THE DADDY OF DRAGONS or The Masterclass on Carrying a Torch / HotD+Fire&Blood Rhaenyra SI

[Ratmor]

Spoiler: Author Note

This work is a bit of a reaction on that huge cluster of Rhaenicent fanfiction, which seems to be pure jacking off on actors' chemistry really, coupled with mostly inaccurate portrayal of that mindset and time constraints, but I do not want to offend anyone and I do like the ship, so here you go, anyone from that fandom side, you're welcome to hate at first, but I do promise to deliver. Bear in mind, that I think most of MC actions are possible and plausible only because she's not afraid to die and actually can fight off people, so if it weren't for that part, all of this would be wishful thinking and gross inaccurate lunacy. So, yeah, if you like powerful characters you're also welcome. What I do not promise, is the progress-building, kingdom-building and tech-uplift that would be similar to most of that genre that we can find. I have masters in history and anthropology, lol, so it's hard to turn that off.

If someone read this on sb somehow, I've also decided to start off from different chapter. It is not related to the weird ban I was subjected to, I implemented the idea that I had in mind before writing even. This is the scene with which I started thinking of this whole fanfiction work, the idea of an alt-Rhaenyra seeing the whole bullshit of canon, while not knowing the specific details? I even thought to make the whole of it (which is 5 times longer) the first chapter but threw the idea at first, as it would give off too much, if I posted all the sequence that I had in mind in the first chapter just to get back to the 12 year old MC navigating the whole shit up to that point. Next threadmark is the actual start of the story, this was just a little tasting of sorts hehe. Expect a surprise sequel to this scene somewhere down the line.

So here you go, thanks for reading.

The evening ended up unreasonably shitty, so I've fallen asleep in the dragon saddle. Not even my dragon at that. Vhagar felt sad and moppy, I didn't care to know why, really, and I just did my thing and calmed everything the fuck down, as usual.

I never knew that helping the younger sister, who's basically standing in for the daughter for all the time that I know of her existence, would make me end up in such a situation. She had those nightmares again, and I went to save the day, put on my training gambeson and a scarf, got her out of the Driftmark castle where we were set to have our peaceful vacation week, and sat her down on the sandy beach. I've been forbidden from any Magic-adjacent stuff in places where anything can burn. We put up a little glass candle ritual and I had shown the kid what I've already seen when I did it last time just to see if I could before showing it to the child.

It obviously backfired, as Helaena clutched at me, I clutched at obsidian blade too much and splashed excess blood on the candle. The fire was showing us some sort of Shakespearean drama in alternate timeline, or that was my guess, anyways.

Long story short, I got half-blinded for a few moments, my vision lost the child I'm responsible for with my life, but I've located the direction I need to go if I want to get to the Driftmark.

I knew, somehow, that it's not my Driftmark, it was the obvious conclusion, which is how the idea was born. As I'm not going to sneak in like a thief - outgrew that at some point - I've decided to wait til morning.

The evening continued being unreasonably shitty when I briefly woke up from someone tugging at my ankle and shouting at me. I made the dragon set herself down and let that interloper slide off.

"Lykiri," I shouted at the growling big lady and grumbled mysef. "Trying to fucking sleep here, you cunts..."

I barely nodded off once again, not being bothered by shit as I'm not so easy to kill, especially if I'm on the top of the bent to my will dragon. But the next thing I know, there's some frantic and angry shouting, and the voices I could hear indicated that this was the children shouting and brawling about something.

I sighed and slid off the dusty lady as any reasonable adult should, I guess. Parental duties of a decade made me do that, mostly, not being any sort of reasonable adult, really.

Which is how I found myself standing over some crazy children, who just maimed my little brother, who's basically standing in for the son for all the time that I know of his existence.

And couple of moments later, after I hurled the little shits away from the kid, the guards showed up, the Velaryon ones.

And Aemond started to shout that I'm the illegal Dragonseed who tried to claim Vhagar from the House Targaryen and should be arrested.

I've learned not to talk back to the people with weapons even if I don't give a shit if they try to use them on me. They'll get hurt trying to hurt me, and I'll get blamed. They also didn't show any sort of recognition when looking at my person. That was odd, but we could chalk it up to the fact that I've recently been in a fire, my hair didn't grew to the length they were in my youth, not yet, so they could've thought that I'm some creepy lookalike, if even that. I was in my favourite comfy stuff, as in, the tall-collared gambeson, that have seen some shit, some random dark-green scarf to prevent the dirt from getting under the shirt due to the wind, and obviously the pants suited for the weather with the usual for the long autumn high boots.

I just put my hands up and clamly stated.

"The boy needs help, and it wasn't me who did his face in, so I'm not guilty of anything but sleeping on the dusty lady's saddle that he witnessed."

The other kids were less than impressed. Also got the idea to shout at me but I didn't know their faces, unlike Aemond's, which is why I've looked at them with my patented parent stare. I got one, these days, ugh. I'm getting old.

They've shut up as if seen a ghost, but I guess I'm scary?

I didn't escalate, as they probably should have other problems right about now, what's with the whole attempt to murder the Targaryen prince.

I had a feeling that if I don't get back by the tomorrow luncheon, I will be the subject of attempted murder on Targaryen prince, as Alicent would probably have my hide.

Well, at least the task of getting into the castle officially is solved.

absolute cinema moment

 

[Ratmor]

I kept trying to unsee what that fucker did to the body of Mother, but I couldn't.

I sneaked into the chambers with Aemma's body and confirmed what I had to, after remembering the blooded bedding, which shouldn't have happened this early into labours.

You don't cut a woman open unless she's literally unresponsive dead from bloodloss. And you can't get to that point in half a day it took.

And I know what I'm talking about, after all it's not the first time I end up in a situation where medical skills might be needed, so I took care of that early on in my adventures. I did some practical research in the very first world where I found out that I'm reincarnating instead of dying.

My thing, when I come to consciousness in some not so random body of some not so random person, is that I've been here from the start. My soul comes into contact with the beginnings of a soul during the pregnancy, grows into it, and my mental presence goes offline during the first decade or so. Obviously, if something terrible happens, I wake up.

So, I woke up.

I held the little brother in my arms, who already stopped breathing before I was called in by the Maester. And then I put him back into his crib and stumbled on the floor - under the weight of returning memories.

The souls started merging further, not just growing entwined, as they were.

I knew this setting, of course, it was my favorite book when I lived in 2000s as a high school kid, twice, but I was not, in fact, much aware of this particular Targaryen dragonriding character.

You see, I wasn't that much of a weeb and didn't fucking know anything but the actual book stuff, and that knowledge is also debatable. I had other shit to do, like, taking care of my dwindling sanity and then fighting some sparkling ghouls in one world, or taking care of my dwindling finances and then fighting some actual vampires in buffyverse. I mean, I don't quite know if I ever finalized taking care of that sanity thing, but I am not as weak as this princess or any normal people, really, are supoosed to be, so finances are the last of my problems. I won't be swimming like Scrooge, obviously, but if I ever wanted, I'd be off in a heartbeat.

And I'm not off in a heatbeat after what he did, because the only thing I remembered about this time period is that there's Alicent the stepmother to Rhaenyra the stepdaughter, and the Greens vs Blacks thing was barely mentioned in the canon, but the only Alicent around me right now is a girl who is two and a half years older than me. And I'm, like, somewhere around eleven years old. And Rhaenyra also really liked Alicent - that I gathered from my bodily reactions, first, and all the memories she was in, second.

Mother was really young when That Man killed her. Apparently That Man, the father unworthy of such title, Viserys the First of his name, is totally a fucking hebephiliac infantile who never fucking grew up. Go figure.

So, that's exactly why I'm staying. It's not like Alicent is the most beautiful woman I've ever seen or the most interesting one, no, I've been places and those places had free-spirited, mostly unbrainwashed women, self-sufficient mouthy girls who could beat my ass. I like those personalities much better than whatever this mess is, even though I've dated all kinds, the uptight clingy type not included but I'm not averse to it.

And Alicent was not, in fact, safe from getting into the King's grasp and I've been trying to prevent it for a few months already by calling on Alicent to attend lessons together and shit like that. The young girl is quite cute under my imperfect innocent flirting. And I do it not out of the genuine desire to have a relationship with her, but in attempts to understand if Alicent actually wants the queen's crown this much, or is she just her fathers pawn. And as I see it from Rhaenyra's childhood memories, this crush is the only one that is worthy of concentrating on, considering I was a straight man in my first life, very lesbian in my second and never even wavering on that, because I never found men sexually attractive at all.

I'm also acquainted with some recreational torchbearing due to my previous lives having a lot of cunt-suffering girls with hots for me and some other dude both at the same time, cue in some closeted ladies encountering shameless me, and unwillingness to settle for something I do not want even if it's presented to me. So yeah, for the sake of the old Rhaenyra, I'd be making everyone aware of what is her heart desire. Refusing marriage by emotionally blackmailing the unworthy king? That'll do me.

Honestly, as soon as there's an heir, I'd gladly fuck off. But I'd be happier if I didn't have to. It's just that my, Rhaenyra's, guts are twisting each time I think of Alicent in the future getting it on with the king. He'd be happy, won't he? And after what he did to Mother?

I'd rather he fucking burn before he got any fucking happiness or acceptance.



***



Right after I got those memories of the past lives, I couldn't hold myself together anymore, not truly. That was how I found myself squatting at the doors to Uncle Daemon's chambers a few moments later.

At the time, I just found out that my mom most certainly got killed as they started cutting at her while she was still alive - the scarce fearful whispers of the staff that happened to be in the vicinity of the murder confirmed it. They didn't say it to me and obviously didn't blame anybody, but several people at the same time saying that they heard a lot of painful horrowing screaming right after the King came in?

And most importantly, Ser Harrold Westerling confirmed it. He wasn't even angry about it, when he confirmed my suspicions. The man didn't know that he should be. To him, and to everyone else for that matter, mother died in childbirth, it was that simple.

So I went to Daemon's, and he most certainly was with some dancer girls from brothels. I saw the two of them when I came in, of course, but I've heard them going at it much earlier. I chose to squat and wait until they finish. The funny looks from Ser Harrold at the absence of any girlish reaction actually made me react in proper, I blushed and fist-bumped the man's shoulder guard, even hissed at him so he would stop weirding me out.

In my head I was conflicted, really. Before the memories, the remembrance of my relationships and everything that goes with it, I would've been mortified to find Uncle Daemon in this situation. I couldn't, at the time, even believe that these memories are actually mine, and I've not just gone crazy out of grief.

So, when Uncle Daemon opened the door, I slammed it right in front of my Sworn Shield's face and shouted at him that nobody would hurt me here. Then I told Uncle Daemon that I need to confirm something, and after that I stalked to one of the girls, with that arrogant stride I've never yet perfected in this life. Uncle was a bit dumbfounded, following me with a bit of nervousness on his face, it was hidden under that roguish smirk of his, but I could see it in his weird-ass purple eyes how he doesn't know what to do. His hair unkempt and shirt unbuttoned at the top, lots of wine smell and some unfinished food - the man was drowning his sorrows in a way that could bring contempt, of course, but his rep was already so bad that I doubt it would do anything.

The first thing I said to him, though, was something that made him stutter a bit, widen his eyes from the satisfied hedonistic slits they were into something resembling a normal person.

"Which one of these girls didn't suck your dick today, Uncle?"

If we were in my previous lives, I thought, these dancer girls would be totally mouthing "what the fuck" and "crazy bitch" at each other, but we were royalty and they weren't into offending said royalty.

"Seriously," I turned my face to those girls, barely reaching adulthood in my opinion, but at least not looking like they were twelve, small fucking mercies. "I gotta check something and I'll need one of you for this. And if you both did, we'll go find someone who didn't and, actually, maybe we should go do that right now."

I looked back at Uncle Daemon and met his confused stare with my own, very much unhinged, I hope.

"I was waiting my turn, actually," one of the girls, the myrish looking one, smiled at me and batted her eyelashes as if it was an unasked question of hers.

"I need your permission to kiss you on the lips for the sake of proving something."

Rhaenyra never actually kissed people, even if she wanted, the tales of those two princesses from the previous king's brood made her a tad bit more repressed than she should've, she didn't know any of those little tricks I did. And I wasn't sure if those memories weren't some sort of Targaryen madness type of bullshit. I needed to confirm. And as I cannot rightly find myself someone to kill in the night, I'd rather do the next best thing and suck some girl's face, or something. I actually didn't come here with that thought in mind, that would've been weird, really. The idea calcified when I heard those sounds and felt nothing but mild inconvenience deep within me. The old Rhaenyra would've felt something else, I was sure of it.

"Niece, did you really come here for that?" his tone of voice was exasperated and kind of fond, but he was still confused, so I decided to explain more.

"I hoped for a stroll in the streets, needed to violently beat up someone who deserves it, just to feel alive, but a woman's kiss would work, too."

***this is the questionable part***

It probably confounded Daemon even more but he just waved his hand at the girl and shrugged with feigned innocence.

"Turn your face away, Uncle, you, fucking pervert, ugh," I kicked him in the shin and he did comply immediately, so I didn't bother with formalities, wanting to finish what I started as fast as I could.

I kissed the girl, made her moan, not performative but surprised, made her clutch at my shoulders and melt. Rhaenyra's kisses before this one were either familial or, very rarely, on the cheek with Alicent. They held hands, bumped forheads and did the prodigal amount of amateurish almost eyefucking, not that they knew what it was, but never this.

My technique was too good to be the first time.

The strength with which I opened the door from my dead brother's chambers was also wrong.

The smells, the sounds, the touch of air on my skin didn't feel the same as well.

"What in the hells happened, Niece," he muttered and huffed as he turned after I finished with the girl. "Why did you?.."

***The end of questionable scene***

***The start of the same scene but without questionable part***

It probably confounded Daemon even more which is why he tried to clasp at my shoulder while I was half-turned to him.

I was too wound up and twitchy, so it didn't work so well. It wasn't great for the preservation of the secrecy of my new powers as well. I barely noticed how I twisted his hand and after that almost went for the double arm throw, which this body shouldn't have known at all.

The strength with which I opened the door from my dead brother's chambers was also wrong.

The smells, the sounds, the touch of air on my skin didn't feel the same as well.

"What in the hells happened, Niece," he muttered and huffed.

I've already slackened my grip and looked at the baffled face of the myrish girl in front of me, after that, at Daemon who kneaded his palm a bit, but otherwise was unharmed.

"Why did you?.." he continued.

***the end of the fix of that questionable scene***

"Baelon is dead, you're the heir once again, Uncle," I whispered in Valyrian and put my palms on my eyes, started pushing in, trying to curb the crying.

"Those cunts had one fucking job!" he went from zero to one hundred in a second, his face filled with rage.

He didn't even think, he just reacted and that reaction was everything. No calculation, no pity, the man just shouted what he thought, and I liked that very much. He also didn't care that I kissed women in my spare time, so that's also a bonus.

"What..." the girl on the floor coughed, clearing her throat. "Where did you learn that?"

I chuckled and facepalmed, tears prickling my eyes and something psychotic rising within.

"I'm a natural at everything I do," I had nothing but proof, really. "Genius of sorts, really."

"That, I can see... Feel, even," and the girl of, maybe, eighteen purred like she wanted to continue the banter.

"Nope," I turned my head with a resolute decision of not touching that can of worms. "Thank you for your wonderful service to the crown. Uncle, give her some stags, yeah?"

"I have no desire to continue," he decided and sighed. "So I really ought to, uh-huh."

"We'll meet on their funeral, Uncle," I opened the door and resolutely walked out. "I surely hope you don't plan to fuck off into nowhere and leave me with these vultures all alone?"

"We'll see, Niece, we'll... see."

That was the last thing I heard from Daemon before the door closed.

This lunatic did come to see me and my dragon burn them to ashes. But then, a bit later, all the announcements were done. And he decided to have fun at the expense of a dead baby and was surely told that I'm to be heir if he doesn't shape up, really, because nobody wants me on that throne, not even me. But he decided to go further and steal a dragon egg, that same egg from my dead brother's cradle, accidentally or not, I wouldn't know.

If I slept like a normal person, I wouldn't have caught up with him before he reached Dragonstone, wouldn't have known about these escapades, as That Man doesn't give two shits about informing me of anything.

But that bullshit from my newly acquired memories made me lose sleep and not actually need that much of it at the same time. The servants learned about the whole chain of events at the same time as the King himself, maybe even earlier, so I could react faster than they made any sort of decision.

Uncle just tossed the damn thing like we were playing rugby or something, and as I saw it, he was not, in fact, okay.

I couldn't, for a fact, shout at him through the roars of our incensed dragons, and we were over water. So I fell back, turned Syrax in the air and ended up getting thoroughly scolded by everyone and their dog, while clutching the weird thing as if it was my lifeline or, at the least, favourite toy.

All hell broke loose when the egg decided to fucking crack in my arms.

A.N. Could anyone tell me if THAT SCENE EVEN THAT MUCH QUESTIONABLE SO YOU CAN BAN FOR IT? if it is, I'll ask to be put in nsfw =_=

A.N. 2 which one is actually better though, I will leave the non-questionable if the other one is too much of a stretch

 

[Ratmor]

I happen to be a supernatural being by all accounts, intents and purposes. My first reincarnation happened because one of the Inari foxes, of all people, decided to thank me for my very much unnecessary sacrifice, and then I ended up in the body of a very much supernatural Slayer, who literally had her instincts and body rewired by the soul of some sort of shadow demon or whatever.

So, yeah, I am a dangerous something, alright, never seen before in this world for sure, and I do not, in fact, require much sleep since that life with vampire-slayage and constant vitally important vigilance. I was the Slayer, I had my duties to kill the boogeys, and I didn't have a stable home for quite a while, one might say I gained a semblance of one not long before I had to die protecting it.

That is kind of why I was really fucking tired and all kinds of disenchanted by the whole notion of loving someone again, but Rhaenyra's memories didn't give me much choice. And as I know I'll totally reincarnate after I die, my life will not be beholden to this medieval bullshit you like to read about but would never want to live through. Ugh.

And I cannot consider this childish crush as anything serious right now, not really, but I guess, I have at least until the mourning period is over to make her something more than my best girl, while trying not to cross a very weird grooming line her father - the Hightower cunt, as uncle Daemon rightfully called him - totally just crossed.

I confirmed that cunt's hypocritical behaviour by stalking the King's bedroom with the help of Maegor's tunnels, and I almost threw up when I saw Alicent's lost and sorrowful face through the cracks, heard her careful measured voice, without any love or passion or infliction, she wasn't there by her own volition for sure.

And I felt even worse when I had to push my, Rhaenyra's, genuine feelings towards that girl, while having all the memories of my lives and the fact that she wouldn't quite dare to say no to me if I did something, or that's what I thought. Why wouldn't she say no to her father and Viserys then, if she could say no to me? I didn't dare to try it out, fearing of both possible outcomes. Her saying no to me would mean she can, in fact, put her foot down, and her not saying anything and just going with the flow would mean I made her do something she didn't explicitly agree to. And that's not what a person with grown-up brain should do to a girl of her age.

But if I adhere to my actual time-proven morals, I'd be too fucking late, what's with her purposeful avoidance, glances at her feet or hands when she thought I wasn't looking, her pretty eyes filled with sorrow and guilt all the while.

And I will adhere to them, I will.

I am not going to become something I am not just because the world around me is different. The slippery slope is there, and I'm not riding it, even if I should, as I do want my, Rhaenyra's, friend to be free.

But as I already found out, in all the mighty wisdom from other lives and experiences, you cannot change anyone but yourself, and changing yourself for the worse isn't a good thing for me. I am, will always be, a spiritual being whose power rests on not breaking oaths and being a good fucking person for mental health stability.

As I broke an oath in my past life, when I jumped into danger while knowing for sure that it would kill me, I've been missing half of my power since. I wasn't as fast or as strong as I should've been, I couldn't do my fire tricks anymore, or any of the illusions, just a little bug-killing spark, as if I just started learning the fox-magic and not used it for consecutive decade or so.

But this world gave me something more, like, that deep connection to dragons, plural, even the eggs, I felt, latched onto me as if I was their mother-hen or something. The whole of dragonpit in the King's Landing felt more like home because of those connections, much more than the disgusting viper nest of the Red Keep for sure.

So, the only true oath I made, I've already broken, and it didn't have any power over me, not anymore, as I paid for it. The karma, or whatever that was, did her thing, and balanced it out, as oathbreaking to save someone is a proper thing to do by all accounts.

So, if I really really wanted, I could end this farse any time I wanted.

But the old Rhaenyra wouldn't want me to just lay down and die, letting these people have what they want, would she?

So, I will bury my concerns as deep as I can, and do what feels right. All the while trying not to cross the line into what's being done to my, Rhaenyra's, best friend by other people. All the while getting mentally ready for not seeing her future bride status as a betrayal of sorts. Getting ready to do the right thing and not give a shit about what these people want, as I can put my fist through a stonewall due to my very much supernatural soul syncing with the, apparently, magical body of the valyrian descent. Alicent will surely try to change our dynamic into whatever her father would be saying. I feel that she's already losing her own voice in those growing expectations, and it was happening for quite a while, I'm sure of it, but her time with me usually made her less uptight and more happy.

But these days, when she's hiding what I already know, I see her lose that bright-eyed and brilliant girl the old Rhaenyra fell for.



***



The simple truth is, nobody really likes my new tiny scarf of a dragon, and it hits different when it's the grown-ass knights. They kept internally freaking out, for sure, as there were no Targaryens in recent history who hatched a dragon and not claimed it, so they weren't used to such a thing. And they were still dedicated to refuse me any sort of substantial training even though I ask again and again. Which is why, as of yet, I am not able to build up any sort of story on how I'm oh so genius about. I don't really have a chance to prove it.

