Chapter 49
"Surely everyone learns as part of compulsory education in elementary school that all people are born equal. Children are taught that they are all equally unique and irreplaceable. But it isn't hard to find disparities that contradict those familiar maxims." -From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 1
Aegon was not well versed in the duties mothers had with babes, nor in the level of exhaustion that came with childbirth, but he was eager to discuss his concerns about Helaena. He made inquiry with Ser Kevan to see when Elaena would be up for a longer discussion of import. The heir to Golden Tooth had said she would be ready for a conversation, as a meeting with her brother surely had to be less straining than reviewing reports merely a day after giving birth.
My sister embodies the lessons she taught us. Effort shapes outcomes.
Elaena met him in her sitting room. She looked as poised as ever, complexion clear and expression relaxed; none would have thought that just days ago she had faced the birthing bed. Her long hair, worn looser than usual, was perhaps the only clue.
"Brother, my gatekeeper informs me you wished to speak with me about something of import?"
"Gatekeeper?" Aegon asked with a wry smile.
"He is overanxious about my strength and wants me to rest more. I've told him I am more than well, and that boredom will cause more harm than a lack of rest. Even proofs of my continued mental acuity are not enough, but I digress. My husband means well, and 'tis not a burdensome thing to have someone care for your health."
Aegon took a seat. "I am glad you are well, and I do hate to burden you. But I know not where else to turn. The Maesters have not been able to solve the situation. I'm constantly worried over it, and…"
"Aegon, slow down and start with the problem."
Aegon took in a slow breath and centered his thoughts. "Helaena. I worry for our sister's health. We have taken your advice and avoided activity that would lead to a child, but I do sleep beside her. Her rest is broken with frequent nightmares – no, not nightmares, night terrors – that take her wits from her. She screams and thrashes, and speaks nonsensical impossibilities. We've given her dreamwine, and at times even milk of the poppy. I have been warned of long-term use, but the Grand Maester has not given us any good alternatives." He could not help the tinge of frustration coloring his voice, despite his efforts at controlling it. It ever seemed there were no good options, and torment to his wife was torment of Aegon's own.
Elaena frowned. "The long-term use of those substances, especially while she is still maturing, is not recommended. You say that she thrashes and that her wits abandon her. Has she harmed herself during these episodes?"
He shook his head. "Not significantly, but she says crazed things and strikes at those who try to calm her and give her the dreamwine."
Those piercing blue eyes locked onto to his. Elaena leaned subtly forward, posture upright and elbows upon her desk, hands slowly rising before her chest to form a small steeple with her fingertips.
The moment was one of deliberate and hanging silence, wherein the hairs on Aegon's nape rose and tingled.
Her eyelids fell ever so slightly lower, and she did not blink once as she regarded him.
"Why must she be given a draught, if she does herself no harm?" Her tone now held a measure of ice.
After a passing confusion, he found his voice amidst memories of terror in the night, and the pain in his heart lingering in his own nightmares.
"For fear her delusions may drive her to harm. You have not seen it… she is beyond control during those episodes. She does not seek to hurt herself, but at times she tries to flee the room. She could easily fall down the stairs or come to harm unwittingly. When lost in her dreams, her thrashing is alarming, and I fear she will strike her head against the bedframe. I know not what else to do."
"Does she have any of these episodes other than when she sleeps?"
"No, during the day she is fine, if weary at times. Her spirits were lighter with the arrival of your babe, and we've not had any incidents in a fortnight, but that happens on occasion."
Elaena rose to her feet and began pacing slow, contemplative steps before her desk and around her personal study. The soft silken skirts of her dress swirled in floating, consistent flutters with her every measured stride, the many-layered style Elaena preferred as of late flaring with deep blues and golds like a mantle of effortless grace.
As ever, his elder sister was a living and breathing exemplar of royalty, in every word and deed. It was unfair, truly, but Aegon had grown to accept it as a matter of course.
Even a fluffy and bundled silk dress, one that cradled her form gently for comfort in the privacy of her chambers, Elaena wore like the Kingsguard wore their armor. Yet somehow her presence seemed even more formidable than they.
With those wry thoughts calming him, Aegon's gaze turned to follow her, watching with patience as his sister most renowned for wisdom and insight gathered her thoughts. Upon her face, the same expression worn when a matter held her utmost attention.
One arm crossed below the swell of her chest, the other pressed overtop and up to form a loose fist above her chin, with one finger curled and tapping a gentle rhythm against the plush rosy flesh of her lips.
Lips that quirked into a small frown as she began to elaborate.
"There are a number of possibilities, Aegon. It may be that she is afflicted with some ailment of the body. Or it could be that her mind is gripped by fear of something. I also fear that there is little understanding of how the bond with our dragons may affect our psyche."
"Psyche? Bond?"
She glanced at him. For but the briefest instant, her bright eyes seemed alight with a gripping intensity. "Have you never felt Sunfyre's feelings? His moods?"
Aegon blinked, as such a thing was common to him, to the point of being almost mundane.
"Well, yes, but… what are you saying? That Dreamfyre is to blame?"
"No. Only a possibility. We simply do not know. The first thing we must do is ensure no harm comes to Helaena, either through her terrors or through the attempted cures. The second is that we must document and rule out possibilities. Helaena should be a part of this. Why did she not come with you to speak with me?"
Aegon shifted with discomfort. "I do not wish to create further anxieties. After the Maesters give her draughts to calm her, she rarely remembers her night terrors."
Elaena pursed her lips. "Interesting. In terms of her safety, we may do several things. For one, we could arrange for a bed with additional cushioning around its frame. Two, we could have her wear gloves or even mittens to prevent scratching when she is beyond control. She has not bitten her tongue during these events, has she?"
Aegon shook his head.
"Good. For information gathering, I would have a watch set on Dreamfyre. If she stirs, appears restless, roars, or sleeps, I would have it documented. I also require a detailed journal of every event that takes place. What she says, what she does, what time of night, and the day. I would have her list what she does each day – if she became angry, anxious, tired, or if she flew on Dreamfyre. We require a body of information to work with, to see if aught correlates to these events."
I should have thought of that before. Damn, I should have. Why-
Elaena continued, relentlessly. "Her food and drink as well. Certain types of food can provoke great lucidity in dreams."
"They can?"
Elaena gave him a look, voice tinged with a vague emotion Aegon could not quite pin down. "I cannot empirically prove it to you now, but there are ancient texts that suggest it, and the causality does seem logical."
