The morning was rank with the smell of rain. Dark clouds painted the sky in a drab grey. The winter's rain they bore fell down to the earth in a soft drizzle. Rhaena shut the windows right by her desk when she heard sleepy complaints of the cold coming from her valonqar, though he was tucked inside a mountain of blankets.
"Come back," he whined. She obliged, leaving the huge tome she had been writing in since before dawn when she could find no more sleep, getting into bed and nuzzling the king to her chest, as she'd done when he was little more than a babe and afraid of the beating of the Stone Drum during the furious storms that racked Dragonstone in autumn.
Aegon was afraid of a lot more than storms now, she knew, and needed comfort more than he'd ever had. In some ways, he was more of a babe now than he had been in a long time. Before the war, he'd eschewed her company, desiring nothing more than joining Jace and Luke and Joff in the yards, playing their grown up games with them, as in his own words, he was almost man-grown like his brothers, and he ought to act like it. Rhaena had giggled when she told him of that, much to his childish displeasure, though she still allowed him to run along after them.
Those days were gone now, and so were his brothers, brothers she'd loved as if they were her own…and Luke, whom she had been destined to wed for as long as she could remember. He lay at the bottom of the Shipbreaker's Bay, torn apart by the kinslayer riding her mother's dragon. His death had been avenged, she had to remind herself… at the price of Father's life. It bore no use thinking about now. And yet, these days, she wore her grief as if a shroud on a corpse. It and the dreams seemed to be the only things that remained to her.
Nuzzled in her arms, Aegon began shaking once more. On the day of her return, Baela had told her about Aegon's shakes. They began while they were captives of the usurper, chained and fettered at wrist and ankle, kept under lock and key in the dungeons beneath Dragonstone after being forced to watch his mother being burned and devoured by Sunfyre. Then, with little food, water and warmth, she thought them mere shivers caused by the cold, but even when the usurper had wizened up enough to see them for the valuable hostages they were and ensured their comfort, they did not stop.
It took some time, but her brother's shaking finally ceased, his breathing easing as he fell asleep. Rhaena thought of waking him and cajoling him into getting ready for the execution she'd been informed would be held when the mid-morning bells tolled, but thought better of it. Aegon's sleep was even more fitful than her own, which was filled of dreams of the bleak future she was working to prevent. Waking him to see the usurper's killers get their heads chopped off after the sheer cruelty he'd endured was rather indelicate, she decided, whether he was king or not. Her own attendance would have to suffice as royal witness enough to the wolf's executions.
Once sure that her brother was asleep, she took the huge tome she'd been chronicling her dreams into with vivid detail from the writing desk right by the window, and headed out of her brother's chambers, towards her own, right next to the king's. On the way, she instructed Lady Elinda, the only lady of Cousin Rhaenyra's to survive the usurper's onslaught, to watch over her brother, and to inform her when he woke.
The YiTish tome had been a gift from Grandfather during her tenth name day, bought during one of the numerous trade expeditions east the Velaryon navy no longer made, after he'd noticed her love of drawing. As a child, she'd enjoyed it as a pass time, finding it a good outlet for her vivid imagination. The earliest pages were filled with sketches of the feeble dragon that had hatched alongside her sister's, only to die days later, as Moondancer thrived. Now, the pages were filled with dreams of the future, both the ones she was working to prevent, and the one she intended to set in its place.
As her maids had known for years now, there was a piping hot bath waiting for her when she entered her own chambers. She liked to bathe upon waking every day, by herself, eschewing help from her ladies and serving maids that helped every other highborn lady wash themselves. After the bath was done, and she'd oiled and perfumed her body, she did allow the help of her maids to help her dress.
As the day was one to be graced by so much death, she chose a black dress, with red used sparingly in the trimmings and to sew the hems. It had a conservative cut, with sleeves that covered her arms and a collar that covered her neck. For warmth, there was a lining of wool sown onto the inside of the dress, a feature she had ordered done to the winter wardrobe she'd commissioned while in the Vale.