And one other simple truth is, that Alicent Hightower charmed the little shit to pieces, even though she was also quite afraid of it, what's with the mini-Balerion colluring and angry spikes on the cheeks. I haven't named my little cutie-patootie as of yet, and the Keepers had intended to take him away, when it first hatched. The little buddy and me went real inseparable when that commotion started happening, until That Man finally swung by and got it all under the illusion of control, I guess.

In my own time I wasn't even given a cradle egg, really, which is how I ended up bonding wtth Syrax in the first place. My golden lady was huge, compared to this tiny slip of a baby dragon.

I also found out that I can, kind of, wish things towards both of them, and they tend to bend over backwards to do what I'm asking. Even as a spiritually complex being with the powers from another world, I never expected to be adept at handling any of the dragons except for the one that belonged to the old Rhaenyra, but these connections that formed on their own, really, left me not much choice.

They did not feel like smart beings of wisdom, the dragons of this world were painfully daft or unreasonably dull, at least the ones I've met. The awestruck adoration from the little one and the clingy puppy love from Syrax, they were there, somewhere in the back of my mind. But at the Dragon Pit I've felt all the others, as few of them as they were, and I couldn't ignore it.

The Dreamfyre felt rather calm for such a big lady, her sleepy wonder and surprise, more coherent than any other younger dragons. And one of the smaller dragons, the sparkly pale gold one, was simply happy out of his mind that there was a link that connected us. I could tug at all of them, suggest obedience, and probably snap those ties, but I haven't had the heart. Dragons, apparently, couldn't connect to each other without me, not like this, not emotionally, so the whole thing evolved into a huge ass chat room in the back of my mind. The weirdest feeling ever, but it wasn't bad. I've totally felt worse, what's with the all the disintegrating due to fighting the God of Hell in my past life.

It didn't really strain me, I could just shove it out of perception. And the bond with Syrax was more prominent, so I just held some decision power over them and it didn't feel like any actual bonding that Rhaenyra had to do, very much consciously for all her childhood, with her wonderful golden darling.

The Dragon Pit should've been the parking lot, really, not the cramped motel that it happens to be these days. The dragons need to be relocated to Dragonstone if I ever get to rule, honestly. It's not their place.

But that is a pending discussion, me ever getting to rule, as the only thing the men around me can think of, is that one day I'd be getting a husband who would be the one to protect me, so I do not need the ways to protect myself, apparently.

I have never felt less empowered than in this environment, if I'm being honest. He let me visit the Small Counsil but I'm reduced to refilling cups, I'd have been better just reading books from the library at this point, if I was actually twelve in my brain as well. Nobody of that age would get most of what's happening and I'm not that keen on ritualistic cupbearing part. The proper way would be allowing me to take notes and write stuff down, let me ask questions and then search answers to them. That Man was just moving through the motions, which someone else told him were right.

Once again, if not for the old Rhaenyra's memories and feelings, the wish to change something for Alicent based on this childish love and, probably, on my own budding infatuation, which shouldn't really be there, as I'm mentally older than this teenage girl. It's not like I lived into my thirties in any of my lives, but I still had more experience than she did in all the ways that matter for decision making.

I guess, we could attribute that to the hazards of getting souls merged with a twelve year old with a, most probably, unrequited crush.

I tried to keep my mouth shut when something felt like they were getting me ready for husbands and shit, like the septa's teachings or whatnot, but I didn't believe this a prudent course of action in the long run. I collected some circumstantial evidence right after Mother's death, some rumors and twitchy behaviours went right into my little leather notebook. I kept tracing the connections between people, stalking the keep at night, when I couldn't sleep, always following Alicent's behaviours in fear that That Man would deign to force himself on her, as if he's a gift to the world, and she would never dare to reject him. I was getting tired of it, and there were also rumors of something odd starting at the Narrow Sea, the pirates got bold or someshit. And it meant one thing, That Man grew irritated after each session of the Small Counsil with Lord Corlys, whose fleet was the major one, and if I'm being honest, the man needed some luxury tax yesterday. I mean, the Crown needed that tax from him, not that he would be thrilled about it.

Which is why I wanted to make something change before it all somehow goes to shit without my input. If Corlys doesn't get what he wants, and he won't, what's with how the Oldtown doesn't need the Narrow Sea to prosper, then the Seasnake would most certainly fuck off, as he seems like a man of action and twiddling his thumbs in the Red Keep while his trade suffers? He won't be doing that, for sure. And if I know it, Otto knows it as well. And the blatant jealousy of That Man towards the Velaryon is glaringly obvious to anyone as disenchanted with his nominal fatherhood as I am. The old Rhaenyra could've made excuses in her head, painted it as if he's just not wanting to act or doesn't understand the ramifications.

But I saw this petty glint in his eye, the unsubtle flex of "I'm the king here not you, even though you desperately wanted to be". And the fucking audacity of it all from both sides made me want to ask Ser Harrold to gag me with a spoon. Partially why I wanted to train so much, the one proper way to unwind when you're younger than sixteen, I guess.

No beer or ale or wine for me, when this brain is still developing. I wouldn't want to get myself into any debilitating addiction just because I couldn't beat someone up and got too pent up. I eat plenty of cheese though, and I've made the cooks make me pizza, so there's that for addictions. It was deemed to plain to be on the actual royal dining table, but I doubt the people in the city won't like it or, even, don't have something like it already.

The training, I still conducted, but in the middle of the night and without any hopes on getting rid of all that pent up rage I keep feeling.

Spoiler: A. N.

A.N. DID YOU DETECT ANY NSFW SEXUALISATION OF MINORS? I GUESS SOMEONE DID ON SB, IF ANYONE DOES PLEASE TELL ME THE EXACT MOMENT SO I CAN BURN IT AT THE STAKE LOL

 

[Ratmor]

I stood on the volcanic soil of Dragonstone, under the guise of getting a new Syrax clutch settled in under the care of local dragonkeepers - my golden baby drank that magic of mine like a syphon, so these were practically my kiddies too. I was also hoping to check out that new power of mine on Cannibal, just to make him stop doing what he was doing, or something. But the eggs and the talk with Daemon should come before any possible dragonbending shenanigans.

Weird to think that, really, but the Daddy of Dragons wasn't my dream title, but at least it gave me a reason to swing by to sneakily recruit the most useful Targaryen alive, at least to me, at this point in my life.

Daemon Targaryen received my message, mostly thanks to Ser Criston Cole being my sworn shield. The man was a dornish marcher, a kind of provincial srormlander oaf, who'd never been around Fleabottom lowlife cutthroats before in his life, that's true, but boy was he much more suited to go out and do my bidding down in the city than any other person in the castle.

First of, it was I who promoted him, personally, even though he was, at the time, visibly disappointed by my very much adult view on making a decision for another adult, albeit young, about his ability to have a family for the rest of his life.

My dude was young, green and angry at the world, I've seen myself from the other world in that eager behaviour of his. That wish to belong, I saw it plain and clear, and at the same time he didn't understand all the situation in full.

The White Cloak isn't all that great, honestly, and if I was a man with a working dick, I would never want this fucked-up job. So, I was forced to make a decision - another farce by the King dearest to show me how deeply he values my opinion, right after shutting me up once again during the Small Counsil, as if I wasn't making sense to all of them, fucking misogynistic arseholes. And that Hightower cunt? Oh, he was thrilled by the rerouting of wealth and fortune and luxuries that would occure, that's for sure.

The King dearest didn't understand, or didn't want to understand, that the Oldtown trade, or even overall Reach, really, won't be as fucked as any other Paramountcy, if we don't take the Stepstones. Even if he understood something, honestly, Viserys surely didn't dislike the idea of bitch slapping Corlys Velaryon, the arrogant gloryhound that he was, by denying his trade the protection it should've had from the Crown.

And I, honestly, wanted this war to start and end, while it's still Summer. We need more trading routes, and I'd be okay fighting there myself, if need be. I'm not and will not be defined by this world's views on what I can and cannot do. The words like these would've been very much empty if I wasn't a dragonriding menace with the fighting prowess from another life and powers that are not natural even in this quite magical world.

All in all, I want these warriors, permeating this whole place, to fuck off and fight, and let me rule in peace when I have to.

This martial culture here, the existence of hedge knights as a social strata even, it irritated me to no end, in all honesty. That wasn't even a thing in a normal fucking world, they were just the somewhat forlorn nobility on the road to the next tourney or host. So, this abundance of men with swords and ambitions will lead to the inevitable want for more glorious bloodshed.

These people do not have any Jesus Christ insipred notions of mercy and forgiveness, it was but one of the faces of the Seven, and it wasn't the one that men tended to follow. And the people didn't even feel obligated to follow all of those notions, it didn't even feel the same as christianity, except for the candles in the curch maybe. But nobody would discommunicate you from the Seven if you were too big of a cunt to others, especially those weaker than you, which was historically done to anyone starting with common rabble and ending with the kings and queens.

Not that our oldschool knights weren't some cracked-up morons oftentimes, but there was this ritualistic feel to it, that notion of mercy if you repent kind of thing. More fervent if I do say so myself, in a way, but less stagnant and at the same time less flexible than this Faith of the Seven of theirs.

Deep in my guts, I understood that if I don't get these people to bleed and ptsdeed before mine own rule, I will get an avalanche of gloryhounds to flock at any side of the possible Dance of the Dragons. Not that I even know what the fuck happened there, as it wasn't even the point of any the Song of Ice and Fire books I've ever read. I just know that it's somehow connected to me, Alicent, the succession crisis, and all the dragons dying the hell out as a result.

So, That Man wants to sit his throne, continue the peaceful reign of that Jae-king, the one true jerk who decided to fuck the valyrian "the eldest child inherits and if someone younger doesn't like it, they fight one on one with their dragons, and if they don't want to - they ought to make out". Which, frankly, explains why Visenya was beside herself, wishing her crazy kiddo as the king, as she was, in fact, the eldest Targaryen standing, with valyrian magic and without the andal light of the seven brainrot.

And That Man, also, it seems to me, always wanted to emulate said Jae-king even in details - what's with the endless pregnancies forced upon Mother. But he never fucking would and could never just accept it and live with it.

The cunt of a king isn't consistent in anything but his passivity, is what I'm saying, but he still irritated me, as of now, much less than the current Grand Maester, whose suggestions got my mother slaughtered, most likely alive, for a dying baby.

And I wanted more confirmation. I wanted Mellos to talk. I wanted each second accounted, everyone who knew and been there to pay. And I wanted someone else on my side about it, someone who would give me the much needed support and not judge me about avenging Mother with great prejudice. Alicent was young, too caught up in her father's schemes, and I didn't want to be a grooming cunt, what's with all the years and relationships I had over her, really. So, she won't be lending me her hand in creating alibis, even if I say pretty please the way I usually do, and she crumbles under my gase like she's made of wet noodle.

My inner dark Slayer was thrilled by the promised sadistic satisfaction, I'm sure, but I was careful not to lose it, as I did need to stay sane and not morally compromised, and killing innocents would do that for sure. And I couldn't say that the White Cloak, even as commited as Ser Harrold, wouldn't be opposed to some good old kidnapping and torture practices.

And that's exactly what I intended to do with Maester Mellos.

Of course my decision about Criston ended up being even more right when I learned his age, the kid wasn't even twenty! So, it wasn't allowed for him to be my actual guard, for obvious reasons, but it didn't make him unable to follow me along with Ser Harrold Westerling and run around doing some errands. I started to jokingly call him my knight-errand, but the joke lived on, and that's actually his nickname these days. These people had hedge knights but didn't have knight-errands, what the fuck is wrong with this world, I wonder. Ugh.

Maybe the pitiful nerve-wracking existence of my other sworn shield would turn Criston away from this perilous path of the armored mother-hen with a death wish, or so I hoped.

"I still do not like this," the young man muttered clutching at the pommel of his sword with one hand and fidgeting with a tassel I gifted him with another.

I made it myself in my free time, and it was a little braided thing made of colorful silk, not anything elaborate, but my dude was so fidgety sometimes that I thought he might need some beads to replace it in a month or two. Well, I cannot rightly make a fidget spinner without weird-ass orders to the first poor unsuspecting smith I'd meet in Fleabottom. And I cannot do those without questions from That Man. And I really fucking tried, because you gotta try to make normal books if you end up somewhere before any sort of industrialisation. Ugh.

Anyways, Criston actually needed the thingy as a simple black and red identification piece, first and foremost, because I refused him the White Cloak. And as it goes, it ended up being a toy.

So, my new sworn shield's comings and goings weren't all that important, and he managed to sneak out a message. He didn't quite like the Uncle and quite plainly told me so, trying to make me see that I didn't need said Uncle's help in whatever it is that I wanted to accomplish. But nobody in their right mind likes Daemon without being his relative or dragonrider, truly.

And I doubt Ser Criston has a way to officiate a blood oath with Alicent. As I fear, the day That Man declares he's choosing her as the bride, is coming soon.

"Hello, my dear Niece," he purposefully kicked a small rock with his boot and smiled at me from under a hood. The red spindly dragon flew over us, far away and with no particular sound, he didn't roar as none of us were agitated. I felt the familiar connection to this creepy puppy of Daemon's anyways.

"What is it that you wanted from your Kepa?" he smiled, all teeth, and asked, after I returned my gase towards him.

I breathed in the air of faint sulfur, of salt and sea, grinned back at him with determination of a nutcase and started to speak.

My new friend behind me quietly gasped at all the horrible shit I unearthed, as I spinned it as some sort of conspiracy against the King kind of thing, for the sake of Daemon's feelings, partially, and so that he doesn't catch on the fact that That Man is on the bad list as well.

Half of those things were my projections, extrapolated from the evidence, of course, but Daemon didn't need that evidence. All he needed was my word, and all I needed was his help with no strings attached, because he wouldn't be doing it for me and me only. He certainly liked my Mom, they were closer to each other in age, and I'm pretty much sure he didn't like how she died, not when I told him the truth of it, the way that it didn't paint Viserys as bad.

How Mellos was the last in the plethora of maesters presented at court, how every last one of them who spoke of waiting with new babies got banished back, even though any village midwife would tell you the same. How those weren't Viserys's direct orders of dismissal, but the Hand's, and oh, how Daemon hated the Hand.

I fervently whispered at him how I saw my best friend's eyes fill up with shame and pain and longing and love, swallowed in repressed resolve and desperation, and how I wanted her to be mine, my friend and confidante first and foremost, despite her cunt of a father wish to make her the new Queen.

Daemon evidently didn't like that, his face scrunched up in a disgusted scowl. But then I asked him to find me a blood oath to bind her with, to make it so that even if she's forced into that bullshit marriage, she won't be separated from me. She was the only one who cared about me, genuinely and without any strings attached, she didn't need to continue this masterful acting, and she didn't need to be my friend to secure any sort of good match. And she was always supposed to leave me when she married someone her father chose anyways, those were the old Rhaenyra's bitter thoughts I carried within. I couldn't stop my whispered confessions and I was really glad that my sworn shield is standing further away, or he'd probably be appaled by the revelations.

"Ñustuz jorrāelotza, jorrae..." I stopped myself in time, but he totally got the gist of it. (I love her as family)

I ended up bawling my eyes out and saying more than I should've, of course. He lookeed at me, his scowl faded somewhere during my emotional dump on him, really.

"Do you want to marry her or not?" he muttered quietly, in Valyrian, clasping at my elbows and squinting at me with the unusual care, for a person with his dubious reputation.

"Are you fucking raving mad?" I started laughing and slapped his hands away, he winced in surprise at the pain, as I was already stronger than old Rhaenyra by far, and he didn't expect such force. "She's got that rainbow church brainrot, Kepa, and it's not like you even like her, why would you even propose such a thing?"

"The only oath I can think of is that one, not quite sure about the magic," he shrugged and huffed. "But any children of her's will be yours. By Valyrian standards, that is. Not the first time this happened in our history."

"That's why we don't acknowledge Visenya's royal assassination accusations, yes, kepa, I remember, they were all married to each other," I rolled my eyes with a short laugh and tried to calm down, I guess, not sleeping well for months and getting back into fiercely training at the same time finally caught up to me. "The talks with Velaryons will be useless, they want him to marry Laena, I heard, but she's so small, I don't want that too, kepa. It's very bad for a girl to be bedded so young, but both Maesters and Lords are cunts. And my girl is innocent in all that, as they do not have any love between them, she just sits with him sometimes and reads to him as if he were an infant. But she is the one for me, I knew it long ago, kepa. It was a nice dream to have. I don't want to lose it."

He sighed with a resignation of a patented guard of a psych-ward, patted me on the crown of my head and then stopped abruptly, as my sworn shield decided to clear his throat in a clear warning.

"If you're disappointed, you'd just marry someone else. And, Rhaenyra, it that even a mutual wish or your wishful thinking? If you knew, you'd have taken her with you. Find out and come back," he suggested and looked up at his circling dragon, deep in thought, it seemed. "You know he made you heir because they wanted to keep me away, don't you?"

His tone changed drastically, but I didn't see malice in his eyes. Maybe that's my fault for bringing Cole into it without explaining shit, I guess. I guess, he thought to hide the last part of our talk, and I was inclined to agree.

"It's alright, he's my errand-knight, almost White Cloak, really, I just didn't want him to regret not having a family. He's too young for such a decision."

"I would gladly serve the Crown as the Kingsguard, your Grace," the stubborn mutters of my dude were very funny each time I heard them, so I chuckled. Not the first time I did that, so Cole didn't even react.

"Oh for fucks sake," Daemon was of the same mind, I guess, because he delivered. "She just doesn't want you to be an Oathbreaker, Cole. And you don't seem like man who is fond of some sort of septon life. So, deal with it, she's not wrong."

Cole went red in the face and started fidgeting again.

I didn't know my dude's stance on love between two women, but I'm guessing, he wasn't much dornish about it. He literally hated the dornish, come to think of it. So, maybe, no inquiries for him to swing by that oath-ceremony that probably would be the actual valyrian wedding if I go as stark raving mad as my Uncle. I mean, I'd do it in a heartbeat, as I decided to carry a torch and have fun with it in the process, while dodging all the womanly duties they're trying to thrust at me. But Alicent totally wouldn't. I don't think she's got the guts or the same sturdy feelings towards me that Rhaenyra has had for her. I am almost sure, they're not enough for her to abandon the Light of the Seven firm beliefs on how women should and shouldn't behave.

She obviously knew I'm as Valyrian as they go. And I wasn't into this whole andal faith shit even before this emergence of my memory, which wouldn't endear me to this type of patriarchy even if I was a man myself. I'd have been more advantaged, of course, but my memories would've never let me live and let live, without trying to change anything. Being a girl with the powers that I have, in the setting that I'm in, also provides me with a singular opportunity to bitchslap grown-ass dickheads with mine own hands.

I'd be desperatly happy to do so, when we do that kidnapping thing, Uncle Daemon's weird-ass suggestions notwithstanding.

 

[Ratmor]

Alicent was deeply disturbed by something when I got back from Dragonstone, and I even thought the worst at first. But for the sake of my sanity, I hoped That Man didn't do anything to her.

She refused me, these days, more often than not, and I didn't know what I've done wrong, really.

Even Ser Criston looked quite worried at my reaction on her refusals to be with me for longer. As soon as she deemed it polite to leave, she did, and I was beside myself on how to fix this.

Cole ended up being a good friend, but I still didn't like the idea that he might not be one if he learned of my, Rhaenyra's, affections towards Alicent.

I was always as subtle as a brick, though, so I think if I wanted this guy to stay on my side, I might need to open up in the not so distant future.

This guy is helping me to kill someone, so I guess he does deserve that particular bit of trust. And I better get to it before he actually has some leverage against me, like, I don't know, maybe the actual fucking murder of the current Grand Maester! Uh-huh.

Very trivial reason for medieval fantasy coming out story, but still, I think he already started to notice, so I actually really should.

I was very much sloppy in my attempts to somehow manipulate her into any sort of deeper closeness, as we were already close enough and I've never really had to cling to someone. I always had an opportunity to find a sort of respite if I had unrequited feelings towards a girl, and I cannot do that here, not for a few years at least.

Carrying a torch for someone usually didn't mean not having any fun, but here, in this life, I was far too young for any of that. That dancer girl who received a kiss from me never even knew my age, I don't think, and there are plenty of underfed commoners who would look like a twelve year old healthy noble kid, so she didn't pay much mind to my light frame at the time.

Daemon mentioned something about "making a whore dumbstruck" with a clear mirth in his eyes, as we dined in some small tavern down in the village near the Gullet, right before I left Dragonstone.

I would've never done this, really, as I hoped our meeting would remain confidential, but Daemon assured me that it's better to take the narrative in our own hands, so that I didn't have to lie when someone asked if I met him. It would be a story of simple accidental meeting between two Targaryens near the port of their ancestral seat, if anyone noticed us.

And I think he also tried to scare Ser Criston from any untoward thoughts in my direction, which I thought was ridiculous, but I couldn't fault Uncle for caring.

Daemon also told me that I cannot lie for shit, and that's the only thing that stops him from flying to the Red Keep and tearing the Hightowers, plural, apart with the eager help of Caraxes.

He believed me when I said that Alicent was not a willing participant, and he was too well aware of how I felt for her, after that breakdown, with all the snot and snivelling he witnessed.

I've also had some time to speak with my actual honest to God subjects, the commoners with valyrian looks that were quite normal here, on Dragonstone.

The revelations from the folk here were quite illuminating. As it usually goes, while slightly drunk - and I did have to drink watered down wine as it was a tavern and not a coffeeshop, unfortunately - you usually talk about what's bothering you, if you ever talk at all in such a condition.

So, I sat some random tavern girl down - don't even remember her name, something very non-Valyrian like - and started asking all sorts of questions, ranging from crops and cattle and furthering into some cultural social horrors that seemed quite prominent if you looked at what Mother had to suffer through before her death.

Apparently, having any sort of marital relations right after "flowering", as they call it here, was frowned upon by any normal villager community, fucking figures that the people aren't that daft.

