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Mother told them of the Merling King, the sea god who guided House Velaryon through the narrow sea and delivered them to the home they named Driftmark.

—burning cold, tumbling dark—

To conclude their pact, the Merling King gifted House Velaryon with the Driftwood Throne.

—dragging, dragging down—

“But what was the pact between the Merling King and House Velaryon? What did our family give in exchange?”

—tumbling dark, drowning cold—

“Ah.” A gentle laugh. “I asked the same question when I was a girl. But my father told me, and his father told him, that that whatever the pact was, it has been lost to time.”

—drifting, drifting slow—

“I suppose when we are returned to the sea, we shall find the answer.”

 —wandering black—

Ships. What a fucking joke.

“Rhaena” was initially excited to board one of these medieval motherfuckers and pretend to be a pirate for a while, but the rocking, choppy ocean waves got old after a while, and there was nothing to stare at except ugly sailors, her rat bastard “father,” grieving twin “sister,” and the nasty gray skies that met the endless expanse of water. She couldn’t even watch the dragons, who had fucked off to Driftmark while she was stuck on this groaning deathtrap of wood and rope.

They didn’t even have pirate hats. Or cannons to fire, Jesus. How long had these people been alive? And they hadn’t invented special-rock-make-boom after all this time? These were more things to add to the list “Why the World of A Song of Ice and Fire Was Actually the World of A Song of Shit and More Shit.” That’d make them, oh, what? Items 8,586 and 8,587?

And no offense to House Velaryon, but what was so special about the sea, anyway? Whenever it wasn’t actively trying to kill people or driving them completely batshit insane, it was drying out their skin and making their hair crunchy. But thank god she didn’t get seasick. That’d just make her try to drown herself again.

Okay. Not that Child-Rhaena actually tried to drown herself. The girl had just been swimming with Baela, living out her happy childhood days on the beach, when some random rip current pulled her away. She swam and swam against it, which was the worst thing anyone could do, and then she got tired and sank. Water filled her lungs beneath the surface. Water and—

Well. Her. Whether she came to Rhaena as an intruder or the near-death experience pulled back the veil just enough for her to remember who she was before, she didn’t have a fucking clue.

But Mother Laena, a stronger and more experienced swimmer, pulled a waterlogged body out from the sea—and her with it.

Rhaena didn’t like to think about what happened. Who fucking would? Not only was it too existential, but it was also too…isekai. Which. Cringe.

Her “family” knew that girly, artsy Rhaena had come back wrong from the ocean, too. They didn’t voice it in any way, but they saw it. Felt it. Shit, they even heard it whenever Rhaena’s disjointed brainwaves sometimes jumbled up English and Common. She got better over time—more settled into the nine-year-old body—but she wasn’t the same.

For example, Child-Rhaena pre-drowning would have never kicked her father in the nuts. But he had slapped her! And not even in a rage, like that made any difference! She just went exploring because why the fuck not, she was in this world, might as well check it out. But she left without telling anybody and came back too late, and since her accident still had everyone antsy, they lost their shit when they realized she was gone.

And Daemon Targaryen showed his love and worry in the form of a brisk strike across Rhaena’s cheek.

She had never, ever in her life been hit in such a way. Not by any man.

So why would she let it go unpunished?

Rhaena brought the Rogue Prince to his knees that day.

Mother Laena thought it was hilarious, even if she didn’t laugh and chided Rhaena about it. But Rhaena saw the truth in the woman’s eyes. Really, after that, Mother Laena thought most things that Rhaena did were hilarious. She might have been changed—might have been older and mouthier—but at least she was also funnier.

Then Mother Laena had to go and die.

Rhaena tried to do something to help, but her knowledge on pregnancy and childbirth started with “it lasted nine months” and ended with “it could destroy the body in every imaginable, torturous way possible.”

So, what could she do except say that she loved Mother Laena and watch the inevitable unfold?

Dragonfire was hot enough to reduce a human body to blackened bone in seconds. When the servants picked up what was left of her and the baby, bits of sand clung to the remains. They had to shake it off the bones.

The emotions that swirled around the beloved mother and friendly stranger made Rhaena doubly sad, but Laena deserved to be grieved over regardless. She was a good woman, a great mother, and a free dragonrider.

Wasn’t that how this world judged a woman’s character? If she was good, she died during childbirth. If she was bad, she didn’t die during childbirth.

Hasty generalization aside, one thing was certain: two very important women with children were still very much alive, and they were about to be very fucking messy right after Mother Laena’s very depressing funeral.

Now. What to do about these Targaryens.

