Dragonstone

[Lucius Malfoy]

One afternoon, Ser Corwyn Corbray, comes to the main keep, seeking out Prince Daemon or, Her Grace, Queen Rhaenyra. He had watched much being done upon Dragonstone recently, dragonseeds seeking dragons and persons doing other duties for the court here upon the island. It made the sworn sword feel like he wasn't doing enough here. So he decided to see if there was anything he could do in the service of the Queen that Corwyn knew was the right ruler.

[Oznerol]

The Queen was resting, sitting on a carved chair, in a balcony overlooking the courtyard; she was watching Syrax being fed, pensive. The large and rather overfed yellow dragon was eating a calf with great delight, burning up the chunks of meat before devouring them. Rhaenyra was attended by a silver-haired boy, who held a wine jar: it was Viserys, her youngest son. Nearby, also below, in the courtyard, was Joffrey, the third son of Laenor, who was training archery, aiming to some straw men, while his young dragon watched, coiled around a manticore-shaped merlon, some stories above the ground. There was a white-cloaked man behind Rhaenyra, Lorent Marbrand, while a second man, Cargyll, watched over the prince and lectured him about how to best use the bow.

[Lucius Malfoy]

Ever vigilant, thought Corwyn as he walked into the presence of Queen Rhaenyra. He notes the people who were all present; the Velaryon princes, the Targaryen sons, and the Queensguard. If he wasn't married, certainly he would have sought to join such a guard of Rhaenyra. Yet, his father desired him to be married and his young wife served the Queen, just as her husband did. The sworn sword removes the thoughts, for now, to focus upon the Queen. His armor was heard clinking and moving as Corwyn knelt behind Her Grace.

Your Grace. I am glad to see you are well. I prayed to the Seven above that you would recover... and that your daughter is at peace in the next life.

[Gandalfus]

To hear the name Cannibal sent a slight chill up Arthors back. He heard rumors of the beast, and had thought it to be a task for closer blood to Valyria than himself. Everyone had heard of the Dragon Vermithor. Also known as the Bronze beast. He knew that should he have the opportunity, the Bronze Beast or the one Fishermen called Grey Ghost would be his task. The Grey Ghost was the dragon he initially came in hopes to ride, but he was impossible to find they said. Arthor also could only dream of the chance to ride Vermithor.... The dreams...

He could say but one thing, "It would be my honor, to risk the one they call the Bronze Beast my King. His true name, Vermithor. For I believe the Cannibal to be destined for one of...purer blood than myself. I would place my life in wager that I may win as the mount of Vermithor. I will not leave that place until death takes me, or a Dragon has accepted me as his mount."

”If you return with Vermithor, I will make you the greatest of my captains.”

Promised the Prince, with a faint smile. The boy would likely become dragonfood, which was a shame. But there was still the chance...

“You have your task. Return when you are successful. Or not.”

Without another word, Daemon turned away and wandered off, another having commanded his brief attention.

In a bed of red velvet laid a clasp, a small golden hand.

"Your badge of office"

She said.

"I might be queen, but to be Lord Protector requires something else"

Rhaenyra pointed at the badge.

"You're now my Lord Hand and Lord Protector of the Realm"

Hand of the Queen, and Protector of the Realm. Hard and cold, the badge was heavier than it looked, and Daemon felt the weight of it between his fingers before pinning it onto his cloak.

”A kingly gift, my dear.”

It was what he deserved, and no less. It would do for now, until the throne was won.

Alton Waters stalked the beaches of Dragonstone, he’d spent half the morning rehearsing it in his head, over and over. The bastard was one of Daemon’s sworn swords, but he was one of many that had gravitated toward the charismatic old pirate and the two weren’t particularly close. In truth he could count the number of real interactions he’d had with the man in a single hand. He threw a stone into the water to calm himself, *skip* *skip* *splash*, as it smacked into a swelling wave and sunk beneath the murky waters.

He sighed deeply, pushing his bone white hair out of his face. “I may be a bastard.. and I’m hardly a noble.. but, surly Daemon wouldn’t turn his nose up at me..” He spoke the words aloud, stammering as he went, to embolden his faultering confidence. “After all.. the worst that could happen would be..” He gulped, a hint of fear and resignation on his face. “Better fed dragons.” He said, voice low and uneasy, as if he’d whispered some well kept secret. He shook his head, kneeling down and cupping his hands in the cold surf of Dragonstone. Once his hands were filled he splashed the water over his face, washing away his concerns for the moment.

