She wanted to ask what was on her mind, but they had more important things at hand.
With their presence guaranteed again for the afternoon showing in light of new arrivals, the stands on each side of the tourney grounds were filled with people. Around her, nobles from every corner of the known world discussed everything from rumors of the far east, to pirates in the Stepstones. There probably were pirates of the Stepstones sitting in the noble stands, around her. At least if rumors of Lysene nobility had any weight.
The reason for their return to observe the small tournaments for the afternoon was simple.
Lord Alaric Stark had arrived just before midday.
It was something of a surprise, as while she'd sent the invitations all the same, their last correspondence had been one of uncertainty. It wasn't lost upon her that she and Jaehaerys were overdue to make a royal visit to the north. Their relationship with Lord Stark wasn't the best, unsurprising given how little Jaehaerys had paid attention to it, when the north mostly handled its own affairs and there was so much more pressing going on in the south.
Now it falls to me.
The tournaments were a churning source of entertainment to be drawn upon at will, with something going on in the grounds at more hours of daylight than not. She knew for fact that the north had few knights and would care less for the jousts that were still ongoing in the mornings, but luckily, the grand melee was in the afternoon, and that would hold well enough for a good viewing.
He's grown to be even more dour than last I saw him.
It'd been many years since the Golden Wedding, and he'd lost both his father and brother since then.
But really, Alaric, it is a seat, not a call to arms.
Alaric looked at the seat she'd motioned him to, directly on her right, and then looked down to the tourney grounds below. He turned and drew his cloak in preparation to lower.
"You'll not find one better in all of the stands I assure you." She said encouragingly, with a smile. "I understood that this entertainment would be more suitable for you and your lovely Lady Stark."
Lady Maeda Stark, born Mormont, was by most measures of a woman… tall. Alaric was above average height, and it was a thing of luck because had he not been, she would have surpassed him. She nearly did all the same and everything about her build was thickset as well. Considering that since her arrival, the Lady Stark hadn't removed a pair of twinned hatchets from her belt and was donned in a wolfskin she'd already boasted to killing herself, she was fairly sure Alaric's wife had more in common with Jonquil than most of the noblewomen that surrounded them.
Alaric was austere as he lowered onto his seat, but his wife, by comparison, spoke up.
"What have we to see down there?" She asked. "A rowdy bunch of men with too full sacks and too much gold in their pouch, too? What's so grand about this melee?"
Lady Tyrell one row down from them turned with a blink at that, looking aghast and Alysanne fought to keep from laughing.
"It is the grand melee to distinguish one from the other. Entry is offered in groups of seven." She explained as Alaric settled in.
His lady wife lowered with a thump that Alysanne felt through the bench where the different seats, her own cushioned high-backed false-throne included, were mounted.
"Mn." She grunted, lips pursed as she leaned forward to speculatively consider the field of men all getting into the various places. "Why is the field quartered?"
"The showings were too great and I did not want to turn anyone that sought to fight for the glory, on such a momentous occasion." She explained across Alaric's chest with a slight tilt forward to meet the other woman's eyes. "As the winners of the small tournaments will get the opportunity to go into the high tourney with the lords of the Seven Kingdoms, and we only have so much time in a moon… we had to improvise."
Lady Stark had dark, almost black-brown hair, the infamous long-face of the north, and eyes that were deep blue. She also had a subtle scar on her lip, made more obvious when she pursed them as she was doing just then.
"It will be four separate engagements all occurring at the same time." She continued, drawing a curious look from Alaric. "There will be seven teams of seven in each of the four divides. Each will fight until only their own remains. Those progress on to the next day. You will not lack for something interesting to watch, spread among nearly two hundred combatants, I hope."
"It is like the Trial of the Seven, but made larger." Alaric said, speaking up slowly.
"Exactly." Alysanne said, looking at him. "Are you familiar?"
"It spared Maegor the Cruel." He said neutrally.
Alysanne forced herself to not look at Rhaena.
"The Seven made their decisions then." Alysanne said, forging onward quickly. "Today, we celebrate my departed husband's efforts to reunify the kingdom. Let's not linger in the past."
Alaric's flinty blue eyes slid over to her, and held briefly.