The easiest solution would be to mind her business and, when she was old enough, run the fuck away. Except god thought it’d be neat to curse Rhaena with a conscience but no talent for plotting, which usually left her acting impulsively and produced…memorable…outcomes. Not that impulsivity could make the upcoming night any worse, seeing as Rhaenyra and Alicent had that well covered.

But hey, since Rhaena had not much else to go off of, she might as well lean into the chaos. Improvise, as the performing arts called it. And how many people got to say that they could improvise during the scene of a Shakespearean-level family meltdown?

Draping herself over the ship’s bulwark, Rhaena watched the ocean churn against the ship and began brewing ideas about just how she was going to give them the most believable performance of a lifetime.

-

Rhaena would have been impressed by High Tide if she were on, say, a historical tour where she could stand in awe of the impressive parapets, snap a few postable pictures, buy a magnet with the castle on it, then head back to an overpriced hotel with heating and air conditioning.

But seeing as High Tide was just another dank place with drafty rooms and no paned windows, electricity, plumbing, or televisions, Rhaena couldn’t bring herself to care much. And sue her for not liking the reek of salt and seaweed, but she just didn’t.

Meemaw Rhaenys and Peepaw Corlys were two beautiful and noble people, however, who embraced Rhaena and Baela with love and adoration. They greeted Daemon coolly, and Daemon did the same. Then Rhaenys steered Baela and Rhaena to their quarters where they could get themselves ready to watch their mother be entombed in the sea.

All Rhaena could think about as she trekked up the stairs, stairs, and look! more stairs, was that they shouldn’t have scheduled Laena’s funeral the same day they arrived. Why couldn’t they get a day of rest? Was everyone really in such a rush to launch Laena into the water? She wasn’t going anywhere! She wouldn’t mind if they waited a bit longer so her dear daughters could take a nap, eat, feel human again after a miserable three-day voyage, that sort of thing.

Even though Rhaena wanted to be a lazy ass and have the poor servant women do all the work scrubbing and dressing her, she had lived an entire life taking care of herself no matter how tired she was. Unless she was literally unconscious, she didn’t need anybody else to do it.

By the time the two factions of the royal family rolled in, Rhaena had dressed herself in a gray gown that was too tight in her shoulders thanks to a sudden growth spurt. Neither she nor Baela owned any black clothes, so Rhaenys had black, gold-threaded capes thrown over their shoulders. She did up her locs in a bubble ponytail in remembrance of Mother Laena, who had liked the hairstyle whenever Rhaena showed it off to her.

She suffered through the welcoming ceremony, but at least she wasn’t expected to smile and play pretty princess. It also gave her a chance to scope out everyone.

King Viserys, all fucked up from…something like leprosy, right? Queen Alicent, a hot mom who didn’t deserve the life she was forced into. Aegon, sour-faced and looking like he’d rather be anywhere else than here, which, same. Helaena, who barely bothered to meet her gaze. Aemond, twitchy and solemn and trying hard to follow decorum with exactness. Lord Otto Hightower, a looming motherfucker.

They’d all die if they ate a single bite of potato salad.

Then there was Princess Rhaenyra, another complicated hot mom who didn’t deserve the things coming for her. Jacaerys, shorter than Rhaena and Baela and more awkward. Lucerys, who seemed like he just wanted to pick his nose, Joffrey, some dumb baby, and…

Laenor Velaryon.

When he regarded Rhaena and Baela, he gently cupped their faces, choked out a sob, and pulled them into a crushing embrace. Baela started to cry, too. Rhaena did her best to put her ten-year-old arms around them both. She didn’t have to feel a close connection to him to know that they shouldn’t have met under these circumstances. Baela and Child-Rhaena deserved happy memories of Laenor, not stories from Mother Laena and this single instance born of grief.

The divided royal family gathered with members of House Velaryon and other nobles who journeyed to pay their respects on a secluded pavilion. Vaemond gave the last words for Laena’s return to the Merling King, where she’d finally discover what pact her house made with the sea god. His words were filled with loss and love and anger, partly due to the loss they felt and partly due to the presence of Rhaenyra’s boys mocking House Velaryon and its dwindling future.

It didn’t escape Rhaenyra’s notice either, but she handled the insult with grace and held her boys tighter to her. Lucerys, naturally unaware that Vaemond’s words were directed at his birthright, cried quietly into his mother’s black dress.

Which—right. The fire at Harrenhal. Harwin Strong and his father, dead.

