were Laenor's children, I would not be whom Rhaenyra asked.
My answer seemed to appease the twins, if not leave them entirely satisfied. But, with careful prodding a returned their attention to the ship and the sea. Over the next several hours I instructed the two girls on nautical matters of all stripes. And they soon forgot all about Baela's well-meaning but extremely fraught question.
We returned to shore as the setting sun painted the bay red. As we prepared to disembark my mind was already moving to consider my plans for tomorrow. I intended to return to Driftmark to further discuss strategy with the island's Lord and Lady. I had made several such trips over the past month and the three of us began to develop a plan of attack that would hopefully see any attempts by the Hightowers to dispute Rhaenyra's coronation strangled in the cradle.
The biggest problem was that Corlys and Rhaenys' ability to act had a rather sharply defined limit. Neither of them was the future monarch nor were they empowered to make deals in her name. They were of course the Lord and Lady of House Velaryon and as such they could form agreements that between their own family and potential allies but none of us could make any promises about the like of tariffs, or city charters, or border disputes, or anything of that nature. We could imply an awful lot, but we could promise a single seven damned thing about anything Rhaenrya would do once she ascended the throne. The three of us grudgingly acknowledged that at some point we would need to bring Rhaenyra and my father into our plans, but we hoped to present them to her with a certain degree of fait accompli and have her provide a rubber stamp. Not for the first time I reflected on the irony that the three people who were working the hardest to see Rhaenyra seated on the Iron Throne thought little of her potential as a monarch.
The moment we stepped foot on the pier men wearing red and black livery moved to flank us. I exchanged a few words with their commander, confirming that there had been no problems on our excursion. We then made our way back towards the castle. As we moved the guards spread around us creating a loose cordon around us, keeping any passersby from getting too close to the twins.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw an unfamiliar ship. Under normal circumstances, this would not have caused me to take note, but the evident wealth that had been poured into the vessel combined with the fact that the section of the docks we were currently treading was reserved for crafts that belonged to the Royal family or visitors of elevated importance raised my curiosity. A lifetime of experience allowed me to identify the ship as Pentoshi after a close examination of its lines. I hummed thoughtfully. I had not heard any talk of dignitaries coming from the Free City. Perhaps they were on their way to King's Landing and had merely stopped here to pay a greeting to Rhaenyra. I shrugged, there was no point in speculating. I was certain I could find out as soon as I arrived at the castle.
Aelyx - 13
I threw myself on the bench across the table from my father.
"So are the rumors true?" I asked.
"What rumor?" he grunted not bothering to look up from his ale.
I rolled my eyes; he knew damn well what I was talking about.
"Half the castle is gossiping about it. They are saying that the Magisters of Pentos have reached out to you about joining them in a renewed campaign against the Tetrarchy."
Another grunt answered me.
I hummed thoughtfully. There had been no mention of contact between Dragonstone and Pentos following Rhaenyra and Daemon's marriage in Fire and Blood, which left me uncertain about how to respond. The visit was also a wake-up call as it reminded me that my action could have unintended ripple effects and that my memories were not an infallible script. After all, for all I knew maybe this visit did occur in the original timeline but had not made it into the history books.
Finally, after several moments of staring on my part and drinking on his, my father deigned to answer me.
"They are offering assistance in reclaiming the Stepstones in return for my support in a land-based offensive against the Triarchy."
My eyes widened. That definitely was not included in Fire and Blood. I frowned, tilting my head slightly I examined my father.
"You don't appear to be particularly enthusiastic about the idea."
He slammed a fist on the table.
"Damn right, I'm not. Who do they think I am? I am not their dog that they can just call up to savage their enemy for them. I am Daemon Targaryen. I was a King in my own right, I cannot be bought like some common sellsword"
"To be fair," I interjected. "It seems less like they are trying to buy you and more like they are proposing an alliance."
He scoffed, shaking his head in denial.
"It would be an unequal alliance at best. I would just be supplementing the Pentoshi forces with Caraxe in their thrust south, but in turn, I would be completely dependent on their ships and men to take the Stepstones back."
He had a point. If he reconquered the Steptones at the head of a Pentoshi army, he would be permanently bound to the Free City. Most likely as a junior partner.