Shortly there after Alton made his way back up toward the keep, knees weak and arms heavy. As he entered the keep he made to visit Daemon, praying to the Seven the King wasn’t one of his infamous moods.

Alton was searched by Daemon’s guards before being led by a servant up the stairs of the Stone Drum, where the Prince had his own personal solar. Large and spacious, it was richly decorated with exotics from the east and south; ornate tapestries, animal pelts and trophies, and fine ornaments collected through a lifetime of travel. Daemon himself was being dressed for sparring by a servant, and so stood before the newcomer in boiled leather and chainmail.

“Wine. Someone pour me some wine, Seven Hells.”

There were so many servants, squires, and hangers on in there that the Prince hadn’t noticed Alton’s arrival. One of the men dressing him pulled a chord too tight, pain prompting sharp curse and firm backhand from their master.

[Oznerol]

Ever vigilant, thought Corwyn as he walked into the presence of Queen Rhaenyra. He notes the people who were all present; the Velaryon princes, the Targaryen sons, and the Queensguard. If he wasn't married, certainly he would have sought to join such a guard of Rhaenyra. Yet, his father desired him to be married and his young wife served the Queen, just as her husband did. The sworn sword removes the thoughts, for now, to focus upon the Queen. His armor was heard clinking and moving as Corwyn knelt behind Her Grace.

Your Grace. I am glad to see you are well. I prayed to the Seven above that you would recover... and that your daughter is at peace in the next life.

"I am still far from well, but your prayers are welcomed"

She gestured him to raise.

"Is it true that your sword is made of Valyrian steel?"

Asked the silver-haired boy, looking at him sideways.

"Why is it called like that?"

Rhae smiled to her youngest son. Joffrey release the bow's string, the arrow missing the center only by an inch. The Queen claps and the prince smiles from below, while the Kingsguard training him nodded.

”
Hand of the Queen, and Protector of the Realm. Hard and cold, the badge was heavier than it looked, and Daemon felt the weight of it between his fingers before pinning it onto his cloak.

”A kingly gift, my dear.”

It was what he deserved, and no less. It would do for now, until the throne was won.

"You diserved none less, Daemon"

Said Rhaenyra.

"We need a show of force, husband"

Her face was slimmer, the cheekbones reappearing after a few years.

[Lucius Malfoy]

Corwyn rises from his knelt position, turning his attention immediately to Viserys, the youngest of Rhaenyras children and the second by Prince Daemon. He nods to the Queen first.

"If Her Grace will allow it, I shall show the sword."

Once permission was granted, the Valemen unsheathed the sword to reveal the smoky grey Valyrian Steel before the eyes of the young Prince. Upon its pommel was a ruby heart.

"I do not know why they call her Lady Forlorn, but I do know this, this is not the first sword to be named as such. In the times of Andal Kings, my family used another sword named Lady Forlorn. Our ancestors acquired the Valyrian Steel you see today at some point and named her such."

He raises the sword to gaze at it in detail before lightly touching its broadsided surface.

"Perhaps she is named after someone from my family.. A lady who was abandoned and lonely at one time in her life. A story unknown and lost to my family today."

[Oznerol]

Corwyn rises from his knelt position, turning his attention immediately to Viserys, the youngest of Rhaenyras children and the second by Prince Daemon. He nods to the Queen first.

"If Her Grace will allow it, I shall show the sword."

Once permission was granted, the Valemen unsheathed the sword to reveal the smoky grey Valyrian Steel before the eyes of the young Prince. Upon its pommel was a ruby heart.

"I do not know why they call her Lady Forlorn, but I do know this, this is not the first sword to be named as such. In the times of Andal Kings, my family used another sword named Lady Forlorn. Our ancestors acquired the Valyrian Steel you see today at some point and named her such."

He raises the sword to gaze at it in detail before lightly touching its broadsided surface.

"Perhaps she is named after someone from my family.. A lady who was abandoned and lonely at one time in her life. A story unknown and lost to my family today."

"I've seen my father's sword! This one looks the same, ser!"

Said the boy.

"I thought only great houses could afford these sw---"

"Viserys..."

"Sorry, mother"

"The Corbrays are by no means a small house, you little brat, apologize"

"Sorry, ser"

The queen pats her son's shoulder.

"Women usually get the worst of any deal, I feel your sword's namesake's fate"

Rhaenyra acknowledged, bitterly.

"What brought you here, ser, per chance want to don a white cloak?"

Marbrand eyed the Valesman with a hint of curiosity, but he remained silent, as was his duty.