They took notice long time ago, how girls just started growing into their bodies due to menstruation, just simply collected evidence one generation after another on how bad it is if a girl gets pregnant too young, and simply didn't practice it these days.

Not that the girl told me all that, just that she thought that marrying anyone at eleven or twelve with the purpose of making children would be abhorrent to no end, she even reacted the same as any modern person would, paled and almost gagged.

Normal fucking sane people, honestly, my sort of people, the only one who make sense.

Literal empirical data is right before noble's noses and they're fucking retarded, that's what they are.

I could get around the not knowing about any of the pregnancies giving women internal scarring, which in turn makes it harder to birth babies, the internal scarring thing is not easy to come across if you're not cutting up people or have ways to see that scarring, like the doctors in my Earth-based lives could. I've heard about that when I had my first life in the female body, so I had to make myself aware of the new reality I happened to find myself in.

But the fact that commoners literally solved the problem for them, maester cunts, and they are willingly, haughtingly even, ignoring the data and not making it a fucking rule that cannot be broken?

Most of the commoner couples didn't start their married lives until they had money to do so. They had too many centuries in this medieval limbo, in my humble opinion, but they were still people, as smart and resourceful as any other human being would be, only without any proper way to rise above their station with anything but their trade or craft.

That wasn't really okay of me to do, trying to get something out of Alicent's current and quite complicated love for me - I never wavered on its existence, though.

Not okay, even if I was out of my mind for a while and frankly desperate. Also, not at all appropriate even for her meager almost fifteen years of age.

My mind wasn't quite as settled as it is now, when I decided on that course of action, I was still more Rhaenyra than myself, and now, after all the catharsis and shit, I finally found myself reevaluating my previous werid as heck actions. Which, honestly, deterred me from grabbing Alicent like a toy, squishing and never letting go, the way my inner Rhaenyra really wanted to, so that she wouldn't be able to leave without any proper explanation of her weird demeanour towards me.

I remember myself in my first life at fourteen and fifteen.

At the time, I just lost my mother, reaffirmed that my father was a crap on a stick not just because of his treatment of me or my little sister, but because of how he refused the care to my grandma, who had cancer, at first one, but then it became more, and it was the time I had to grow up because of all those things.

Years later, I ended up without any higher education, the one I desperately wanted when I was younger, when I had some hopes of living a life I wanted, as I had to care for my dying relative as the only one who could. And when I, the first time in my fucking pathetic life, decided to do something for myself, I went to Japan, accidentally met the Inari fox in disguise and died.

The father from the next life would be the one I'd consider the good one, the one you should somewhat emulate as a parent, and as a decent human being, if I'm being honest. And Charlie would've been very fucking disappointed in my conscious decision to manipulate a kid like her, so deceptively pure and desperately pious and frighteningly naive.

I almost had a conniption fit last time I've met a much older person trying to make a seventeen year old love them, succeding in that goal, even. To be fair, I had trouble seeing anything but red, as I wanted to kill the guy and I almost did, even though I knew that seventeen year old, the fucking Slayer and one more blonde to ruin my life, as it turns out, could and would whoop my ass for that murder.

It's a fucking nightmare, this life, where the lower nobility and the scholars are not the progress they're supposed to become with time and evolution of society. And the world is going to be almost the same, but somehow without the adult and tamed dragons, in two hundred years.

In my first life I have watched the Game of Thrones, and I knew that Martin never actually finished the story. The ending was not set in stone, especially now that I'm here. I also knew that without a dragon those wights would've never broken the Wall.

There's a high probability, now that I'm here, with all this power connected to dragons at my disposal, that Daenerys was the same as me, being able to make them do her bidding, and those dragons may have gone beyond the Wall even if it was against their very nature, what's with the Good Queen Alysanne's account of her visit to the Wall being very telling. Daenerys hatched those dragons, with fire and blood and death, yes, quite different from me, but she also wasn't a supernatural whatever-the-fuck-I-am with actual knowledge on how to do some actual magic.




***




As I was not allowed to, one, ask knights of any sort to train me, two, bother the Small Counsil with questions that made them bother That Man with pointed glances, three, go down from the Red Keep into the city and do any of the creative shit that I could've, like printing press or any sort of smithing or overall workshop activity. Well, I had been left no other option but to entertain myself.

Alicent was not as abcent as right after my trip, but was very much subdued, as if simply going through the motions of courtesy. But, well, I've seen her complicated looks at me and could sense that I'm missing something.

And I did continue to stalk That Man's chambers after my return, every night she went or didn't - in any case it gave me plenty of info when she didn't, so I couldn't really mind. And she still didn't do anything incriminating or in any way flirtatious. She's been more shy in some of Rhaenyra's memories, really.

So, my days were spent reading and mucking around with some, objectively, werid-ass local denizens. One of them was my dude Samwell.

"Your Grace, it doesn't quite work," Samwell whined, one of the youngest Red Keep bards, which is why he didn't mind tailing me of his own volition. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but you might need your own lute at this point, it's awfully tiring me out! Don't you have one? You're the princess!"

"I suspect treasonous behaviour, Sammy-boy," I clasped his lute right under his left hand and tried to take it away, but the young man decided to be, well, either cocky or coquettish, gods forbid, and didn't let go. "I have a harp, and I am in need of your ear, not just your tool, you bumbling oaf, you! Give it to me! I'll show you what I mean, goddamit!"

"That song is too... Too! Your Grace! You might need the whole staff of people to play it, not my poor lute! And why cannot you both sing and play at the same time, huh? Why do you torture me so!"

"Sam... Weeeeell!" I decided he's going for cocky and playful both, in hopes that I'll get over it and ask someone else for the lute. "Do not pretend that I'm bullying you! I am in need of painful self-expression through creative activities! And you've been a great help! Continue being a great help, why, don't you?!"

"What in the Seven Hells does that even mean!"

"Your Grace," the very much calm but clearly vicariously embarrassed voice of my errand-knight wedged itself into the argument and immediately stopped it.

Me, my chosen bard and Ser Criston had been at Godswood for quite a while. The actual Kingsguard was further away and he really didn't mind, what's with the musical chaos we were creating.

The main love of this current life of mine, well, at least for now she was one, kept avoiding me without really avoiding me, and it made me want to do what I did best with the knowledge from other worlds, to try and recreate some of the fun stuff. Or not so fun stuff, really, what's with the dramatic love and/or sorrow songs and all.

Ser Criston interrupted us out of actual necessity, as it turned out. I've forgotten that we might be receiving the Velaryons these days. I mean, I knew, but them lot are all dragonriders, and I was not that big of a nerd for dragons like old Rhaenyra was. So even if there were weird shadows over the Red Keep at some point, I wouldn't have noticed.

"Princess Rhaenys, Laenor and Laena," I let go of the lute and smiled at the relatives.

Anybody else without my power would be deeply interested in politicking and bootlicking when meeting them, but dragons were the least of my problems, even Vhagar.

I concentrated, and felt for anyone more, and yeah, the dusty old lady did join the chat, her presence much more prominent and at the same time irritated and quite apathetic. She didn't quite like me, but I will try to bend her at some point in the future.

After all, my goal was Cannibal, and for that goal I do need to try this thing out on more ferocious dragons who feel no particular connection to me.

My smile probably resembled that of a shark when I turned my face to the one, accompanying my Velaryon relatives. Why else would Alicent start squirming right after I looked at her with that smile? Well, I would fucking like to know, for real. What the hell did I do, huh? My patience was running out, really. But not in front of Velaryons, or that might turn ugly just because of that.

"You, want to hear something new?" I tried to make it less of a dragon mug really, but based on what she displayed by twitching once again, like she wanted to run the hell off, it was not enough.

"Something odd more like," the most immortal bard of the continent, everyone. "Oh, I should..." he coughed and hugged his lute to his chest. "I should probably go, yes?"

"Nope, gimme," I took the lute out of his weakening palms and then sat down the way we did before, right on the roots of the Weirwood.




"I've cut open veins,

Irrevocably,

Irreplaceably

Gushes life.

Bring forth dishes and bowls,

Any dish will prove too small

Any bowl - too flat.

Filling up and overly

Feeding reeds,

Through the earth rushing.

Inconceivably,

irrevocably,

Irreplaceably,

Song is gushing."




"Well, that is new!" blurted out Samwell and showed me the two big fingers salute, atta boy, just how I taught him. "You should work on the verses though, it seems oddly short!"

"Well, I thought it as a poem, really, but it isn't quite usual, is it, Sammy?"

"Quite Targaryen, I should say," Laena snickered and decided to go for a hug. "Blood is life, blood is song, and it's never enough, eh?"

"You're Targaryen," I said that as if it was her major crime, that kind of questioningly hurt tone, as if she surprised me, but then I hugged her back, while not letting go of the lute.

"Your grace!" whined Samwell and tried to hold the body of his lute and not to touch Laena in my arms at the same time. "Please, let my precious darling go, please! I'll give your errand-knight the contacts of the best master to make one for you, but please!"

Princess Rhaenys and Laenor did not make it out of the Godswood without laughing either.

The only one pitifully sad and thinly smiling, so as not to show it, but still showing it - especially to me - was Alicent.

I didn't know the reason, but I hoped she didn't somehow start genuinely liking That Man.

He killed the last woman he married, and I'd rather both Laena and Alicent were as far away from these prospects as they could be.

And yeah, I admit, I very much needed to speak with Alicent. As I do not understand what exactly is wrong, and she wouldn't tell me when we meet during some daily activities. And it cannot be her conscience about the evening visits to the King, she won't be looking at me as if it is I who did something wrong.

What the fuck did I do?

 

[Ratmor]

Laena, Laenor and Alicent were mercilessly left in the Godswood with me and my bardman by Rhaenys, as she went off to find Corlys and set up the talk with the king.

The introduction kind of talk, I'm guessing, which disgusted me to no end. Laena was, maybe, one year older than me, and I wasn't even sure of that, because she didn't quite look like it. She was smaller than me, for hells sake.

I had no pressing matters to attend to, not personally, and I let Ser Criston go as well. The messenger from Dragonstone was sure to swing by, as their timing is always tied to the shipments from Spicetown or Hull. And obviously, Cole was needed for that. It's not like me and my Uncle could trust ravens, and by extension, Maesters, with the whole correspondence about blood oaths and whatnot, so we had to resort to using the unsavory sort for that. I also needed some coordination with Uncle about the murder-torture we're planning, and that's obviously not what the Grand Maester, the one we're trying to kill, should have any possible access to.

"So, that's something you do, these days?" Laenor wondered and grinned at me, as if we were best buddies, the charming git. "Torturing bards?"

"Samwell is not being tortured without his concent," I shrugged and clapped the guy on his elbow, as he was taller than me, as of yet I hope. "Concent is a thing, you know. He's whining and saying shit, but he can always walk, as I told him beforehand. The deal is that he treats me as collaborator, not as the princess, when we're like this."

"It's more productive, Her Grace says. I ought to agree," Samwell bowed his head to the newest additions to our Godswood jam session and quite hilariously asked. "Do I also call your cousins your grace, Your Grace? I don't quite recall the protocol..."

"That is rather unconventional, to be so familiar, my princess," murmured Alicent, with a slight tremor in her voice, and I wondered to myself what it is that bothers her so.

"Samwell, you may go."

I waved the guy off and he scurried away with an awkward smile and a nod.

"Love, you can join me at any point of my day or night, you know that, don't you. I always wait for your companionship, Alicent, never fret, not about that."

I decided to take her palms in mine, as she did have a nervous tick on picking at her cuticles, and that wasn't quite safe in this environment, what's with the lack of antibiotics and all that, really.

Outside of that, this girl was most certainly the cleanest person in the keep, always smells real nice and flowery.

"As I said before, I had to attend some functions by my house Paramount Lords, the Tyrells, or many other, as it is important to my father... It would bring me much joy to stay with Your Grace at all times, but I also have to do my duty."

If we were in the normal world, she'd probably be getting ready for medical school or something equally important and serious, and her prick of a father would've still been a prick but desired the Law School for her, or something along those lines, instead of these betrothal seeking arrangements she was participating in. I wasn't foolish enough to not notice what she didn't say when she described the parts of days she spent without me.

"Well, if you put it like that," I hummed and looked up at her, and our height didn't have that much of a difference these days, even if she did grow a bit, as well. "You're also allowed to call me by my name, since forever, Alicent, whyever you decided to stop?"

"It... It seems inappropriate, Your... Rhaenyra, what's with the company," she blushed, looking at our clasped palms instead of my face, but didn't try to pull away.

Until Laena decided to barge in on this cute little moment, that is.

"Lovely, cousin," this little poppet of a girl, honestly, she tried to do a salacious grin but ridiculously failed as it seemed very much childish and unkind. "Do you treat all your ladies in waiting this way, or just Lady Hightower here?"

I tried to find humor within me, at first, as I didn't believe that she understood the full implications of what she just said, but Alicent's face fell and paled, and she tried to remove her palms from the vice of my fingers. I almost hurt her in my attempt to hold back the well deserved snarky response, but I looked at both of the cousins' faces and saw that they didn't quite like the achieved effect as well. What's with Laena's grin fading, and Laenor being very much surprised by the predicament.

"So, how's your dragon, Laena?" I decided to steer clear of the topic of my attention towards Alicent, and chose the most uplifting way to change the subject, or that's what it seemed to me, really.

But her eyes filled with unshed tears, mouth slightly open in obvious hurt, and Laenor straightened up, as if I got ready to punch him in the face, or something. What the hell did I do wrong this time, huh?

"You know perfectly well that she doesn't have a dragon, Rhaenyra! Neither do I!"

"That was... That was cruel of me," I was as if struck by lightning, let go of Alicent and tried to approach my cousin, but Laenor took my outstretched arm by the wrist instead and glared at me. "I thought that you claimed Vhagar, or at least I think, I heard about it from someone? I mean..."

"Vhagar?" Laena's eyes went round, the fire in them starting to burn, and she quickly dried off her tears, while chuckling. "I have seen Vhagar, she temporarily nested near the Gullet on our side of it, since last month, I think, yes, but I wasn't allowed to come close... How would you even know that? I didn't claim her, though."

"Well, she's... somewhere nearby," I muttered under my nose but shut it up in time.

Then I once again concentrated on the new dragon presences in the back of my head, and it started to make more sense. I should've known, really.

I didn't know why, but I thought that Laena is Vhagar's rider, and Laenor is Seasmoke's, so they'd be the most obvious reason for That Man to marry Laena and not Alicent. I wouldn't ever want that though, wishing such fate on this tiny girl. But it made sense that he choose her, not just for Corlys seafaring genius and his wealth, but for the dragons.

The two dragons, I've felt, Meleys, the Red Queen, who already knew me and I met her flying nearby Driftmark, on my way back from Dragonstone. And she knew the Rhaenyra from before, as we did fly together with both Daemon and Rhaenys, when I was but a child who recently claimed a dragon and couldn't be kept from the sky, not without hysterics. So the elder members of the house collectively decided to not let me die a stupid death, I guess.

The second one was, in fact, Vhagar.

And if I told Laena that she should go and claim her, as I felt she could and, rather, should, That Man would totally have to leave the idea of Alicent off the plate.

That, would be quite a terrible thing to do, all things considered.

And I didn't fucking know what to do.




***




At a very early point the other day, I've learned, that Ser Criston received the confirmation from Daemon and, most probably, received certain services from the deliverers of that message.

Cole was certainly no blushing maiden in that regard, I bet, and I was quite right when I stopped him from taking on the White Cloak position. So, after this eventful night the only thing he wanted to do, apparently, is to occupy the armchair in my solar and nurse his head, trying to cool himself down with a wet rag. He was wildly hungover, and I was dangerously envious.

"Leave us, Ser Harrold," I smiled at the Kingsguard but he didn't do as I asked immediately, having obvious doubts.

"Your Grace, I am unsure if it's wise," Ser Harrold Westerling was not enthused by the prospect of leaving me alone with a hungover knight twice my size, but I waved the man off.

"You'll hear if anything is wrong, Ser Harrold. I have things to discuss, and it's not for you to question me. Not on this. I'm not doing anything wrong."

I didn't add that I could certainly take care of myself, as even in my weaker state I could bench press something like eighty stones, if I remember right it's about half a tonn and thrice less than I could in previous life, last time I checked. But this knight, I could certainly throw, as he wouldn't weigh much more than one hundred kilos, which is about sixteen stones.

As a proper supernatural person that I am, the first thing I did in this life after all the fuming and whining and cathartic upheaval that joined all the parts of me together on the inside, I obviously tried to lift a destrier in the stables. Obviously.

It succeeded, not only in checking my powers but also in making the warhorse quietly freak out, based on her eyes. She had probably seen battle, of course, my experiments were surprising for her but barely frightening.

Then I proceeded to lift a nearby draft horse. And after that succeeded, I tried to lift a cart that draft horse was attached to before going into stables, very much filled cart. But I knew that it wouldn't weigh more than a Honda Civic I threw at the boogeys once. I barely managed to lift the cart, and my muscles started to burn almost immediately.

So, yeah, if I really need to, I'll suplex the guy and break appendages. Small mercies, honestly. At least I am in less physical danger than I was in my past life, even with all the powers I had. I mean, I could and I will find myself in danger here, but it will be my choice and not just how the life works. Nobody but my own stupidity forces me to try and bend a fucking Cannibal dragon, just cus I want myself a pet Alduin.

The chirping sound from the window, thankfully closed, made us both turn our heads towards it. Criston was reasonably unsettled, his face getting even more unnaturally pale, as any non-Dragonrider should be, really. Personally, I adored the spiky puppy that this little dragon is, still unnamed and unchained, not even capable of proper dracarys as of now.

"My heart, you finally woke up," I smooched the dragon on the nose without any care and started the usual routine of caressing his belly, and he sent all the adoration he had up at me so I couldn't hold back either. "Love you too!"

Ser Criston was still unsettled, and his hangover somehow backed off in the face of possible danger to me, I guess. He didn't trust the dragons and thought them mindless beasts, and it was not surprising as it wasn't really a widespread knowledge on how the Dragonriders communicate with their mounts.

"Here's the letter," Criston put a small bundle that was assuredly not just a letter on my writing table. "And a thing you asked. Why did you ask for it?"

"I am going to... Let you in on a secret, Ser Criston," I started quietly, intently staring at the bundle.

It was a sort of test, really, how he would treat this. One thing, to help plot a revenge and know that your master is trying to avenge her mother, but to do this? It served no real purpose and was selfishly sinful. If he told my father or, gods forbid, the hand, I'd be free from his company really easily, as it would be a betrayal of my trust. This thing also proved nothing and couldn't actually be traced to me, he'd be most certainly labeled as a fraud and a liar, but that would be a decent reward for being a snitch, I was thinking.

I asked him for the moon tea, the morning after tea, the plan B tea, whatever you want to call it really. He got me the ingredients and instructions, from those brothel women he met yesterday. It was them who provided us with the messages from my Uncle, and it was rather inconspicuous for a man of Cole's standing to visit said brothels. He did have me and my whims as his workplace, so it should be stressful, I had no doubt.

"The Hand is trying to push my best friend, you know her, the Alicent Hightower, into the bed of my father," I said that quietly, so that Ser Harrold surely wouldn't hear even if he has the intent to listen in. "And she's not just my friend but the person I love with all my heart. Which is why I want to have a contingency if my father one day decides to rape her. And yes, it will be rape even if she agrees to his face, because he's the King and she will not, in fact, say no either to her father or to the King. She's very much faithful, more so, since her mother, Alyrie Florent, died."

"You don't believe she wishes..." he trailed off, matching my quiet tone of voice and scrutinising the bundle with a narrowed stare. "And what do you mean you love her?"

"Possesively and hopefuly, like any young person would," I also stared at the bundle and then decided to take Daemon's message first. "I am valyrian, Ser Criston, I was not raised, not fully, in this Light of the Seven. We have always had the customs that would be rather odd to your people."

"What do you mean by my people?" the quick but rather odd question followed, and he looked sharply at me, while I didn't quite understand what he wanted me to say.

"Well, you, the westerosi, I guess? Stormlanders in your case, I gather. Well, anyone with those ingrained beliefs into the Seven and all that legalistic bullshit they turned into religion at some point? I don't know what else?"

"You don't..." he muttered and put his palms on his forehead. "Well, I see, you love your friend more dearly than she would think you should, and... What does this have to do with me?"

"If you don't want to leave my service in the future, you might want to get used to me having such feelings towards a girl," I briefly glanced at his weirded out face and started reading the letter.

"I look like I'm dornish," he murmured and that made me stop and stare.

"And my mother looked like a Targaryen though she really, really was not," I squinted at Ser Criston and continued. "Most of the Lys looks like the members of my family, what does it say about me? Am I acting like the Lyseni? I mean, I could if I wanted to, but it would have nothing to do with my looks."

"Why do you say she wasn't?" he latched onto something else, while I still saw it on his face, how his brain kept working through whatever it is that rattled him so.

"She was raised an Arryn, and then she was married off, the andal nobility way, very early on. She didn't fully become a person before she married my father. And she didn't become one even after. Just a vessel, a tool, a trophy, suffering and not knowing that it's wrong. She didn't have or ever want for a dragon, she was somewhat content with her lot, and I couldn't ever fault her for that, as she was the most kind and wonderful mother I could ever have. But this is not our way."

"And what is your way, my princess?" he uttered that with a certain fervour that I didn't quite like.

"Our way, Ser Criston, is fire and blood."

I grinned at him despite a certain discomfort due to his alarming state of focus on me.

"Also, please, do not call me "your princess", it feels weird," I added that as an afterthought, and it made him blink away that stare of his.

"So..." he cleared his throat, stood up and started playing with his tassel, trying not to look me in the eye. "What you mean is, you love her and if you were a man you'd be willing to marry her. Am I close?"