Rhaena searched for a skeezy face in the crowd. She didn’t have a hard time finding it. Larys Strong lurked in the back, the creep. Maybe she should find a way to kill him here. It wouldn’t be difficult to push him down a set of the many, many stairs at High Tide. Then her cousins’ father would be avenged, and Alicent wouldn’t have to put up with his nastiness. A win for everyone.

But she’d think about how to do that later.

With the funeral over, the Targaryen family claimed positions in the pavilion, which would have been intimidating were it not for how fucking awkward everyone was. Rhaenyra, prowling. Daemon, brooding. Alicent, worrying. King Viserys, dying.

Rhaena had better plans than watching them all be weird in only the way adults with deep family problems could be weird when an unexpected tragedy forced them together.

She took Baela’s hand and murmured, “Come, let’s get away from here. I’m sure the beach is far more interesting.”

“Yes, please,” Baela breathed. “I can’t stand all the sadness. Real or false.”

“Let’s invite our kin, though.” Rhaena shot a glance at Lucerys and Jacaerys, then to Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond, all of whom looked distinctly depressed and miserable.

Baela frowned. “I understand with…” she jutted her chin toward Rhaenyra’s sons, “them. But the others?”

“We don’t even know them.”

“Father said—”

Rhaena snorted. “Father talks out of his arse. He doesn’t know a single thing about those children.”

Baela tried hard not to grin at Rhaena’s Earth phrase translated into Common. On any other day, she then would have argued more about the task, but sadness wore her natural state of belligerence thin, so she settled with churlishly saying, “Fine. But I’ll get Jacaerys and Lucerys. You get the Hightower spawn.”

“I will. And try not to call them that to their faces, please?”

With an eye roll—a much better sight than brokenhearted tears—Baela squeezed Rhaena’s hand before letting go and waltzing off to the two boys. Rhaena mirrored her steps in the opposite direction, straight for the children clad in deep emerald green.

Aegon and Aemond gave off antisocial vibes when they realized that she was targeting them. Helaena didn’t mind; her focus was on the bug crawling on her hand.

“Cousins,” Rhaena greeted, coming to a stop and clasping her hand together. “What a dreadful day this is, isn’t it?”

Aegon, for his part, scoffed in amused surprise at Rhaena’s unexpected opener. “Quite,” he drawled.

Aemond coldly glared at his older brother and the unbefitting response. Then, with practiced cordiality, he said to Rhaena, “You have our deepest condolences, cousin.”

“To the Mother, or to the Stranger?” Helaena uttered while her concentration fixed on what was a stone-gray beetle.

Aegon grimaced and drank from his goblet. Aemond opened his mouth to recite some apology for his sister’s odd words.

Rhaena shrugged and plainly said, “Still trying to figure it out. Not sure what it’ll mean for me when I do. My head will likely explode, though. Gore everywhere.”

Helaena took her gaze from the beetle to Rhaena. Her head tilted a bit, eyes blinking.

“Wait,” Aegon sputtered, “you actually understood her nonsense?”

Her look of confusion irritated him. “Of course I did. You don’t? Anyway—my sister and I are taking a stroll along the beach. We wondered if you would like to join us. There will be plenty of bugs to look at,” she sent a friendly smirk toward Helaena, “and no adults to judge us.”

Yeah, she felt Daemon’s scrutiny digging into her back, and more curious eyes not-so-secretly watched the exchange.

“That sounds lovely,” said Helaena.

“Splendid. Aemond?”

He seemed surprised at being included even though Rhaena already said he was included. A blush bloomed across his features. Cute!

“Er—of course. Yes.”

Aegon wasn’t so willing. Above the rim of his goblet, he replied, “No, thank you. There’s wine here. And wenches.”

Not so cute!

Rhaena scrunched her nose. “Aren’t you only two-and-ten? Should you even be drinking wine?”

“I’m three-and-ten,” Aegon snipped. “Practically a man grown. I can drink wine whenever I wish.”

“Wine kills your liver.” Especially the wine here, Jesus. “And when your liver starts dying, you start dying, and your skin and eyes turn all yellow and disgusting, like the color of wee. If you drink this much this early in your life, they’ll be calling you Prince Piss Puddle, His Royal Drunkard.”

Aemond slapped a hand to his mouth to stifle a bursting laugh that’d be inappropriate for the grim atmosphere. Aegon gaped at Rhaena, outraged but too stunned to make a sound.

While he was mute, she figured she’d throw in, “Also, your hair is bothering me. Please get it out of your face before you choke on it.”

Then, tugging on Aemond’s and Helaena’s cloaks to pull them away, Rhaena said, “Come along if you’d like, my Prince.”