The three-headed red dragon of her house that was absent on the dress was instead embroidered prominently on the cloak she wore to further keep her warm. A silver dragon brooch fastened the cloak around her neck. She let her hair flow freely like a silver river down to her waist, foregoing any braid.
Cousin Rhaenyra's words came to her as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. 'A lady's beauty, if wielded correctly, could be as deadly as any man's sword. You are a Targaryen princess, a Valyrian, blessed with beauty most would only dream of. Learn to wield it, and nothing will ever be denied to you.' She'd been helping her ready herself for a tourney held on Dragonstone, half a year before the war, which was to mainly feature the houses of the Narrow Sea that had been their closest allies. Houses from all across the realm had come, 'How do you think I so bewitched your father?' She'd said, and the both of them had laughed.
Hadn't she been wrong in that? Beautiful or not, she was denied her throne and died a gruesome death in the war they'd been forced to wage to win it back. It bore no thinking about, she decided.
After dressing, she went to the main chamber to attend to her dragon and the eggs. Morning was asleep right by the blazing hearth, pink scales gleaming in the light of the fires, the she-dragon lazy after being fed at dawn, as the Dragonkeeper watching over them reported. Right by her, inside the fire itself, rested nine eggs.
Two were Morning's clutch mates that she'd taken with her to the Vale, while the other seven were the ones the usurper had sat on in his attempts to hatch another Sunfyre when news of Morning's birth reached him. Alongside choosing the most promising eggs from the undercellars of Dragonstone, he'd chosen ones with the most gold or close to it to replace his golden worm. She'd chuckled when she first saw them. They were eggs of purple and gold, silver and gold, white and gold, blue and gold, patina green and shining bronze that was quite close to gold. The only departures from that were a scarlet red egg with black whorls and a pale-green egg with silver swirls, the most promising among the seven.
Morning awoke when he sensed her, lifting her lovely pink eyes to her. Rhaena held out her hand a small distance away from her. She flapped her wings and settled on her palm, giving her affectionate pats on her shining black spinal crests. Her drake cooed in pleasure. Slowly, she brought her to her shoulder, and the dragon immediately coiled about her like a stole, falling asleep once more.
"What was she fed?" She asked the Dragonkeeper that had been watching over her.
"An entire trout and half a chicken in the night," he reported, "Two haunches of goat at dawn." After the death of her last hatchling, she was taking no chances with her dragon's care. Newborn dragons needed food and freedom to thrive. She'd ensured there was plenty of that for her mount, since her birth, and would not stop even after her body had grown large enough to bear Rhaena's weight. There would be no letting the other half of her soul die. Not again. Not this time.
Father would have gone apoplectic were he to see what the daughter he had raised would become, in those dreams Rhaena swore would never come true. Two dragons dying before their time under her care. Marrying a Hightower, a third born son no less, and bearing him six daughters. Her grief had made her insane in that other world, she concluded.
"Thank you. Please, do watch over the eggs." Apart from herself, the Dragonkeepers were the only ones she could entrust their custody to.
With that, the mid-morning bells began to toil, and she headed out to the outer ward of the Red Keep where the executions would take place, accompanied by guards that Corwyn had assigned to her when he was away accompanying Baela across the realm to claim Silverwing.
She found the entire court gathered around those proclaimed guilty by the wolf, their hands and feet chained and forced to kneel on the hard red stone as the rain continued to pour over them. Unlike the rest of court, they did not have the benefit of attendants that held rain shades above them to protect them from the showers.
Septon Eustace droned on for so long in prayer for the souls of the damned that puddles of rain began to form at their feet. At last, he was done, and she along with the rest of court watched as Lord Stark unsheathed Ice, the ancient Valyrian Steel sword of his house. The huge thing was taller than most men, leaving it as a ceremonial ornament for the head of House Stark rather than a true weapon to be wielded in battle. Not for Lord Stark. Most times she came across him, he had the formidable sword sheathed at his back.