"It's hardly a celebration without a drink." Maeda said, speaking up with a look around.
Alysanne smiled and lifted a hand.
One of the servants stepped in from the end of the row where a number stood by, bowing deeply.
"We keep the wine flowing, and the food plentiful. Not so ready as what we have at the keep at any given moment, but if you have an appetite, Lady Stark, see it slaked here as House Targaryen's guest." She encouraged with a motion. "If you want wine, you need only ask. If you want meat, ask. If they do not have it nearby for you, they will soon."
"You'll have a drink with me, won't you Alaric?" She asked her husband, casually.
Alaric's lip curled faintly, but he exhaled the long exhale of a mountain giving way to the neverending small cuts of a river's edge.
Maeda gave her a wink that she was fairly sure Lord Stark did not miss.
I shall like you a great deal.
It was decided just then.
She grew immediately tickled and much appreciative for the lady's presence.
So this is just how the Lord Stark is. I see.
"What are the marks on the poles?" Alaric asked, eyes on the field below again.
Alysanne turned her attention back to the gathered warriors, considering the barrier put up and the occasional post stuck in the ground on the outside.
"Oh." She said, after a moment. "They use them to separate the groups, with random lots. We did not want anyone, foreign or otherwise, to feel as if their placement within might have been… arranged unfairly. They unknowingly pick their own."
"Keeping the fights to what's organized, right. That's clever." Maeda agreed, after a few whispered words to the maidservant, who bowed and backstepped until she could turn, presumably to retrieve whatever had been requested.
"I wish I could claim due for it, but I must confess that a great deal of the organization on that end was by the hands of my capable lords." She explained, motioning briefly toward the lowest set of benches in their stands, where forward sat a few lords of the Crownlands to validate every victory.
"Then why is that one alone?" Alaric asked, unmoved but for the barest forward tilt of his head in indication.
Alysanne furrowed her eyebrows, and redirected her attention from the Lord Stark's face, considering the field of moving bodies again. Different armored men continued moving to their different assigned locations, getting into place within the four conjoined squares.
Alone, in the inner corner of the nearest left cross section that separated the field into four distinct smaller fighting fields, one man stood.
She recognized his distinctive helm, because she'd come to watch him compete in the joust that morning.
"Oh." She said, distantly. "That is… curious."
Rhaena snorted.
She gave a brief, sideways glance at her sister.
"That is Prince Ysmir." Alysanne explained to Alaric, carefully. "He claims to hail all the way from Valyria's remnants, though there is little to prove anything. I do not know why he stands there alone."
"He has no men?" Alaric asked, eyes focused on the field. "Not much of a prince that way. It hardly seems reasonable to compete in this tournament either."
"He… does have at least one." Alysanne replied, uncertainly.
"Win your way alone from the very bottom, climb so high as to take the tourney itself, and perhaps House Targaryen shall recognize this claim."
Alysanne reached up and covered her face with her hand, rubbing fingers along her eyebrows and closing her eyes.
Ah.
She realized.
He's an idiot.
He was going to get himself injured or killed, outnumbered so heavily, and he'd only just begun to earn a reputation.
Was it my words?
Surely, it wasn't reasonable to assume she meant the grand melee alone. She meant to compete without making deals or compromising. To avoid alliances where his victory would laud Braavos, or Volantis and make it a political act for those cities for her to reward him too heavily.
I suppose it could be my fault.
Alysanne fought a weary sigh.
"He fights for recognition." Rhaena said, voice thoughtful. Her gaze was on the fighters below, getting ready. "From House Targaryen."
"Is he the bastard of a Targaryen?" Alaric asked, plainly.
She opened her mouth to answer him, but Rhaena's voice cut across faster.
"We are not sure what he is." Rhaena said, lifting her right knee up and crossing her legs. She tilted in closer, joining the conversation by her lean from the left side of Alysanne's chair to be near. "It seems unlikely."
"Well, just about the most honest thing you can do is die for what you believe." Lady Stark said, interestedly. "I say any man ready to step in against seven is a crazed man, but often the crazed are the most dangerous of all."
She went to continue, but just then, the maidservant returned with a bottle and glasses for them all.