"I'd be willing to marry her even as a woman, Ser Criston, it's not like valyrian customs do not have this accounted for," I couldn't really continue to read the letter as it was too deep of a topic to brush off, or he might get some ideas or something. "You may do as you wish with such knowledge, but Aegon, Visenya and Rhaenys were married to each other, not just to Aegon. Visenya was the eldest, and she married Aegon because they didn't want strife within the family. Aegon married Rhaenys, and Visenya did too, for their children to be of them all, and not just belonging to one pair of them. That's why in Valyrian there's no prince or princess, no heir or heiress, no father or uncle, no mother or aunt. It reflects our customs very thoroughly."

"It wasn't forbidden for your people but it is a perversion for our Faith. Like that incest thing."

He wrinkled his nose in obvious distaste but stopped himself mid motion.

"I am not keen on that either, I don't think we needed to go that far. Honestly, plenty of times the eldest in the family could bring someone from another family if they agreed to join in truth, it has happened in our histories. They also, admittedly, practiced plenty of infamous flesh sculpting and blood magic, and now we do not. So, I doubt that continuing it beyond cousin marriages has any merit. If I ever become the Queen, I'd see to that."

"So, you're saying, some things you're not okay with, but this," Criston sighed and was struggling to continue, so I interrupted him.

"How can love be sin if it's consensual and brings about everything that's good within me? How can wrath be good if it's hurting people? How can a bastard be born inherently sinful just because his parent has sinned?"

"I have felt the Warrior's blessing," Ser Criston muttered and squared his shoulders, but his head was still hung as if he was ashamed. "It didn't feel that good right after, but when it is madness bid..."

"It is madness delivered," I continued with a verse of that Seven-Pointed Star book I had no choice but to read in my barely useful studies, but I couldn't stop there, as in my past life the Bible actually worked against the boogeys, and I did read it more than thrice, even. "But all who draw the sword will die by the sword. And nothing outside a person can defile them by going into them. Rather, it is what comes out that defiles them."

"What... You mean that if we take arms we must be ready to die? But that's not anything novel, your Grace," he muttered.

"Drawing first, not out of protection, but out of malice," I resigned myself to theological debate with an honest to God log of a knight, of course I fucking did. "We are planning to get rid of someone who killed my mother out of greed, out of pride and quest for power, but I wouldn't feel better about my mother's death right after the revenge is done, I don't think. During? Maybe. But she'd still be dead and I'd have killed someone for the first time. Who am I to decide who is to live and to die, Ser Criston, and why would I do that outside of protecting myself and what's mine?"

"You're the heir to the Iron Throne," he decided to answer this rhetoric question and, honestly, I'm kind of glad that he did.

Because he finished it with a very compelling argument.

"Your Grace forgets, that everything here, on this land or sea or sky, it's yours. And if you think you do not protect yourself or other people if you kill that Maester and learn who exaclty schemed with him from his own mouth? You're selling yourself short, Your Grace."

He stomped to the door, with the clear intention of getting out without my leave, and I didn't quite mind, but I still stopped him with the last question.

"What about that... Love thing. Will you leave my service because of your beliefs on that matter? If yes, then... "

He interrupted me and in a couple of strides stood right in front of me, with the unreadable expression on his face, too much of everything really, he did consider me friend already, even though we were of differing ages and occupations, if it could even be called that.

"I have pledged my loyalty to you, and I do not think that you emulating the Maiden was ever a question, or an answer to anything, really," he was tearing up somehow, the grown ass knight who did have plenty of skirmishes in his past and could successfully deck anyone in this castle or beyond. "I could think that, if I didn't know you at all. The Realm's Delight, an innocent Targaryen princess who lost her mother to childbirth, that's what they said at first, they did. But I have seen what you're like, your Grace, and I don't doubt that your... Customs and feelings, they don't really matter. You try, you explain things to me better than anyone I've ever served. And if I could, I would've helped even more."

"So, you don't care if I... And if she..."

"I could live with that," he firmly stated and I sat back on my chair, motioned for him to leave and continued with that damned letter.

It required my utmost attention, as it turned out to be.

 

[Ratmor]

"It's some sort of toy, don't bother with it," Daemon stated with a huff, while I stood in thought, staring at the dirty and dark golden hilt with a dragonhead pommel, the color of my dragon, really.

And I also noticed the cracked dark leather of its scabbard, which showed some dirty bronze matte metal underneath, in those cracks.

This sword was much shorter than the Dark Sister, much wider and less elegant, I'm guessing, but it was a sword, not a toy. Why would he say that?

"Why's that?" I asked.

I didn't look away from those cracks, something scratching in the back of my head, really, but I didn't quite know what.

"Oh, come on, Rhaenyra," Daemon huffed once again and side-eyed Ser Criston and Ser Harrold like a total grump. "Why are these two even here, it's not like any of us would be in danger in our own ancestral seat?"

"The King's orders," Ser Harrold Westerling just shrugged and looked at Cole.

Well, Daemon looked as well, and he didn't look pleased at all.

"He's my errand-knight, honor-bound and all that, Uncle, he won't babble."

I took my eyes off the sword for a moment, only to roll them up in exasperation, really.

"We're here for the secret solar of the Queens that I found, not for this weird sword statue, Rhaenyra. I tried to lift it, but it weighs something like six pounds and plays a joke on you when you try to unsheath it. Don't bother, niece. Probably some prank by Queen Rhaenys, she was noteably known for those."

"What is it that you found out about my concerns and called me back here?" I crossed my arms on my chest and tiredly sighed. "I've been travelling for about two and a half days, and I want to fucking bathe first, Uncle."

"Well, I've taken you here firsthand, as you asked yourself, while we were riding back. I'm genuinely being a thoughtful host, Rhaenyra." he chuckled like a total gremlin and continued. "It's not my fault that you thought it meant something else. And you'll get your precious Queen's journal soon, if only you'd just stop staring at this piece of crap!"

"It really, really is not," I murmured and took the scabbard in one hand and hilt into the other.

"Well, it can't be valyrian steel, with such a weight, can it... So it's most certainly some shitty... Oh."

I tugged, as the weight of the scabbard meant nothing to me, so I easily compensated and let it slide out. The old leather was crunching on my fingers, threatening to tear off with each movement.

It was, in fact, Valyrian steel, shortsword with a rather wide strong of the blade. Due to it being actual magic, this beauty was as good as new.

I looked at Daemon, the man stood still, looking either at me like I'm a specter of some sort or at the sword, as if he couldn't believe his own eyes.

His stircken face and frantic vibe bothered me, as he seemed to genuinely malfunction, so I swiftly made him take the sword off my hands, so that I could examine the scabbard.

Daemon probably needed that distraction, as for him it was a much bigger shock than for me.

"It's going to be mine, just so you know," I added when he started to lovingly caress the blade as if it was his wife.

Oh, wait, this lunatic does have a wife, and he calls her "his Bronze Bitch", never even consummated the union, if I remember right. I've never even seen that lady, and I'm already both sorry and happy for her. She got herself an absent horndog of a husband, so he doesn't ever bother her much or cares for their marriage, and that is either good or bad, in this social and political climate, depending on what she's actually like.

"It's form is a bit like the Lamentation of my Bronze Bitch, I guess," he recalled his wife's existence almost at the same time as I did, well, happens, I guess.

"Will I ever meet her?"

I scoffed, but didn't stop to wait for his answer as I crunched the leather with a bit more strength.

It started to crumble, and crack till it couldn't keep holding on.

My fingers and nails and what's underneath were already ruined by that muck the leather accumulated, so I didn't hesitate much and simply scratched at the metal as well.

It was dirty and, obviously, poorly maintained.

But it was, most certainly, cast of Valyrian gold.




***




"So, it was a jest, in a way. The tip of the scabbard is grossly overweight, but I still cannot understand how your Grace could unsheath it so easily," Ser Criston stated, after finishing his third deep fried little poultry bird on the plate.

It did not look like chicken, but for the life of me, I don't know all the names for game nor did I ever cared to learn as of yet.

After spitting the thin little bones, he rather loudly yawned into his palm, once again eyeing my new addition to the wardrobe with a great uncertainty.

I've already eaten, but I tried not to watch them consume food, as it brought me to the fact that I'm never fully sated.

I didn't really sleep after all that funny business, just tried to lay down at first, and then couldn't. That's how I ended up in the kitchens, in the company of some ex-Goldcloak, trying to make a pocket pizza or something of the sort. The man was one of those who left with Daemon from the City Watch, so he did wear a Gold Cloak still, and also knew not to try and ask questions. He did follow me out of duty, so I just couldn't withold the pizza.

That's how the kitchen staff found us, my beautiful creations already in the oven. Folks almost got heart attacks at first, but then they, figuratively, took notes and were quite entertained by the simplicity of it. Tomatoes were not a thing, albeit there's some hope for when I have time to discuss it with Corlys.

The lack of tomatoes, of course, is why I always knew it would never taste the same as my second home, and I could, of course, go for white pizza style, the way I did in the Red Keep when I first tried it out, as the curds are obviously plentiful in this very much agrarian economy, along with many types of sausages.

But I've gotten better and I did learn how to cook in my previous lives, so I resorted to making a sauce out of frying onions and mushrooms in butter and then deglazing with apple cider. I'd have added those red peppers from Dorne also, but I couldn't find those with ease at the kitchen I've never haunted before.

So, after a few minutes of sitting with the men who were served something very much expected, like, deep fried game, fresh bread, some local pies and grilled vegetables, I stood up, deciding that my early feast plus some of those grilled veggies would be enough, and started to slowly walk about the room. It made Cole's eyes follow me out of habit, but his hunger prevailed and sometimes he kept losing the sight of me to the food.

"I'd also have to donate all of my dresses! This heavy beauty would ruin all those soft materials when I wear it. So, I would finally get me a proper fucking doublet!"

I said that with a huge smile, already imagining how they would stop forcing me out of my leathers all the time.

Leathers is what I feel comfortable in, and even if the outer coat of those in my wardrobe always mimics a dress - it is what it is - but it always has pants and a capacity to wear an undershirt and shirt both, and a sweater, if I really wanted.

Need to get myself a fucking fisherman sweater, I swear to God. It's not that cold up there in the sky, not for my supernatural complexion for sure. But I know, that if I finally get Alicent to agree and fly with me, we'd need a comfy thing that would warm her up and not make it stuffy. Well, I'm getting ahead of myself, what's with how she probably would never agree. But I doubt people don't knit here, they do have wools and fabrics, so I'd have to ask around. It sure isn't something I've ever seen on anyone around me, but it's not like I was ever around regular folk for great lengths of time and at their workplaces out in the wild.

The dresses I usually have to wear - lack of options and lack of willingness to argue with everyone and their dog, really - do have more inner layers than one, so they aren't strictly one-piece, but it looks like one, and I've never liked either the feel or the look of it, even if people around me might have had differing opinions. Well, the only single piece clothing I'd love would be a kigurumi onesie, and that's not a thing in this day and age, or the world, more like.

So it comes to that I'm genuinely hoping for a fucking doublet. If only they'd just stop with all that clothing that makes me stiff and shit, ugh.

"They don't let you wear a doublet?" Daemon asked, apparently finally deciding to stop sleeping with open eyes. "That doesn't seem right. How do you even train with a sword then?"

I went silent after that and pointedly looked at Ser Harrold, whose eyes were also drooping, but he did understand the nature of my gaze right away.

Daemon caught up with the implications and straightened up in a distinct worry.

"Chosen by the sword or no, but it's no joke, Rhaenyra! Do you even know how to wield it and not hurt yourself?"

"I can show you!"

I shrugged and with great pleasure unsheathed the sword, it clicked and swished, and I loved the chime of it, so I grinned at Daemon and he didn't turn me down at first, even if I saw that he didn't quite trust me yet.

"With live blades? Of Valyrian Steel? Isn't that too much, your Graces?!" Ser Harrold, the Hurrying-to-spoil-the-mood, he should be called.

"I could sheath it back and bludgeon Uncle Daemon to my heart's content," I offered with a happy smile. "I doubt it would show any sort of grace with the sword, but then, Uncle still would stop worrying that I hurt myself."

"You trust me not to hurt you, niece," Daemon's snark was evident but without much malice, really. "I'm deeply honoured, uh-huh."

He gulped down some wine - the crazy man, who the fuck drinks this early in the morning, no wonder this country is going to shit. Fucking Daemon.

"But I don't feel like sparring you as of now," he continued, "as I am afraid I'd find the tip of your blade all on my own. I barely slept, all of it excited me too well, and we did have to polish the thing on our own, like it's our family jewels."

"Which it technically is," I giggled and put the sword back, it once again clicked and then I tried to swing it like a mace. "You were right in suggesting to do it ourselves, though. I wouldn't imagine anyone with even the weakest intetest in smithing, not talking about it in each tavern or brothel they frequent. It's covered enough by the outer leather scabbard you've found, but still, I think it needs to be more thoroughly hidden. The same way it was before, really."

"I do not like the idea," he waved me off and scoffed. "But it basicaly chose you, so..."

This little clicking thing, which you don't notice if you don't know what to notice, and his own magical mindset are the things that prevented Daemon from working it out on his own, really.

The man probably tried to take it out like any other valyrian blade, with flourish and drama, but this scabbard was intentionally overweight, the most important part of the ensemble, realy.

We did stay for most of the night, polishing the scabbard for about two hours, mostly to get rid of that cursed smell that the muck on it produced, and we did it well into the night.

Then we argued for approximately one hour if there's any need to get some new leather back on. Daemon didn't like the idea of hiding the beauty once again, but I thought it a funny thing to do, so it may surprise someone once again.

Then I found out the actual reason why it was hardly possible to take the blade out with a usual lovely flourish of Valyrian Steel wielder.

This fucking bludgeon of a scabbard had the inner layer made out of that same magic steel.

There was also a click-lock of sorts, with tension tabs, and they were also in the pristine condition as they were part of that valyrian steel inner sleeve. Which is why the whole "the seasoned warrior twisting his wrist by trying to take it out" became a no-brainer for me, as I knew physics as much as any twice-over high schooler from modern world would.

But Daemon didn't quite get it, even though he most certainly was aware of the rotational force and levers, as he surely had a mace in his hand at some point of his knight training. But with how he thought, at first, that the blade snagged out of high friction with rusted scabbard and thought it a broken toy?

I didn't bother to explain.

It was, in fact, the opposite - a frictionless state between two perfect sliding surfaces, blocked only by the lever itself, the torque at the tip of the scabbard which he didn't expect, and by this high tension little secret at the throat of a scabbard.

It was a well thought prank, and it might as well be connected to the fact that Queen Rhaenys never bothered with a weapon outside of her wits, her dragon Meraxes and, obviously, her magic. But they surely, all three of them, knew of that fucking prophesy, the one That Man shared with me right before I had all those people bow to me in that ridiculous dress and white mantle. Honestly, waste of money, that's what it was, for fucks sake.

Ugh, can't recall the whole of the "bending the knee" without wincing, really, and I didn't even get to talk with anyone I wanted, on any topic that wasn't Daemon shaming himself or Mother's death.

In all honestly, even if I believed that Daemon heartlessly toasted the heir for a day or even instigated it, I'd rather it was treated as a private matter, not as a judgement of his merit. The man wouldn't have been the worst king if he ever got to be, all things considered, but I don't quite like the concept of royalty and absolute monarchy specifically - which isn't a thing here, as of yet.

None of my lives were in the countries that could make me like that kind of shit, really.

Meritocracy was more of my vibe, but you wouldn't get it, ever, in the world that doesn't let me build, or maybe reinvent, based on the goddamn trick lock made out of magical supersteel alloy, a fucking printing press, for fucks sake. Ugh.

I need That Man to ease the fuck out on my presumed safety and those weird andal ideas on what women should and shouldn't do. With his adoration towards all things valyrian it is quite surprising that he's that jaded.

Daemon never even tried to question my ownership of this sword, and Ser Harrold looked at the whole scene as if I'm going to fall on the blade right this second. So, That Man's reaction would probably be more of Ser Harrold than the Rogue Prince, is what I'm guessing.

Instead of explaining him physics for dummies, I'd rather, Daemon thinks I'm the chosen one, honestly. I would've never guessed that I'd think that, ever, but with this guy? I think, it's fairly obvious why.

The outer layer of a scabbard, though, was why all of us did not sleep until the hour of the Wolf, and then they woke up early, so that I could leave sooner rather than later.

I was, in fact, thrilled by the perspective of losing, hopefully, most of my dresses, as it won't be possible to wear this thing with its original scabbard even if I use a good multi-point suspension belt for it. It's very good for riding and not leting the thing smack people around me or my own hips, without my control of it.

And that excitement I showed was truly surprising for the men at the dining table. It wasn't anything official, which is why both Ser Criston and Ser Harrold were present and ate with me and Daemon, unlike what usually happens in the Red Keep. I have to wait like I got too much time on my hands, and that is one of the most infuriating basic things, right after questionable personal hygiene of everyone around.

I wasn't going to stay at Dragonstone more than it was needed, and I did have a confirmation on that blood oath thing and how to, presumably, make it actually binding and magical.

I just hoped that Alicent won't change her behaviour to worse, and I wouldn't know why, again, as I did leave the Red Keep, again, and essentially left Alicent to her father's and That Man's devices as well.

At first I genuinely thought that she might be confused as to why I'm not as grief-stricken as she still seemed to be, as she loved my Mother, and it was as mutual as it could be, in my Mother's perpetual pregnant condition. And I did gain plenty of focused determination after learning of how my Mother's death most certainly have happened.

That lack of debilitating grief, the one I was definitely feeling before I inspected the Mother's body and came to conclusions based on my new knowledge, I think, it bothered Alicent and made her wary of me in a way, as I didn't act predictably.

And at the same time I became controlling and clingy, more than very much clingy Alicent was, to the point that I couldn't recognise myself. And then I cooled off a bit, so that to not weird the girl out as much. And I thought that I did, with all the suggestive and positively shameful talk that I initiated, when I shouldn't have.

But I didn't rightly know what the fuck should one do if one vaguely remembers something about the Alicent stepmother with the green dress, and that's how the green versus blacks were even there in those far-away memories from my first life. It's not like my memory was ever perfect, it wasn't one of my powers.

And it's not like the first world I've been to after I died was the same as it was portrayed in media. The world with shiny ghouls with persuasive nature and random powers, the one from all the memes from late two thousands and plenty of following, which is how I even learned of it, about some mormon romance and shit, it wasn't at all what that source material implied.

I was, honestly, very much afraid that this time, when I know of the eventual fate of this land, the Long Night, and how I already have some preconceptions about the houses, even if logically I shouldn't be so naive, that this time I will fuck it all up and die too early, or sabotage the overall salvation, or whatever it is that might happen if the Old Gods or any of local Gods, really, are anything like The Powers that Be from my last try at life.

And at the same time this Rhaenyra side, and how it all didn't add up with what I knew, made me desperate for it to not be true, for Alicent to not agree, not when I couldn't, in all honestly, to offer her the real alternative, as I was too young to take seriously, even if she felt the same, and she was too pious and naive to understand what it is that her father had concocted.

I hoped for nought, as it seemed, because the day has come, a week after I came back from our ancestral seat and clashed with everyone over my new golden lovely darling - That Man also twisted his wrist, as I wouldn't be so cruel to myself as to deprive from entertainment and warn him beforehand.

Even though I did everything I could to make Alicent see that she has me, my meager but still existent protection, my tentative ear, my love and friendship, for fucks sake, well.

She still stood there, at the Small Council, after Corlys reasonably blew up but really fucking unreasonably wanted his tiny daughter to be the wife of a man almost thrice her age. And Alicent looked down at her feet, twisted her fingers, and never even tried to say anything, when Lord Hand agreed on her behalf with the marriage proposal made by That Man.

I didn't walk away or run or whatever it is that I wanted to do, out of hurt and desire to protect myself. Nothing here, in this backwards world, could reasonably hurt me but the disappointment and feelings. Dragons were apex, and I could control them. Any other supernatural thing, I'd probably be able to avoid early on or kill, as I did in my previous life.

But as the thing that could hurt me did what it did best and hurt me, I made a conscious decision to make it everyone else's problem.

 

[Ratmor]

The announcement happened by the end of the Small Council meeting, and Corlys did not, in fact, let them cunts enjoy the win and make more of a scene. Which is why I didn't want to make a scene either, it wouldn't be quite dignified right now. And I will also need to swing by Alicent's for some clarification, which would be really hard to do if everyone thinks I'm some jealous - towards "father's love" - girl.

Alicent's eyes watered even more than they were already, my heart, in return, trembled, the tiny dragon on my shoulders raised his head and started nosing my cheek, and both of the men, who did this to her, were oblivious to the exchange in the ways that mattered.

"I'll be at yours after supper, I want to discuss this with you," I tried to say this without any infliction or hurt, and it did work on the men around us, not on Alicent though, as she covered her mouth and her tears finally started dropping.

The hot acid shells of useless emotion as they were.

"Now, if you'll excuse me?"

"Oh, yes, daughter, you may go," smiled Viserys with that magnanimous indulgence of his, and I almost gagged with disgust and turned my, most probably burning with hate, eyes towards him, but I doubt that he caught on. "The council is all but over, so you should be free until supper."

The Hand totally noticed my emotions, though, as he did try to stop father from letting me run off.

"Your Grace, you did have something else to discuss with the Princess, did you not?"

Otto Hightower's tone was smug and my disgust went through the roof, as it was already somewhere up there with Viserys's nonchalance about marrying a fourteen year old. Granted, she'll be fifteen at the time of marriage, but still. And I was also disgusted with my own helpless state. You can't beat this shit up, can you?

And I didn't have mental capacity to give at least two fucks right now, as I just desperately needed to fucking run off. There was at least something else that I should be fixing right now, something I didn't lose in between my useless love towards a girl that would surely never reciprocate and my headless running around about some oaths and somesuch. Why the fuck would I ever think that it could change anything? Was that the residual magical thinking from the Rhaenyra from before? How the fuck do you change a mind of a pious girl, who's well read enough to be lovely, interesting and intelligent, but not understanding the whole canvas of the world because of that piety.