She didn’t glance behind her to see if Aegon followed, but from the sounds of teenage boy groaning and teenage boy trudging, he wasn’t about to be left behind after he got squarely insulted.

While Rhaena led the flock of greenies, she realized that she might have spoken a little too loudly. But it wasn’t her fault that the girl had a souped-up voice box! If she wasn’t actively trying to be quiet, then she was projecting. Mother Laena had been the same way, and so was Baela.

So, Rhaena met Alicent’s stare first. The queen stood beside who was most likely Ser Criston Cole, president of the Madonna-whore complex club. Before she could get suspicious about whether Rhaena was planning to drown her children in the sea or not, Rhaena exaggeratedly shook her head and mouthed, “Boys!”

She didn’t catch the queen’s reaction because she had to watch where she walked, but as her gaze swept back to the front, it passed over Viserys and his bemused expression.

Once they ditched the pavilion and trailed down the stairs to the shore, Aemond made a noise of distaste at the sight of Jacaerys and Lucerys beside Baela, who were waiting for them at the bottom.

“What are they doing here?” he questioned, though not so loudly that the boys would hear him.

“They’re family, too,” Rhaena said. “And my mother just died, so you have to be nice to them if I tell you. Which I am. And remember, my sister and I aren’t the only ones here grieving a loss.”

Aemond jutted his jaw in an unhappy pout but fell silent.

Rhaena glanced back at Aegon. “That goes for you as well.”

He sneered a smile. “Whatever for?”

She didn’t bother to respond.

Jacaerys and Lucerys weren’t put-off by their Hightower kin like Aemond had been, and Rhaena gave them hugs while she more informally introduced herself. As soon as she let go of Lucerys, however, Baela sidled up next to her and whispered, “Look out to the shore, sister.”

“…Oh. Shit. That’s fucking sad.”

Laenor stood up to his knees in the sea, half-prepared for the waves to take him to the halls of the Merling King where he could reunite with Mother Laena.

“What should we do?”

Rhaena puffed her cheeks. “I’ll handle it.”

Hiking up her skirt, Rhaena walked to the water’s edge. “Uncle Laenor?” she called. He stiffened like her voice pained him. “Uncle Laenor…”

Before she had to plead for him to stop freezing himself in hopes that it’d freeze his grief, Laenor slowly turned around and waded back to dry land. Each step was labored. When he came to Rhaena, he cupped her face for the second time today with a frigid hand and regarded her through a haze of tears.

“Forgive me, niece. Go, explore Driftmark with our family. Laena—” his voice broke at her name, so he amended, “your mother and I used to spend our days doing the same. Do not spare your worry for me.”

Jesus Christ above, why did these people have to speak in a way that made her heart hurt? Don’t spare her worry? That wasn’t how the world worked!

Rhaena took Laenor’s hand. Because she had no adequate response, she said, “Go change your trousers. Your legs are going to freeze off if you don’t.”

Her words brought an abrupt smile out of Laenor. He stepped past her, paused to pat the heads of his sons and briefly cup Baela’s face as well, and then wearily began the hike back up the stairs.

“Thank you,” Jacaerys said to Rhaena when she returned to the kids gathered together. “Father, he—thank you, cousin.”

She managed a smile and put one arm around Jacaerys and the other around Lucerys. “I can’t think of anything better than looking at bugs right now. Mayhaps even…snails? Tiny crabs? Big crabs? They’re just bugs of the water, in my opinion. What say you, Helaena?”

“Your opinion is wrong,” Helaena replied factually.

Laughing, Rhaena pulled the boys along, and everyone else tailed behind. “I most certainly am. But I thought I spotted a tide pool not too far from here. I’m sure it’ll have both bugs and not-bugs.”

Most kids liked tide pools, right? They had to. Tide pools were cool.

Sure enough, the children were adequately distracted from the gloom of the day with the tide pool’s inhabitants. Helaena and Baela served as the bridge between Aemond, Jacaerys, and Lucerys, though Helana did it unintentionally. Rhaena also plopped herself right between Aemond and Aegon, the latter of whom pretended that he very much wasn’t interested in the tide pool before them.

“Don’t be so boring,” Rhaena commented when he scoffed at a small, wriggling starfish in her palm.

“What did you just call me?”

“Bor-ing. Do you not enjoy anything?”

Aegon pushed strands of white hair out of his face, which Rhaena raised her brows at. “I enjoy some things, you cretin.”

“Like what? Other than drinking, complaining, and rubbing your little knob.”

Aemond, quietly listening in on the conversation, smothered a guffaw in the crook of his elbow. Rhaena liked having a fan in the audience.