Aegon wasn't quite catching every word Elaena was using, but he understood the general context of what she was saying.
"You say she speaks nonsensical impossibilities, does that mean she speaks things that do not make sense with words, or is she speaking gibberish?"
"No, they are real words, just… nonsense."
"This is important, is this nonsense where the words do not mean things, or is there a coherent thought, but it is not true to reality?"
"Uhm… well, she speaks of dreaming of things. Of events that have not yet come to pass. Or that Aemond has too many eyes. Or of rats in the dark, coming to cause harm after father is dead. She even speaks of you at times… not always charitably."
"Me?" Elaena asked with a raised eyebrow.
"It is disjointed. She speaks of you and the dangers of the cold. Or of how she sees you swimming in an ocean of blood, grinning all the while." Aegon noticed his sister pause, a rare look of shock showing upon her face. "But at other times, she speaks of how she will be safe with you, and that you would protect her."
His sister's expression returned to its normal smoothness.
"Send for your wife, and I will speak with her. I will arrange for your quarters to be adjoined to mine, and safety precautions will be put in place. The Golden Tooth Maester is competent, if set in his ways, but I will have him aware of the situation in case of an emergency. You were right to bring this to me, Aegon. I cannot make any promises that we can resolve Helaena's issues, but there is ample room for hope."
Aegon gave her a shaky smile. "Thank you."
***
Jace was greatly relieved, and well pleased, by the addition of his cousin Fraedrik to the family. From the first whisper of Elaena's quickening to the moment she was carried to her birthing bed, she had expressed the utmost confidence that all would proceed without complication. That confidence – though some, less generous of spirit, named it hubris – had, in the end, been well warranted. The whole birth had been quite fortuitous, almost blessedly so. The babe was hale, the mother serene, and the father near overcome with pride. It seemed to Jace that Ser Kevan had not been seen once without a broad, near-foolish smile plastered across his features since the day of the boy's safe arrival.
Jace did not begrudge his good-uncle the joy he wore so openly, no, he would not. And yet he found himself envious of it all the same. Of late he had been humbled, and not only once. Both in the training yard and across the Cyvasse board he had been bested by Alicent's children, and though he might call upon age as an excuse, it availed him little comfort. Daeron, the youngest of the brood, had proved himself sharper in both test and trial. He never once mentioned Jace's questionable parentage again, and comported himself with such fastidious decorum that even Elaena might nod in quiet approval. Yet his gaze remained cold, too cold, and carried a weight of judgment that made Jace uneasy.
Though Jace had to admit, if to himself alone, that the core of his unease at such judgement was built upon a disquieting fact. He and his siblings were bastards in truth. Knowing this and still concealing it, still denying it at every turn, while also knowing that others already knew and would disdain him, had been the source of much sleepless anxiety.
With the tournament drawing nigh, Jace feared he might make a fool of himself before the assembled lords and ladies, or worse still, that he might not be permitted to take part at all. He could not say which outcome he dreaded more. To overcome the stains of reputation and rumor, he needed to prove himself able and worthy, beyond reproach if he could. Like his father had done before him in becoming the Dark Storm.
But was he ready? Was he fit and able? Knowing the truth of his situation had revealed the path and first steps he must take, but not how to achieve them. Certainly not after seeing the prowess of the Queen's children.
That night, after the evening feast had been cleared and the great hall emptied, his father, Laenor, called him aside to speak.
"Jace," he began gravely, "we are come to a crossroads. With the King having chosen to hold court here in Golden Tooth, your brothers grow restless without a summoning. And with your mother still at the Eyrie, I need to return to Dragonstone."
"Why are they not coming here?" Jace asked, brow furrowed, perplexed by the decision.
"Because," his father said, and his voice lowered some, "I do not trust Luke not to stir trouble. He has been all too loud in his opinions concerning the Queen's children and your last... encounter. If you wish it, I can take you with me. Yet both your grandmother and I believe it best that you remain. You would do well to spend more time in the King's company. He is too oft surrounded by the Greens, and it would serve you to grow close with Maegor, and with Ser Kevan too, if you can."
Jace frowned, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I don't mind staying, but I fear I will bring shame upon myself in the lists. Could you not stay long enough to train me?"
His father shook his head, the motion slow and regretful. "You shall fare well enough with the Kingsguard. Most of your uncles are older than you. Should you lose, no one will name it failure. This is Elaena's seat, and here you are well guarded."
Elaena? Wasn't it Kevan who held charge over the ever-watchful guardsmen of House Lefford?
"I am not worried for my safety," Jace admitted, "but for my reputation. A poor showing in the tourney can linger far longer in the minds of the realm's nobility than even a grave wound."
His father offered him a fond smile. "I was unhorsed more times than I can count when I was yet a squire. And mark me, the smallfolk recall little save for the final tilts and who bore away the laurels. Train as you must, my son, but keep your wits about you, and let your face be seen often – by Viserys, by Elaena, and by Kevan. Let them remember your name and manner, even if they forget your score."
"I shall do so. But tell me, why such insistence? You seem... strident."
His father began to pace, hands clasped behind his back. "Your mother and her sister are at odds, and gravely so. It is a dangerous thing, not only for her, but for you, and for all who hold fast to your claim. I pray the wounds of the heart may be mended in time, but the last I spoke with Rhaenyra, she was as stubborn as a mule and twice as proud. If her hurt should curdle into bitterness, then I fear it may shake the very pillars of our house."
Jace found it remarkable how his father, so often spoken of as the Dark Storm, the man who feared no blade nor beast, could look so fretful at the prospect of the two women never making peace. That such a thing could evoke unease in his voice was telling. In that, there was a lesson worth remembering. His father, despite the monstrous stories that clung to his name, was a man who felt deeply, and was not diminished by it. When his own time came, when the crown sat upon his head, Jace knew he would remember this moment. He would ask himself what his father would do when it was time to make judgements.
"Will there be any chance that my betrothed, or others from the Tyroshi court, might come now that the royal court is gathered here?" he asked. "They did not attend the birth, but surely Lady Laena would wish to see her son. I... I would like to see Baela again."
Thoughts of his betrothed always brought a smile to his face. While still quite young, she was already courtly and had demonstrated quick wit and the ability to make him and Luke laugh.
Laenor shook his head once more. "I cannot say. My sister fares well at court, but if she comes, Daemon shall most like come with her, and that brings its own peril. They are loath to leave Tyrosh unattended, for they claim their rule there is not yet firmly set. But who can say what tide the coming days may bring? We shall see."