Ugh. And to think, I almost cried right now. Shit. I'm not really myself, am I?

I took the scabbard, put it back on my waist and - yeah, it was a war of attrition with the wardrobe and those who managed it - I still wore some random dress instead of anything that would work with this weight. And I went through two already. Need to think of some faster solution, I guess.

"Why are you still keeping up with it? Is it not heavy, I heard?" Lord Strong voiced his question as if it was actually the time to ask, and I couldn't really alienate the man even if I didn't quite like him in person.

"Lord Strong, I'm not sorry to have found out the sword of my ancestors, and if you want to try and unsheath it, like everyone else in this castle, apparently, judgung by what the squires gossip about, please be my guest. At a later time, though."

"Rhaenyra," the Hand once again started and tried to stop my leave, but I've had enough. "I think, the King wanted to discuss something else with you, so you should..."

"You are not allowed to call me by my name, Lord Hand, I've never given you such a permission personally," I smiled at him, and my little dragon on the shoulders smiled at him, tearing at the dress, goo-boi yesh u awe. "Your Grace will do nicely, don't you think father? Such familiarity from a person I don't talk this much with, it does not feel quite nice, don't you think, Father?"

I barely could spat this word out, as I couldn't muster the feeling, and I rarely called him that in the past few months because of it. So the withdrawal did work, I guess, because he smiled at me like I gave him an actual reason to, and he - fucking finally - let me go.

I hurried after Lord Corlys, of course.

I didn't think that I could change his mind with anything, even a miracle wouldn't do, but his wife and Laena herself? I did have quite a miracle at hand, and I did intend to use it.

He said right there, in the Small Counsil chambers that he will leave as a family, his pride not letting him bide his time and be that fucking snake of a namesake that he could be when his trade was concerned, of that I'm sure.

For Laena, this was both a disaster - from her father's standpoint, really, and a blessing, from everyone else's standpoint, if that standpoint is objective. Mine wasn't, but I'd rather she doesn't get hurt. And I think I knew what could bring her the modicum of respect and a shitton of autonomy, in this day and age.

"I cannot fucking kill the king" would be my goddamn mantra for the next few years. And I cannot leave my fucking best friend, unrequited love for whom notwithstanding, alone in this cursed place.

Criston followed me like he always did, these days, which is why he decided to voice his opinion, while we hurried to the Velaryons.

"So, thinking of what you told me, that was fucked up," my dude was eloquent as ever, and I really wanter to hug him right now. My thoughts exactly.

"Don't I fucking know it, Ser Criston," my eyes finally started leaking but I still kept walking, now multitasking not only with talking but also sniffling.

"So, that thing," he continued with a much lighter tone, as if he wants to crack a joke, knows it wasn't cool right now but still does it anyways.

"What thing?"

We finally ended up at the doors of Velaryons, their teal-clad guards politely waiting for us to finish, I assume, nobody going in as of yet.

"Could you please just call me by my name, your Grace?" he huffed. "I know it's a bit untimely but, honestly, your grace doesn't need to always add Ser everywhere."

"You're an odd one, Criston, aren't you?" I couldn't help but laugh. "You, well, you call me Rhaenyra then. Not overuse it, though. I'd rather no rumors float about some outlandish shit that I would never do."

The door to the chambers opened, and I understood that Princess Rhaenys heard the last bits of our conversation, which was rather unlucky but didn't quite mean anything, until she opened her mouth.

"The rumours are already floating, princess," she squinted at me, thinned her lips for a moment, but still let us in.

And now, I would like to know more, and I would also like to be wrong about what was the first thing that I thought about.

That insistant urge of Lord Hand to make me stay for some, no doubt, public humiliation right after his political victory of putting a girl barely out of her tweens into the King's way.

"I think, I am going to explode today, at some point," I muttered under my nose and sat right by Laena's side.

She was almost crying, most certainly because she was leaving so suddeny and she was a little girl, with the little girl's psyche, really, loved one at that, which most certainly meant she wasn't someone stuck up and always controlled.

Reminds me of someone I know, uh-huh.

"So, I got a plan," I nudged her with the elbow and my pupper of a dragon put one hind leg on her shoulder, somehow still clasping with his wing-claws at my dress.

"It is so odd," Rhaneys observed the ensemble with actual surprise both in her voice ane on her face. "You're already bonded with Syrax, why would this little one give you a time of day? And also act like this?"

"He's like her tiny coat or a hat," Laena chuckled, some wetness still there but the dragons made everything better with her.

"That's exactly why I'm here," I confessed and looked at Rhaenys with seriousness she didn't quite expect, I guess.

"Do you want to give my daughter a consolation prize?" Corlys came out from the inner chambers and halted the whole familial bonding with one question. "A little dragon that cannot even manage a spark?"

"Not exactly," I breathed in and looked at Rhaenys once again. "I'm, well, it's easier to show. Tell me what would you like him to do?"

"What?" Corlys was baffled and irritated but I didn't ask him.

"Make it fly to me, I guess," Rhaenys squinted at me once again and crossed hands on her chest.

I caught my little buddy under his wings, flung him in the air over my head, but instead of landing right where he started, as he would've, he did what I asked and glided to Rhaenys. He couldn't yet fly properly, so it was the only way.

"What does it show, exaclty?" I didn't like Corlys's mocking tone of voice, but now I was not the only one.

"It had no reason to glide to mother," Laena looked at her father like he was a dimwit. "This buddy is as lazy as they go, he'd just have plopped right back."

"Corlys, just go, weren't you setting up our departure? We'll talk to the Princess," Rhaenys said that with calming cadence and measure. "It is clear that she is distressed about what happened, and Laena is the only friend of her age that she has, outside of that Hightower girl."

"Well, I am out of this, then," he put his scabbard on and went out of the chambers alltogether, but before that he bitterly uttered. "Your seem to be the only one who notices and wants to act on the danger of the triarchy pirates resurging across the Narrow Sea, and I would be the last man to dissuade my family from being friendly with you. It's just... Very questionable what your father did."

"Dipshit behaviour, would be the word, yes," I agreed and he looked at me all amused and relatable, but I couldn't just forget what he tried to do to his daughter.

Well, yes they were saying during those talks that The King would have to wait until she grew up, which was more reasonable than what was done to Aemma at the time. But the King, as if it wasn't obvious, doesn't quite like to wait.

So, he walked away, learned a new cuss word, because he didn't have to chuckle and repeat "dipshit" under his breath unless it wasn't new. Ugh. First inventions I brought to this world - Pizza and Dipshit. Feeling like the proper progress-builder yet?

It wasn't really my thing, though. So, it's certainly expected, I guess.

"Criston, you may as well stand outside, there's nobody here to hurt me," I waved the knight off and he actually didn't mind, for once. Well, the power of the name. If I say it thrice would he teleport to my side or something?

"Promise me that you'll never turn her against my family, Laena," I took one of her hands in mine, looked at her very much burning eyes and gave her a toothy smile, without any real mirth in it. "Stall for a day or two, until everyone knows that Alicent is his bride and not you."

"And then, what?" Rhaenys infringed on our moment here, but I didn't mind, it's not like it was the romantic sort.

"And then, before you leave..." I started saying.

"That day we met, she thought I am a rider to Vhagar," Laena rushed it in before I even finished my thought.

I didn't know that her mind would go there, though.

"I thought, she was being cruel, at first, mocking me with a dragon that I do not have, but you weren't."

"I didn't mock you," I agreed and shut my face up, hurriedly even, as I thought I might spill something I should not, what's with this warmth I started feeling towards this little intuitively smart kid, right at that moment of her tying all the dots together.

"You can make Vhagar come and go just like this one, don't you?" Laena continued and squeezed my palm with a radiant smile. "You are blessed, or something like that, am I right?"

"Well, I am the Chosen One," I blurted it out in a weird attempt to joke, based on my previous life, really, but it fell flat and I just really got embarrassed by my own mouth.

"Did you, per chance, my princess," started Rhaenys and took a couple of stilted steps towards me, her face unreadable, but her fingers twitching with pent up emotion, "Had a really odd dream?"

***

So, I went for a supper early, because I am conserving my sanity by not eating in the presence of That Man. Which is why I went to the kitchens to ask for a comfort pizza, and I don't know how the fuck did they know that I'd ask, but they were already making it.

Damn, I love my staff. Deep-fried donuts, here I go, I guess. Just not today, it will require pondering about the glaze as we do not have chocolate here, while sugar is a bitch to buy, and right now my brain doesn't enjoy thinking or talking to other people. I wanted to get myself ready for the proper talk with Alicent, so the distractions, even the useful ones, wouldn't be appreciated.

At least the kitchens listen to my requests, unlike those petty cunts who make them dresses. I can understand their unwillingness to lose a goddamn cash cow, honestly, but I didn't expect for them to just drop off their contract with the Crown or something, just fucking do what they wish while they make what I ask. I wouldn't have minded that little embezzlement fraud they were totally running, like any sane person would if allowed near such money. And as I've discovered, they didn't quite understand the purpose of me asking them and not going over their heads in the first place.

Ugh. I hate this place where I can't just go buy whatever it is that I want even if I do have the coin. Fucking twelve year old girl in a medieval-inspired brainfuckery, that I am.

So, I've eaten the pizza and everything else to my hearts content, ignoring the summons to the official supper with the King. The tomatoes were still grievously missing, but the savoury taste of that alternative sauce wasn't all that bad, so I calmed myself down. Then I put my lovely dragon-pupper in my solar, as he went into a food coma, and decided to go to the tower of Hand.

Alicent's chambers were still there, but that won't be for long, I guess.

"Will you let me in?" I asked the Hightower gray-clad guard, Mo-something if I remembered right. "Mathew? Motas? No, that can't be right..."

It is the wrong fucking universe for Mathew to be a proper name, no?

"Mathis, Your Grace," he bowed and smiled awkwardly, "Lady Alicent is waiting for you since she came back from the supper."

"How did she look? Pale as always and twitchy as hell, I wonder?"

I didn't wait for him to answer and turned to Criston.

Somehow he's being trusted now to guard me on his own, which was rather odd and started right after we've returned to the Capital with this old prank-sword. Carrying it around and calling it simply prank-sword gets real old real quick, and it needs a name, but I have no fucking idea yet. Other stuff on my mind, clearly.

"Ser Criston, stay here, please, I doubt Lady Alicent could hurt me."

He gave me a look of disbelief, basically saying "I know that she already did", but stayed and nodded to the Hightower household guard.

I breathed and walked in, with the arrogance I didn't really feel on the inside at first - walking as if I owned the room.

Which my current family technically did. Ugh. I need to keep this feeling in check, for the specks and the logs aren't just the Bible thing, they're the humanity thing. Arrogance isn't even that good of a mask, really.

"Love, I'd rather you told me yourself," I started saying and took her by the elbows, as she started crying the moment she looked in my eyes and couldn't hold the gaze. "I never thought you could actually want this, Alicent."

"It is... Rhaneyra, it is my duty, do you?.."

"Cut the crap," I snapped.

I don't think they use this expression here, but I would most certainly use it, as I feel like it.

"Cut the... What?" she looked at me with these doe-eyed innocence, as if it was I who was in the wrong.

I could've told everyone and ruined her to the world, from the first day that I've noticed her visiting. I would never.

"Tell me, honestly, that's why I even came here," I swallowed and pushed the palm of my left hand into my eye, to stop the leakage, really. "Did he force you into something you didn't want? Do you need the moon tea? I'll organize one for you, really, if that's... If that's the duty that holds you to this promise. I know, I feel, really, that you don't want this or love him. I could've given you anyone, our age and with a smidge of a brain, for fucks sake. Why would you... If not for..."

"Rhaenyra!" she pushed my hand away and staggered back.

She gets to be this fucking scandalized over my offer, a generous fucking one, considering how I openly pined for her all this goddamn time? Is she mad?

"I would never! He was... He didn't..."

"I don't know, Alicent," I hissed and put my hands behind my back, just to prevent myself from lunging at her and shaking her by thd shoulders. "I don't fucking know anything about that man since he ordered to murder my mother and watched it happen."

"What?"

Her face paled and she breathed a deep breath, her lip quivering and the water in her eyes trembling. My heart squeezed like it had no other fucking bother, as always. What the hell is wrong with this masochism, I wonder. Is the old Rhaenyra some sort of sucker for pain?

"Is that what you think happened?" Alicent whispered and looked at me with a deep compassionate sorrow.

Like, I'm the one to pity here. Ugh.

"It doesn't matter, but I would appreciate you do not voice this particular worry to the King. I'll... Handle this in my own time. I need... Time. Distance."

"But," she tried to stop me as I turned to the doors, the talk getting obviously fucked and I'm being obviously pained by it all, "Rhaenyra, my father agreed to the match. Even if... It cannot be changed."

"I see."

"Rhaenyra... "

She tried to stop her sniffles and get the wet tracks off her cheeks with her fingers. I winced at that, as it made me put the clean handkerchief from the sleeve with a practiced movement, without any real thought, and put my hand on her chin.

Fucking small mercies that the nobility got the scented soap and the abundance of handkerchiefs, I guess. I burn through three per day easily, and I was never a clean freak in the XX or XXI century. I am one here, though.

"Ugh," I dropped my hand from her chin when I felt her breath catch and the eyes, once again fill with the tears. "Sorry, that, take."

I pushed the handkerchief into her palm and returned to the previous plan to rush the fuck out and end this shitty day.

Maybe I'd finally use the Maegor tunnels not for useless stalking of someone who doesn't want to be saved, and go find trouble down in the city to my hearts content.

"Rhaenyra, how do you even know of the moon tea?" she quietly wondered, as I've already turned my back on her and was ready to step out in a few moments.

"Any person should know of such things?" I didn't quite understand what she was asking, which is why when I turned to her once again, my very much affirmative sentence became questioning. "I mean, isn't that an obvious thing to learn?"

"Why would you?" she said that as if it was hurting her but I couldn't quite understand the problem.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Alicent," I blinked at her in clear confusion. "Have you ever talked to any woman outside of septas about anything? I mean, it's not like it's a secret thing, people all over the place use it."

"Why?.."

"What's with this why, why, why?" I couldn't bring myself to shout but it was, in fact, an explosion I've been fearing since the middle of the day. "I'm not asking you why, and it's honestly sometimes better not to ask why so as not to hurt anybody. You tell me some shit about duty, when my mother's ashes aren't yet cold, well, not in the King's mind, are they? And now you're asking me some bullshit questions about the thing that I offered, to you, because I don't want you, Alicent, you to suffer unduly? Why, indeed?! Why the fuck I even try?"

She did not deign me with the answer, even though I waited for a minute, two, five. My breathing getting back to normal and mind clearing from the haze of whatever it is that was, but I didn't hurt anybody so it was okay.

The fire behind Alicent, in the hearth, did grow, somehow, unusually brighter, for a couple of moments, but I was the only one who noticed.

I desperately needed to leave, so I told her nothing, didn't touch her again, and made my way back so that I could, for once, sleep.

I had no dreams that night, and even if I did, I wouldn't have remembered them unles they were the Slayer ones.

And as I did not feel any psychic connection to anyone but the dragons I've met, quite different from what we had with Buffy, and I've already had my share of retrocognitive combat memories in the past, the only dreams I could've had would be the Dreams of imminent dangers, threats and near future ass-whooping.

I was simply mentally tired and therefore dead to the world.

 

[Ratmor]

I have been called to the Small Council room before it started, uncharacteristic of Viserys who was always the last to arrive. No doubt, some sort of useless trick Otto made him do, if not just simple scheduling disregard by the King. And we were, apparently, collectively delivering the news to my, previously very non-white-cloak, knight-errand.

Ser Criston Cole, the only person in this cursed place that would not ask questions and just go where I sent him, now stopped being just mine and also had to take that debilitating oath.

While happily smiling at that.

Fucking looney, that one.

He would certainly want family at some point, wouldn't he? I didn't for the first thirty years, combined, of any coherent comprehension of the surroundings during my reincarnations, honestly, and I've never lived in a place that let me even ponder adoption. But I am not the most common case, so that doesn't even count!

After he had gotten the pristine white cloak from the current commander Ser Harrold, Criston left the room per the King's request. Of course they would send him away to scold me. I could just sense it incoming, but they were weirdly waiting for me to say something.

I kept silently looking at the couple of dipshits, that's what I'd be calling them, cus they're both deep and in the shit, even if one of them isn't as clinically imbecilic.

Otto was rather smug but somewhat unsettled by the calmness of this whole procedure. Apparently, no public humiliation in front of the high lords of the Council kind of dampened his mood, I bet.

Why the fuck would he hate me so - even after he put my best friend and deep crush into this, basically, as a vessel for the new heir? I am not dumb, I logically know that to refuse that most probable Dance of Dragons, I would need to simply refuse to stay heir, I guess, just for them to leave me the fuck alone in return. They - as I see it now very clearly - wouldn't leave me even if I will abstain. I noticed what he's doing by now, isolating me and stripping me of means to do stuff out of his perview.

And I'm also Rhaenyra, culturally valyrian, believing that the throne isn't her right only by the Andal custom, who desperately wanted validation all her conscious life, from That Man no less, and didn't want to be treated as just a girl for them to sell away in a marriage.

That girl went to catch a ride on a fucking grown-up dragon at seven years old, the guts are enough for an adult knight, as I see it. If it was still Jaehaerys prime reign, it would've never happened, of course, the man refused any of his own girls a dragon, and didn't really think giving a cradle egg was necessary.

I didn't really like that tradition though, unlike the old Rhaenyra. Nothing in the books on Valyria or dragons I've read, out of sheer boredom of a modern fucking person, really, nothing at all ever indicated that we actually need this tradition. There's no science to it, really, except for the fact that dragons do bond better if you interact with them early on in their lives.

The dragon eggs get fertilised by the magic itself, really, as I felt it in my own reserves that I could feel while meditating - thanks to some very much needed training from my very much checkered past. Which is why being, essentially, the dragon daddy thought ever crossed my mind.

Taking eggs from dragons and keeping them in a coal cauldron near the baby cradle or inside the cradle itself seemed very counter-productive, knowing that. I mean, everyone knew that two dragons mate, one of them produces a clutch, but plenty of dragon eggs just sit there, a tiny bit of magic in them is how I feel it, gestating into a proper being.

You refuse them abundance of magic to grow or something otherwise went wrong? The egg would certainly go useless. It also needs some sort of magic catalyst to break a shell and make the birth of a dragon happen. I'm guessing and only guessing, but I've probably released too much of that ambient magic accidentally and fed my little buddy in the egg so much that he decided to show up under the light.

I've held, as an experiment, one by one, five gestating eggs. None of them broke just because I held them, even though they felt roughly the same as that black egg my lazy bit of a dragon occupied. They were very much slowly draining some of that juice that my inner furnace makes. And I'm not going to make one more of these menaces until this one weighs like a horse.

I would've called the little one Lyki-something already, for he's oh so calm and satisfied with his lot, the odd dragon indeed. But then we'd be confusing him with the Lykiri, the staying calm command, and we don't want that.

It seems, also, that the little shit liked Alicent while I felt that deep obsessiveness over her, still rough and new because of the received and not very much clear memories. But now I had all these complicated but rather muted feelings, so he just went for ignoring the girl outright.

I sighed, stopped pondering everything and anything, while standing in front of the two men and waiting for any of them to say anything else. And after that deep suffering sigh I felt the need to start mentally readying myself for the gruelling session with the other members of the Council.

"Well, if that's over, I'd rather get ready to do my job here," I huffed, shrugged and plopped the dragon on the great windowsill, so he could do his usual bird-watching while nibbling on a fucking cheeze wheel, of all things.

"Yes, well," Viserys coughed and looked at his Lord Hand as if not wanting to start that scolding thing.

"Your Grace," Otto kept to my warning and politely addressed me as I willed him to before, which is why I know that he's playing my father now, somehow. "I was genuinely concerned about the rumours calling your virtue in question, which is why the King, after I told him that, decided on how to proceed."

"I don't think I have anything to say about some crazy people's tongues wagging," I asserted and went to the cask of wine, readied by some servants. "I've also talked to uncle Corlys about this outburst of his, and he assured that he will not, in fact, resign untill all his duties are safely relegated. Princess Rhaenys doesn't want to break off from the family over this petty matter."

"Lord Corlys had some choice words to say, dare I say, insolent words, over this so called petty matter," Otto squinted at me and then turned to the King. "I do not think..."

"Yeah, that's right," I murmured and right after said what I thought louder, not really caring for politeness. "He cannot just up and leave without betraying his actual duty to the realm and making the port officials act like headless chickens for a moon or two. Which is why, yesterday, when I visited the Velaryon's chambers, I suggested that he doesn't create a spiteful crisis, just for his rivals to blame on him, when he doesn't even mean to create it."

"His words..." hummed Viserys, and clutched at his empty golden goblet. "Rhaenyra, you had no authority to deal with something like that on your own."

"Who would even suggest, in their right mind," I ignored what he said and brought the wine to the man, even if I wanted to drown him in it, really, "that Corlys Velaryon would want to make his own creation less great just to spite everyone?"

"The royal fleets are his creation now, are they?" Otto scoffed and tried to dismiss me, once again, I guess I'd have to get used to it at some point, but that point isn't now.

"I do not understand the problem, Lord Hand," I once again shrugged and continued to explain, as it all seemed to me rather pointless. "I didn't tell him to do anything or authorised anything, I simply suggested that he gets the chosen replacement ready and not abandon the people who rely on him. He will have to go to war on the Triarchy pirates so that his own trade wouldn't shut down, for that exact reason. Among others, of course."

"One of those reasons is his own pride!"

Otto's vocie risen to new heights, as it always goes with the people who are losing the argument and cannot win by logic.