"I wanted to try the southron wine." Maeda told her husband with a smile.
Alaric had a curious way of looking somehow less pleased, and slightly fond at the same time.
"When you hear the horn, everyone will be free to begin." The lordling I didn't know in front of me said, looking at me so uncertainly, one might have been confused for thinking I was expecting him to join me in the melee. He clearly didn't know what to make of me being alone. "You will fight to the death or surrender, and if you should fear for your life and wish to withdraw, it is encouraged that you surrender sooner than later, as it may be difficult in the throng of people to separate you. The sign for it is to lift your arm and hand straight up, fingers together, palm flat. You must have relinquished your weapons before you do so. Do you understand?"
"I understand." I told him, listening to my heartbeat in my ears.
Steady.
Slow.
"Do you have any questions?" He asked, looking into my eyes through my helm.
"Am I restricted to my own weapons?" I asked, focused on the groupings of men at either side of me.
"What do you mean?" He asked.
"May I use their arms?" I asked, slowly.
The lord tilted his head slightly, but after a moment nodded.
"You may, but once the fighting is over, everyone's arms must be returned to them." He said, considering me. "Anything else?"
"No."
My back was to the rail, a barrier that separated our fight from other fights that would go on at the same time. We weren't even specific in being the showing of the afternoon. On my right, men in lighter armor, leather dominantly, with finer sheets of metal layered over top. On my left, some men that used heavier plate armor, but they weren't covered head to toe as some of the knights of the Seven Kingdom that I had seen.
I looked among them, and began to pick out my targets for what they offered me. The further groupings, they would turn on each other immediately. My initial target would have to be somewhere in the group to my right or left. I was an inconvenience at best to them right now. I wasn't the threat, but my position did offer a good point to hold off and fight from.
It'll have to be the left.
Their heavier armor would pose more of a threat to the group on the right, in their minds, and so when I threw myself into the left, the group on the right would come at my back. They would certainly cut me down given the chance, but more importantly, they would cut down the men I was attacking, and it would mean I never fought all seven at the same time.
I had many more fights to go, and I didn't want to make it so that the first thing every group did was pile on top of me. Or worse, give up before there was even a fight.
Just keep it looking like there was a possibility.
People who knew they couldn't confront you directly never would. They would come up with other ways to do it.
I need you to believe you could.
"Warrior protect you." He muttered as he stepped back.
"He won't carry the sword." I told the young lord, giving him only a momentary glance. "Don't pray for me. Pray for them."
The chestnut-haired lord opened his mouth, like he was going to say something, but then hesitated, and just closed it. He gave me a nod, and turned away.
I drew the nameless longsword that had traveled all the way from Essos to the Seven Kingdoms in my care, after I'd claimed it from Malsero's manse. As it left the sheath, I gave it a brief inspection, with nothing having changed since the last time I'd done so after using it to kill Coryanne's father.
My eyes scanned the distant stands, and I realized by product of fortune, I was put with my back to the barrier, and thus facing the nobles' stands. Over the heads of the other fighters forming up into their spots, my eyes scanned them and naturally my attention went to the most prominent seat.
The queen's row had a number of people, and there was clearly a little more elevation between each bench compared to the other spots. It gave me a fairly clear view at where Queen Alysanne sat.
She was speaking animatedly with a man on her right, who was staring ahead with an expression that I might have only called reticent. He said something and she turned her attention toward the field. Rhaena was on her left, and leaned over, speaking to them both.
I got the distinct feeling they were looking at me, but it was hard to be sure given the size of the area and the angle of their height. I pulled my attention from them, scanning the stands for Coryanne. I'd gotten the impression from our last conversation that she would be returning to speak to that pair from Tyrosh and get to know some of the people they knew.
Almost as soon as I started looking, I spotted her speaking with a man with a vibrant blue beard and a woman with hair colored in melded shades of pink and orange on the lower floor of the two that comprised them, in the bottom right.
It wasn't them that caught my attention. It was what I spotted directly above her, in the lower right of the higher section.
She reared her head back from me, screaming as her eyes dropped from mine.
Chatting amiably among a few other young lords and ladies was a face I hadn't seen in months. Pale blonde hair, paler skin, and with a smile that showed her teeth, I'd finally found the Targaryen dragonrider that had slapped me atop the black dragon.