"Besides who are they to offer me a crown? I could take back my kingdom anytime I please. I simply have no desire to."
And there it was, I thought. Beneath all the bluster he did not want to retake his kingdom because he had discovered that constructing a new polity from scratch, actually required work. My father had abandoned the kingdom he had spent a decade building, the kingdom that I had spent years expecting to inherit because he got bored.
"So, you're really not going to take them up on their offer?"
"No, I will not. I am the blood of the dragon and I refuse to indebt myself to a group of copper counters to take what is rightfully mine."
And with that, the matter was closed.
A glance and gesture to a waiting servant produced my own stein of beer. As I sipped the ale, I contemplated the matter of the Penoshi delegates and their offer. Before I had regained my memories, I had held out hope that my father would eventually renew his campaign in the region. For all that Corlys and Rhaenys had intimated that Baela was my father's primary heir, I'd always believed that should he regain his crown and fail to produce a son with Laena, it would be I who inherited his throne. Of course, between the birth of a trueborn son in Aegon and my new knowledge that Daemon would never again set foot in the Stepstones I had put paid to those dreams.
But now that the opportunity had presented itself, I realized that I had never truly let go of the idea. A part of me still burned for the idea of a realm of my own. I checked myself. Yes, the idea of using Pentoshi resources to reconquer the Stepstones was incredibly tempting. But I needed to consider if it was even practical or beneficial. The latter was easy to answer. On a personal level seizing control of the Stepstones would make me fabulously wealthy and very powerful. Furthermore, from a strategic perspective, between Dragonstone, Driftmark, and the Stepstones, the Blacks would effectively bracket the coastline of the Crownlands and the Stormlands. Combining that with our allies in the Vale and the North Rhaenyra would be able to dominate the Narrow Sea. Furthermore, Bloodstone could also serve as a staging ground for naval operations directed at the Reach and the Westerlands, if such a thing became necessary.
On the other hand, there were serious potential issues that I had to take into consideration. My father had spent years trying to build a kingdom out of those islands. For all the benefits that would come with controlling the mouth of the Narrow Sea, they would mean nothing if I found myself in a years-long quagmire, stuck with my attention turned to Essos while the situation in Westeros deteriorated. On top of that, I had to wonder if the islands even stay mine if I conquered them. The Pentoshi had apparently promised to aid the conquest itself but would they be willing to station troops on the island to turn back the inevitable Triarchy counter-offensive? And if they would the islands really be mine, or would I be their puppet, a ruler in name only, propping a Pentoshi client state?
There were other potential problems as well I acknowledged, glancing across the table at my father. I was unsure how he would react if I tried to claim his title. Would happily acknowledge my accomplishments or would he rage at my presumption? Would he be willing to sit back while I ruled from Bloodstone or would I find him on my doorstep demanding the crown he still claimed to be his? And if he did try and take such a course, what would I do? I would hardly be willing to surrender what I had won by the sword and dragon flame, but a clash with my father would be both disastrous for the Black cause and extraordinarily painful on a personal level. All my work to empower the Blacks would be for naught if I found myself isolated and alienated from Dragonstone.
I shook my head, bringing the spinning thoughts to a halt. I was rather putting the cart before the horse. At this point, I didn't even know the Pentoshi's full proposal. Before I continued my wild speculations about to potential benefits and ramifications of conquering the Stepstones I needed to track down the Pentoshi and get a better read on the situation than my father's angry grumbling provided. Seven Hells I did not even know if they would be willing to bargain with me. They had come looking for Daemon Targaryen, not his fifteen-year-old son. Dragon or not most people would balk at hinging a major military undertaking on a teenager.
I raised the stein to my slips and drained the remaining beer, before setting it back on the table. With a nod to my father, I slid off the bench and made my way out of the hall. As I walked the corridors, towards the guest wing I contemplated the best way to approach the Pentoshi. I couldn't simply barge into their room and offer myself as an alternate partner. Especially since I wasn't going to make any sort of promises until I had a full understanding of what exactly they wanted. No, I decided it was better to approach them as a potential intermediary between them and my father. If I liked what they had to say I could offer my services, and if I didn't, I could let the matter lie and no one would be any the wiser about the ambitions I entertained.