"Well, I don't care, each house in Westeros has their pride, and we couldn't ever fault him for that. He also very reasonably said that the coin that we would lose, if he doesn't pass his post properly, would be a very unfortunate number. He actually needs a month or two to make it all in order with the Master of Coin and to not be held accountable if the next Master of Ships fucks up. So he and his family, if they wish to, would travel back and forth, I guess."

"Rhaenyra," ths King had an awkward smile when he said that, his eyes darting at the Hand. "Mind the language, will you?"

"I made a quote from the words of Lord Corlys himself, father," I decided to dispense the father card, I have one, per day, I guess. "I don't think that he would, but you should obviously arrange someone to check if he actually makes some problem explode into the face of the next Master of Ships. Whenever it may be, really. Things may change in a moon, don't you think that's quite possible? What's with how it all went with Alicent, hm?"

The face of the King, I couldn't really look upon without having thoughts of smashing it in, but I did like how he started slowly turning another shade. He was even more pale than I am by nature, so it was hilarious, really.

"Whatever do you..." the Hand started asking, but was interrupted.

Fucking finally, I have cups to take care of, not just these stupid mugs of one, mentally challenged crap-basket, and two, fucking slimy snake in a bad suit.

I wanna be done playing babysitter to a complete moron and a greasy, backstabbing fraud who thinks he's slick. Ugh.

"Yes, it is great! I have heard already, me and Lord Corlys had a pleasant discussion, and I didn't know that, apparently, it was young Rhaenyra's suggestion! That means we could postpone the choosing of the new Master of Ships!" a rather rejuvenated voice from the direction of the doors cut in. "Wonderful! Simply great!"

The Master of Coin, the man who could've dominated any corporate world given a chance, the great and awesome state money maker and local scrooge, the man we all owe the Targaryen treasury of current days, the magnificent Lord Beesbury, otherwise known to me and only me as my bee's knees, was almost always the first to arrive as he didn't quite have anything else to do, and his work was never done, really.

I had some actual hopes for that man playing a role in the dissolution of my problems. I've been holding onto that all the time that I've been attending the Small Counsil. I didn't really have any mental capacity to do something about those hopes at the time, but freeing myself from that burden of not knowing if Alicent would actually betray me, or how exactly that would happen, more like?

Having to hold onto the explosive truth that would've hurt only the girl and not any of the men that forced her into this shit? First her dear pops and after that - my not so dear whiny bitch of a sperm-donor? Eh, I also had plans to make, but I couldn't actually act on any of those as I was under a lot of watchful gazes. It will, most certainly, change. Even if I'm not happy about the reason of such change.

"Why's that wonderful?" Viserys wondered and gulped some of his wine, seemingly interested in what Lord Beesbury had to say. "The faster we decide the better, isn't that so?

"Your Grace, of course not!"

The Master of Coin put his stone into the slot and sat down at his usual place, waited for his page to put down all the papers, and started reassembling his usual notes with practiced hurriedness. He continued.

"The obvious course of action would be to make Ser Denys Grafton, the Young, obviously, to assume the position, as he was already handling parts of the duties, due to Lord Corlys having his own House's fleets to manage as well. All the while Your Grace makes a careful choice without any need to hurry."

"The Gulltown house?"

I feigned the airheaded lack of any knowledge of it all, but of course I fucking knew who is the vice-manager of our goddamn marine logistics, I'm here for half a year and even if the old Rhaenyra didn't know, I had a shitton of time and I couldn't simply mope around, could I?

"That is good," Viserys didn't look at the Hand, for once, as the decision was already in his grasp, really, no need for another hands, pun intended.

"But what about his words yesterday?" Otto was totally simmering, I honestly could almost feel that, and I've gained the unholy amount of satisfaction from the fact.

"Lord Hand, don't you know? The words are but wind, it is the actions that matter most, do they not?"

I decided to use the common famous proverb to shut him up, like a true old person would. I have no-o-o shame, really. And I did it the playful way, so that he doesn't really see it as a conscious opposition to him. I wasn't the best player, really, but I could understand that this man could make it so, that I'd have to leave.

It wasn't yet the time.

 

[Ratmor]

I got my little notebook out of the oilskin pouch and started scribbling as always, but this time it was also a stalling tactics.

I had no reason to suspect but, well, I had to explore all options, so I'm going to start easy on him, really, won't even try shout his head off.

"Well, Criston."

I stopped scribbling the rendition of Pink's Try of all things, just had the mood really, after a supper session of silent treatment featuring both the Hightowers and the King. After setting my notes down, I finally got to the point.

"You got what you wanted, didn't you? Even though I told you some of my reasons to refuse you. Now I have doubts about your loyalty, no offence, but it seemed like you were warned beforehand about that development. Which is why, please, do to tell, if you reported anyone anything about my plans when they told you your White Cloak is settled?"

"Rhaenyra, Ser Harrold told me that I have a choice. They could give me some gold and let me go, like, fully, no more service here at all. I didn't like that. Or I could take the White Cloak and swear an oath. The choice was obvious and simple, and as I understand, was done under the authority of the Hand or the King himself, I didn't quite catch that part. But of course I am happy with this, no doubt about it, people wouldn't have some weird suggestions about my service to you, either. That is a good thing, I hope?"

"Some daft drunks at the taverns or ladies with no tongue discipline aren't a threat to any of my plans, Criston," I huffed and put the silverpoint, I kept twiddling with, down. "Not having more ways to get a message out of the keep without leaving the keep is, though."

"I could still..." he trailed off, and then his eyes finally showed the understanding, as it dawned on him why he really, really couldn't.

"Going to the brothels that my Uncle frequented won't be easy without breaking an oath, Criston."

"I wouldn't break an oath, Your Grace!" he looked offended and, as he usually does, started to fidget with the tassel.

"Even if you won't, they'll think you did. And... This thing was your identification as my person," I nodded at him, slightly veering off course from the initial topic of the conversation. "You might as well give it back, I think."

"But..." he hesitated. "I'm still your person, Your Grace."

"You serve, first, the King, second, the Heir, third, the Hand. And if the king is indisposed, the Hand would probably be the first. Then, fourth, the Queen, fifth... I'll be fifth when Alicent would give the King his long awaited male heir. And even if he does revert the whole thing back to its proper valyrian way, decrying King Jaehaerys and the precedent of passing over the eldest dragonriding heir over the genitalia issue? Ugh. Criston, it's still basically the third, right after the Hand, even if it seems different. And as you may have noticed, Lord Hand thinks I'm some sort of Daemon's little extension, not a proper player, what's with this attempt at isolation after I've arranged those meetings with my Uncle, in one proper letter through Maester. He surely confirmed that Daemon has some sort of line of communication with me."

"What do you mean by the proper valyrian way, Your Grace?" he started to awkwardly shuffle from foot to foot, in his new shiny armor.

Fucking stupid gloryhound chowderhead, he is.

His tone was cautious and I knew what he was doing, trying to make me lose the initial point of this whole conversation. I decided to drop it for a moment, if only for the sake of nerding out about the history a little bit, it's not like I often have a chance these days.

"It means that the eldest inherits the family leadership and if the younger brother or sister want to argue, they either fight it out or marry. The queen Visenya was the eldest, Aegon was the younger brother, Rhaenys was the youngest. There was also Orrys Baratheon, the bastard, but that isn't the point, he didn't have a dragon or the legitimized status. Rhaenys was their beloved sister, and they didn't want to be fighting and making her sad as a result, basically. And she wouldn't have chosen a side either. Which is how they've agreed to all marry each other, as I understand it. It's not like it was some new situation that never happened during or after the Valyrian Freehold."

"But you do not want to practice incest, as I understand," he furrowed his brows, also kept shifting to the point that it irritated me to no end and I snapped.

"Sit down, will you? And how in the hells did you get from the topic of my inheritance to incest?"

"I mean, the whole new heir situation, like, if you didn't dislike it so, you'd be able to secure the Andal law through marriage to that... New babe. Really mad thing to suggest, but your valyrian customs allow it."

He did occupy the armchair next to the hearth in but a moment after my permission. Cole was irritated and nervous, but I didn't see any guilt.

Maybe he didn't. I had a hope.

"They're not even married yet," I huffed and chuckled. I do not doubt that a girl who isn't forced to endure statutory rape since she's eleven years old, would be able to produce a child at the age of sixteen. "Alicent is still young but I do not think that pursuing a girl who wasn't even born when you were marrying your first wife... Well, if it was love or even slight infatuation, and she was eighteen, or better, twenty, I would've been okay with that, I think."

"Really?"

He knowingly pursed his lips and looked at me like I'm currently shitting not only him but myself, and he's actively noticing.

"No," I agreed with his assessment. "She was my closest friend, and we became even closer when her mother passed, as my own mom wanted to help as much as she could. I've been pining for her since I knew how to, and my culture or the Fourteen Flames never penalised it, so I didn't think it in any way bad or dangerous."

"You want her to be happy," he nodded. "Not simply... Contented and dutiful."

"I want many things, Cole, like always have clean water and not wonder if I get a worm infestation from eating this or that meat. I shouldn't have read about those."

"Don't," he scrunched his face like a literal baby and almost whined. "Curse you and your books, Rhaenyra."

"Hah, Criston, you're funny, indeed. But... We went too far from the intended course of this talk, and I'd like to clear things up, at last."

"Me not being able to serve you in full?" the man looked at me with a question and a bit of desperation in his eyes. "I could still be your Sworn Shield, you know? Just..."

"Just not free to run the errands down in the city for me," I scoffed. "I still think that hedge knight sounds way worse that knight-errand or the errand knight. It gives the purpose, does it not? Hedge is, like, either you sit on the hedge, sleep under the hedge, whatever it is, doesn't really sound dignified."

"It's not all about dignity, Rhaenyra," Criston chuckled. "People were calling them that for ages, so..."

"It is always about dignity. Dignity should be the right of every person in the land, really. People must be protected from slavery, discrimination and degrading treatment, whoever those people are, noble or common. Everyone should have value, not a price."

"It's a nice dream to have, your Grace. But..."

"Are you... Who were those, I don't quite recall, your family's Lords? The Dondarrions? Yes, that. So, Criston, are you the Dondarrion?"

"No? What does it have to..." he didn't quite understand where I'm going with this, but it was a rather easy thing to explain, really.

"If I didn't give a shit for your dignity, didn't respect you for your merit and actions that made you a warrior who could be of service to me, I would've given that service, even the White Cloak outright, to whomever the Lord Hand recommended, someone with a fucking bloodline, Criston. They might have been good warriors even, they would have guarded me well, it's not that hard of a job, to stand and walk around and train sometimes, not for any proper knight."

"But..."

"Everyone has value, I reject that only the birth and bloodline makes people worthy of cleanliness, those fucking streets of Flea Bottom haunt me with that filth and shit, and people stinking, wether they had jobs or not. Honestly that's part of the reason I need people to run errands for me there. And, I reject that the random knight from house Dondarrion would be better than you, Cole, at protecting my family, just on the basis of his blood."

"Your whole family stands on it, does it not?" Cole murmured. "I do not mean any offence, but it is odd, from you..."

But I heard him well, treated it as a good thing even, I don't need an actual chowderhead as an ally. His wit does him good. He's still a bit simple though, not in a bad way.

"I refused you the White Cloak because, I thoight, if I was a young man I would've never wanted to suffer this life without a chance for love and for children and for any semblance of home. And even if you don't care for that now, you might start to, in a decade or so. I didn't say this to you, tried to cover it in some pleasantries like, you'd serve me better if you're not tied to these oaths, but honesty, Criston, I could've paid out of my own pocket to some random stableboy or achieved the same result in any other way. I do have... Options."

"So, do you really want this back?" he turned the tassel of black and crimson threads in his fingers. "Are you..."

"No, if you still want to be my person, nobody could stop you," I waved him off and sat back on my chair, looked him up and down with a squint and sighed once again. "I was just unsure if you were bought out by the Hand or not, which is why I've tried to tell you a few moments before, really, I hope you noticed, that he would treat you aking to the rabble on the Cyvasse board."

"What I heard is, you saying that I should be your rabble, Rhaenyra," he said that in good humor but I still didn't like the implication.

"If anything, you'd be the elephant. If you are actually willing to continue the service, I will need you to."

"Beating up everyone but the dragons?" the knight hummed, put his chin on his hand and sat, hunched, watching the floor with a stubborn concentration, avoiding my searching gaze, really.

"You told me that you needed someone who would serve you and that I should first try this service out. You said, you were hoping that I wouldn't like the grueling monotone hardship of it, that I would come back to my senses and turn away from this honor. You said, you don't want an oathbreaker. And after the couple of nights with those whores, I've never really gotten the impression that I wouldn't be able to, well, abstain. But you didn't mean whores when you said that I'd break the oath."

"The celibacy clause in this oath is about two things, Criston, so that you don't betray my family for your own close family, and that you don't fuck a woman of my family," I rolled my eyes in exasperation and kicked at his knee with my foot so that he would stop drilling a virtual hole with his eyes and deigned to look at me. "When I'm telling you something, never fucking assume, Criston. It makes an arse out of you and me, you know."

"The cussing still gets me," he noted. "I've never heard a young girl your age to cuss this much."

"Haven't you heard? Apparently, I'm friends with the most famous Sailor of Westeros, excluding Elissa Farman, of course. Foul-mouth should come with the closeness to the source of the sea-shanties, I guess. Not that we're actually friends, mind me. Lord Corlys likes that I irritate Lord Hand each time he speaks of talking to the Triarchy instead of smashing them."

Or waiting instead of deploying our own pirates en masse, but I wouldn't try and suggest my ironborn corsair idea because they would totally think I'm beyond mad.

And I don't know the ironborn much to predict how it would actually turn out. It's a fun idea to ponder, really, but giving these people a leave to target their plunder when they're already doing that wherever they go, might as well alienate the regions with long-lasting memories of the Hoare's reaving reign and any of the following hostilities after the Conquest. With actual corsairs you could guess that they wanted money to settle somewhere or to find some naval glory or to smuggle stuff, whatever it was, I'm not a fucking professional on this. But those people, from the Iron Islands? On paper, they could help, if they obey, but in my personal opinion? They literally still had slavery and held the King's Peace only out of fear of retribution, not because they could be persuaded into the loving arms of the continental trade.

"I thought, that Elissa woman was all kinds of trouble and..." Criston winced and stopped.

"A whore, right? No honor, no obedience to the vows? That's what you wanted to say?"

"Well, her actions spoke for themselves, didn't they?" Cole tutted and turned his face to me in full.

"I believe, she went stark raving mad when her dear lover could've bought her the world but didn't, even when she asked and pleaded, even if it was evident that she's unhappy. The moral of that story, Criston, is very much simple."

I couldn't resist being dramatic and paused. He shot me an irritated look but still asked.

"And what, pray tell, is it?" then he quietly muttered. "I'll regret this, wouldn't I..."

"If you love them, set them free." I shrugged. "Imagine, If Princess Rhaenys used her Red Queen to burn the Seasnake Ship of Lord Velaryon and the whole of the Spiceport and the Hull, while at it, if he ever wanted to travel somewhere once again, to fulfill his sudden wish for more adventure? He'd hate her even if she was chosen as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms which would've made him the King, wouldn't he? He wouldn't have been happy."

"Lady Alicent does not seem happy either, these days," Criston stood up and put the tassel back onto the pommel of his sword. "You say you love her, but you aren't really trying to..."

"I've just recently had a nameday, Cole. I am fucking twelve, not twenty. What exactly could I do without her own consent, even?"

I hissed at the man and also stood, just to punch him in the elbow, lightly, so that he doesn't notice all the unnatural strength that I have.

"What does it have to do with..."

"She believes in the Seven much more than you do, and I do not believe that me, having such feelings for a girl, were very easy to accept for you. It kind of seemed that way, but you've already noticed something when I told you."

"I liked that you were truthful, and your trust is invaluable, your Grace," he backed off from my anger but didn't turn his eyes down, even though he seemed very much tense.

"She would agree to something she doesn't want, out of duty that was confirmed to her by the teachings of the Seven. It wouldn't make her happy, she feels it but doesn't believe it. She needs to want that happiness on her own, Cole, and to see it with me like I saw it with her. Me and Rhaena Targaryen are not the same."

"I wasn't... I didn't..."

"So, Criston, we've confirmed that you weren't really bought by anybody, and this Cloak was just your honest wish, right?" I wanted to stop that line of questioning and tried to dial back a bit.

"Well, yes," he nodded, a bit frantically, and curiously looked me in the eye. "I am not a traitor, Your Grace."

"Just please, tell me if you having doubts or gotten someone with child, is all I'm asking. Even if I'm not in any position of power by the time, I'll try to help."

"All... Alright, Your Grace, but... Isn't that the ancient vow of... I'm not going to break, is what I'm trying to..."

"We've literally been at this whole Iron Throne thing for one hundred and twelve years, Cole. Visenya wanted people who would be ceremonial and unchained to their own families, by the oaths of their religion. She thought, those oaths are the same as ours, I bet. But nothing - at least in this life - would happen to you, with some semblance of certainty, if you break the oath you've given. Like, no magic would strike you down, is what I mean."

He looked at me like I'm crazy but kept waiting for me to continue, tapping the pommel of his sword and furrowing his brows at what I was saying.

"Why that look? Valyrian Freehold was magic, and us, the actual Dragonlords, we're not just simply... Ugh. Now is not the time. What I am trying to tell you, you knucklehead, is that it's just an old law in a giant book, not a binding agreement with actual Gods. Can be changed at will, and I do believe that it should be, for the better. It is not healthy for the mind of any person, to not have a real closeness with someone which family provides, or be deprived of children if you want them, or..."

"There are plenty of ways it could go wrong, I've learned about some of it from Ser Harrold, I did," he muttered. "But I still believe that I'm not going to..."

"I believe you now, but if anything, you'll have my support if something does go wrong. I don't care if you break your celibacy vow if it doesn't involve rape, I'd have to fucking kill you myself if you do that, or romancing any young ladies of the court that you'd most certainly see in attendance before and during the upcoming wedding."

"I don't believe that as many would come as you claim."

He said that with a clear jest in his voice, pointing at the window, and I hummed in agreement.

"That cursed wedding, if the weather continues, is going to be the shittiest one."

"I'd say, as it should, but..." he said that in a tone that indicated that he's trying to lighten the mood.

"She honestly deserves better," I breathed in and out with the clear irritation at his attempt to rile me up a bit, but was mostly amused by his gall, really. "My heart does not close off the feeling just because she doesn't feel it. On that note, would you like to hear my new creation? The lute is goddamn hard. Did you ponder that question of mine, if you want to try and learn?"

He groaned in exasperation, miserably failing to forbid his own face the "please do fuck off" expression.

I snickered at this and relaxed a bit.

But then, I've almost forgotten to ask. Needed to rectify that and a little bit dampen the mood, I guess.

"Are you still helping me with that maester thing? Or would that... Break your oath?"

 

[Ratmor]

"So, my dear niece, why exactly did you insist on compromising one of the possible paths of our communication, when I'm away?" he chuckled, looking at the bag with the scrolls with a slight astonishment. "And to what end exactly? We could solve this much easier, just feed him to the dragons and be done with it, I say."

I met this piece of extensively chaotic crap on a stick with the tired mind, tingling fingers with plenty of ink smudges on them and a huge unwillingness to tolerate his bullshit without answering in kind.

"And then what next, Uncle? Keep our fingers crossed that it wouldn't trace back to us?"

I groaned and cautiously looked at the Gold Cloak by the door who stood with a gray-robed middle-aged man with a Maester Chain glinting on his chest. I glanced at them out of the corner of my eye, really, but Daemon obviously noticed.

"Why would we need to cross fingers, niece?" his question made sense, of course, but it wasn't the point at all. "And you cannot disagree that it makes everyone know that you can use the City Watch rookery, and that the City Watch rookery actually has the capacity to inform all of the land beyond the Grand Maester's back at your command."

"You have a Maester of your own here, it's not like we exclude the Citadel," I grunted and slapped Daemon's hands off the pouches with letters, who knows where they've been, his hands. "I've been writing this shit with mine own hand for half a fucking day, so if you try and open any of them, I'll punch you."

"Now I am even more curious than before, tala!"

He keeps cosplaying the gremlin lord, with all these snickers and drama, ugh, what the fuck Daemon, why can't you be less you when I'm this wound up.

"Fuck it, take this and, just, please let me send these damn letters in peace, will you?"

I got my pocket book out and thrust it at him, it's not like it was the only one, really, I had a whole small chest of those, the little treasury really, cost me something like thirty dragons. Was worth it, what's with the grounded vellum it was made of, which you could literally wipe off if you wanted to. The only possible way for me not to kill people due to ink smudging everywhere if I wanted to write somewhere but the desk.

Fucking waste anyways, by modern standards of course, but while I'm stranded in this position of getting systematically watched and undermined, I'd be daft to try and make any waves on that market even if I actually could do it fast enough to be useful right now. I was also not so sure about the actual industry of it, even if I could make a lot of things based on the knowledge from all the schooling that I managed to get during my previous lives. But even if I am rather well read and sometimes nerding out in many ways, I was not an actual engineer or any sort of inventor, really. And using the local available paper notebook would've been obviously less bloody for those ten lambs that got skinned for my ten pocketbooks. But I'd probably would've killed somebody out of sheer fury if I kept using those damnable inks and quills.

"Naked woman, showing her waist and backside, you do have a good taste, and I wondered... Another naked woman but she's on her back, very nice tits here... And the... Not-naked woman who looks like she's from Yi Ti... Wherever did you meet that one, niece? And she has a fluffy tail? And the additional beastly set of ears? That is..."

"Fucking... Uncle, just stop looking at pictures and find the pages with predominantly words on them. I used this notebook for the final drafts, and I'll probably make someone else ink them later. If I have to write this shit once again while using quills, I will, for sure, go mad."