That fall had hurt.
A lot.
If it hadn't been for the trees, it might have killed me.
She looked a lot healthier than the last time I'd seen her, without the dark rings around her eyes, covered in dirt and crud. Considering how far east we'd come across one another, I could only assume it wasn't a single day journey even for her dragon. For a moment, it seemed like her eyes passed over me, but they continued on. She seemed to be discussing something with a young man and woman at either side, the former of which was pointing out into the field somewhere else.
So that dragon is here, after all.
The thought soothed me.
A horn blew.
All at once, men surged into motion. Those on my right started to walk in on me, and the men on my left. The stands on both sides roared to life with clapping and in the case of the side at my back, cheering and jeering.
I surged forward across the ten paces that separated me from the more armored men on the left, as I'd planned to do all along.
One of them wielding a shield and a mace tried to meet my charge. I saw him draw back the mace, even as his friends came to assist him, intent on swinging it down for my leg as he blocked my momentum at the middling point.
He didn't block me though, and when I threw my shoulder into his shield, he buckled and went tumbling onto his back in the mud at a slide.
He's the skilled one.
The one that had been overconfident and not entirely without reason.
He was the most prepared for the fight, for dealing with armor, and more importantly for keeping himself in fighting condition for other rounds. Only two others of the group of seven brought shields, as they'd seemingly been intent on creating some kind of walls and relying on the longer weapons in the others' hands to finish off some.
The second to reach me was another of the shield bearers, and he came in high with a sword at speed. I needed to do little more than fake a step left, and move right to send him careening past me in the mud -- sliding right into the lighter armored group that had been on my right.
Naturally, they fell upon him, hacking and stomping.
The third and fourth came upon me at the same moment, one of them wielding a long-hafted axe and the other short spear that accompanied a round shield.
The spear.
He was the most dangerous of the two.
I pushed on him, whipping the sword out high and obligating him to lift his shield to protect the open chain that left his mouth exposed much like my own helm did.
He was the most dangerous, but he wasn't my target. My swing intercepted on the edge of the shield was just enough opening that the axeman swung his axe down brutally at my left side, with my sword extended and, from his perspective, occupied.
I was forced to dodge, but pulling my sword with me as I did, his axe clanged off of it and then went low, exposing his head. He likely wasn't as concerned given he had a full-coverage helm, but I wasn't going to leave the opening unpunished.
In the time it took for his axe to reach its lowest point, since my blade was already low as well, I flipped my grip to grasp the crossguard and drove the pommel of my weapon up like a dagger. It struck the grated metal of his helm with a shriek, and punched its way through.
Damn.
I'd hit him too hard.
He shouted with pain, and I jerked the sword back free of him, leaving the helm bent and dented inward, metal undoubtedly stuck in his face if not parts of his cheek or jaw broken. I had enough time to glance at the pommel and see that the excessive force had left it lopsided and completely rounded out any edges in it.
It also had blood on it, but that was neither here nor there.
Before the man with the axe could recover from his stunned state, with the spearman lunging, I locked arms with him, and flipped him over my hip in the way of his ally's attack. He hit the muddy ground with a splat. Seizing his axe from his weakened grasp, with the air knocked out of him now too, I needed only to step on his breastplate to get over him and at his friend.
The axe fell.
The man's shield intercepted it, but splintered anyway, locking the two together. I relinquished the axe and stepped right, with the turn of his shield arm to avoid the stab of his spear. His expression was pained, and I could only imagine it was because while the shield had done its job, it didn't change that his arm was strapped to it and had felt the force used to lodge the other weapon past its banded metal edge.
Footsteps behind warned me last second to move out of the way, and I did, whirling with my blade at the ready just in time to catch the curved edge of a sword not unlike Sorzo's and parry it away.
This is going to go on for a while, isn't it?
It did.
It felt like a unique challenge and that made it interesting. Every parry, every strike of my faltering longsword chipped away more of its edge.
Thump, thump.
I used my enemy's weapons where I could, and seized a fallen shield to hold off a pair of three that had wisened up to come at me together in the minutes following, but in the rush of battle, I lost myself in a state of mind I hadn't gotten to feel in what felt like years.