"We've heard much about your prowess and we do need knights for our Queensguard. Or is it anything else?"

[Pericles of Athens]

Oh seven, not one of his moods. Alton thought, as he heard Daemon curse the man dressing him. Alton moved for the jug of wine nestled on the desk nearest to him, and made to fill the soverign’s cup jostling past a couple servants in his way. “King Daemon,” He said, forcing a lump from his own throat, the truth was he didn’t know how to address a King properly, let alone the husband of a ruling queen... but it was a well known ‘secret’ that Daemon has always wanted to be king and it was better to flatter the man’s ego than risk his ire. “Is this wine for a fight? Or will you be riding the Blood Wyrm, your Grace.” He gave a bow once the wine was poured, though he wasn’t certain the man’s eyes had even turned toward him.

[Lucius Malfoy]

Corwyn chuckles lightly at the remark by Viserys. He did not seem upset by the words of the princeling.

"Remember, my Prince, my family, like others long ago, were once Kings in their own right. The Corbrays were once Andal Kings of the Fingers before the rise of House Arryn. There are many tales of how my kingly ancestors fought tooth and nail with the High Kings of the Vale, House Royce, and other First Men."

The Valemen did not seem to be slightly by the words of Viserys. The Targaryen was still young and not yet understanding of the world just yet. However, his curiosity made Corwyn believe that the boy could one day be an intellectual.

"Your apology is nonetheless accepted. I must agree though, this sword is nothing like Dark Sister and Blackfyre, swords of kings and greater warriors. Like your father."

He sheathes the sword before turning his attention to Lady Rhaenyra. His eyes glancing at the white cloaks that stood in her presence.

"Perhaps if I was not recently married, I would have done such a thing. My wife may feel abandoned if I did so. However, I still wish to do something for you, Your Grace. Is there anyone you wish to reach out to in order to gain their allegiance? Any Crownland nobility? Perhaps the Riverlands or even Winterfell and the Northern Lords?"

Corwyn desired to do some sort of service for the Queen in any way possible.

[Oznerol]

"Now, there're not many kings, just one. Fortunately, imagine the mess of having all those..."

Rhaenyra frowned.

"I mean queen, of course, ma'"

The queen chuckles. She then looks back at Corbray.

"A shame, but a sword like yours needs a scabbard, doesn't it?"

The boy thought there was a second meaning, but he didn't get it. Rhaenyra laughed her own jape.

"You want to serve me and that's doable, ser"

Said the queen.

"Per any chance you know or have some ties to the Riverlander lords? They lay closer to the Vale than any other"

[Lucius Malfoy]

There was a chuckle from Corwyn who understood the humor of the Queen. Perhaps she was right about that. On the matter of service though.

"What I know of the Riverland houses I learned from my maester at a young age. It is minimal, mostly mentioned whenever the maester told of the history of the Arryn Kings before."

Corwyn recalls the history of Roland II of Arryn who fought against the legendary Tristifer IV of House Mudd. One of the few times the Vale kingdom invaded into the Riverlands. Beyond that, knowledge was minimal.

"I could still try to persuade some houses to join your cause, Your Grace. There must be some on the fence of who to side with. Perhaps I could try to persuade the nobility around the Bay of Crabs and near the Vale?"

[Oznerol]

"A shame..."

She gestures for Viserys to refill her cup.

"Cross the sea, go to the Bay of Crabs, sway them, and try doing the same with Lord Mooton. His lordship is amongst the richest in the Riverlands"

The queen allowed herself to smile.

"Return with good tidings, such is my command"

[Lucius Malfoy]

"A shame..."

She gestures for Viserys to refill her cup.

"Cross the sea, go to the Bay of Crabs, sway them, and try doing the same with Lord Mooton. His lordship is amongst the richest in the Riverlands"

The queen allowed herself to smile.

"Return with good tidings, such is my command"

I would require a ship or perhaps a dragonrider to make this travel swift to the Bay of Crabs, Your Grace.

A ship or dragonrider would allow him to place himself at Maidenpool with ease and start with House Mooton. If he could be convinced, then the rest of the Riverlords along the Bay of Crabs would certainly follow.

Time is of the essence after all.

[Oznerol]

"My Queen." Rhaenyra said respectfully, bowing as she approached. In sighting the true Queen she felt a pang of both envy and pride: envy, that she was the one addressing Rhaenyra as Queen and not vice-versa, as would have been the case had she prevailed in either of the previous Great Councils - and pride at how quickly her kinswoman had changed, shucking off her fat and lazy ways. Truly, outrage at the loss of a child and a throne could change people, and not entirely in terrible ways. But, enough admiration and envy, it was time for business.