It had been a debate at the council table on whether Blackfyre would be the sword used in the executions today. The king's sword was in her custody since the death of Alfred Broome, the usurper's headsman. Rhaena had given unequivocal refusal to it being used for beheadings that were the work of the wolf.
The men drew lots to decide the first one to die, and like in the accounts she'd dreamed of, Perkin the Flea, the one with the fortune of going first, shouted for the mercy of joining the Night's Watch, a request all but two of the condemned echoed. As he was of the north, Stark did honour their request. Only two men died that day, Gyles Belgrave, who had been part of the usurper's guard; he served a false king and would not be honoured with the title of the Kingsguard, and Larys Strong, he who came up with the genius plot of sneaking the usurper onto Dragonstone, a plot that led to so much barbarity.
It was hard to believe that such a depraved soul shared blood with Jace and Luke and Joff. Nonetheless, with his death, House Strong had been made extinct. All that remained was the taking of Harrenhal and its attendant lands away from the witch that held currently held them into their own hands. They would need a grown dragon for that. She sent a prayer up to the gods to keep Baela safe as she claimed the Good Queen's old mount.
The rest of court dispersed when the affair was done, Cregan's northmen guiding those bound for the wall back to the dungeons, while the heads of Belgrave and Strong were dipped in tar and hung on the gates of the Red Keep. The heavy rain washed away the blood quickly. Soon enough, there was no evidence of the justice delivered that morning. Morning remained asleep on her shoulders the whole while, her head curled under a wing to protect herself from the rain.
She went back to her brother's chambers, though not before he had Morning safely ensconced in her chambers, sleeping. He found his brother awake and sat by the dining table in his main chamber, playing with his food. Elinda sat right by him, trying and failing to get him to eat.
"Have you had the food tasted?" Rhaena asked Elinda. She nodded in ascent. Even with the war considered over, there were many foes, hidden or otherwise, remaining in the devastated realm. The usurper himself was poisoned. Best not to take any chances with death when they were so few of their family remained.
Rhaena took a seat right next to a sullen Aegon, Elinda serving her a portion of her own food to break her fast. She took over the role of cajoling her despondent brother to eat, with mixed results. At the very least, he managed to finished three lemon cakes with a cup of milk. The still-cracking bacon, the freshly baked loaf of bread and the baked salmon were all left untouched by him. She, on the other hand, allowed herself the pleasure of the feast.
It was past noon when she finally left the gates of the castle, Morning on her shoulder once more, accompanied by Corywn's men and two Dragonkeepers, after ensuring her brother was in his lessons with the maester. Sword training was what he was supposed to do upon waking, but she had decided that he'd resume that when Viserys returned. Her hope was that their little brother's presence would bring him out of the pit of darkness he'd descended into since he saw his mother burn.
Even without that harrowing memory, she knew he greatly despaired his supposed cowardice at leaving their little brother at the bottom of the Narrow Sea, no matter how much Rhaena had tried to convince him that flying to Dragonstone on a Stormcloud that could only carry one to bring Jace dire news of the Triarchy's attack was the best and bravest thing he could have done. How she wished to tell him of Baela's quest, that he was alive and that her sister had gone to retrieve him and bring him home, but she could not. It would crush him even more should anything ever go wrong with her twin sister's journey. There was no need to needlessly raise his hopes before he was sure of her little brother's safe return.
Something could go wrong with Viserys' retrieval. Loath as she was to think of it, misfortune could befall Baela as she journeyed westwards. The realm was war torn and major parts of it lawless, bands of brigands haunting various woods in the countryside, according to reports they got at court.
She had to stop herself from going down that spiral of thought. Baela would return. She would bring Viserys back. Baela had faced a dragon and survived, even won, pyrrhic as that victory had been. Mere brigands could not fell her.