I called the City Watch's Maester and one of the Commanders, that Luthor guy, to the desk where I unloaded these, cursed by me at least thrice, painstakingly hashed out letters, already with my personal seal on them. The tags made of little scrap parchment pieces thankfully didn't fall off while I was scrambling through the Maegor tunnels to this meeting in the night.

Daemon kept snickering under his nose at first but then his untimely giggles stopped abruptly.

He finally managed to find the letters.


***


To Lady Jeyne Arryn

The Warden of the East

The Lady of the Vale

and my dear cousin,


I write to you not only as the named Heir to the Iron Throne, but as a daughter of my Mother, bound to you by the sacred blood of our house.

A grave crime has been committed against the honour of House Arryn. I wish to inform you that I have prepared a formal case to prosecute Grand Maester Mellos before the Iron Throne, for the high treason of the malicious healing practice and the unlawful termination of my Mother's life.

When the child in the womb turned feet-first, Mellos abandoned every law of his own order. In less than twenty hours, while Queen Aemma remained fully conscious, he took a knife to her lower belly. The singular bedding was drenched not with the gradual trials of labor, but with a single, sudden and terrible pool of blood. He treated the daughter of the Vale like wild game, slaughtering her without mercy. He did so without her vocal consent.

I have gathered all the necessary testimonies and the physical records of the birthing chamber to present to the court. I demand the Vale stand firm with me when I bring this butcher to his knees. Should this man attempt to flee the capital to escape the King's justice, I expect the gates of the East to be firmly shut against him.




Rhaenyra Targaryen

Zaldrīzdōro Dārilaros

Heir to the Iron Throne


***


To Lord Rickon Stark

The Warden of the North

The Lord of Winterfell,


I write this to fulfill my duty as the Heir to the Iron Throne, and to inform the North of an impending trial of honour and blood.

Grand Maester Mellos has proven himself a craven and a butcher in the royal birthing chambers. I have assembled a prosecution to try him before the court for the murder of my lady Mother, Queen Aemma, for the high treason of the malicious healing practice.

In less than twenty hours, before her vital humors could spend themselves naturally, Mellos panicked and drove his knife into her living flesh. He sacrificed the crown-wearing mother without her consent for a phantom hope of a babe. Our shared honour does not tolerate cowards who destroy the defenseless.

When I bring this matter before the Iron Throne, I expect the North to support the Crown's justice. If this craven seeks to escape his trial by fleeing into the wilderness, I urge you to command your scouts to watch the Kingsroad. A fugitive from royal justice must find no sanctuary under the shadow of Winterfell.

Rhaenyra Targaryen

Zaldrīzdōro Dārilaros

Heir to the Iron Throne


***


To Lord Boremund Baratheon

The Warden of the South

The Lord of Storm's End,


I send this letter to the fierce and kindred blood of the Storm's End, where strength is revered and evil cravens are hunted down.

I have prepared an official case to prosecute Grand Maester Mellos before the entire court for high treason against the person of the Queen. In less than twenty hours, while she remained fully conscious, he sliced into her lower belly, causing her blood to pour out all at once in a terrible rush. He slaughtered the Queen of House Targaryen as if she was a wild boar, defying her explicit refusal.

I have put together the evidence of his panic to strip him of his authority and his life. When the bells of justice sound in King's Landing, I expect the Storm's End to answer. If Mellos attempts to slip away to escape his execution, let your marchers and knights know that he is a marked enemy of the Iron Throne.


Rhaenyra Targaryen

Zaldrīzdōro Dārilaros

Heir to the Iron Throne


***


To Lord Tymond Lannister

The Warden of the West

The Lord of Casterly Rock,


I offer this communication to the master of the Rock, where law is absolute and fraud is met with steel.

I write to inform you that Grand Maester Mellos will be stripped of his immunity, as I have prepared a formal indictment to prosecute him before the King's court, for the high treason of the malicious healing practice. He spent less than twenty hours attempting to deliver the child naturally before panic overtook him. Without waiting for nature to exhaust its course, he carved open the Queen's abdomen while she screamed her denial.

He broke his sacred oath and gambled the life of the Targaryen Queen without her consent. House Lannister values the pristine execution of justice. When this trial begins, your support will ensure the law is upheld. Should Mellos attempt to flee the capital to hide his shame and avoid his sentence, I expect the wardens of the West to hunt him down as a common thief.


Rhaenyra Targaryen

Zaldrīzdōro Dārilaros

Heir to the Iron Throne


***


To Lord Luthor Tyrell

The Paramount of the Mander

The Lord of Highgarden,


I send this raven to the fertile heart of the Reach, where chivalry is prized and the law shields the defenseless.

Grand Maester Mellos has brought an intolerable stain upon the realm, and I write to inform you that I am bringing a formal prosecution against him before the Iron Throne for the slaughter of Queen Aemma, for the high treason of the malicious healing practice.

In less than twenty hours, while she remained fully conscious, he ripped open her lower belly, causing her vital humors to spill out all at once.

I have gathered all the necessary testimonies to ensure he faces the full weight of the King's justice. As the protector of the lands that cradle the Citadel, House Tyrell must ensure that this rogue butcher does not escape his trial. If Mellos flees the Red Keep to seek asylum in the Reach, he must be arrested on sight as a fugitive from the Crown.


Rhaenyra Targaryen

Zaldrīzdōro Dārilaros

Heir to the Iron Throne


***


To Lord Grover Tully,

The Lord Paramount of the Trident

The Lord of Riverrun


I write this to a lord of wisdom and long memory, whose house has always stood to uphold the realm.

A grave disruption of the laws of nature and hospitality has occurred, and I write to inform you that I have prepared a formal case to try Grand Maester Mellos before the entire court, for the high treason of the malicious healing practice. In less than twenty hours, he succumbed to haste and took a blade to a conscious, protesting Queen, causing a violent end that defies all natural law.

He violated his sacred oath, and I have compiled the records of his failure for a public trial. I expect the Riverrun to support the Crown's righteous prosecution. If this man attempts to take flight across the rivers to escape his judgment, let your lords watch the ferries and bridges. He must find no safe harbor in the Riverlands.


Rhaenyra Targaryen

Zaldrīzdōro Dārilaros

Heir to the Iron Throne


***


To Lord Goren Greyjoy

The Lord Reaper of Pyke

The Lord of the Iron Islands


I send this raven across the Sunset Sea to inform you of a possible hunting of a malicious coward.

Grand Maester Mellos has shown himself to be a craven and a butcher, and I have prepared a formal case to prosecute him before the court for the murder of my lady Mother. In less than twenty hours, while the Queen was fully conscious and screaming her denial, he sliced her open because he was too weak to stand the pressure of a difficult labor.

I am dragging him before the Iron Throne to face his execution. If the news break that he has fled the capital to escape my blade, look to your shores. If he finds himself in the Sunset Sea, do not let him land. Let him drown or bring his head to me.


Rhaenyra Targaryen

Zaldrīzdōro Dārilaros

Heir to the Iron Throne


***


To the Archmaesters of the Conclave

of the Citadel,


A grand shame has been brought upon your Order, and I write to inform you that a formal case for prosecution has been prepared against Grand Maester Mellos before the Iron Throne for the high treason of the malicious healing practice and the unlawful termination of the Queen's life.

Mellos succumbed to raw panic and explicitly violated the sacred protocols of your Order. In less than twenty hours, he performed an unprecedented cutting of the abdomen upon a living, breathing, and fully lucid Queen, causing her rapid end, without her vocal consent.

The Great Houses of the realm have already been notified of the impending trial and the technical discrepancies regarding his personal failure. If the Citadel attempts to shield this compromised man or protect him from the King's justice, the nobility of Westeros will look upon your entire Order as accomplices to a slaughter.

To preserve the honour of your institution, I expect the Conclave to strip Mellos of his chain immediately, denouncing his crimes before our formal indictment is read to the court.

If he attempts to flee to Oldtown to escape his execution, he must be imprisoned and returned to the capital.


Rhaenyra Targaryen

Zaldrīzdōro Dārilaros

Heir to the Iron Throne


***


To Lord Hobert Hightower

The Voice of Oldtown

The Protector of the Citadel,


I write to you directly, bypassing the esteemed Lord Hand, to speak of an impending trial that concerns the immediate survival and honour of your bloodline.

Grand Maester Mellos is a marked man. I have prepared a formal prosecution to try him before the Iron Throne for the slaughter of my lady Mother, Queen Aemma. He lifted a knife against a fully conscious woman and ended her days in less than twenty hours because he lacked the fortitude to endure a difficult labor.

My father, the King, currently looks to comfort his grief by seeking a new alliance with the Lady Alicent Hightower. I love Lady Alicent as my own sister, and I could not stand by and let the Maester attending her in the future to be a confirmed traitor and the healer of the malicious practice. For the safety of your brightest flame, my dear friend Lady Alicent, I bid the House Hightower to apply your full influence upon the Conclave to strip Mellos of his position and send a replacement before this indictment is made public to the realm.

The trap has been laid, and Mellos has nowhere else to run, if he somehow escapes the Red Keep. The Great Houses have already been warned to lock their roads against him. Help me clear the path for a new healer with pristine reputation, before the court is consumed by the blood of this trial.


Rhaenyra Targaryen

Zaldrīzdōro Dārilaros

Heir to the Iron Throne

 

[Ratmor]

"I do not understand," uttered the King, looking at me owlishly, but at the next moment he turned his gaze at Daemon and furrowed his brows, raised his voice. "Is that your poison?! Your doing?! My own daughter decides to imprison a member of the Small Counsil and you simply comply?!"

"My tala simply asked for the assistance of the Gold Cloaks. And, as I am their Lord-Commander, I have decided to help her with the swift imprisonment, as she did have a compelling case. Had me read through a pile of parchment, she did."

His voice was so joyful that anyone could've suspected that he was slightly drunk. He probably was, wasn't he? It's the middle of the fucking day. Ugh. This shithead was totally enjoying all the drama. All eyes on him, type of shit. Ugh. Whatever.

"Why didn't my daughter brought this case before me first? And you know that we cannot..."

"Brother, we did come to you, after securing the indicted man for... What is it that you called that charge, niece?"

Oh, now I have to play my role?

"The high treason of the malicious healing practice, was the expression."

"This is the first time I hear about such a thing," the dead man walking raised his voice from behind one of the Daemon's Gold Cloaks.

Cole was at the back of the Maester, his expression unreadable and tight, hand twitching at the pommel of his sword.

"My Lords, but there's no such legal term," tried to pitch in Lord Strong, the current Master of Laws, as we did catch up to the Maester right before the Small Counsil session.

It was the best chance to ensure that he wouldn't have a way to actually run away, which would've been probable if he stayed in his chambers near the Red Keep rookery.

"Well, write it down," Daemon shrugged and turned his head to the King. "Should we escort him to the Black Cells? The case made by Rhaenyra is very much sound, she has all the necessary testimonials, beginnjng with the laundry girls, featuring plenty of evidence, and ending with the Commander of the Kingsguard himself. And I would love to harshly discuss some... Things with this petty rat of a butcher myself, brother."

"Your Grace, please, I didn't do anything..." Maester started disgustingly whining after one look at the Daemon's shark-like smile, but I have already made myself commited to the role and was actually angry as shit, so I've exploded.

"YOU LYING PIECE OF CRAP, I WANT YOU TO FUCKING ROT IN A CELL WITHOUT WINDOWS OR GODDAMN..."

"Rhaenyra, please calm down, you've scared me. What is happening, my lords?"

As we weren't yet at the chambers of the Small Council, but not far from the entrance, Alicent's presence was rather expected, but it took the wind out of my sails a bit.

I was supposed to play my role here, make it so that this cunt is stashed in the specific cell or, if it doesn't work, a specifc room, to argue that he shouldn't be allowed to contact anyone outside. And that would happen if they just lock him in the Maester tower. With the only things in the Keep that could carry messages and his maester-hands in the same building, yeah.

"He should be interrogated on how and why he killed my mother, and he should not be allowed any external interference, so he shouldn't stay in his chambers," my curated anger, the one I was building up specifically to let lose right here and right now, it was vaning in the face of the fearful sorrow in her eyes.

What the hell is this power over me, really. But, well, it's not like I've never felt that before, in another life. So I steeled my expression a bit, trying to get back to the previous mindset.

"Her death was unfortunate, Rhaenyra!" thundered the King, raw pain in his voice unmistakable, as he gripped the handle of the Blackfyre. "But I have grieved, and I will be grieving as long as I breathe, but it was not..."

"I have made my case," I've interrupted him and smiled without any teeth, so as not to show too much of my own real emotion. "As a royal subject and the concerned side, I have a right for the official royal court judgement."

"The princess is right, your Grace," Lord Strong, for once, didn't try to object and straighten me up in some way. "If she did make a case that was enough for the Gold Cloaks to get involved, then..."

"It is Prince Daemon's whim," snapped Otto and folded his arms on his chest. "I have little doubt about that."

"No, I've been compiling the evidence since the day of Baelon's death. If it's anyone's whim, it would be mine," I feigned the tiredness in my voice, to mask the fury, really.

"She also notified every High Lord in the realm to what she is going to do with this case. And mentioned the identity of the indicted man as well," Daemon added that, which once again turned everyone's attention back to him.

Viserys sighed, and if I didn't have some clear-hehaded and very distinct understanding of his role in the whole thing, I'd have believed this man's sorrow.

"Rhaenyra, my dear daughter, why wouldn't you come to me with this in the first place?" he wondered as if my distance wasn't obvious to any non-braindead person. "I could've helped you with..."

"You were helping yourself," I paused and my eyes couldn't help but slide towards Alicent, who decided to stand as close to me as the propriety allowed, but after that gaze she stumbled back a bit. "After Mother's death, you were helping yourself, Father, and I understood this grief, so I didn't want to bother you with it until I had something solid in my hands."

I was talking to Viserys but looking at Alicent. It was deeply wrong right now, to let my mind wander so, when I clearly have other objectives. Ugh.

"This, is my way of helping myself," I admitted and looked That Man in his eyes, trying to convey the truth in my words as much as I could. "Please, let us proceed."

Otto opened his mouth, no doubt for some usual mild scolding and veiled belittling of me, but Viserys put his hand up, while looking back at me, holding my pleading - I hoped so - stare.

"Alright, Rhaenyra, I will... Give you this man, but..."

The surrounding lords did not explode or tried to wedge in, even Daemon squinted his eyes but stayed quiet.

"He will not go to the Black Cells, Rhaenyra, will not be tortured by you or your thugs, Daemon, and he will stay safe and sound in the Maegor's Holdfast. I would want to talk to him after I read whatever it is that you have collected, my daughter."

"Oh... Well," I had to hang my head down in a prentence of a sorrow, really, just to sell this right. "At least put him in a place with no goddamn windows, so it could feel like a cell just one bit. I don't care anymore. I want a public trial, and for him to stand it."

"I don't know what you want from me, Your Grace," the frantic babbling of the old Maester grated on my nerves, really. "I've been faithfully serving the Crown, the King, I wouldn't commit treason by... By whatever it is that you have concocted! It was simply the Will of the Seven..."

"You want to tell me that my mother died because the Seven willed it? Do you even hear yourself?!"

It was a question but I didn't say it like I needed an answer, and I put my hand on my own sword as well and caressed the dragonhead pommel, just to feel the spikes of it and calm the fuck down, but my motion was misinterpreted.

"Give it to me, at once," the King stepped closer to me, held out his hand, as I looked at him like he was the patient of some mental institution, for sure, not understanding his order at all.

"Surely you couldn't mean that," Daemon tried to step in and uncharacteristically calm things down himself.

"I do not understand," I looked the King in the face and truly didn't get where he was coming from. "What have I done so that you so suddenly..."

"I will return it once this whole thing is settled, as I've never noticed you being careless with it, but I do not want your anger to get the better of you, Rhaenyra. Who else would stop you if you decide to use it on the man whom you think... What? Murderer by healing? Is that right?"

The King almost started sounding reasonable, oh the horror. I shook my head, unbuckled the leather harness in a rather swift motion and thrust the scabbard with the sword into his hands. He almost stumbled, not expecting my fast and rather crude compliance, and it caused him to lose the grip of the Blackfyre.

I caught the big sword in a backwards grip, obviously accidentally and mere moment before it lost the balance. It wasn't even conscious.

I immediately loved this fucking monster of a thing.

It was the sole good moment of the day, groping a new sword for a second or two. But I liked my dragonhead baby more, so I didn't linger much. The moment was kind of awkward, when Viserys handled my sword to Ser Harrold while trying to not lose the handle of Blackfyre once again.

"It would indeed be preposterous to act with violence without the proper trial," The Hand agreed and nodded to Viserys with approval, I guess.

For fucks sake, who's the king here? Approval from the Hand? Am I mad that I notice this or is this fucking place mad?

"Well, the Conclave and Lord Hightower are also aware of my case against Grand Maester Mellos, as of yesterday, I think. It's not that I could treat this with any sort of spontaneity or without caution. The letters should've arrived by now for sure, I've given them enough time."

"What did you do? Princess!" Lord Hand looked at Daemon, at me, at the King, he was not frantic but his composure was lost to the wind for sure. "What have they made up for the whole realm..."

"You're squirming, like you have something to hide," the malice in Daemon's voice was almost palpable, really, but I elbowed the man so that he doesn't gloat too much right now.

It would be telling.

"Put... Put Grand-Maester Mellos under house arrest," Viserys said that with a heavy look at that gray-robed chunk of refuse, and I knew that he's not done with this. "We will do this by the Law, so, Lord Strong, manage the... Necessary arrangements for the public trial. Me and Otto are going to read this case of yours, as you've presented it to Daemon, Rhaenyra, and then we will decide how to proceed. Do you understand?"

"No, it is you who doesn't understand, Father, I want him tried under the high treason of the malicious healing practice, to set a precedent so that such a thing would never happen to another," I looked at Alicent at my last words, failing to stop myself from this fucked-up habit. "It's not a game or a ploy, I just want our court free from this rot once and for all. What I've found out is..."

"Alright," Viserys sighed and stopped me from continuing my enraged rant. "He will await the certain trial, Rhaenyra, I will not dismiss it, I promise that. But there will be no torture, his service to the realm seemed impeccable, he deserves at least this dignity. And he will stay in the Maegor's Holdfast, in a guest room. Untouched."

Oh, how I wanted to argue. I did. But...

The plan didn't need that, not really.

So, I looked at Alicent once again, smiled at her briefly, recieving a weak one in return, nodded to my Uncle and looked at Viserys once again.

"I will accept the King's Justice, whatever it may be, Your Grace."

"I assure you, it will be harsh, my daughter," he gave me a nod with a solemn face and a serious tone of voice.

I turned to leave and sighed once again at my goddamn dress, that was alright, I guess, but I still would've felt much better in a fucking gambeson. I do have some random cheap one already, of a kind that when you see it you think "at least it's not stained". I needed some clothing for getting out into the city, but it wasn't the one I could safely wear and not shame myself in the eyes of any random noble who knows my face. And I was simply too busy to do something more about it, these days, but as soon as this crap is over I'm going to have a talk with Lord Beesbury and master the coin away from those whiny bitches. Like, allocate most of those people to Alicent's dresses, or something, if she's to be the Queen, I guess. Wouldn't have to fire people, even, just stop them from being my problem. But, alas, not now.

Of course it was Daemon's idea, as I didn't think, at first, of the situation in which we wouldn't be able to steal this shitstain from the Black Cells. He said that Viserys is too mild and would want to talk to the criminal himself.

Daemon still couldn't even imagine the reality in which Viserys was himself fully aware of what Mellos did, which is why That Man wanted to ensure that his Maester wouldn't say things he never wanted the public to know.

But the King probably wouldn't do it today, he is a lazy bum, Viserys, he is, not able to read everything I've passed to them for the actual trial in one evening. Even if he did, he would take time to ponder. And even if he tries to talk to Mellos today, it wouldn't be that big of a deal. He won't make it an actual trial for a few days, and that's me being generous.

Daemon is going to ensure the cage is set to open just in time. I'd just have to wait.




***




It was all kinds of hilarious and dark at the same time, that I'm effectively doing the Littlefinger heist, the one from the Game of Thrones canon, letting the victim believe that it's their choice to flee. But in my case, the Sansa substitute doesn't have any character appeal whatsoever.

Me and Daemon confirmed at the supper, very much loudly, that we're going to the Dragon Pit somewhere in the middle of the day, preferably for all of the day after. I've asked Viserys to grant me a day free of the courtly bullshit and he complied, out of some misguided attempt to placate me, as they've forbidden me or Daemon to come nearby the man before the Trial.

I went to the Pit with Daemon, escaped it with the inner tunnels after getting dripped in the local commoner fashion, went to Maegors holdfast through one of the tunnels Daemon knew about, and dropped the letter with the path to freedom into that room. It was a rather nice room he was given, with proper amenities and, what's most important, with one of the tunnel exits, hence how I had a chance to drop anything without anyone noticing.

He did try to escape at that timeframe that Daemon had predicted. The Maester did not deviate from what was written in that note that showed him the way.

I proposed making it the good cop asking and the bad cop looming, instead of just beating him up or outright torture. But the actual trial, I don't quite like the possibility of him not being dead by the end of it. He could always choose the Black, at the trial.

I had questions, that needed their answers to be written down, just so I have something to do with my hands, really.

The first one was very simple.

"How many stillbirths, miscarriages and infant deaths were suffered by my lady mother, Queen Aemma, during your tenure or your predecessors."

He said the most outlandinsh shit as if it was supposed to be the norm. He said "eleven failed births in totality" and I wanted to violently push the cunt into the bay at that first answer.

He finished answering that question, trembling slightly at the sight of Daemon in the shadows, kept following my silverpoint with his eyes, as if trying to change whatever it is that I've scribbled about his answer.

The second was no less important.

"What treatments, draughts or tonics did you administer to the Queen in the moons following each of those failed pregnancies?"