"I have spoken with the Lady Paramount Lucia Tyrell, as agreed upon at the last war council. Alas, she exhibited more caution than I would have liked, and has proven to be extremely reluctant to join the strength of the Reach to that of the Narrow Sea and the Vale, despite my efforts to argue your rightful claim to the Iron Throne. She and her kin and bannermen seem especially wary of the prospect of battling dragons." Was the Reach not supposed to be the home of chivalry? And was there no shortage of true knights who boldly confronted dragons in the songs and tales of the land? Ah, but perhaps it was easier to slay one of the great beasts in the realm of fantasy. Rhaenys couldn't begrudge the Reachmen for acting like sane people and being less than eager to face off with fire-breathing monsters that already destroyed several armies' worth of their ancestors a few generations ago, not entirely anyway.

"Fortunately, she has proven to be equally unwilling to fight for your brother's cause, and has intimated that she's amenable to supporting us. Given the right incentive, of course." Everyone wanted something for something these days, it seemed, and calls to duty and honor had little effect on those who weren't already of an idealistic disposition, or at least that was what Rhaenys thought. Perhaps she was too old-fashioned to get with these new, more ruthless times where brothers stole crowns from sisters overnight, or (more likely) it had always been this way. The older Targaryen woman cleared her old throat before continuing, "The least she asks for is a marriage between her kin and your children, though given their ages and the circumstances, I should think a betrothal would be more appropriate than a marriage. She has informed me that her eldest daughters are both six - a little younger than both of your younger sons and half Joffrey's age, I believe?"

"She shares womanhood with us, and yet she refuses to support us? What kind of diletant ruler is she, to be afraid of her own kindred and bannermen? Us, women, must be strong, we cannot show hesitation. Ivy can smooth and kill a rose if it lets it grow, unchecked"

Rhaenyra looked frustrated.

"She only has to face dragons is she sits out this conflict, for we have the upper hand, no matter they have Vhagar, she's no rival for Caraxes and Meleys combined, least so with myself and mine sons in support"

She waves a hand.

"Pah..."

The queen pauses for a moment. Thinking.

"Alright, I will promise Aegon's hand to her daughter, if that pleases her, a seat in the Small Council and a white cloak for one of her kin or bannermen. But my words shall be sent by raven, I need you close, mother. But if she ever raises golden banners... She will burn"

I would require a ship or perhaps a dragonrider to make this travel swift to the Bay of Crabs, Your Grace.a

A ship or dragonrider would allow him to place himself at Maidenpool with ease and start with House Mooton. If he could be convinced, then the rest of the Riverlords along the Bay of Crabs would certainly follow.

Time is of the essence after all.

"I have no dragonriders to hand you, ser. But take a ship in the harbor, you have my blessing, I will compensate the owner with a pouch of gold whenever you're back"

She offers him a hand.

"Return to me, you might be of service again"

[Barry Goldwater]

"She shares womanhood with us, and yet she refuses to support us? What kind of diletant ruler is she, to be afraid of her own kindred and bannermen? Us, women, must be strong, we cannot show hesitation. Ivy can smooth and kill a rose if it lets it grow, unchecked"

Rhaenyra looked frustrated.

"She only has to face dragons is she sits out this conflict, for we have the upper hand, no matter they have Vhagar, she's no rival for Caraxes and Meleys combined, least so with myself and mine sons in support"

She waves a hand.

"Pah..."

The queen pauses for a moment. Thinking.

"Alright, I will promise Aegon's hand to her daughter, if that pleases her, a seat in the Small Council and a white cloak for one of her kin or bannermen. But my words shall be sent by raven, I need you close, mother. But if she ever raises golden banners... She will burn"

"A most generous offer, and one that Lady Tyrell would have to be a lackwit of Ibbenese proportions to refuse." Rhaenys agreed, simply. With such welcoming terms, what more could Highgarden possibly demand, the Iron Throne itself?

"Have your forces begun marshaling and moving already, good-daughter?" The elder Targaryen queried. If she was needed close at hand, then surely fighting must be nearer on the horizon than she had thought, on her way to and back from Highgarden. "It surely can't be the case that you, the King, and my lord husband have already started planning out our campaign without my counsel, is it?" She smiled slightly, half-jesting, the weathered lines in her face now reflecting less her age and more her confidence and battle-hardiness.