It wasn't war. No one's life was on the line but my own. I wasn't protecting people.
We were here willingly.
Thump, thump.
We were in an arena. We were people who bled.
I lunged at a man, with the bent and battered longsword that had remained loyal, faithful even until its edge looked like the teeth of a saw, and its pommel had bent. It had been nicked by axes, and its grip was slick with blood.
Thump, thump.
He stumbled back from me, scared, because he should be.
I took his cowardice and punished his friend, blowing past the desperate diagonal of his steel's edge, and cut him from hip to knee, sending him falling in agony.
Why come to a battle in silk and leather if you could not keep yourself from being cut?
Forward I stepped. Forward, because anything less and I might lose the moment.
Thump, thump.
The one that had doubted, who had faltered when his ally needed him most, tried to walk backwards quickly, but he would never be faster than I was.
I darted toward him.
Thump, thump.
He threw his weapons, and his hand up.
I froze, the jagged edge of the longsword extended, my arm out. Its lopsided point was an inch from the mail that covered his neck. It would have protected him from a cut, but not the blunt damage.
I breathed.
Everything was quieter than it had been before. Men moaned in pain in the mud and were being dragged free of it with assistance. The crowd of people at my back were at a feverpitch of a roar, and across the wooden barrier to the other side, I saw that the other separations within the field had already finished their bouts. A couple victorious groups stood around within, but they all looked less grateful for their victory.
Why?
I lowered the sword slowly from where it was held out, flat, and straightened.
I turned my attention to the field around me. Men had fought. Some were dead. At least I assumed they were dead. There was blood mixed with the mud, and where it was beneath some fallen forms of armored men being turned over and moved, I knew it was too much blood. One man had his arms around his allies' shoulders, and they were helping him away.
He couldn't step with a particular leg.
Another was groaning in pain as his allies peeled away armor that had bent instead of breaking and lodged itself in him.
I stood alone, but for the man that backed off with his hands lifted.
Victory.
The smallfolk roared across in their own stands like a mob on the edge of violence, cheering and clapping and screaming.
It was brutal violence. It wasn't unique in that way. There had already been other rounds of the grand melee. It wasn't special, as men had been killing and cutting, stabbing, and breaking the bones of one another since the contest had begun, but it was different to see one person do it to the majority of a field on his own.
I underestimated him.
Coryanne had undersold his capability.
Intentional… or not…?
"Gods, that one well delivered, didn't he?" Maeda said, leaning forward.
Around them, nobles whispered and spoke, and she heard already as Wylde was said, and Valyria, and the connection was beginning to be made that the man standing alone in a field without enemies looking like he was waiting for another, was the same man that had killed a lord of the Stormlands not long ago at all.
"What did you say his name was, Your Grace?" Alaric asked, looking a bit perturbed.
"He calls himself Ysmir, Dragon of the North." She said, slowly.
"Of the north?" Maeda asked, glancing over.
"Everywhere has its own north." She pointed out.
"You let him call himself a dragon?" Alaric asked, sounding curious.
"I am rarely in the habit of denying people their inheritance when it is not a matter of court importance. Much less when they are foreign." Alysanne pointed out, gently. "There is a great deal in question where he is concerned, and he comes in the company of someone who I have known since before my majority. I have allowed that he may earn that claim, at least that he is descended from Valyria, if he wins the tournament without assistance from… others."
It was only when her sister began to sit back, that she realized Rhaena had leaned forward at some point. Barely a moment later, she rose to her feet and turned.
"I have a matter to see presently, Your Grace." Rhaena said, meeting her eyes. "Will you be returning to the keep?"
What are you off to do?
"They will clean the fields, and then new lots will be drawn with the next groups." She pointed out. "I should like to keep Lord and Lady Stark company at least until the late feasts. It is the Warden of the North's first day in King's Landing in many years and I would have them enjoy the tourney and be given a display of what has changed."
"Then I shall find you later in the evening hours, or during the feast." Rhaena said, dipping her head slightly.
She's hiding something.
"As you wish." She replied, giving her sister a slow lift of her left eyebrow.