***
Rhaenys listened as her grandchild regaled her with what he had seen in the practice yard. The knights of House Lefford were practicing, and the poor, afflicted boy was living vicariously through them. She loved him, as she did all her blood, but she knew that the world would not. An eyepatch could be worn, distorted skin hidden, but he would always be known as a dwarf.
When even influential and powerful lords who are afflicted cannot find suitable matches, what hope does Maegor have?
She was thinking on Larys Strong, the Master of Whisperers. The gossip within the halls of Golden Tooth was that, at some point, Lord Larys had attempted a match with Lady Selene Falwell. He was the brother of a powerful lord – close, too close – to the heir of the Seven Kingdoms. He sat on the small council and was trusted by the King. And all he had was a clubfoot!
While the world may reject Maegor, Rhaenys knew that he would still be well protected. His father was the Rogue Prince. His mother rode the mighty Vhagar. His uncle was the Dark Storm. He was fostered by the head of the Dragon Bank and a rising power in the Westerlands. Tongues would wag, as they were wont to do, but if they wagged too loudly at the boy's expense, there would be consequences.
"Who do you think will win the big tourney when it comes? I don't mean the squires, but the real one."
Rhaenys looked at the boy. "Your father, should he come, always does well. Ser Criston has bested him and will also participate. The Westerlands will host some formidable knights, many of them young and hungry."
The boy smiled. "If father comes, then mother must come too, right? I really want to see her."
"If she is able, I am sure she will. Both my good-son and daughter, your parents, are busy in Tyrosh." She hesitated. "Are you not enjoying your time at Golden Tooth? Would you prefer to live with me at High Tide?"
"Maybe for a visit, but I like it here. I just want to see them. Aunt Elaena says that I am doing very well with my studies. She says I'm already reading better than most noble children twice my age."
His vocabulary and manner of speech is outside the norm for a child his age. I should ask Elaena if it is her intention to have him become a Maester. That would solve many problems and give him a place in the world. They take far less care for physical hinderances, given the lot of them tend to be ancient or decrepit.
"I'm glad the Leffords' Maester is tutoring you so well."
He let out a giggle more in line with his age than his speech had been.
"They are so slow. They keep thinking I need more practice. I like it more when Aunt Elaena teaches me – especially now that she has me learning about variables."
"Variables?"
He nodded. "Yes, the hidden number to calculate things."
Rhaenys believed she understood what Maegor was saying, but she was curious. Elaena had some oddities in the way she spoke of the world at times.
"Can you give me an example?"
Maegor proceeded to showcase what he had learned using an example of different crops and how he could replace a given number with a 'variable' for ease of calculating. Rhaenys confirmed her suspicions of it and wondered why her fellow well-learned princess was using that term, something Maesters didn't use.
"Do you think you can ask them to come? I really want to see mother again. She'll be happy I'm learning so fast."
"I will send a raven, but I can make no promises. They have a duty to their people, after all."
Maegor nodded. "I know. They fly dragons and stop piracy." He scrunched up his face. "Piracy is evil and creates a drag on profits."
She couldn't quite stop herself from laughing. A drag on profits! Had she not witnessed her daughter give birth, she might well have assumed it was Elaena who had birthed Maegor!
"I'm sure your grandfather agrees, he too dislikes pirates."
Maegor grinned. "When I get older, I want to burn pirates too!"
Given the recent shortage of dragon eggs and the dearth of wild dragons, Rhaenys was not sure how likely it would be for Maegor to ever fly a dragon. Already Elaena's son was without one, a foolish decision by Rhaenyra, but unless a new clutch was laid soon, the problem would likely only grow worse. Who was there to champion the dwarf? Elaena would no doubt want her own son to have a dragon before Maegor.
"A sight to see, I am sure. But come, tell me about what you have read recently. I am curious as to where your studies have taken you."
***
Viserys had not been hunting in several years. It was a noble pastime, and the successful delivery of his newest grandchild had filled him with additional vigor. When Lord Lefford offered to take him on a hunt, he gladly accepted. Along with him were his sons Aemond and Daeron, and his grandson Jacaerys. Ser Kevan and Aegon had both begged off, preferring to spend time with their wives.
Good lads.
"I'm thrilled you agreed to the hunt, Your Grace," Humfrey said with an air of pure contentment. Viserys could only recall meeting the lord a handful of times before his daughter's betrothal to Ser Kevan. He remembered the man as somewhat pompous and self-important, but now he seemed far more relaxed and jovial.
"We keep the small forest well-tended and the poachers out. While it's not so majestic as the Kingswood, it will make for a fine time. Once we've cornered a stag, would you like to do the honors?"
Viserys shook his head. "No need, allow one of the princes the honor."
Aemond, who had been nearby along with the other two princes, spoke up first. "I have no desire for such a trifle."
"You mislike hunting?" Viserys asked, surprised, given what he knew of his son.
"There is little challenge. It would be one thing if I and the others were sent out alone to bring down game without the aid of men and dogs, but as it is, there's little to set ourselves apart in the way this takes place. I leave the task to others who might find honor in such easy duty."
Jacaerys moved his horse closer. "Being selected by the King for an honor, is an honor itself, no matter the ease of the task."
Aemond laughed. "Strong words, nephew."
Viserys gave Aemond a sharp look, but either his grandson did not catch the barbed jest Aemond was making or chose to ignore it. Either was fine for the moment.
"Since he will be appreciative of the honor," Viserys began, "my grandson will have it."
"Father," Daeron interrupted, "perhaps there is wisdom in both approaches. When the stag is flushed toward us, give both my nephew and me the opportunity to shoot. The first to strike the killing blow will win the contest."
A good-natured challenge. I recall how Daemon and I used to race and wrestle against each other. This could help bind them to each other.
"A splendid idea, Daeron. I trust you have no objections, Jacaerys."
"No, Your Grace."
The day was pleasant, the forest not overly thick, and the weight of the sun was eased by the wind that blew between the trees. The Lefford Huntmaster approached. "Your pardons, Your Grace, m'lord, but we may be slightly delayed. The tracks are difficult to follow due to men and horses traversing in numbers of late."
Ser Harrold Westerling furrowed his brow. "Poachers? I was told criminality is not frequent in these parts. We have a strong guard, but perhaps we should proceed more cautiously."
Lord Humfrey chuckled. "No need, Lord Commander. My household knights have combed these woods, and that is precisely why my Huntmaster has struggled. I've taken a number of new knights into my service, many of whom are of low-birth and eager."