Scowling, Aegon replied in a gotcha tone, “I enjoy flying on Sunfyre, the most beautiful dragon in all the Seven Kingdoms. Where’s your dragon?”

Rather than getting upset, Rhaena shrugged and dipped her hand back underwater to release the starfish. “My egg hatched, but the dragon came out sick. I held her as she died.”

Child-Rhaena cried for weeks over the loss. Rhaena felt the tickle at the corners of her eyes telling her that it wouldn’t be hard to cry again.

Aegon, not expecting such an answer, struggled to right himself. His teenage boy apathy cracked for a moment.

Rhaena lifted her hand back out and flicked him with cold water. He flinched and made a dramatic, injured noise.

“It’s alright, though. I don’t need a dragon. It still wouldn’t make me my father’s favorite if I ever claimed one.”

“But you’re a Targaryen,” Aemond, surprisingly and unsurprisingly, spoke. “It’s your birthright to have one.”

“It means I could have one if I wanted. Doesn’t mean I have to have one. If you failed to notice, most people in the world don’t own a dragon, and they get on alright with their lives. It’s not going to ruin my day if I’m not ruling the skies either.”

Nobody could argue that dragons weren’t cool. But she didn’t even like flying on an airplane—why would she like flying on a massive beast with nothing but a saddle, straps, and prayers keeping her on? Also? Dragons stunk. Excuse her if she didn’t want to be inhaling their noxious fumes. Vhagar was especially ripe because she was an ancient, crusty bitch. And she had parasites. Literal. Parasites. The birds had to peck them off her back and everything! The same place that a rider sat!

Picking up a snail next, Rhaena let it ooze along the valley of her palm. “Dragons don’t make you more or less worthy. You’re still just you, come nightfall.”

Wise words. But then again, she was a wise person.

Then Aegon blew a raspberry, because teenage boys had to ruin everything. “Sounds to me like you’re just making excuses because you don’t have a dragon.”

Helaena muttered, “She doesn’t need a dragon to conquer the course of our fates.”

“Thank you, Hellie. That’s very reassuring.” Uh, no, it was very fucking ominous! She didn’t want to be around these nutjobs for that long! “And at least nobody will be calling me Prince Piss Puddle.”

Aegon almost lost his composure and pushed Rhaena, who would have swung back if he did, but a servant in Targaryen livery called them back to High Tide, as their parents all wanted them to get themselves to bed.

Rhaena doubted Daemon gave a single shit about her and Baela’s bedtime. But she stuffed what shells and rocks she collected into her pockets and obeyed with the rest of the children. While they walked back in the late evening air, chatting almost brightly, Vhagar’s heavy wingbeats stirred the clouds above them, though the dragon herself didn’t become visible.

Aemond watched the skies with hope and longing, and he turned his head in the direction that she flew.

Jacaerys and Lucerys—but they preferred to be called Jace and Luke by family—were much sweeter about saying goodnight to Rhaena and Baela when it was time to publicly part ways. Luke hoped they could break their fast together on the morrow. Rhaena said that she would be delighted.

Apparently, her response was too sweet and sincere, because Aegon snorted an unkind laugh when the two boys were gone. Still, Rhaena said goodnight to him and his brother and sister. Then, just to throw Aegon off for the fun of it, she said only to him, “Hopefully, you won’t have to watch me perform tonight.”

“What?”

Rhaena didn’t answer, leaving Aegon as he irritably whined, “Tell me! What do you mean by that?”

There was something fun about annoying him. Probably because he reminded her of a couple cocky shithead brothers she had.

Baela fell fast asleep once she was tucked beneath several blankets to stave off the goddamn draft. Rhaena, however, stuffed her growth-spurt-aching legs into stockings, hastily put on her shoes, threw on the black funeral cloak, and crept through High Tide until she stepped out into the chilly night.

Vhagar denned not far from High Tide. Rhaena was downwind from the stinky grandma, so she just followed the recognizable scent of reptile fermenting in sulfur with warm notes of rotting meat until she spotted a breathing behemoth form blended against an outcropping of rocks.

Rhaena hid herself from view, so when Aemond came sneaking up the sandy bank to peer at Vhagar, he didn’t see her until she leaped out and hissed, “Whatareyoudoinghere?”

In hindsight, she probably shouldn’t have been scaring a boy to the point of screaming when there was a PTSD war veteran dragon nearby, but Aemond stifled his shout just like he stifled his laughter.

She crept forward, eyes narrowed. “Come to steal my mother’s dragon, have you, like a thief in the night?”