[Gandalfus]

"You diserved none less, Daemon"

Said Rhaenyra.

"We need a show of force, husband"

Her face was slimmer, the cheekbones reappearing after a few years.

”When the Vale is gathered with us, we should make landfall on the Cracklaw, bolster our numbers with the Crownlands.”

They would have a fair sized host, and enough dragons to force a battle. Aegon could not allow them to roam unchallenged. The Prince idly fiddled with the brooch upon his breast.

”I could take Harrenhal, and draw them out. Larys Strong seems to have kept his place upon the Small Council.”

And he didn’t wish to be trapped between two armies.

Oh seven, not one of his moods. Alton thought, as he heard Daemon curse the man dressing him. Alton moved for the jug of wine nestled on the desk nearest to him, and made to fill the soverign’s cup jostling past a couple servants in his way. “King Daemon,” He said, forcing a lump from his own throat, the truth was he didn’t know how to address a King properly, let alone the husband of a ruling queen... but it was a well known ‘secret’ that Daemon has always wanted to be king and it was better to flatter the man’s ego than risk his ire. “Is this wine for a fight? Or will you be riding the Blood Wyrm, your Grace.” He gave a bow once the wine was poured, though he wasn’t certain the man’s eyes had even turned toward him.

“Hah! I wish it was for a fight. I long to send my nephews to the Seven Hells.”

Daemon snatched the cup away and drained it, swatting away a servant with a mailed glove as he shook himself free of their fawning - they quickly shrunk away. Then he turned his attention towards Alton, eyes narrowing.

”You are a soldier. Not a servant or squire.”

The Prince set the cup down, and Alton would now find he had the full force of the man’s attention, violet gaze unflinchingly fixed upon him. They stood only a few paces from each other.

”How long have you served with me, now?”

He waved for a servant to refill the cup. It was Dornish Red, a few golden dragons for a bottle. For a few moments he regarded the filled goblet with an air of nonchalance, then extended his arm and offered it to Alton with an expectant look.

[Oznerol]

”When the Vale is gathered with us, we should make landfall on the Cracklaw, bolster our numbers with the Crownlands.”

They would have a fair sized host, and enough dragons to force a battle. Aegon could not allow them to roam unchallenged. The Prince idly fiddled with the brooch upon his breast.

”I could take Harrenhal, and draw them out. Larys Strong seems to have kept his place upon the Small Council.”

And he didn’t wish to be trapped between two armies.

"Yes, those keeps along the way shall yield or burn. No middle ground can be offered to traitors"

Said Rhaenyra.

"We should fly and meet them up once they're in Crackclaw, no sense to be holed here, our dragons combined will be enough. Moreso if my father-in-law manages to bring another into the fold"

She smiled, the notion of Laenor having children... Would it be true? He shunned her bed for another's?

That angered her for a moment.

"Harrenhal is a strategic point and taking it would do much to convince those Riverlanders"

[Gandalfus]

We’ll be fighting them soon enough, no reason to rush to the slaughter yet.. Alton thought, pushing a few strands of white hair back into position. But, he swollowed his words, to Daemon a fight against the man-child upon the iron throne meant glory and kingship.. to a soldier it meant fire and blood. “Aye that I am, my King.” The lowborn man agreed, rolling back onto the heel of his feet instinctively, an old habit that was hard to shake once learnt. “The Seven gives us all different talents, or so people say.” It always seemed like the Seven were rather stingy when it came to the talents of average folk though. He stammered a bit at the question, truth be told he couldn’t recall just exactly how long, all the years seemed to blend together. Three years.. no four. He thought. “Going on about five, your Grace.” He settled on a number hoping the King wouldn’t think too deeply on it. “But I’ve been fighting for one thing or another long as I can remember.” His eyes fell on the cup, he wasn’t sure if Daemon was offering him a glass or if he was already deep enough into his cups to have forgotten it was filled. He extended his own callused hand toward the glass, the leathery hands of a commoner, he took a sip. Actually not half bad. The man thought, as he took another deeper sip. Alton made a fist with his free hand and cleared his throat into it, almost as if he’d momentarily forgotten himself. “...good wine.”

”Five years. And still quite young. You’re a survivor.”

Silver hair, but lowborn. Young enough to be one of his bastards, he mused. The Prince thought that would be quite amusing, if unlikely. This one reminded him of the Celtigar boy... Arthor, was it? They had the same bravado. Though this one was more common, probably some slut’s bastard birthed in Spicetown or Flea Bottom.

“What do they call you?”