They reached the top of the Hill of Rhaenys in good time, setting a modest pace as three knights rode ahead of her, clearing the King's Way of any milling common folk. It was still astonishing that the city folk that had once detested the presence of Targaryens and even killed five dragons cheered upon sighting her. As ever, Morning gloried in the cheers, unfurling her wings and joining the raucous that the city folk raised.
Atop the Hill of Rhaenys sat the broken edifice that had once been the Dragonpit, the stable where their dragon's dwelt while in the capital. Four men dismounted at the shattered great bronze and iron gates and walked into the ruins, to ensure that what remained intact would not fall easily. That would be an embarrassing way to die. Fortunately for them, the usurper had some sense in one aspect during his false and unlawful reign; he'd ordered the ruins to begin being cleared.
The rubble was not as ruinous as she thought it would be. Aye, there were large pieces of stone, remnants of the great dome that crowned the pit, but it was not as much as she'd anticipated. With the seizing of King's Landing by the Rivermen and soon afterwards, the Northmen, the work on the Dragonpit had ceased before the remains of the five dragons that had been slaughtered could be moved.
More than that, the inside of the arena was filled with bones, human bones. Thousands and thousands of them, as far as the eye could see. Well more than a hundred thousand common folk had stolen into the pit that night in a sheer fit of madness and killed five dragons. The knowledge that none of them had survived that foolishness filled her with a cruel satisfaction. The dragons did not lay down and die. They had fought with tooth and claw and flame to defend themselves, futile as their efforts were.
Her horse, a well-bred chestnut palfrey, docile as she was, refused to venture any further into the pit, no doubt due to the scent of the dead dragons. The horses of the score of men that had accompanied her were less calm than hers, and thus complained loudly, refusing their riders' attempts at spurring them into the pit itself.
They instead dismounted, walking into the ruins itself. Bones broke underfoot and stones scattered as she waded deeper into the enormous cavern. The smell of brimstone and burned leather reached her. Syrax's corpse was the first she came across. Black blood was caked over her right eye, where a crossbow had struck true, killing her just as Meraxes had been killed during the conquest. Deeper into the pit, the same was true for Dreamfyre, even as her pale-blue scales still shone, the silver markings all across them shimmering in the daylight that shone through the broken dome. That had been her doing.
She'd wished to go down the brick lined tunnels through the massive caverns to see the corpses of the other dragons, but the Dragonkeeper dissuaded her from doing so.
"The stone might crumble upon you," he told her.
The men guarding her looked at her most queerly when she demanded they pass through the slender streets of Flea Bottom instead of taking the wide cobbled ways they'd taken from the Red Keep.
"Ten of you, go forth as criers," she turned to them and explained, "Tell those residing in Flea Bottom that the princess is calling upon them to help with the clearing of the rubble in the Dragonpit, for the remains of the dragons within to be taken to Dragonstone. Look mainly for the homeless and the downtrodden. Promise them that they'll receive a silver stag by the crown every two days as payment for their services."
Rhaena had underestimated the fervour of the city when she sent forward her men. By the time the sun began to set, the Dragonpit was a hive of activity, word of her offer having spread through the city like wildfire. She had to borrow more men off Lords Stark and Tully's hosts to guard and keep order of those working in the pit, and help distribute the payment at the end of the day, when night had already fallen and the moon was high in the sky.
The next day, a council meeting of the high lords in King's Landing was to be held. Even Aegon attended. This time, she dressed in a striking red gown with a daring cut, like those Cousin Rhaenyra favoured. The bodice was glittered with pearls, in honour of her mother, the Pearl of Driftmark, while around her neck was a necklace of pearl with a pendant made in Arrax's likeness; a gift from Luke. On most other occasions, it would be hidden by Morning as he coiled round her shoulder, but she'd left her dragon behind in his own chambers to not provoke her brother.
Cregan Stark put the Hand's badge of office on the table with some force, the same one that had been used by the usurper's Hands during the war, unlike the one she'd given Grandfather when she had him freed, "My work in this city is done. The war is at an end, justice has been delivered, and the realm is at peace. The snows are falling in the North, and my place is at Winterfell."