Lord Lydden harrumphed. "That does not give me any confidence. I mean no offense, Lord Lefford – I understand the need to keep these Tyroshi rabble in line, but you gave the task of securing these woods to up-jumped smallfolk?"
Viserys frowned. He knew that House Lefford had sworn to service many knights who were his daughter's 'Knights of Victory' and he was sensitive to anyone speaking of ill of Elaena's ideas. Before he could speak, Humfrey defended it.
"Bah, they are loyal, effective, and perhaps due to their low birth, eager to prove their worth. If they are instructed to sweep these woods twice over, they will do it thrice. If a standard guard complement is a knight and a score of levies, then there will be three knights and three dozen levies. I have found no fault in any of my new knights."
Aemond agreed. "Aye, I've amused myself in the training yard, and the knights hold themselves to a high standard. Often people believe that blood is the only factor, but it is a matter of odds. While the average man who comes from noble stock is far superior to the average man who comes from the dirt, there are exceptions to be found. There can be those of noble birth who are blind buffoons, unable to see with any sort of discernment," Aemond tilted his head slightly in Lord Lydden's direction, "and there are smallfolk who exceed expectations far beyond the rest of their ilk. Because the knights sworn to House Lefford were chosen on merit, we know they are the exceptions to the general rule."
Daeron added, "The Seven have blessed House Lefford, and the Crone hath gifted Lord Humfrey and his son with wisdom. I applaud Lord Westerling's caution, yet I hold that we are quite safe."
Viserys beamed with pride. While Aemond still remained as prickly as ever, the boy had a good head on his shoulders. He was not blind to the fact that Daeron and Aemond were at odds since Daeron's return from the Vale, but hearing Daeron stand by his brother made him confident that their childhood bickering would not breed lasting animosity.
The ride had begun pleasantly for Viserys, though as the day lengthened, he began to feel some soreness. Unaccustomed to riding a horse, he called for a halt to stretch his legs and then sit with his feet propped up. The lesser lords of the Westerlands proved somewhat tedious to endure for long stretches, yet none were particularly vexing. After the brief respite, good tidings came from the Huntmaster, and soon enough the stag was cornered and being lured toward their location.
Daeron and Jacaerys had dismounted and were on foot with their bows out. The flushed-out game came dashing into the clearing and Daeron's arrow found the creature's heart. A moment later a second arrow sprouted in the creature's side.
"Well done!" Viserys praised.
Daeron bowed, "Thank you, Your Grace. The Warrior guided my aim."
"It was a good shot, congratulations, uncle." Jacaerys replied, voice even though disappointment was written over his face.
"The Warrior guided your aim?" Aemond said in a cutting tone. "In the North not many follow the Seven and they hunt well. Is it the Seven or your Targaryen blood? Is it the Seven or is it long hours of your own effort devoted to enhancing your skill?"
Viserys saw the younger brother shake his head in exasperation and not rise to the bait.
Jacaerys, however did respond. "Uncle, do you doubt the Seven? I have heard your veiled words a few times, but I charge you now to speak plainly. Do you worship the Seven or no?"
"No, I do not. They are but a fanciful tale, a mere myth," Aemond replied. "Our ancestors wrought the greatest empire known to history without the aid of the Seven."
Several of the lords and knights gasped. The worship of the Seven had never been ordained, yet it was near universal within the Westerlands and the bordering Riverlands.
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard spoke softly, "You do not wish to be knighted then?"
Aemond shrugged. "In truth, I care not. Knighthood should not be predicated upon belief in fanciful tales, and a prince has ever outranked a knight, so I'll not miss the title."
Jacaerys nodded. "I appreciate your candor, uncle, though I shall be sure to light a candle for the Mother's Mercy on your behalf. It is said that the Queen is very devout, it is a shame you did not inherit that noble trait. My own mother made sure that all her children knew of the importance of the Seven."
Ah, a bit heavy-handed, but my grandson seeks to undermine Aemond and, perhaps, my wife's faction. I see how the Westerlands nobles and knights are nodding; despite his youth, he has read the situation well.
Daeron had his jaw clenched, and Viserys could only sigh at the tension within his family. His mood now befouled, he abruptly declared his wish to return to Golden Tooth with all haste, so as to avoid beginning the feast late.
Chapter 50
"Just as the study of urban economics dictates, there is considerable advantage to be gained from proximity alone. This general principle applies to authority as well." -From the Saga of Tanya the Evil Vol. 11
Kevan watched as his wife finished feeding their perfect, adorably drowsy babe. Many noble ladies employed wet nurses, but his beloved Elaena insisted that there were numerous benefits to health for both herself and their son which she wished to make the most of. She remained further confident that she could provide the proper amount by her lonesome for Fraedrik's best nourishment and growth.
And grow well and quick, he did.
Kevan deemed it a noble endeavor, a testament to his wife's quiet compassion and unfailing diligence, for he knew they both ardently desired their son's health to be flawless in every regard. Yet Kevan could not help but harbor concerns that Elaena must rise several times each night to tend to the feedings. Still, his wife appeared to possess near boundless vigor, and the want of sleep scarcely impeded her.
But it mattered not for the pangs to his heart, so Kevan had done his best to ease her discomfort or assist where he may, whether it be adjusting schedules or merely offering a shoulder to lean upon. At such private times, with their son in her arms, Elaena often took up a look of somewhat dazed concentration. These moments spent together Kevan held most passionately dear, for in rare instants she might relax without restraint, expression tranquil, or respond to his touch without a thought amidst her distraction.
Accustomed to Elaena's familiar countenance, which oft bore a gentle smile, Kevan found heavy delight in seeing a deeper one that elevated her already comely features to greater splendor. Gazing upon her as she cared for their babe only heightened the joy and pride he felt in growing so close with such a cherished woman as his wife.
A peerless achievement, in his estimation, one he alone could claim.
Kevan lightly combed a hand down the length of her silken hair, trailing a caress on the small of her back to draw her attention, "The babe is restful; I had heard that sometimes Targaryen babes could be difficult."
Elaena nodded, long silvery locks falling from her shoulder to pool in her lap, "They can be. The Targaryens," she smiled, "we, Targaryens, are prone to extremes. I am not sure if it is genetic or if it somehow involves our unique ability to bond with dragons, but I have noticed it with my siblings as well as my nephews and nieces. 'Average' just seems far rarer than a normal distribution would suggest."
Kevan nodded, not understanding what the word 'genetic' meant, but he also knew that asking too many questions just introduced more words he was not familiar with, along with complex histories or explanations that of late they had both seldom had the time to entertain.