“You—you said—you don’t even want a dragon!” Aemond defended. Even though he shook like a leaf, he was angry at being caught, at being stopped, at himself and Rhaena and the world because he was just an angry little boy underneath his quiet demeanor. He made his feelings clear by stomping right up to Rhaena, close enough that she could feel the hot air of his choppy breath. “And dragons cannot be stolen! I’m not like you, content to never hear the call. I’ve come to claim her because I am a Targaryen, and it is my right!

Ha, whoops. Now Rhaena felt more than a little bad about uncorking all his trauma just for a jump scare.

She chuckled apologetically and clasped his shoulders. “Relax, Aemond. It was a jape. I’m sorry. I just knew you’d come here, and I wanted to see you off. Watch you claim Vhagar.” Make sure he didn’t get swallowed up by the old dragon, too, because she didn’t trust canon. Also make sure he didn’t get his eye sliced out of its socket in the possible ensuing fight by a literal seven-year-old. Then…performance canceled, and she could lurk on Dragonstone until she was old enough to sneak on the first ship to…anywhere else!

Aemond’s ire froze in place, but that didn’t mean he immediately trusted Rhaena’s words.

“You…are?”

“Yes. Again, sorry.”

He pushed her arms down and took a step back, almost tripping in the sand. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he grit out, throat tight with resentment and tears.

“I shouldn’t have. You’re right.”

Even when Rhaena spoke softly, she sounded like her mother. How fucked up it was, to be haunted by her own voice.

Slowly, Aemond released the tension in his shoulders.

“But…before you do, I want to tell you about my mother, Laena. I want you to remember her. Remember the dragonrider before you. How she claimed Vhagar at thirteen—she snuck away to do it, just like you’re doing right now. Tracked her for three days up the Point. She sang to Vhagar, and then they flew together until the dawn rose. Vhagar was Laena’s, and Laena was Vhagar’s. So, when my mother knew she was dying, she went before Vhagar and spoke dracarys, dracarys. Screamed it when Vhagar wouldn’t burn her own rider, her own bonded. Then pleaded it. But of course, Vhagar understood. She gave my mother a dragonrider’s death, even though she didn’t deserve to die at all. I watched it all from the window. Watched my mother consumed by the flames. Watched Vhagar place her head by the remains and sing a mourning song. Have you ever heard a dragon’s mourning song, Aemond? It’s the saddest sound in the world.”

Rhaena wiped away a tear gathering in her bottom eyelashes.

“Not many people are going to remember my mother, and especially once you claim Vhagar. But she rode the oldest and mightiest dragon in Westeros before you did—a dragon who found her worthy. So, keep Laena with you. Know that she was fierce and outspoken and everything that a noblewoman shouldn’t be in Westeros, and Vhagar loved her for it. Will you do that for me?”

Even though Aemond was only ten years old, he bore a solemn face under the moonlight.

“I swear it, before the old gods and the new.”

A hefty addition to an already hefty oath. But Rhaena doubted Aemond would ever take any oath lightly, serious and mature as he was.

No wonder why when they named him kinslayer, he did not hide in shame from the mantle.

Mustering a smile, Rhaena jerked her head toward Vhagar. “Then make her yours. And try not to get killed, please.”

Aemond nodded, took a breath, and started over the dune and on to the other side, only stumbling once in the sand. Rhaena trailed behind and crouched down just short of the crest. She couldn’t see much—just a brief glow of flame from Vhagar’s mouth, which made her fucked up soul almost leave her body—but then Aemond commanded the dragon to fly in Valyrian, high and clear.

Vhagar lumbered to her feet, the big bitch shaking the very ground, but Rhaena laughed and yelled a very un-Westerosi, “Whoo hoo!”

Then she got fucking blasted off the sand dune when Vhagar beat her wings to take flight. By the time she got done rolling and gulping sand and hating every fucking thing about this world, Aemond’s screams were so distant that they might as well have been the squawks of a lone gull.

As Rhaena hauled herself upright and spat out sand between her curses, she wondered if she made a mistake in letting Aemond claim Vhagar. She had rattled around the idea of stopping him with all her other “ideas” like flakes in a snow globe. But then there he was, all sad-looking and small, and she figured that he could take the dragon at any time, not just right now. And if not Vhagar, then another.

Also, what was she really going to do about it? Claim Vhagar herself? The geezer would probably sense Rhaena’s “failure to commit” and eat her as punishment for being so weak-willed.

But if Rhaena prevented the whole 4 v 1 against Aemond, then he wouldn’t go all funny in the head over Luke owing him an eye, lose control of Vhagar and accidentally kill him, then spark the Dragpocalypse (which stood for “dragon apocalypse,” not a drag queen show).