"I thank you for your service to the crown, Lord Stark," Aegon said, having shrugged off the face of her morose brother and donning one of a king, taking the badge of office into his own hands, "And for remembering your oaths to my mother, the queen."
Rhaena took your opportunity to ask, her voice innocent and only slightly probing, "What of your men? Will you return North with them?"
Lord Stark's voice as gruff as he replied, "They are men unwanted and unneeded in the North, come to die to ensure that their kith and kin survive the winter."
"How about leaving them to serve the crown? They would have hearth, home and good pay through the winter. They could enforce the crown's laws and keep order throughout the realm, now that most lords don't have the men to enforce them on their own," Rhaena made the plea. It was unfortunate that they had been reduced to make such pleas to lords beneath them in the first place, though that would end soon enough, when Baela returned riding Silverwing and her brothers claimed mounts of their own.
Lady Alysanne Blackwood went to speak, but Cregan's approval was given before she had a chance to. A victorious smile curled on her face. That had been easier than anticipated. The crown would have an army of its own, as it ought to have had since the Conquest. In the dreams, the purposeless northmen had formed sellsword companies and gone east to join the Daughter's War between the three cities of the Triarchy while others had gone to the Riverlands and taken to wife widows of the men that marched to war and never returned.
"Now that the king is not of age," the Maid of the Vale was the one to put forth, "Those to rule the realm on his behalf for the next half a decade should be chosen."
Rhaena was the one to reply, her tone conciliatory, "That shall be done when the Greens join us for my brother's coronation, which is to be held on the seventh day of the seventh moon. All of us around this table are Blacks. Should we make the choices now, it would seem as if we were taking the powers of the crown for ourselves."
In truth, she cared nothing of the thoughts of those that served the usurper. The council would be filled by men that she knew to be loyal. Aware of the scheming that had gone on in the dreams, she would now allow such important matters to be left to chance or the will of grasping nobles. Also, she needed to await Baela's return, a battle-ready dragon beneath her once more, to ensure all disagreements to their will melted away.
"I second the princess," Grandfather added his voice to hers. So did Lord Cregan, young Lord Blackwood and Lord Corbray, and the matter was settled.
"The prince is to wed Princess Jaehaera, who is still at Storm's End," Lord Corbray put forth, "Has there been any word on when she'll be brought to the city, or shall we have to march south to pry her from the hands of Baratheon's widow?"
"She will be brought, worry not," Rhaena replied, a smile on her face, "In fact, my sister will pass by Storm's End as she returns from her progress. I am sure Lady Elenda will be amenable to my sister's entreaties. The princess will join her as she proceeds to King's Landing, I believe."
The meeting was surprisingly productive, in that all she said was agreed to without much debate. She gazed at herself in the mirror once she'd returned to her chambers, taking in the sight of her blossoming body, the tops of her breasts visible with the cut of the dress, it's sleeves short and made of pearls. Mayhaps Rhaenyra had been right, she thought, beauty was a sword to be wielded.
Deciding to keep the dress she'd worn today on, she left the castle, three-score men following her, again to the Dragonpit, to supervise the work that was going on there. The number of workers clearing the rubble seemed to have doubled from the previous day, and the impact of so many working in tandem was visible. The builder she employed to supervise them confessed that the mess could be cleared within a moon's turn. With a disarming smile, she demanded that he shorten that time to a fortnight, doing whatever he needed to ensure that. And thus, he promised to recruit even more from Flea Bottom to join the endeavour, and have them work both in the day and the night, under the light of torches.