He could parse her reference to terms of numbers and 'statistics' well enough, from their many prior discussions, to understand her intent. All men knew that Targaryens were far beyond what could be considered normal, with the awe-inspiring feats of this age offering strong examples among the members of each generation. So he supposed it was in reference to their bloodline, their unique and vibrant beauty, and all that they consistently inherited.
It delighted Kevan that his wife was so well-learned, so unerringly brilliant. His father, too, was gushing about the improvements already made. A pristine new city with wonders that hinted at Old Valyria had the Lefford patriarch beaming with pride akin to the King's own well-known love of all things Valyrian.
Kevan had always had a high opinion of his father, but even he could see the favorable changes their marriage had brought to the man. He was more relaxed, felt more secure, laughed louder, and lacked the strain that an important lord often carried.
Just another reason to thank the Seven that Elaena chose me.
"The court being here on my father's lands, is it to your liking?" Kevan asked, continuing to gently stroke his wife's back when he felt her tense muscles loosen a degree.
She thought for a moment before answering. "I have mixed feelings. Logistically, having much of the court here while the rest remains in King's Landing is not ideal, but it does allow me to have finer influence over my father. I mislike the added ears of other powers now thronging the area; it has made my own servants' task more difficult."
Kevan knew that the new guards hired on to House Lefford had been in service to his wife for some time. They were more than just men-at-arms. They were also her ears, serving a different purpose than most. Instead of attempting to learn more about other houses, foreign powers, or wealthy notables, they worked to uncover those same powers – and the spies they relied on.
Elaena had explained that knowing who had what information made things predictable. It wasn't just about keeping secrets; it was also about planting false ones that could be revealed to those who had entered their service only to spy on them. As far as Kevan knew, she had great success, but the sheer number of guests and their entourages had muddied the waters.
I was not reared in King's Landing, but these cloak-and-dagger games seem extreme – yet my darling wife was once but a single door away from being slain by assassins sent for the Dark Storm. Royal blood wields tremendous power, but it is a double-edged sword, for the danger that comes with it is just as great. Is it any wonder that she grew to wield her status and seize opportunities with such fearsome skill?
His wife tilted her head to peer aside as if amused, her gaze stunning in the warm light, before she continued in a quiet voice, "So long as my uncle behaves himself, I have hope for peace and prosperity. The freed people of Tyrosh will take years to integrate, but their presence will help bring projects to life faster than they otherwise would have. I am always cautious, but Kevan, I truly think we near an age of progress and plenty."
Kevan grimaced, drawing himself a bit closer, hand ghosting a touch to her waist in concern. "You believe Daemon will show himself for the tourney?"
Elaena nodded. "My uncle must have his amusements. I'm told Tyrosh has fighting pits now. A messy affair, but so far only those who have committed heinous crimes and volunteers partake. I suspect their novelty will eventually wane, and he will come here to showcase his talents, aging though they be."
Kevan chuckled, remembering his duel. "Not quick enough for my liking."
Elaena let loose a small sigh, the sound somehow profound. "Targaryens, some are blessed with the vitality and vigor of young men even in their dotage. Others crumble far more quickly; it has taken much effort to ensure my father is not of the latter."
Kevan knew a bit about how in the past Elaena had run a tight ship in regards to the King's diet. A war of wills that had eventually seen Elaena triumphant, and now Viserys was much haler than the realm had expected a decade ago. Another marvel that could be laid at her feet.
"Nothing like being able to see your father personally to ensure he keeps to his promises at feasts."
Elaena turned with a smile, a sharp brightness to her eyes. She opened her mouth, and then closed it, and nodded, before speaking again.
"I trust my father, but even in King's Landing I can depend on my family and friends to speak true of his habits."
Of course. Always a plan for everything, it comforts me to know that for every possible situation my wife hath laid schemes for the betterment of her family and Westeros. I can only hope to be one part of all that ensures her safety, as with our 'bunker' and contingencies. But by the gods, I shall suffer none who dare even try to sneak assassins or spies so close to her again.
***
Alicent at first would not believe it. Aemond, not believing in the Seven? No, this was one of his untoward games, where he chose to play the advocate for a view he did not believe, merely to incense others. But to say such things to other nobles was folly.
Only it wasn't some tawdry game of discourse – it was his genuine, profane belief. And it horrified her.
Alicent drank more wine as she stared at Aemond. Aegon and Helaena were seated at the table alongside Aemond and Daeron. Daenora was with Elaena and the baby, and Alicent's other children were safe and sound in King's Landing. Through red-rimmed eyes, she looked at Aemond and wondered where it had all gone so wrong.
"You are not jesting, or playing one of your rhetorical games, are you, my son? How can you deny the Seven?" Her voice was heavy with emotion and Aemond looked at her with contempt.
"I speak naught but the truth. Any who would examine the claims made by the Septons would realize there is no evidence. Why should I be compelled to follow the precepts of old men who betray their own teachings every time we glance? The Seven sought to forbid brother marry sister, but when Aegon came with his dragons, they changed their doctrine. And you believe their order is divinely inspired?"
Daeron's voice was heated, but controlled. "The Seven are infallible, but man is not. The Seven-Pointed Star warns against those who betray the faith, which is proof that the Seven, in their wisdom, gave man warning to not blindly trust the Septons. The Seven uniquely blessing our family is a boon worthy of gratitude, not suspicion."
Aemond just darkly chuckled. "Of course, it matters not what I say or what arguments I make, you will never see what is before your face."
"Brother," Helaena asked mildly, "what do you believe then? Do you seek to rekindle the faith of Old Valyria?"
Alicent thought that would be a disaster, but Aemond only shook his head.
"Nothing but fables and nonsense used to control the smallfolk. Their meager and pitiful lives would be dreary without the comfort of some eternal award if they obey their betters and the Gods," Aemond said, contempt dripping from his voice.
Aegon rubbed at his chin thoughtfully. "In that case, brother, why do you persist? If you see the smallfolk's faith as productive to keep them in line, why do you wish to upend it?"
Daeron's eyes widened and he looked stricken for a moment.
Aemond grinned at his older brother. "Ah, so you are not fully dull. In truth, it is because I detest the lie. I detest that I am expected to bow my head and continue the farce. The vassals may be a bit less tractable if they did not believe in lies heaped on their heads, but I am up to the challenge of enforcing our position. What can they do against dragons?"