After several minutes of walking and one questioned maid, I found myself at the doors of the apartments where the Pentoshi had been quartered. I rapped sharply and the door was quickly opened by a slave, though I suppose they would be calling him an indentured servant on Westerosi soil. He looked me up and down taking in the fine cloth and cut of my garments.
"May I help you, my lord?"
Tell you masters that Ser Aelyx Targaryen wishes to speak with them."
Aelyx – 14
The slave's face contorted uncertainly as he heard my introduction. With a guilty start, I realized I had put him in an awkward position by arriving unannounced. He was now having to calculate the potential ramifications of leaving a noble standing awkwardly in the hallway, versus the possibility of his master's anger should he allow me in without their permission. His expression firmed as he came to a decision.
Bowing deeply, he ushered deeply he gestured for me to enter the apartment.
"Please come in my lord."
Taking his invitation I stepped, through the doorway and found myself in a small but well-appointed foyer.
"My lord if you would take a seat, I will inform my masters of your arrival."
I settled into a chair as the man disappeared through another door, leading deeper into the set of rooms. Straining, my ears I could just make out a series of urgent whispers. After a short wait, the slave returned.
"My masters would be happy to receive you. If I could beg your patience, they will be prepared to speak with you in just a few moments."
"Of course," I dipped my head in acknowledgment. "I understand that my arrival was unexpected."
"Thank you for your understanding my lord. May I fetch you anything in the interim?"
"No, that will not be necessary"
He bowed again and left me alone in the room. I waited for another five minutes before the door opened again. The slave entered followed by two more men. Upon seeing them I rose in greeting.
"Ser Aelyx may I present to you Magister Ballapho Pahrinar" He announced gesturing to a tall, but slightly rotund man. "And Patricos Areo Nahaenor," he indicated a short and slender young man.
My eyes flicked between the two dignitaries. I dredged my memories of Pentos trying to place the family names, unfortunately between the fact that it had been five years since I left the city and only having been ten when I did live there, I came up blank. Magister could be a difficult title to parse, while on its surface it conveyed power, wealth, and privilege all magisters were not created equal. It did not help that there were subtle nuances between the functions of a magister in the different Free Cities. Similarly, while Patrios was a courtesy title it could be applied to both wealthy individuals who were not magisters or to male members of a magister's family.
So, while on the surface Pahrinar appeared to be the more important of the two if he was a first or second-generation magister while Nahaenor was a member of an older established family, he might wield significantly less influence than it would appear at first glance. Altogether it would be a careful balancing act to avoid offending either of the two by implying they were the subordinate, at least until I could determine who was actually in charge.
"Greeting Magister, Patricos. I am Ser Aelyx Targaryen, son of Prince Daemon Targaryen and the rider of Vhagar. I was hoping to speak with the two of you regarding the proposal that you had presented to my father."
"It was our understanding, that your father had rejected our offer," Nahaenor answered, his tone frosty.
I hid a wince. My father had evidently not been polite in his refusal.
"My father is a proud man and disliked finding the implication that he needed assistance in reclaiming what is rightfully his. However, I hope that we could come to some sort of agreement that I could present to him once his temper has cooled."
"Prince Deamon insulted both our persons and our glorious city. What makes you believe that we would be willing to work with such a man." Came the riposte from Nahaenor.
My eyes narrowed and I was unable to hold back a scoff.
"Because you need him or more specifically you need a dragon rider."
The atmosphere of the room changed even as the faces of the two Pentoshi remained blank.
"Twenty-four years ago, the Triarchy humbled Volantis, a city that many once believed would recreate the Freehold by force of arms alone. That was after the Three Daughters had spent a century tearing each other apart over the Disputed Lands. I am certain that more than a few in Pentos have spent many a sleepless night wondering about the armies they could muster after two decades of relative peace and prosperity. So let us not pretend that my father would be a mere appendage to your campaign, a helpful but unnecessary ally. I know as well as you do that no Pentoshi army will be marching into Triarchy lands unless it can call on the support of dragon fire."
Nahaenor's eyes flashed angrily, while Pahrinar's lips tightened minutely.
"Are you implying that Pentos, is weak?" Nahaenor's ground out, his tone barely civil.