She left one of the Dragonkeepers there, charging him to recruit potential candidates that could join the order of the black-armoured knights. The Old King had founded the sacred order and filled it with seventy-seven knights, a holy number to care for the holiest creatures ever created. The vows a Dragonkeeper took were alike in some aspects to the ones of the members of the Night's Watch. Their loyalty was to the Targaryens and their dragons firstly. They were not allowed to have lands of their own, and death was the only way out of the order. Unlike the Night's Watch, however, Dragonkeepers were allowed to marry and sire children, most of whom ended up taking their parent's place after their death.
The city folk that had stormed the Dragonpit and killed five dragons had slaughtered all the Dragonkeepers in King's Landing as well, leaving only the score that Uncle Viserys had sent to Dragonstone to tend to his heir's dragons. It was time to restore the sacred order to its full strength. Like Jaehaerys had decided four score years ago, none among the nobility would be allowed into the sacred order. It would be made of common folk, especially the most downtrodden of them. They would be trained in combat and the dragonlore needed to tend to the dragons, and right before their initiation, they would be knighted by the elder of the order, who she had left on Dragonstone with the other ten remaining Dragonkeepers to see to her plans there.
After seeing to the work in the Dragonpit till noon, she went down to Flea Bottom once more. When she'd passed there the day before, to get work on the Dragonpit restarted, she'd seen way too many street children roaming the narrow, darkened allies. Most had shied away from the cantering of their horses, and so today, she chose to proceed on foot, though guarded by the three-score men that had insisted on accompanying her.
Before she'd attended the council, she'd got a report of the occupancy of the manses that lined the queens' hills. The wealthiest merchants had fled King's Landing in a hurry at the onset of the war to protect their families and profits, leaving their expansive houses free and unoccupied. She'd sent forth a modest guard to accompany some of the castle's washerwomen and the wives of some of the men clearing the Dragonpit to have them prepared. The houses had been washed, new beds and bedding lining the rooms, ready for occupancy.
There were lemon cakes in her saddle pack. She took one out, and went down on her haunches, holding it out to the bravest among the children that chose to approach her wearily, instead of slinking away in fear as the rest had done. There was utter bliss on her face when the gap-toothed boy took a bite of the cake, and her giggles slowly brought more and more children.
The rest of the afternoon was spent listening to the children's tales of their lives, most of them being the cruelties they'd suffered in war. Like she'd thought, all were orphaned, their fathers, elder brothers and grandfathers killed in the riots of the city or when they stormed the pit, their mothers savaged in those same riots. She was an orphan too, she told them. Her parents had died in the war, together with three of her brothers.
"Worry not," she said, not the first time, trying to assure them, "The ones that brought war to this city are dead. My brother is the king now, and he has promised to protect you from any that might seek to harm you."
The sun was setting when the stories came to an end, much to the children's chagrin, though they were much happier when Rhaena informed them that she'd found a special castle for them to sleep in and live in until they became grown men and women. She guided them to their assigned manses on the Hill of Rhaenys. As more and more of the men had taken up the work of clearing the Dragonpit, certainly willed by the generous pay, their female kin had done good work in readying the manses she had turned into orphanages. She had given Septa Amarys from her household charge of the orphanages and the care of the children within.
"Please promise that you will come visit again!" Alys, the bravest of the children that had been the first to feast on the lemon cakes, begged, after they were fed, washed and dressed, clutching to her skirts of her dress rather tightly.
Rhaena went down to her haunches once more, pinching her cheeks playfully, "I promise. I will come as oft as I can." She got back to her feet and turned to the rest of the children, "Remember to listen to Septa Amarys and the ladies with her. If you promise to be good little children, I promise to come visit you on the morrow. If I hear of any mischief, and believe me, I will, I won't come."
The black hole where her heart had been left a little less a void as she rode to the docks that eve. The endless game of thrones left her soul a gaping hole. Father had said the same once. He had refused to play, and the deadly game invaded the paradise he'd made for them, tearing them apart. She knew she had to play, else the same would happen to her children, those she birthed or otherwise.
Today she'd rescued almost a hundred, she was certain more would come on the morrow, and yet more in the days after that.