Except…fuck, somebody else would probably do something stupid to start a civil war anyway because these Targaryens’ widespread effects of inbreeding depression turned them into idiots.

And what was worse than an idiot? An idiot with a dragon.

Maybe she’d have to perform no matter what to get it through their thick, incest-reinforced skulls.

When Aemond landed Vhagar fifteen minutes later, he was windburned and disheveled and proud. He didn’t even mind that Rhaena put her arm around his shoulder like the little bro he was.

“How does it feel to be the rider of the deafest dragon in all of Westeros?”

“She’s not deaf!” Aemond defended because Rhaena was slandering Vhagar. “She heard my commands just fine.”

“Hard of hearing, then. Also, you really shouldn’t bother her this late in the future. She has an early bedtime. Most elderly people do. She also takes her meals mashed because she has no teeth.”

“I stood two paces away from her! Saw inside her mouth and everything. She has teeth. And she’ll use them to gobble you up if you keep disrespecting her like this.”

“She prefers being called Mumuña Vhagar.”

“You’re lying.”

Rhaena continued to playfully tease Aemond on their way back to the nearest entrance. He reacted to everything exactly how a kid who’d never been playfully teased before would, but he loved it at the same time, the grumpy little shit.

When Baela, Jace, and Luke intercepted them, she waved her arm in causal greeting.

But Baela didn’t mirror it like she should have. “Where have you been?” she asked—demanded. “Did you claim Vhagar?”

“Not me.” Rhaena loosed her arm around Aemond and patted his back. “He did.”

Jace and Luke didn’t react much to the revelation other than displaying surprise. But Baela? Rage and grief filled her, and she surged forward to shove Aemond. “You stole our mother’s dragon! Filthy Hightower thief!”

Aemond’s stoicism abruptly gave way to darkening fury. He righted himself far better than Rhaena would have thanks to the martial training beaten into him. “I stole nothing! I claimed Vhagar! She’s mine now.”

“Baela,” Rhaena started, trying to put herself between the two. “It’s alright! I told him it was.”

“For you! But did you ever ask if I wanted it? No! You never ask—”

A sob hitched up Baela’s throat, jagged and mean. She teetered on the edge of pulling back or pushing forward for a moment, but this was Baela; lacking restraint was one of the best and worst qualities about her.

Jaw clenching and eyes gleaming in the torchlight, she spat venomously, “The real Rhaena would have asked. But you’re not the real her—she drowned that day, and you came back instead, some parasite from the sea. You wear her face and speak with her voice, but you’re just a thief like him! Stealing everything I love!”

Baela’s face contorted with vicious finality, and Rhaena knew it was going to hurt.

“I wish you had died instead of Mother.”

What could she say? That she did, too? Of course she wished it—then Baela would have her mom, and Laenor would have his sister, and Rhaenys and Corlys would have their daughter, and Rhaena wouldn’t be here, taking up the space that she shouldn’t.

It made her sad more than anything, really fucking sad.

But for Aemond? It made him mad.

He returned the shove that Baela gave him, lips pulled back in a snarl. Baela didn’t manage to keep her footing; with a yelp, she fell backward, landing sorely in the grainy sand that coated the bottom of the tunnel.

Jace surged forward to face Aemond while Rhaena hurried to Baela’s side.

“Don’t touch her!”

“Baela, are you—” A quick punch to Rhaena’s stomach answered her question before she could get it all out. Baela’s retaliation wasn’t sharp enough to knock the wind out of Rhaena, but it still caused her to wheeze in pain.

While she doubled over, Aemond wisely said to Jace, “Or what? Are you going to show me how strong you are defending your cunt of a cousin?”

Whatever tentative peace that sprouted by the tide pool scorched away. Jace shouted and swung a punch at Aemond, who caught it on his cheekbone. He cried out but retaliated less than a second later with a jab of his own. At the sight of his brother being struck, Luke rushed in—only for Rhaena to snag his sleeve and haul him back.

She would have separated Aemond and Jace as well, who were dealing with their own emotional shit in brutal form. But the tempest in Baela, which had built and built since the day Rhaena reemerged as someone else, refused to be contained any longer. Rhaena should have seen it within her, except Baela was right—she wasn’t the real Rhaena, so she never recognized the signs of her twin fraying with fury. She just assumed that it was due to Mother Laena’s passing. So, when Rhaena happily declared that Aemond was Vhagar’s new rider, thinking that since she was fine with it, Baela would be as well and they could avoid this confrontation altogether, it sent her twin over the edge.