You know you're bad at hiding things from me, don't you?
She would just have to pry it out of her later before they went to bed.
"Thank you for your company, Lord Stark. Lady Stark." Rhaena said then, dipping her head briefly. "If there is anything you should need, any trouble at all within King's Landing, do not hesitate to find your way to speak with me."
Lord Stark finally took his attention from the grounds below and inclined his head gently in return to Rhaena.
"I shall." He said, without accompaniment.
"The smallfolk have been calling him the Nowhere Prince. Some of the lords call him the Prince of Nothing." Gishela said, excitedly. "This very morning, he became the favorite of the petty tournaments for the joust. Every single person he defeated, he ransomed their horse and armor back to them for a drink, it is said. A drink!"
Lady Gishela Pyle was a little older than her at fifteen, and had been among the first of the new faces and friends she'd made since returning to the Red Keep. Gishela lived for gossip and somehow seemed to know every little thing going on, and that had made them fast friends, because with more of her time spent with Balerion, she had less to find out what was going on around the Red Keep.
"He's always wearing that helm with dragonbone. They say he took it off when he was received by Her Grace, but I wasn't there to see what his face looked like." She added.
"Probably foul, if he should feel the need to hide it so often." Lord Laron Cressey offered. "So he can fight. It's obvious from the story he's a liar at least, and a mummer at best."
Laron Cressey of House Cressey was the youngest and last son Lord Cressey would likely ever have legitimately, given the death of his wife some years ago. He had wound up among her company mostly because his elder brother had little time for him and was being drawn upon for all manner of things helping their father regarding the tourneys.
She was less sold on him, and would probably arrange to speak with the others more often without him around.
He has a way of taking the fun out of things.
Absently, Aerea considered the blood-spattered figure trudging slowly through the mud out of the field. People made way for him, and a few daring people at the edge of the grounds even clapped him on the back as he turned the edge of the fence.
"I haven't heard of him." She admitted, curious. "What was the story?"
"He claims to be descended of Valyria." Gishela said, smiling. "Wouldn't that be something?"
"There are many people descended from Valyria." Aerea replied, a bit confused. She looked among the faces of the other young nobles in her near vicinity. What had started as a few had grown nearly every day. It was fun, but even she was struggling with all of the names. "Why does that make him a mummer?"
"He claims to be a prince." Lady Wendyl Stokeworth explained, quietly.
She was one of the quieter ladies that might have made up what her mother was calling the bones of her inner circle. Wendyl was made Lady Stokeworth within the last year by product of her husband having risen to becoming the lord of the house with Samantha's death on Dragonstone.
"He must have a name, then." Aerea said. "What's his name?"
"Ysmir." Gishela said, very proud. "I pressed my father into letting me see the lists myself, and it was right there."
"It's not as if it was some secret." Laron cut across.
"Well did you know it?" Gishela asked.
"Of course." He said.
Aerea doubted anyone believed him.
"What about his family name?" She asked.
"That's where it gets interesting." Gishela said, leaning forward.
Aerea noticed absently that Laron's eyes dropped, through no fault of his own, to Gishela's dress top.
She does have a pleasant figure.
It was undeniable. She was a little jealous, really.
"He won't say." She finished.
"Why is that interesting?" Laron wondered.
"Because it could mean anything!" Gishela pointed out. "He could come from anywhere."
"He speaks closer to those from Volantis than anyone else." A new voice said, from behind and above her.
Aerea turned her head, meeting the gaze of a darker-skinned girl with hazel eyes. She looked a little older than the rest of them, and was wearing a peculiar form of outer dress, with a lot of see-through red silky material. It wasn't indecent really, as beneath she was wearing a dress of dark green, but it gave an implication in a way that was very distracting.
"I don't believe we've met." Aerea said, considering the older girl curiously.
"We haven't, Princess Aerea." She said. "My name is Elira, of House Martell of Dorne. I only arrived a number of days ago. You may have heard of my mother, Lady Tyra Martell."
Dorne.
She'd heard from the others that there had been people from Dorne, but she hadn't actually met them. She hadn't known that there was anyone her own age among those who had arrived.