It would have been much more convenient to send one of her men to the docks with her orders, but she knew that the word of the king's sister bore more weight than a random man carrying a royal writ.
"Good man," she greeted the harbour master, a young man, not yet thirty, with a lecherous, wandering gaze that made her skin crawl. She remembered Rhaenyra's words, and chose to wield her beauty like a sword. The man took her hand and sploshed a wet kiss on it. Morning, atop her shoulder, stirred and gave him a screech of her own. Rhaena willed her dragon to remain calm. She was meant to charm the man, not make him piss his breeches.
"Princess," he replied, his face paler than it had been before, though her gaze still wandered to the tops of her breasts, "To what do I owe the honour of your presence?"
"'Tis the simplest of tasks, truly. Do you inspect every ship that docks here?"
"Aye," he replied, puffing his chest, "Nothing goes past me."
"Good," she gave a dark smile, "I need you to give the ships that arrive here from Lys special attention. To be specific, I am looking for a knight named Marston Waters. He had sailed to Lys a short time ago, and is to return soon enough. When he arrives, please, have him detained until I come to fetch him myself. I'll leave ten of my men with you to assure that."
She then leaned into his ear, ensuring he got a good view of her chest, "You will be rewarded handsomely for your service."
The man nodded eagerly, and Rhaena knew she had him.
"Send no one to tell me when you have him. I will come myself at the end of each day to check whether he arrived."
Satisfied, she returned to the castle to sup with her despondent brother. Once done, she went to her chambers to see to Morning's feeding, before taking her to the godswood and having her fly above the one acre forest in circles to exercise her wings. Tired from all the flying, she put her sleeping hatchling right by the flames of her hearth, admiring her pink scales as she slept, staring hard at her to see if she could notice any difference in her size from the day before. There was none, but she took heart. She would grow, all she needed to do was to ensure that she was fed and flew oft.
Like it had become routine almost every night since her return and Baela's sojourn, she took the massive tome and slept in her brother's chambers, holding him, soothing his frequent night terrors and singing him to sleep. When sleep left her during the hour of the wolf, she lit the dozen candles she had placed on the desk in Aegon's bedchamber and continued chronicling the accounts she'd dreamed of, to ensure she always had a place to remind herself of them as the years passed and memories of the dreams faded in her mind.
The winter's rain fell heavily from dawn through the whole morning, delaying her plans for the day, though Aegon was glad of the extra hours of her company. She tagged along with him as he attended his lessons with the maester, though staying well out of the way, continuing to put down accounts of her dreams.
At noon, the rain finally ceased, though it remained cold. Like yesterday, she chose a dress with trousers sown on to the skirts, invisible to any who looked at her while keeping her comfortable as she straddled her horse. The wool lining within and her red and black cloak sufficed as a source of warmth. She set out of the castle, this time accompanied by Cregan Stark and a mix of Lady Jeyne's Valemen and Lord Cregan's northmen. With them were all the pages of the various lords present in the castle.
The rest of the host that had marched south with the wolf had gathered outside the King's Gate, assembled in rank and file, waiting for their lord and the king's sister to address them.
Lord Cregan was to go first, his gruff voice booming over the winter's brume, "You are all men of the north, and as such, you know of the ways of the north. The winter will be cruel and harsh, but because of your sacrifice, your service, your kith and kin will survive where they would have died. You lot came south to die, sword in hand, but the Old Gods saw fit to spare you. Alas, the crown has another fate for you, and the princess here shall inform you!"
Rhaena put spurs into her horse, her palfrey joining Cregan's courser on the erected dais.
Her feminine voice was not nearly as powerful as Cregan's, but she tried to be as loud as she could, bidding her palfrey to trot from one end of the dais to the next, "You may have marched south to die for the dragon queen, but I ask is for you to live in service to her heir, my brother, your new king.