He said, something about "standard". But the tancy, which was his constant in her treatments? That shit is part of the Moon Tea, so I assumed it was something to do with the ovulation situation and hormones. I was, it seemed to me, very much correct.

He said, it was "the established practice of the Citadel to ensure the warming and reopening of the womb for conception as swiftly as possible."

When I decided to ask about the concerning consequences, he muttered about "severe cramping, dried humors and requiring an heir for the realm."

The third question ended up being about another administered cure. I asked, if there were any complaints from the Queen herself and any, if at all, refusals. I was hoping to understand if she knew what it was and agreed, or maybe disagreed but was forced.

Instead, I got myself a simple explanation that I never wanted to be real.

He said, "measured drops of Sweetsleep".

"It was entirely rational, Your Graces!" he had the snot running from his nostrils to his lips, his hands were tied in front of him and the robes dirty, first from the tunnels and next, from when we dragged him to a fucking cave. "It quieted her mind, eased those attacks she had, when she had trouble breathing, allowed her to rest, so that the royal bedchamber would not be filled with grief!"

I wrote his answer after my pre-written question, and wanted to continue, just to make it through this fucked-up thing that I just had to do.

Daemon was silent, which... Well, it wasn't good when a man like that is biding his time to blow the fuck up.

"By whose authority were your maester-hands with differing opinions and midwives removed from the court?"

My voice was steady as I knew the answer deep in my bones, but I needed for him to say it out loud.

"They... They have spoken of craven doubts, they lacked the... The stomach for the statecraft. They have claimed, years ago, you see, that Queen Aemma would bleed to death if... It did not happen! And they were dismissed by official royal decrees!"

"Whose seal?" Daemon took a step closer to the interrogation and looked this maester in the face. "Otto Hightower's? No doubt..."

"Not..." the man cosplayed the shrimp and started to scrunch on himself. "Lord Hand didn't quite mind those new... Places that were freed. But it was the King who did. Even before he was the King, your Grace. And... With me, he signed every decree, you see? He refused to listen to the warnings... What you have me do?"

"Why would my brother sign the banishments of those who tried to save his wife?"

"He... He didn't see it that way. He said they lacked faith. Said about the dream guaranteeing him a son with the Conqueror's Crown. That those were just fears... And Queen Aemma did have all those pregnancies, she did not bleed out like they were saying she would! Yes, yes, I followed the orders of our King!"

"Fucking liar!" he snapped his hand right at the Maester's ear, making the snivelling old man fall on his knees and crouch even more.

We didn't even torture him, it was well enough for Daemon to simply be here. Mellos knew, I think, where this is going, but he still held hope.

The vellum started to slightly tear at my silverpoint's edge, as I couldn't hold back the disarray this whole... Thing has brought into my mind. My fingers were trembling, as I finished writing down what he said. What Daemon asked.

I had the last thing to ask, really.

"What was the response of Queen Aemma when you brought the blade into the birthing chamber on that final day?"

He was crying now, digging at the dirt with his fingers.

"She... She refused. Begged us not to. The midwives that were there at first, were made to leave earlier. She screamed that she was afraid."

My hand stopped, and I've heard my own ragged breathing and the blood rushing in my head with fire and fury, as I stood up.

I have heard the testimonies of everyone, they said she was screaming and technically we both, Daemon and I, we already knew.

"Who gave you the nod to carve her up, you fucking rat?" Daemon didn't shout, his tone was almost clinical.

I came closer as well. Saw the pitiful state he was in, but couldn't muster up any response, even disgust was out of reach right now.

"The King!" Mellos started to desperately wail. "I told him that it would be either her or the babe, if we do this. His... His Grace said, the boy, the heir must live!"

"Gīman," I muttered.

But the maester didn't stop, and Daemon went still. Fucking. Useless.

"He... He stood right over her bed, near her head, held her hand and..."

"Bona Kelītīs!" I once again tried to make Daemon move.

"He told her everything would be well, and he nodded... Nodded to my blade. His command. His... Dream. I am but a servant to the Iron Throne, it was the entirely prudent and most reasonable course, you see, to obey the crown..."

"Kelītīs!"

The red in my head exploded into the mist.

"I do not... Fucking... See..."

"Rhaenyra?"

My hands were free now.

I looked at the face of the weak pathetic man, who could not protect himself from me while I did this to him. He had no eye anymore.

He had no life either.

I didn't feel much remorse, somehow. I thought it wouldn't be me though, the one to pass the sentence. The Rhaenyra within me, the old-new part of me, it felt something else.

The pure abandonment and destruction of even slightest illusions about her father's "love" for her mother.

"Hae muñoti se kepoti daorun," I exhaled this admission with shudder. As if I have no mother and father, indeed.

I could have thought that Viserys was somewhat misguided and hate him for that stupidity quietly, really, but after this? Why would this man lie? Couldn't stop really, trying to make us see it his way, even when I asked him to stop he wouldn't.

Then I looked at Daemon, whose gaze didn't leave me after I punched my silverpoint through the eye of a man. The man who murdered my Mother at the behest of my...

"Ñuha kepa sagon jorrāelan."

He stepped closer into my space, holding my gaze, his eyes were dry but his face was trembling all over. He didn't know what to do with my plea.

"Please, just..." I trailed off and couldn't help but look at the corpse.

"Ñuha tala, ñuhar ānogar iksā," he said that rather matter-of-factly, admitting that he would, in fact, consider me his daughter in blood.

He put a hand on the top of my head and patted it a bit, like he didn't know what would be appropriate to do, really.

I've inexplicably started to feel better.

"Now, where's that Cole knight of yours? Wasn't he standing guard? We can't throw this waste into the water, it's the middle of the day, someone would notice, for sure."

"Someone will have to shovel," I agreed and couldn't help but roll my eyes.

Prissy fucking princess, my new kepa.

 

[Ratmor]

I've almost checked out at the next Small Council, while acting as a very much ritualistic cupbearer. The actual setting of the table during feasts or any sort of trying the fucking wine first - of course I didn't do, I also didn't actually run any errands for the King himself, even if the position must've implied something along those lines.

It's fucking agonizing to be here and not be able to either ask about stuff properly or suggest things that I know would work, as I simply learned that they've worked already someplace else. It's not like I'm some fucking inventor davinci-like kid, but our modern system in education shouldn't be dismissed, especially if I wasn't slacking off most of the time in most of my lifetimes. Not the previous one, where I had to fight boogeys and didn't have a home since, like, fourteen, but still, I had plenty of fuel. To keep getting undermined just for opening my mouth wasn't pleasant either.

As my main ally vanished into the wind, with the important purpose of managing the safety of the trade fleets, I had been rather silent for many of these godforsaken meetings. Obviously, Corlys Velaryon was the situational ally at best and mostly because my constant interruptions were about his own cause. That stopped being funny to anyone in the room by the tenth time I pitched in on the matter, despite getting scolded.

I expected that the disappearance of the previous Grand Maester from the room with no windows and with a guard at the door, would be noted with great passion and frustration at the meetings, following that disappearance. I actually didn't really expect that I'd be questioned about the case contents, as it was a very thorough pile of parchment, thank you very much. The Hand surprisingly didn't have much questions about the testimonials or the nature of the case on its own, he did have all the time to read it. His main concern was, of course, what he didn't get to read.

"We have started receiving letters from the Great Houses and their vassals, that they would be very interested in attending the public trial, that you, Your Grace, have promised them without given leave to do so. What, pray say, did you write, to make every single High Lord of the realm, even the Greyjoys, to write back with the confirmation that they would send their representative to watch the judgement happen?"

Otto was looking at me with a very stern gaze while he kept circling the rim of his goblet with, presumably, nervousness, but it could also be a simple annoyance, really. My tired mind didn't quite care about his feelings, which is why I automatically filled his goblet. And only after that, I met his stare, which became kind of weirded out, I think, mostly by my servant-like attitude. I didn't even blink, but still had to open my mouth and not tell him to fuck off with his assumptions. Instead, I tried to turn his narration into mostly pure bullshit of his own making.

The random guy I've met literally twice before this meeting, name's Orwylle, was sitting in place of the Grand Maester. I didn't know if the Citadel deigned to report back, but I guess this was the one I should be talking to right now, I guess. I hope he's not as useless at healing as Mellos was, I had a feeling that Mellos was a special case. The Maesters in this medieval-like world were fully aware of sanitised tools and even had spirits and infusions made with some herbs. I've seen the inside of the Mellos's quarters when Daemon himself conducted a search for his notes, to make the case even more ironclad, to confirm what we've heard from the cunt before I put him to rest.

Well, strictly speaking, it was Criston Cole who put him to rest, I put him to death, real fast and rather painful, I think.

"I sent the letters to the High Lords of each region under the Iron Throne," I started and set the pitcher down on the side-table near the window.

My dragon kept at his diet of cheese-wheels, fucked if I knew how, so I breifly caressed the spikey-puppy before I turned back. The boi started chirping, obviously to bring my attention back. I sighed and took him in my arms, as the little shit didn't let the chunk of cheese in his jaws fall. It probably looked surreal for anyone not used to it - Orwyle went wide eyed and all, but I didn't really give a shit.

"I didn't write to them that the Trial is a settled matter, I told them that I'm bringing this case to the attention of the crown, and it was implied that I would love more than anything to set a precedent for the malicious healing practice, to distinguish it from the plain planned murder or just, ugh, the Will of Gods."

"Sometimes you cannot do anything to help," Orwylle murmured that under his nose but it wasn't really a whisper, so everyone heard him as well as I did.

"And sometimes people do not know which is the actual Citadel-approved practice and which is some glorified hack's wish to stay in favour of the King, or the High Lord, or even some Ser who has a fucking splinter in his backside and tore it out himself and after that waited for a week or two until it started reeking of death. Citadel should not deal in unproved methods that harm the person more than they heal them, and it usually doesn't, does it not, Maester Orwylle?"

"It is actually Grand Maester, Your Grace," Lord Strong stated that with a rather tired and serious tone. "I've been reading all the correspondence containing the, well, everyone who wishes to attend, I guess? So, the Citadel did name him the new Grand Maester effective immediately after we received the letter. Did you also ask the High Lords to send it to their bannermen? My steward, Ser Simon, sent me the summons to attend to the Trial, by Lord Grover himself!"

"I have received such letters from Honeyholt as well," Lord Beesbury blinked at the Master of Laws and then slowly turned his face to the Hand. "From Lord Hobert. And from Lord Tyrell, both."

Lord Hand's ears started turning some curious shades of red, but his overall demeanour did not change. The man was firmly stomping towards some sort of heart issues, I'm sure of it.

"My lords, I had no reason to think that I would need to ask them anything but apprehending the craven rotten criminal if he would try to flee somehow. And that, my lords, was mostly what I wrote about. Also the overall subject of the case, of course. His actual crime and negligence."

"I should just recall your personal seal, Rhaenyra," grunted Viserys, looking at me with, he dared to, hurt eyes. "So that we wouldn't find ourselves in such a position again."

Otto sent a pointed stare at the King, as he did understand the implications of the husband not wanting to put the alleged murderer of his wife on piblic trial. Other members of the Small Council were also kind of baffled, even the new addition of that Gulltown lordling guy, he wasn't even the Master of Ships as of yet, just the person tasked with peforming Lord Corlys's duties in the meantime. It seemed, that only the King himself didn't get what he blurted out in his attempt to guilt me for "betraying" his trust, with a fucking personal seal no less, which is my right by their own laws, really.

"Father, I would rather you do not imply, even in jest, that you wish this trial never happened. What I am concerned with, first and foremost, Lord Strong, is how do we put up a public trial without the accused being apprehended, and without looking weak in front of all those lords in the first place?"

"We'll have to find him..."

Lord-Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Harrold, said that and looked at me with such a darkness in his eyes, that it reminded me of a moment when he asked me for forgiveness. This morning right after the disappearance was found out and he learned of the value that his testimonial gave to the case, he stopped me right after I pretended to wake up and tried to manage a coherent apology. It was not, in fact, coherent, but I appreciated the attempt.

"Yes, but we wouldn't be able to do so without alerting each and every one of those Lords who are waiting for the clean trial, case closed," Daemon was sitting at the table like he belonged here, and I was very glad that the man didn't manage to mock me for my useless posting with anything except his fleeting humorous gases. "My tala is right, the matter of passing the judgement to set a precedent and make the Citadel tighten their arses, well..."

"Do not be so crude, brother," Viserys sighed and nodded to Orwyle, "as our new addition to the Small Counsil might think that he is in danger from your wrath."

"Would you or would you not carve up a conscious woman, for a babe, while she isn't dead yet or even exhausted the several days of labour?" Daemon was crude once again, but it made Viserys shut the fuck up and pale, well, paler in the face. The rosy cheeks from imbibing wine like water were left in the past, is what it means. I was sure that he'd die of liver failure if this continues, but I didn't quite care, if I'm being honest.

"It isn't the practice approved by the Citadel, no, Your Grace," Orwylle clasped his hands together on the table in front of him, fingers tightening so much that the knuckles turned different shade.

And it also looked like the King had something to say, right after this statement, and didn't.

This man with a crown is a fucking joke that stopped being funny for quite a while.

I needed to get the fuck out of here, that, I knew for sure. And I was very happy that the High Lords of this realm didn't like the idea of their daughters or wives getting butchered. I forced myself to not mention the age of my Mother's marriage to the King, because they wouldn't have understood, I thought. My thoughts might have been right, but they do give a shit, at least about seeing the new precedent in person. I doubt every single lord would come, that would be horrifying for our dear Lord Bee's Knees, but I bet they'd implement this precedent in their own legal practice.

Right now, me and Daemon both, we just waited for someone else to suggest the Trial in Absence, which is a thing even in Westeros. Daemon told me that it will be the obvious continuation of the whole affair, down in the caves when we strutted back to the Dragon Pit, to pretend that we were there all the time. I obviously didn't mind the idea as it didn't stop the precedent for the Malicious Healing to happen. But the Crown would look weak as heck in the process.

My letters, though, they do not allow for anyone, even the King himself, to drop the case without notice.

Those lords probably asked their maesters if what I've described could've been an outcome of their healing, and I bet that plenty of maesters said that it's either the incompetence or the assassination attempt.

I kind of wanted to read those answers, if I'm being honest, as they might reference my letters in them. The one I wanted the most was from the Vale, which is why I decided to ask, even knowing that it might be futile.

"Did my cousin, Lady Jeyne, write anything back as well, Lord Strong?"

"Hm-m-m, Your Grace," he looked at the notes in front if him and scratched his beard. "Oddly, not, but they're one of the most closest..."

"Surely this bad weather could be the reason," Lord Hand furrowed his brows and looked at the window, lacking any proper sunlight, as the rain kept at it since the Hour of the Wolf. "The Vale is not exempt from these changes..."

"And it will make the planning of the Trial and, right after that, the Wedding of Your Grace and Lady Alicent very tenuous," Lord Beesbury was worried about the most innocent of things, as always.

But it still made me sour from the inside and out, being reminded of this whole bullshit situation. All the fucking time. How would I manage and not kill anyone else, I don't fucking know.

I needed to get a wink of sleep, really, just to recharge. And that's exactly what I'm going to do right after I'm freed from this trap of a job.

I'd be glad to brazenly state that I'd rather work in the docks at the lowest level of logistics, honestly, but I am not so brave. I'd rather be here twiddling my thumbs than breathing the stench of the city down there.

It was the main reason I've asked my Uncle's forces to give out the small leaflets, with the three gears locked in a triangle,

a very easy mechanics puzzle, really, when they're on the Street of Steel, with a question on how would they make the schematics work. They should come to one of the Gold Cloaks' garrison near Rhaenys Hill, with those leaflets or not, at a certain day next week. I needed myself a smith that wouldn't just polish the scabbard, the squire could do that, really, and I didn't have the mental fortitude to learn how to draw the blueprints so that some random smith would understand right away. I wanted someone with a potential for three-dimensional thinking or some actual knowledge, and only after this first phase, I would conduct the interview for those who'd come.

Not going to go down there every day without a fucking plague doctor mask in tow. The Jae-king didn't build proper sewers anywhere, basically, but the rich-people district and the Red Keep. I could understand the logic of it, in the short run. In the long run he probably hoped for this fucking weather to cleanse the shit away, or something. Whatever it is that medieval kings usually think, when they think they're smart?

The meeting, after this clash of minds and mindless, lasted for less than an hour, and I would've fled right away if not for a little business I had to talk about with Lord Beesbury.

I caught up to the man, Cole following me as always, and made the Master of Coin stop in his tracks.

"Lord Bee's Knees, please a moment of your time!" my exclamation made both the new Maester and the Hand stop as well, but I continued, and they lost their interest. "I want to discuss my allowance situation! It requires your utmost understanding!"

They've obviously assumed I wanted more or didn't get enough, so they scurried off.

And as soon as those bothersome people were gone, I looked the grumbling accountant in the eye, as he once again tried to get me to stop calling him that, and I stopped his grumbling at once.

"My lord, I want to allocate my dressmakers to the future queen's part of household budget, as I don't need all of those people who do not particularly listen to what I want when I want it. She'd probably straighten them up even before the wedding, what's with her father being the Hand he might do that himself, really, but I do not want to bear the burden of firing the people and then for us having to hire them once again, as we've already got the best, don't we?"

"What do you mean, Your Grace?" Lord Beesbury looked at me with a worry in his eyes. "I wouldn't want to employ the people who do not wish to follow your royal orders!"

"No, you see, they've had their own contracts and budget done and settled before my Mother was murdered," I hurried to explain, as I didn't really want to bring these people some misfortune, even if they were a bit bitchy with their reluctance to make me a fucking proper gambeson. "And my mother loved a certain style of dress on me. Which I followed, as she was the one to make the order, does it make sense?"

"So you want to make your own orders, that differ, and they're not up to that change?.."

"Yes, Lord Beesbury, exactly that, I want something more suited for the valyrian Heir to the throne, and that's not what they could provide, as they work with finest silks and richest gowns, but I do not require that, and they take pride in what they do, like any other craftsman. What I need from you, though, is setting up a huge meeting with them all, informing them of the budget allocation change, and that meeting would let me ask them all, who exactly would finally be able to make me something practical but not lacking in protection or showing off the nobility of my status. My sword tears through their dresses, my dragon claws at them, and it makes them make more dresses that I didn't even want in the first place. I also wanted to have a piece of clothing that wouldn't be out of place at the feast, but at the same time would be okay to ride a dragon in. It is very much possible, I think, and I hate such a waste of money, my lord. I hope, you agree with me on that and make those people simply relocate to the future queen's side. You would have to allocate the gold for her dresses anyways, so let her have these wonderful seamstresses in full. I don't quite need as many as they're now."

"How much less are we talking about?" lord Bees made a curious face and hummed under his nose.

"At least thrice, maybe more, that's my guess."

This was the moment that got him.



***



That day, I had a dream of the street of cobblestones and dark stone buildings, the mist in the night and a massive guy with valyrian features of the Targaryens.

He wore a silver-gray leather jerkin and rich herigaut cloak, dark green on the outside, and the colour of bone or cream on the inside. His stance was assured and he was standing there, like he owned the place, the moon was shining upon this misty nights, and I knew that he didn't mean me any harm, somehow.

Even though usually my dreams were about the previous slayer's fight, my post traumatic whatever it is that was from the Twilight life, and sometimes I've dreamed of Buffy, it was roughly thrice. She was crying and saying something, usually, but it wasn't the connection that we had, for sure. I've never felt that since I desintegrated in that literal hellhole.

I've never seen that huge man's face before, never seen those streets even, didn't know why I've dreamt of him. But by the end of it, I was woken up by the dragon's growl, which sounded inside the dream. The huge shadow swallowed the moon and we both turned our eyes to it.

I saw him smile in that dream, looking at the sight of Vhagar.

When I woke up, at the Hour of the Wolf, the rain was still falling, or once again falling, I couldn't know. After washing up, I munched on the cheeses, berries and smoked meat, left in my solar by the servants, for my abundant nighttime snacking - of course they've noticed my habits and started delivering on their own. I've kept thinking about the dream and wanted to dismiss it from my brain, stop it from invading the waking world, really. I've had enough worries on my plate already, in all honesty.

But even when it was time to actually dress up and go deal, at some point, with my lack of gambeson trouble, I couldn't throw the worry away.

Rhaenys suggested, when we talked about Vhagar and Laena, and how I felt it right, but she wouldn't let her daughter do it on her own, this young, which is how we decided on waiting for after the wedding. The Princess placated her husband a bit, worked her magic, really, and Corlys stalled his actual resignation during the course of the next week following his outburst at the counsil. The King didn't want the actual separation of the family, the cut that would've obviously happened. How could you not actually want it, but do everything you could to make it happen, I would never get that, I think.

So, when Corlys half-assed his apology by saying that he was too hot-headed at the time to make an informed decision, Viserys did not push the issue and try to make the best sailor and the richest man of Westeros to actually fuck off without a goodbye or setting his current duties in order.

I hoped to see Laena and Rhaenys soon, so we would be able to make the whole Vhagar claiming festivity to happen earlier, as I wouldn't want some random dude from a weird dream to make that step.

The only thing that stopped me from freaking out was the fact that I've not once, during that dream, felt any dread or sorrow. It didn't feel like those dreams of troubles ahead, it felt oddly peaceful and solid. The worry came, mostly, from over-analysing it after I woke up.

Well, I had to find me a tailor who would do the padding and underarmour as well, and who wasn't a man, preferably out of those seamstresses or with their help. And I've already had something in mind for that fucking stench, where such a person could help with no doubt. But it could wait for after a proper seven boiled eggs and cheese with oats breakfast, really. My pit of a stomach never rested, and I didn't want to stunt my growth due to my powers eating most of the food I consumed, so I've started to ignore the weird glances and succumbed to the perpetual munching on anything that seemed safe enough and clean enough to munch on.