In the corner of her eye, Aerea noticed a couple of the ladies around her withdrew a little visibly, turning their cheek to the newcomer. She recalled her mother's words, though.
It was not Dorne that killed Jaehaerys.
At least not directly. They had killed her great grandmother, for certain, but House Targaryen had more than paid that back. If they had been received by her aunt, they were guests all the same. She glanced up the stands toward where Alysanne sat, speaking with her mother, who seemed to be departing.
"How do you know?" She wondered, absently.
"We tend to eat among the Essosi during the feasts." Elira said, scooting forward and extending her feet over the bench and into the slight space between her and Laron. She dropped down in the next moment, and slid into place in a way that pushed Laron a little further apart.
Laron opened his mouth to say something.
"Oh, you are handsome." Elira said, considering him. "It's much easier to see from this angle."
That stumped him, visibly. Laron didn't seem to know what to do under that sudden change of tone, blinking rapidly.
"Do one of you fancy him?" She asked, with a sudden look around the circle at the different faces of the ladies and lords gathered in the near circle of her.
There were giggles and grins shared among a few, Gishela looking particularly pleased with the question, even as a couple heads shook in obvious answer.
"Oh, more for me." Elira said, with a lingering smile. "Unless… Princess?"
"No." Aerea said, dismissively.
She ignored Laron's look of confusion and mixed feelings she got for the blunt answer.
Not even a chance.
She'd taken her mother's words to heart on that matter, and besides that, Laron was a bit of a bore.
"What do the feasts have to do with anything?" Gishela asked.
"Oh, we sit among different places from the east. I eavesdropped on a pair of Lyseni nobles who were quite adamantly discussing which faction of the old bloods of Volantis he had to have ties to." Elira explained, with a wink. "They were certain that he speaks like those of Volantis, and think it's a plot from somewhere over there to draw one of House Targaryen into an alliance."
"How?" She asked, confused. "Volantis is very far."
"It's obvious isn't it?" Elira said, with a grin. "There's no men left in House Targaryen."
The hush that fell over the group around her was cautious. It was something of an unspoken thing that the lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms, and even far off people from the east, actively avoided the direct suggestion that the future of the ruling house was entirely uncertain without new blood. Everyone was interested of course, but to speak openly about it was inviting the risk of a reaction.
Her mother was not known for gentle reactions.
Most assumed it was likely that her cousin Daenaerys would have a betrothal arranged to benefit her rise upon the throne one day. It was far more rare that someone talked openly, much less to her directly out loud, about the possibility of one of the three dragon riders remarrying, or in her case, doing so for the first time.
For obvious reasons.
"Sex. Seduction." Elira said, with a blink and a shrug at the silence that had fallen, as if they hadn't understood somehow. "Marriage. Babies. Agreements. You know, all of that. Hidden, in the background. Very paranoid."
She waved her hand lazily. "I don't really believe it and neither does my mother, but that's what I heard. Even if it were the case, it wouldn't be all that different from any of the other lords around here. So I don't think he's special."
Elira met her eyes as she finished the sentence, and then casually flicked them to her right.
Toward Laron.
Aerea felt a smile working its way onto her lips.
I like her.
"Will you sit with me tonight during the feasts?" She asked, interestedly. "I've never learned much of Dorne."
For a number of reasons.
"Oh, I'd love to." Elira Martell said with a smile that was all pretty teeth. Then she seemed to hesitate, turning her head slightly, with a glance toward where her aunt was entertaining the Warden of the North. "Will that be fine though?"
It should be, shouldn't it?
"Of course." She promised.
"What? No." Rhaena said, massaging her forehead with her fingers. "You can't have the Dornish sit with you above the lords of the great houses, Aerea."
"It's not all of them." She asserted, lifting her chin. "Why can't I?"
"Because half of them still think that the Dornish are behind your uncle's death, and about half of the remaining ones think I am, Aerea." Her mother said, dropping her hand. "They won't even see it as you sitting them with you, they'll see it as a sign that I have fostered a relationship with the Dornish and combine those two things."
"When would you even have had time to?" Aerea asked, throwing up her hands. "Mother, I don't ask you for anything-"
"You've asked me for new riding leathers, a horse, and three different dresses in the last sennight alone."