"Yes, those keeps along the way shall yield or burn. No middle ground can be offered to traitors"

Said Rhaenyra.

"We should fly and meet them up once they're in Crackclaw, no sense to be holed here, our dragons combined will be enough. Moreso if my father-in-law manages to bring another into the fold"

She smiled, the notion of Laenor having children... Would it be true? He shunned her bed for another's?

That angered her for a moment.

"Harrenhal is a strategic point and taking it would do much to convince those Riverlanders"

”When we land, we can assess our options. Harrenhal would give us a base to the north, but we can do little to prevent reinforcements from the south or west.”

A Lannister was on the Small Council, if he recalled. A painfully boring man. Wouldn’t know fun even if he woke up with two whores in his sheets. It left the possibility of the Westerlands marching for Aegon, though it was impossible to be sure.

”We can leave the Sea Snake to bring the men of the narrow sea to land. If the road is clear, we can attack the capital immediately. Dragonfire will compel the gates to open.”

[Oznerol]

”When we land, we can assess our options. Harrenhal would give us a base to the north, but we can do little to prevent reinforcements from the south or west.”

A Lannister was on the Small Council, if he recalled. A painfully boring man. Wouldn’t know fun even if he woke up with two whores in his sheets. It left the possibility of the Westerlands marching for Aegon, though it was impossible to be sure.

”We can leave the Sea Snake to bring the men of the narrow sea to land. If the road is clear, we can attack the capital immediately. Dragonfire will compel the gates to open.”

Rhaenyra looked at the painted table.

"Yes. It lays at the heart of the realm, in a crossroads. Might be the best choice"

Her hand gestured towards the God's Eye.

"My father, Lord Velaryon, has sailed for Gulltown, he is of the opinion that Crackclaw would be a fine landing point. We should fly there as soon as we heard of their landing, shouldn't we?"

Rhaenyra looked at her husband, he knew how to make war, not her.

-----

The Queen Who Never Was was led to the Stone Drum, where Rhanyra awaited in a black gown, symbol of mourning, with a necklace of garnets around her neck. She had lost more than a stone since Rhaenys had seen her last, and it suited her, still she was a shadow of her former self, but now fat and iddleness had been replaced by something fiery.

[Barry Goldwater]

The Queen Who Never Was was led to the Stone Drum, where Rhanyra awaited in a black gown, symbol of mourning, with a necklace of garnets around her neck. She had lost more than a stone since Rhaenys had seen her last, and it suited her, still she was a shadow of her former self, but now fat and iddleness had been replaced by something fiery.

"My Queen." Rhaenyra said respectfully, bowing as she approached. In sighting the true Queen she felt a pang of both envy and pride: envy, that she was the one addressing Rhaenyra as Queen and not vice-versa, as would have been the case had she prevailed in either of the previous Great Councils - and pride at how quickly her kinswoman had changed, shucking off her fat and lazy ways. Truly, outrage at the loss of a child and a throne could change people, and not entirely in terrible ways. But, enough admiration and envy, it was time for business.

"I have spoken with the Lady Paramount Lucia Tyrell, as agreed upon at the last war council. Alas, she exhibited more caution than I would have liked, and has proven to be extremely reluctant to join the strength of the Reach to that of the Narrow Sea and the Vale, despite my efforts to argue your rightful claim to the Iron Throne. She and her kin and bannermen seem especially wary of the prospect of battling dragons." Was the Reach not supposed to be the home of chivalry? And was there no shortage of true knights who boldly confronted dragons in the songs and tales of the land? Ah, but perhaps it was easier to slay one of the great beasts in the realm of fantasy. Rhaenys couldn't begrudge the Reachmen for acting like sane people and being less than eager to face off with fire-breathing monsters that already destroyed several armies' worth of their ancestors a few generations ago, not entirely anyway.

"Fortunately, she has proven to be equally unwilling to fight for your brother's cause, and has intimated that she's amenable to supporting us. Given the right incentive, of course." Everyone wanted something for something these days, it seemed, and calls to duty and honor had little effect on those who weren't already of an idealistic disposition, or at least that was what Rhaenys thought. Perhaps she was too old-fashioned to get with these new, more ruthless times where brothers stole crowns from sisters overnight, or (more likely) it had always been this way. The older Targaryen woman cleared her old throat before continuing, "The least she asks for is a marriage between her kin and your children, though given their ages and the circumstances, I should think a betrothal would be more appropriate than a marriage. She has informed me that her eldest daughters are both six - a little younger than both of your younger sons and half Joffrey's age, I believe?"