"No, just that is a single Free City ranged against the combined power of three.
Nahaenor moved to speak again. But, as his mouth began to open, Pahrinar stepped forward slightly, touching his colleague on the wrist.
"Aero, Ser Aelyx let us not descend into unpleasantness. We are all here for the same purpose are we not? Why don't we take a seat and enjoy some refreshments so that we can speak of these matters as civilized men."
"That would be agreeable to me," I pronounced, sending a slightly challenging look to Nahaenor.
He begrudgingly nodded in acquiescence. I returned to my seat while the two Pentoshi settled into chairs across from me, on the other side of a low-lying table.
Once we were settled Pahrinar glanced over his shoulder at the hovering slave.
"Wine and the map, you know which one."
The slave nodded and retreated from the room. As soon as he was gone, Pahrinar leaned forward steepling his fingers.
"Your words were provocative Ser Aelyx, but not entirely untrue. From the moment the Triarchy was formed many have worried that they would attempt to expand their influence beyond the traditional borders of the Three Daughters. That worry was only exacerbated when they moved to seize the Stepstones. While I know that many in Westeros initially saw their actions as a permanent end to the piracy problem that plagued the region, Pentos long feared that it was merely a prelude to further expansionism. That fear only grew as their fleets in the Stepstones revealed themselves to be no better than the pirates they drove out."
"Which is why you helped fund my father's war."
"Indeed" Pahrinar confirmed. "Your father's campaign in the Narrow Sea has kept the Triarchy's attention firmly fixed on that region for the past fifteen years."
"My father abandoned his kingdom five years ago," I interject. "And the Triarchy has made no move to retake the islands."
"That is part of the reason we are wary," Nahaenor spoke up, seemingly having mastered his temper. "When Prince Daemon first left most assumed he would return, especially after he wed Lady Laena. It wasn't until three years ago when the Velaryon fleet returned to Driftmark that we realized the prince had abandoned the project. Since then, aside from maintaining their occupation of Crimson Crescent and Shipwreck Sound the Triarchy has made no moves to expand their grip on the mouth of the Narrow Sea. This leads us to believe that the Triarchy is either undergoing political turmoil that precludes military adventurism or they are planning an offensive in another direction."
That caught my attention. Intellectually I had known that there would not be another organized attempt to seize the Stepstones until the Daughter's War when Tyrosh sent in the Admiral who promptly declared himself King of the Narrow Sea. However, I'd never really considered what that signified for the state of the Triarchy as a whole.
"Are you certain that's the case?" I asked. "The Triarchy bled heavily in their conflict with my father. Caraxe burned large portions of their fleet during the war. It could very well be that they just decided the expanse of raising an entirely new force was too great a burden."
"We have considered that," Pahrinar admitted. "However, we have kept a close eye on the finances of the Triarchy and we have not seen any indications that they are hurting for money. No significant tax increase, no austerity measures, no large loans from private citizens. To be fair no one on our payroll has gotten a look at the actual treasuries but when a state lacks currency the reserves the signs are fairly obvious."
"I would think that it would also be fairly obvious if the Triarchy was undergoing a large enough degree of political turmoil to preclude a renewed Stepstones campaign."
"The politics of the Triarchy can be fairly inscrutable to outsiders with even relatively minor factions within individual cities able to stall the internal politics of the entire Kingdom."
The conversation paused as a pair of slaves reentered the room. One carried a tray of goblets, while the other held a large roll of parchment. The wine was quickly distributed and the parchment was unrolled on the table revealing a map of the western coastline of Essos. With their tasks done the slaves took positions against the wall and Pahrinar resumed speaking.
"Regardless of the reasoning for their current inactivity, the fact remains that now is the best to attack. If they are planning an invasion, it is better to strike first. And if they are politically paralyzed, we should take the opportunity to hamstring them before they can recover."
The idea was tempting. Disregarding everything else I wanted to bloody the Triarchy and prevent the Battle of the Gullet and the burning of Spicetown. Even if the Pentoshi campaign failed in the aggregate, even if I never regained the Stepstones if I could savage the Triarchy badly enough that they would never dream of crossing the Narrow Sea at the invitation of Otto Hightower I would consider the entire endeavor a success.