"-Anything that actually matters!" She corrected.
"Does this actually matter?" Rhaena asked, looking from the different pieces of writing on her desk to her and back. "I told you, you can't just do things on a whim."
"I made a friend today, and she's very fun."
"A Dornish friend?" Her mother asked, tilting her head forward. "That's the friend you made? I've seen you surrounded by about ten little ladies and lords at any given moment where you take to the public and get away from your dragon. What about them?"
"They're boring, mother." Aerea whined. "Gishela and Wendyl are nice, I guess, but Wendyl eats with her husband, and Gishela never shuts up and only half of the words even matter."
"And yet, you are keeping her around." Rhaena pointed out, reaching out to drip wax onto parchment, to seal some kind of missive.
Something about her mother's tone was distracted, like she was only paying her half a mind, which normally would have been fine. She was busy being the Hand.
I never thought I'd reach a day when I wanted her to pay more attention to me.
Things had changed a lot since she first took Balerion to the skies.
"She's… a friend, she's just… a lot all the time, and I made a new one." Aerea tried.
"Why don't you just invite her and however many of your lady friends you'd like, to enjoy one of the guest quarters in a few days. I can speak with your aunt, and arrange for Jonquil to watch over you all, we'll give you a couple guards on the doors and the balcony, and you can all have fun." Her mother offered with a motion of her hand holding onto a stamp, before pressing it down on the wax and holding it. "Something of an overnight adventure."
Her mother glanced at her, meeting her eyes to gauge her interest.
It does sound interesting… but that could be days.
"You don't even know if Alysanne will allow it." Aerea whined. "It's not that important."
"The seating order, and location, of those at the feasts is very important. At the very least to the Queen." Rhaena denied. "We cannot bring her up to sit with us. Certainly not without Alysanne's approval. She's very annoying about that."
Aerea snickered at the immediate thought that brought to her mind, of her aunt following around her mother and bothering her about who sat where. She might have felt the need to deny the possibility, but she'd heard some of the conversations between them, and Alysanne really was quite particular about who was doing what and when.
Probably because she used to be the queen, second to the king.
She liked to maintain her court, and to be fair, almost everyone loved Alysanne. Those who didn't kept it, wisely, to themselves. If her mother could be believed, that was a surprising number of lords and ladies, but when it was a discussion of the actual thousands of nobles present in King's Landing, the numbers were bound to surprise.
She'd heard her mother's opinion on that a few times already:
"You cannot make everyone happy. Do what needs to be done."
"Please?" Aerea tried.
"No." Rhaena said, with a roll of her eyes and a smile that was a little exasperated. "Wait for me to ask about Jonquil."
"Why do we need Jonquil, if you have guards at the doors and balcony?" Aerea asked, with a sigh.
Her mother gave her a serious look. "To keep you safe."
"From who?" Aerea asked.
"The Dornish." Rhaena said, placing aside the sealed missive. "The guards themselves. I'm half a mind to put a member of the Queensguard outside your room."
"You're worried about the golds?" Aerea asked, with a blink.
"Lord Corbray is a very serious man who has taken his duty to the throne equally as seriously in his time commanding the City Watch." Her mother said. "That does not mean that his men are infallible. Temptation, power, wealth, those things break good people every day, Aerea. I am not worried about the guardsmen, but when it comes to you?"
Her mother gave her a faint smile.
"I don't take chances."
She makes it so hard to argue.
Aerea scowled and turned for the stairs.
…
Why did they put the Hand's quarters so high up?
Everything was annoying.
Post Notes:
The conclusion of that talk, and lo and behold, various revelations and things moving around. This chapter's long. Toooo long honestly, but that's what it worked out to be to not have any part wind up feeling too delayed. Somehow, I bet you all didn't see that coming!
As always, thanks to everyone on Patreon who give to support me doing this to you. An extra shout out for those who give more without expectation, such as: Tatro, Gear and Cog, Pope Yoda, Robolo42, Blair S, Ceifeiros, Phillip J, Manfred281, Ronin Katarn, Vojtech M, Owl Face, and various others. Everyone helps me keep doing this and lets me embrace my weird version of art with passion. If you want to join, as always, the link is my signature.
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