"Stop it!" Alicent cried. "This isn't a game, this isn't some tool for rulership to use. The Stranger will drag you to the Seven Hells where you will face eternal judgement and doom, Aemond! Please, come with me, let us talk with the Septons and Septas and resolve your doubts."
Aemond laughed. "They are not doubts, mother. I do not tremble in worry and ignorance, I know, there is nothing to be gained by speaking with those deluded fools. But should they wish it, I would be eager to discuss this in King's Landing in front of all the smallfolk. Let us see them marshal their arguments and I will parry each bit of drivel they can summon."
"Others take you, Aemond!" Aegon snapped and rose to his feet. "Your fate is your own, but you know that sort of foolishness is not going to be tolerated. You'll have a mob on your hands, and you will be lucky if it isn't worse than dung that's thrown at you!"
Aemond met Aegon's stare. "Vermithor will see to any foolish enough to try."
"So much noise," Helaena said, rubbing at her temple before looking back at Aemond. "What then do you believe happens to your spirit after death takes you?"
Aemond shrugs. "Nothing, our lives are finite. I mean to enjoy mine, to embrace challenges, slay foes, and have my name spoken until the last days of man. It is a form of immortality, the only one available to us. They will speak of me in wonder long after I am gone."
"Such arrogance." Daeron said wearily.
"I think you are wrong, brother." Helaena looked at Aemond. "You only see what you can see. Before our family visited these shores, or even before that, the idea of dragons that can breathe fire hot enough to melt stone would be viewed as myth."
Aemond shrugged. "And? Should the gods seek to convince me, they can appear before me and demonstrate their divinity, until then, I mock the very idea that I should be judged by anyone other than myself."
Alicent felt a clawing at her mind. Aemond was too arrogant to change his ways. Her son would be damned and there was nothing she could do about it.
No, my son, my son!
"Oh, for pity's sake, mother. Your rhetoric has not swayed me, so you think tears will wear down my resistance? I've enough of this; I do not recoil from the meeting of the minds, but I will not sit here and deal with wailing."
Aemond stalked out, and Alicent let her tears flow. Helaena came over and embraced her. Her sweet, but strange daughter did not often embrace her, but today she did, and Alicent was grateful.
Daeron spoke up. "Forgive me, brother, sister, but I must address this matter. You must have an heir that is not Aemond. I used to believe that Jacaerys on the Iron Throne would be the greatest blasphemy toward the Seven; I no longer believe that to be true. If Helaena is barren, you must set her aside and find a wife who will grant you heirs."
No one in the room took his words well, nor were their reactions kind.
***
Helaena felt the wind in her face as she flew upon Dreamfyre. Boundless joy as she freely flew, and yet slowly it dawned on her that something was wrong. Shadows swirled in the sunless, bright sky. She tried to focus on the shadows, but they were diffuse, as if they weren't really there, or maybe they were and she couldn't see them.
Dreamfyre let out a cry of alarm and suddenly banked away.
Away from what?
Helaena was firmly affixed on her mount, though there was no saddle and no chains. That was unsafe. She had always been taught that you used a saddle and kept the chains firmly secured. She could almost hear Elaena's lecture as she looked around in confusion, wondering where her saddle had gone.
I am dreaming.
The thought lanced through her brain. The shadows grew, and now she saw them for what they were. A flash of red scales before fire enveloped her. Her flesh melted from her body. Dreamfyre cried out in agony, but she did not, for her vision showed her that death came too quickly to feel the burns.
A flash of red. Who?
The next shadow appeared. It was hard to make out which dragon it was, but it was eating another, consuming it with great relish. Tears came to Helaena's eyes. It was a mournful vision, and stronger than the first.
Another shadow. Blue eyes that crackled like a storm. Shimmering bolts of lightning creased across those cerulean irises like spider webs. She liked spiders; they made pretty constructs in the less-traveled paths. Portraits and tapestries were always placed in areas where people oft walked, but why shouldn't forgotten places have art as well? They watched, attentive and inquisitive, rumbling with intensity. Spiders fascinated her, but those eyes did not. She shied away.
Shadows sprang up faster and faster, and she tried to concentrate – tried to remember. Two dragons crashing into the water. Two dragons crashing into the ground. Flames enveloping white hair. Blue flame burning snow. A tower crumbling and profaned. Seven figures holding a scale. Sightless eyes seeing. Flame gathering around an infant. Rats. Knives. Ice. Fire.
With a lurch, she woke with a scream. Her hands were covered in cloth, but she could still move.
"No, no, no, the rats are coming! Dragons war with each other. You…"
Her husband reached for her, but instead, Elaena was there. Her blue eyes seemed to glow with an intensity that Helaena found noisy. Racing thoughts and panicked explanations died as Elaena's hand found her arm. Calm radiated from her touch, and suddenly the sound echoing between Helaena's ears quieted. Her heart slowed, and her thoughts cleared.
She found herself being pulled into hug, drawn close against the softness and swell of her sister's chest. She tasted the scent of compassion and felt the rolling thunder of concern echo from where her ear pressed up against Elaena's steady heartbeat. The wafted taste of a lullaby long forgotten but dearly treasured, with the warmth of safety and home.
Her head was being gently pet. The comfort of her mother, wearing the name 'sister.'
"You are safe, sister. You had a nightmare. It cannot harm you, but it is important that you tell us what you dreamed."
The memory of her dreams scattered like smoke upon the wind, but Helaena grasped fragments still.
"Dreamfyre. She was being burned by another dragon. A red one. I also saw other dragons crash into water and into the earth. Black clouds gathered, but I don't know from where. I dreamed of a dragon feasting on another. I don't know which dragon it was. It wasn't Dreamfyre, but so much was consumed. It was horrible."
Helaena felt tears begin to trail down her cheeks despite the strange tranquility of her thoughts. It was such a sorrowful thought – dragons warring and consuming each other. Aegon was by her side and brushed those tears away.
"She seems calmer, let's not push her." Aegon suggested.
"We need to find the cause of her trouble, Aegon. Should Helaena choose to stop, she may, yet it is best she continue."
Helaena nodded. "I… I can go on, but there isn't much more. I saw a tower crumble; I think it was blue flame? No, it was a blue tower and white flame. No… I'm sorry, I don't, I can't remember."
She scrunched her eyes, trying to peer into the vapors of her memory. "Rats… rats, I see the rats. I, uh, there might be seven of them?" Helaena shook her head. "No, maybe, I don't know. The end of it was so jumbled."