"So, what exactly is your plan gentlemen."
"It is simple" began Nahaenor his grin bloodthirsty. "We assemble an army of our militia and sellswords just outside Pentos. And with your father's support march on Myr."
I raised my eyebrows.
"Do you intend to take the city?"
"No, we are not so arrogant. Instead, we intend to ravage the land up to the wall of Myr, and then when the Triarchy responds engage their forces, recreating your Westrosi Field of Fire. After that, we can force them to the negotiating table and force them to cede the borderlands to us."
"That might also seriously crack their alliance, as Tyrosh and Lys would come out in much better positions," I murmured thoughtfully.
"After that" Nahaenor continued. "We launch our fleets against the Stepstones. Many of the islands remain in the hands of men who once served your father and we believe that they would rally to his banner if he returned. It might take time but, with the Triarchy's armies having already been shattered in Myr, his eventual triumph is assured."
"You present a compelling picture." I allowed. Their plan was simply and brutally direct, relying entirely on the destructive power of a dragon. But I honestly believed that it could work. The Triachy would be forced to respond to an invasion and there were few things more vulnerable to a dragon than large bodies of men in the open.
"Please remain on Dragonstone for at least a few more days while I speak with my father. I would like to present my case." I didn't really believe that I would be able to convince him to join the expedition, but I did think I could sell him on the idea of me doing so.
The two glanced at each other, then at me. After a long moment, Pahrinar responded.
"We shall stay for the next seven-day."
Aelyx - 15
"I want to do it." I panted as my blade clanged against that of my father.
"Do what?" He asked as he whipped his sword around for a crushing blow against my shield.
I staggered back slightly, before regaining my balance. My opponent did not press his advantage but instead bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, waiting for me to recover.
"I want to join the Pentoshi expedition," I said feinting towards my father's right before lunging at his left side. The maneuver failed to bate him and his shield deflect my longsword with ease.
"I already told you that I had no interest in the endeavor." He drove my back with a series of sweeping overhand blows.
"I know that. I am saying that I want to join." That surprised him. He paused lowering his sword.
"You want to go by yourself?" He questioned; his tone incredulous.
"Aye, I do"
"Why?" The question seemed casual but long experience allowed me to see the irritation creeping into his eyes.
"I talked to the Pentoshi, I think that their plan could work."
"Even though I told you that it wouldn't"
"You didn't actually say the plan wouldn't work, just that even if it did it would leave you far too beholden to the Pentoshi."
He frowned obviously replaying yesterday's conversation in his head. He gave a snort of irritation as he realized that I was right.
"So, what, you're just going to cross the Narrow Sea, burn some sellswords on behalf of a bunch of up-jumped merchants, and then hope they give you enough men and money to retake the Stepstones."
I shrugged. "That's about the gist of it, no need to make things overly complicated. Although I think Vhagar will serve as an excellent incentive for them to keep their word."
"And then what? Will crown yourself King of the Stepstones.?"
I hesitated; I was now at the trickiest part of the conversation. My father had not styled himself as King since he left the Stepstones. Furthermore, last year when we'd received word that some pirate had set himself up in Bloodstone as the new king he'd barely reacted beyond calling the man a pretender. However, all that being said I was uncertain how he would react if his son told him that he intended to take his title.
"No," I said, vocalizing the decision I had made last night. "The only King of the Stepstones and Narrow Sea I recognize is Daemon Targaryen. Should I take the islands it shall be in your name.
He stared at me for a long moment his gaze searching.
"I don't understand." He said at last. "Those rocks are nothing but a pain in the ass. There is a reason I left, I conquered them with ease but a thousand petty annoyances harried me every day until I decided they were not worth the trouble. And now you want to plunge your hand back into that nest of serpents?"
"What else is there for me to do." I spread my arms wide indicating the keep around us. "You will be Rhaenyra's consort, her strong right arm. Baela will be the Lady of Dragonstone and someday queen and Rhaena will be the Lady of Driftmark. Aegon is an infant, but I am sure Rhaenyra will eventually carve out something for him. And where does that leave me? I'm the odd man out, if I want a future beyond lazing around the court with Vhagar I need to take it myself."