"You will have hearth and home that you never would have had in the north with the winter. You will find glory in battle, for there are parts of the realm yet to entirely accept the new king's peace. And when you die, you will have lived for a just cause, and a life that you could have never dreamed of. That is what I promise, and all I ask is for your sword in defence of my brother. Guard his realms, enforce his will, protect his people and root out any of those that might be disloyal to him!"
"Do you accept?" she shouted the question.
Ten thousand voices rose in a fierce cheer. As Lord Stark would be marching back go Winterfell with a thousand of his men, most of those from his retinue, about nine thousand would be left behind. She informed the Northmen that the ten men to either side of them, through their rank, would be members of their squad, the closest to them among the band of brothers. Each squad was to choose a commander from one of the ten among them. The names of the ninety commanders were taken down by the pages she had brought.
The ninety commanders chose their overall leader by lot. The honour fell to one Eddard Umber, a great bear of a man that towered over Rhaena, though with a mild, quiet manner. Being the fourth son of a fourth son to his lordly grandfather, he had many cousins ahead of him in the succession of the Last Hearth, and thus had exiled himself to die fighting for the queen, as he felt he had no prospects in his life, for he would never rule nor own land, nor was he adept enough at bookwork to aid his family in the administration of their lands.
As she'd thought, the number of street urchins in the orphanages she'd set up had more than doubled. This time, she had fifty of her new army guard said orphanages, as the rest prepared their barracks. There was at least one at each of the seven gates of the city, that held a thousand men when at capacity. Those had mainly been used by the City Watch, an order currently broken by the chaos of the war. The northmen she'd recruited would serve as protectors of the city in the interim as the Gold Cloaks were reformed in their entirety. She made a mental note to see to that in the coming days.
Meanwhile, she set Eddard to a task she had dithered on for long enough. She was not sure if it could be even be done, for in her dreams, the sword had been lost, to never be found again.
"During the war, a Valyrian Steel sword got lost in Flea Bottom," she told him after she had finished with the orphans at sunset, "Please have your men search for it. If they need incentive, tell them that whoever finds it will be given enough gold for them to never want again." Eddard nodded.All she'd set in motion finally began bearing fruit almost a moon's turn later. The rubble at the Dragonpit had been all cleared, and the dragon's remains were cut up into pieces small enough that could be carried on carts towards the docks, to be taken to Dragonstone by ship. It was disconcerting to have that done to the holiest of creatures, but they were dead and gone, while their corpses remained useful.
To their immense fortune, the remains of Vermithor, Seasmoke and Tessarion arrived in the city on the very same day that those of Dreamfyre, Syrax, Tyraxes, Morghul, Shrykos and Meleys' head were being loaded onto their ship, bound for Dragonstone.
"Pass through Rooks Rest. Meleys' body still lies there," she told the six Dragonkeepers that would escort the remains of the dragons northeast.
The skull of the Scarlet Speedster being retrieved from the Dragonpit and loaded onto the ship reminded her of Grandmother, and the battle she had died in. Fresh loathing for the usurper and his accursed bloodline flowed within her. The kinslayer had carted the skull of the Red Queen through King's Landing, showing off a fresh kill to the masses, and with that, a glimpse that dragons were as mortal as they were.
There were tears in her eyes that she wiped away promptly, "And if you find my grandmother's bones, burn them, but bring back her ashes."
On the docks, she received more fortunate news from the lecherous harbour master, "Marston Waters arrived from Lys last night. I have him in hand."
A cruel smile curled on her face. That cur was the last of the usurper's men that stood by and watched as Rhaenyra was fed to a dragon, that did nothing as her brother was subjected to witnessing unspeakable barbarity. For that alone, he deserved to die, let alone the scheming he would get up to during her brother's regency.
That night, Morning feasted on human flesh for the first time.
When she returned to the castle, the maester had a raven scroll from her. She unfurled it with some haste, and a tension that she did not know she'd held all this time eased.
Author's Note:
If you have liked what you've read so far, you can read upto three more chapters of the story by searching up 'neyra29 linktree'