The three sat together on the bed in silence while Aegon soothed her. Slowly, a well-known weariness fell upon her. She closed her eyes and let her head fall back to her pillow. Aegon was more nosy than usual, yet comforting. Elaena, though, was like a whole band of minstrels – most distracting. But she was tired. And she was safe. That was enough.
***
Laenor pinched his brow in frustration as his son glared at him from across the table. They were eating their evening meal on Dragonstone, and thunder punctuated the noise of conversation and the clatter of dinner.
Luke was adamant about being allowed to attend the upcoming tournament, but Laenor was not about to risk another incident. Moreover, he was too young to enter the tourney. Both Harwin and he had misgivings over Jace participating, and Jace had over a year of growth on Luke.
"I understand you wish to compete, but you are simply too young. There will be many more tourneys. If nothing else, we shall host one here on Dragonstone or Driftmark!"
Joffrey nodded. "Listen to your father, Lucerys. There has never been a time when there lacked for tourneys."
Luke glared at the Master-at-Arms on Dragonstone. "It isn't fair! I hold my own against Jace."
Harwin rumbled, "A knight must learn how to obey commands, even those he mislikes. Your lord father, your instructor, and now your mother's sworn shield have all told you that you will not be fighting in the lists."
The boy, just now growing his first few stray hairs upon his visage, struggled to master his tongue. He bit into some food to keep himself from speaking, then drank heavily from his cup. He was allowed well-watered wine, but never enough to cause him even the mildest of inebriation.
"Then at least let me cheer on my brother. I haven't even been allowed to see Aunt Elaena or cousin Fraedrik." Luke said with evident frustration.
Before Laenor could speak, Harwin interjected. "This is your brother's first tournament. He'll already be a bundle of worry, surely you don't wish to add to it, do you?"
Laenor covered his smile with a sip from his own cup. Ser Harwin was good with the lads. Luke, however, was willful.
"We don't have to tell him I'm coming! I can just show up. Father can take me on Seasmoke and I can hide in the crowds. I will be like the tales of old, where a prince dons the guise of smallfolk and watches with the people of the realm! Didn't Elaena say that we should broaden our perspectives and try to see things from other people's perspectives? That what is a reasonable expense for a fishwife is different than for a knight, which is also different from a lord! It is so I can advance in my studies."
Laenor struggled not to sigh at the heavy-handed attempt to manipulate.
"No, Luke," Laenor said with a sterner tone. "You have been remiss in your studies since your mother left for the Eyrie. You have also comported yourself uncouthly toward Braxton. You will be able to join the court and attend events with the King when you have proven your maturity."
Harwin's eldest, Braxton, was younger than Luke and got along well with Aenar and Aelyx, whereas Jace and Luke typically spent their time together. With Jace at the Tooth, it changed the dynamic. Luke had always been the brashest of Rhaenyra's children, and his taunts – easily shrugged off by his older and more capable brother – had bred ill will with Aelyx in particular. When Braxton had tried to break up a fight, Luke had struck him and lorded over the fact that he was a prince and Braxton merely a lord's son.
And in truth they are half-brothers by blood. Something that grows more obvious by the day…
Laenor knew that children, especially boys, would act in this fashion. But with the tension with the Queen's children, it was not something he wished to risk.
"Mother would have let me!" Luke cried out in dismay.
Perhaps she would, Rhaenyra has made foolish choices aplenty of late.
"Perhaps, or perhaps otherwise. It matters little, Luke. Conduct yourself like a prince, and I may grant you leave to attend the next grand tournament after this one. Continue to act willfully, and you shall be older than Jace is now before you are allowed to compete."
Luke stewed while Aenar tried to console him. "Tournaments are grand affairs, but they matter little, do they not? If war must be fought, we'll be atop dragons, and it matters not how skilled any of us are at jousting or fighting on the ground."
Laenor saw that those words did not breach Luke's mood, but he was glad his son had made the effort. In matters of courtesy, Aenar was most like him. Unfailing in manners and etiquette, he reminded Laenor somewhat of Elaena's social graces as well.
Perish the thought that any of my sons would be so vicious.
Aenar's words did prickle his thoughts. The Targaryen and Velaryon families had dragons. Dragons could be slain by scorpion or perhaps even by lucky arrow, but it was no simple feat. As Elaena had argued all those years ago, t'was almost to the point where one must be abandoned by luck at all to fall in such a way. Then she went on to demonstrate her argument in ways Laenor never dared to forget.
The King's rule was ironclad due to the dragons his family wielded. But what if dragons were to war on each other?
Laenor was not blind to court intrigue. The Hand had pressured his good-father to supplant Rhaenyra for Aegon. It had been his hectoring that drove him from the position in the first place. Otto was now silent on the matter, but Laenor believed that once Viserys passed, Otto would strive to unite the lords and press for a male ruler.
Given the number of dragons that Rhaenyra could summon, the Blacks had an overwhelming advantage. However, they were also now scattered. Mighty Vhagar and Caraxes were on Tyrosh. Would there be a time when dragons warred in the skies over Westeros, would Vermithor, Dreamfyre, Sunfyre, and Tessarion try to strike down Meleys, Syrax, and Seasmoke? To say nothing of the lesser dragons of his sons.
And what of Viktoriya? Though she is larger now than Seasmoke she still pales compared to the great war dragons. And yet… I have seen the monstrous power of Elaena. I have seen her outfly Daemon on Caraxes when still a slip of a girl. It was she that won the Stepstones, not I nor Daemon. I doubt any are more experienced and ruthless in dragonflight than she. Even in a battle against Vhagar or Vermithor, I would stake my life on Elaena proving victorious.
For many years, Laenor believed that Elaena backed her father's choice for heir. It was likely still true at this very moment. His fears made manifest would be Rhaenyra continuing to act spitefully toward her sister. When her penance at the Eyrie was complete, Daemon would once again be whispering venom in her ear.
How can I make my wife understand that the Iron Throne is secure so long as she does not quarrel with her sister?
Laenor ate, lost in thought as the table grew somber and grim despite Harwin's efforts to lighten the mood. The storm crashing outside mirrored Laenor's spirit. Dangerous and foreboding, the future seemed more uncertain than ever.
***
Jessamyn Redfort wearily rubbed her eyes as she reviewed the latest reports her little ears had sent her. The candlelight made her eyes strain and she wished she still had unbound keenness of sight and the energy of her youth.
At least my lady is not like lords who displaces their favored lovers when the first sign of age touches upon their skin.