A flicker of understanding and shame passed over my father's face. Despite the legend that he had built, despite the fact that his descendants would sit on the Iron Throne, Daemon Targaryen had nothing to pass on to his sons. And that, deep down bothered him. Sensing that he was wavering I pressed on.
"And what about when I marry, what will I have to offer my children?"
"Your lineage! Your name! No matter what happens you are still the blood of old Variya and your children will hold the right to claim a dragon just as you did."
I sighed tapping the flat of my blade against my leg.
"I want more out of life than just being a courtier in King's Landing. I want a legacy; I want to build something that is going to outlive me."
He grimaced "I understand wanting more Aelyx, but you are only five and ten, do you really think that you can lead an entire campaign."
"I'll be six and ten, a man grown, by the time Pentos actually marches on the Triarchy, and that's only four years younger than you were when you gathered an army to support Viserys at the Great Council. Besides worst-case scenario is the Pentoshi fail in their campaign and I come home without ever setting foot in the Stepstones"
"No, the worst-case scenario is a Myrish crossbowman gets lucky and puts a bolt through your eye, or some hired blade slits your throat while you sleep."
I straightened, squared my shoulders, and looked my face dead in the eyes.
"I know the risk of dying on the battlefield. I understand that for all of our dragon's power, we are not invincible. But if there is no danger there is no glory and no gain. I want those islands and I am prepared to court death to gain them. As for assassination, I don't intend to cross the Narrow Sea alone. There are countless young men across Westeros who bitterly regret the fact that they were born too late to join the Rogue Prince in the Stepstones, I figure if I put the word out, I could gather a hundred or so with ease. They will watch my back when I am on the ground."
"You've put quite a lot of thought into this." He mused.
"Indeed, I have or did you think it was just a passing whim?"
"No, it's pretty evident that you are serious." So, saying he turned and exited the training yard. "Follow me." He racked his weapons and strode into the interior of the castle. I quickly copied him, before jogging to catch up to him. We walked side by side through the halls of Dragonstone and soon, we arrived at the entrance to his solar. He pushed open the door and entered moving straight to his desk. I curiously stood by and watched while he yanked open a drawer and pulled out a scrap of parchment. He then grabbed a quill and inkwell that were laying on the desk. With a frown at the quill, he reached back into the drawer and pulled out a knife. He then proceeded to trim the tip of the quill back into a point. He dipped the nib into the inkwell and proceeded to write.
I shifted my weight from foot to foot, as I resisted the temptation to peer over his shoulder. He finished writing with a flourish. My father then reached back into his desk and pulled out a small piece of wax, and a spoon. He glanced around before frowning. He straightened and began walking back out the door. I moved to follow.
"Stay" he commanded without even looking back.
A few minutes later he returned holding a lit candle in a holder. He set the candle on his desk and picked up the piece of wax and the spoon. He dropped the wax into the spoon and then held it over the open flame, melting the wax. He proceeded to pour wax onto the bottom of the parchment. Setting the spoon down he flipped open a small chest on his desk. He removed a dusty seal and pressed it into the wax. Raising the parchment to his face he gently blew on the wax, cooling it. He gave the document a final glance before thrusting it out to me. I took it gently and read over it.
I Daemon Targaryen, King of the Narrow Sea and Steptones
Do hereby appoint my eldest son Ser Aelyx Targaryen Prince Regent of the Kingdom.
I stared. In a material sense, it meant nothing. My father after all was not in possession of the Kingdom that he had just appointed me regent of. But, in twenty-four words he had both acknowledged his support of my endeavor and given me the legal status to act as negotiate with foreign powers on behalf of the Kingdom of the Stepstones. In essence, he had transformed me from a would-be warlord preparing to serve as a mercenary, to the head of a government-in-exile who could act in concert with his allies.
"Thank you," I told my father.
He nodded gruffly.
"If you actually do manage to take the Stepstones I'll draw up another document making you their legal heir."
"Rheanyra won't like you passing over Aegon like that."
"The Stepstones are my kingdom to dispose of as I see fit. If I choose to pass the title onto you, she has no say in the matter." He declared, a hint of anger seeping into his voice.
"Of course, Thank you again. Now if you will excuse me, I have some Pentoshi to speak with."