Her disquiet with the reports was on two fronts. The first was what the Gilded Falcon, Isembard Arryn, was doing. The man had met with Lords Corbray, Royce, Hunter, and Belmore of late. Trade flourished in Gulltown, but trade was flourishing nearly everywhere across the Seven Kingdoms. This was well enough, save that the increased trade made nobles who oversaw it even more powerful and wealthy. The coffers of the Gulltown Arryns had waxed considerably, as had his influence.
Her ears had learned from a conversation Lord Belmore had with his son that when Lady Arryn passed, Isembard sought rulership of the Vale. Though not as openly treasonous as Jeyne's cousin, Ser Arnold, Jessamyn naturally worried that once Isembard had the board set as he wished, he might seek to do away with her Lady. Another wrinkle in it all was that the Gilded Falcon was high in the favor of the King. Prince Daeron had returned from his exile a dutiful and praiseworthy prince. It meant that any move against him would be fraught with peril from powerful defenders. Jeyne might be the ruler of the Vale, but the crown's protection would shield Isembard.
And while Rhaenyra is… better, I worry my lady will not be held as high in esteem by the King. Rhaenyra is not near so poised as the heir to the Iron Throne ought be.
Rhaenyra wavered between a proper lady with a ready laugh and keen intellect, and something far less formidable. Some nights she drank to excess, and her tongue turned wanton with anger when she was not weeping. One particularly embarrassing night, she went so far as to proposition Lady Arryn – and herself! It was declined, of course, but it was clear to Jessamyn that Rhaenyra lacked the consistency necessary for the conclusion of her exile to be viewed positively by the King.
Jeyne disagreed. While she admitted there was danger, Rhaenyra was currently pining for her family. With her husband, children, and other kin beside her, she would likely be more resilient. Jessamyn was frustrated, for Jeyne was far more compassionate toward Princess Rhaenyra than the situation called for. While they tried to curb her drinking, they did not outright forbid it, as they could have done.
She seeks to form friendship with the future Queen and sees the best possible outcome.
The second set of whispers that reached her ears was the court gossip. The King had temporarily moved the court to Golden Tooth, and with it came many tales. Several spoke of Princess Elaena speaking ill of Rhaenyra. This was alarming, for a sunder between the growing power of the Realm's Blessing and the Realm's Delight troubled Jessamyn deeply. It wasn't just that Elaena had her father's ear, it was that she held so much influence.
Her ears primarily sought to learn what the powerful chose to do, but they were not limited to just noble estates. What went on at the docks, the taverns, and lowborn brothels painted a larger picture. The Dragon Bank was everywhere these days. Merchants brought new goods and ways of doing things and many claimed to have spoken directly to the princess. They hailed her as someone who understood their craft, which either made Elaena a towering intellect, or very good at dissembling.
As Jessamyn considered the varied reports, she had begun to widen her net of informants. That, too, tipped the scales further in favor of the Realm's Blessing. She had connections in Essos – Myr in particular, but also in Braavos, Pentos, and even Qarth. The stories from those cities were quite fantastical, including one in which Lord Beesbury was said to be a master of dark arts who bred poisoned bees to slay his enemies. One excitable merchant claimed that Princess Elaena was under this dark sorcerer's protection, and woe betide any who interfered with his chosen pawn.
Ridiculous, but the fact that Elaena's name is bandied about in Essos in such a manner, far more than Rhaenyra or Aegon, is quite outlandish. She isn't the heir, or a potential rival claimant. She's married the vassal of House Lannister, and rides a dragon of middling size. Why is her name on so many lips?
Eyes widening, Jessamyn began to connect disparate pieces of knowledge she had collected. She traced a line with her fingers between parchment after parchment, laying them out on her desk as they all ran back to Elaena.
Jessamyn ran a hand through her frazzled and tousled hair, rubbing at the bruises under her eyes and blinking as if she could unsee what was unfolding before her mind's gaze.
"No… it cannot be."
She did not have a clear understanding of all the moving parts, but her intuition was leaping from possibility to possibility. What if Elaena sought to supplant Rhaenyra and her line? She considered how Elaena deliberately conducted the tour that Rhaenyra originally sought to do. How she spoke with powerful houses across the breadth of Westeros. Even suitors she rejected she ensured remained cordial to her and their Houses in good standing, tied close with trade, exchanges, and debts.
She thought back to what had occurred. Elaena was the one responsible for Rhaenyra being in the Vale. Elaena was the one whispering into her father's ear. That was why Rhaenyra was angry. The heir had not put the pieces together, but she must have sensed something; perhaps that was the reason for her slighting Elaena. The sisters were riven, and by design!
Only… not all was simple. Viserys threatened to supplant Rhaenyra, but give the crown to Prince Jacaerys. That would be no aid to her cause, unless she then pressed the claims of bastardy! It was well known that the Queen favored Elaena, some even claimed over her own blood children. Her ears had reported that of all Daeron's family, it was only Elaena who would visit him semi-regularly in Oldtown. And who was it that brought to prominence those accusations in open court? The very same Daeron.
Seven help us, it all makes sense now. She pulls their strings; her plans are years in the making, endless in their patience and restraint. None have ever suspected she is aught but the dutiful daughter and loving sister, but if I am right, she has carefully plotted her sister's downfall for years! Nay, even worse. Why else work so tirelessly to build and expand her influence, even while heavy with child? She has crafted a balance such that Rhaenyra acts as her own undoing, letting the heir's mistakes only further emphasize Elaena's superiority in the eyes of the lords. All they must do is check their ledgers and know whose trade, whose Bank, and whose deals enabled such prosperity. Who they owe debts to... whose vassals their vassals and sons and daughters married.
She hunched over her paper-ridden desk and clutched at the sides of her head.
Jessamyn knew that the waters were muddied. Her ears told her that Elaena had stayed by Laenor's bedside for days while he hung in the Stranger's grasp. Was it out of affection? Or hopes that feverish delirium would let slip that he knew Rhaenyra's children were not his own? Knowing that Laenor favored men for bed sport, which was why he tolerated being given horns.
Gods, she waited for a moment when he was at his most frail to try to unearth proofs that her nephews were bastards. Are there no depths too deep for her?
Shuddering to herself, she questioned what she should do. Her lady would most likely have this information given to Rhaenyra. But would that be best for Lady Jeyne and the Vale? Dare they try to pit themselves against such a conniving foe? A chill made her tighten the shawl betwixt her shoulders. Jessamyn knew she had to proceed carefully. She needed to think, to ponder what offered the greatest odds of success. One wrong move against such an able foe would send them all down a precipice they might never crawl out of.