Even though Rhaena couldn’t hit Baela, a child, Baela certainly had no fucking problem with it. She got Rhaena on the ground and started to wail on her: again, not crushing blows, but frenzied and disorienting. A knuckle caught on Rhaena’s lip, and blood burst in her mouth. As the weaker of the two twins, she struggled to free herself from Baela’s pin. So while she blocked fists with her forearms as best she could, she grit out, “Stop—it! Get—off me! Fucking—”

Her words spun together with English syllables, however, which only enraged Baela further because it was the language of the thing that slithered into her sister’s body and claimed it as home.

Near them, Aemond called Jace and Luke the bad B-word. A second later, the sound of cartilage crunching preceded Luke’s shriek of pain.

Oh god, this was all just so fucking funny, wasn’t it? Joke’s on her for trying to plan, prepare, and prevent! What else could she have expected from Targaryens, who just loved running headlong at sound barrier-breaking speed into the worst possible outcomes for everyone?

Aemond freed himself from Jace and Luke to come to Rhaena’s defense. He delivered a kick to the side of Baela’s face. The sudden blow flung her sideways, and her cry made Rhaena’s heart twist. But as much as it was her fault that Baela lost her shit, not getting beaten up anymore was also nice.

Jace was Team Baela, though, and Luke was Team Jace, so they attacked Aemond again before Rhaena could even get herself off the ground.

Then the knife came out, Aemond arrogantly goaded Jace with the name “Lord Strong,” and—yeah. Sound barrier-breaking speed in which it went from bad to Bad.

Rhaena yelled for them to stop at some point, not like it could change anything. The next thing she knew, Aemond was howling, and his hot blood spurted all over her hand while she tried to stem the bleeding. The Kingsguard poured into the tunnel, everybody started yelling, firm hands guided her into the great hall, and then…

Then the audience flocked to the commotion, and Rhaena started to get what was commonly referred to as the pre-show jitters. She couldn’t decide if they were numbed or heightened by the violence she just witnessed. She could shake off Baela’s attack easily enough, but watching that knife slice through Aemond’s eye?

His drying blood wanted to glue Rhaena’s fingers together, so she rhythmically splayed them, feeling the tugging and peeling on her skin with each motion.

Her best bet was to channel this traumatized energy.

Unable to stand beside Baela, which meant that she also didn’t stand beside Jace and Luke, Rhaena found herself near the fireplace. It provided the best lighting. She didn’t force herself to watch the maester scoop out Aemond’s ruined eyeball, so instead she stared at the ground and mentally reviewed the main points of her rapidly approaching improv show. (And maybe comedy show? Ha ha ha ha.)

Helaena joined her side with Aegon not too far off. When Alicent saw Rhaena and her blood-stained appearance, her hardening expression told that she instinctively thought that Rhaena had been the one to maim her son, but when she asked Aemond who did this to him and he replied that it was Luke, that he and Baela and Jace had attacked him and Rhaena, her opinion abruptly changed—surprising Rhaena but surprising Alicent herself far more. She had to blink at Rhaena several times before it hit her that yes, Daemon’s daughter befriended and defended him, and no, it wasn’t some ploy to get him alone and kill him in all the evil ways her evil father taught.

Viserys irately commanded that the Kingsguard explain to him why they allowed such a thing to happen. The older one who carried Aemond in apologized for failing their duties since Ser Criston sure as hell didn’t say a word.

They quieted when Alicent asked the maester, “Will it heal?”

Rhaena held back most of her inappropriate laugh because that was what she did, laugh at really bad times. But come on, Aemond had a literal pirate X where his eye should have been! What was it going to do, regrow?

Alicent didn’t hear it, but Helaena and Aegon did. Aegon made a noise that sounded like a reactionary laugh. Alicent didn’t hear him either, but he still got slapped for not being there when Aemond needed him.

The sight of it, along with the way Aegon used his messy white hair to hide the gleam in his eyes afterward, doused the mania budding in Rhaena’s chest.

Corlys and Rhaenys entered, as did Rhaenyra (and Daemon, louring in the background). When they demanded to know what happened, the children exploded with their own overlapping retellings.

Rhaena’s stomach gave a faint but foreboding rumble.

The pre-show shits. Noooo!

Maybe…maybe she could just bow out? All of this was too fucking real—and honestly, what difference would she make? Probably none! The only thing she’d make was a complete idiot of herself. She hadn’t acted on stage in years, let alone done improv. Who even put this idea in her head in the first place, huh?

Right as she was about to bail and let everyone deal with their own issues, Helaena just had to mutter under her breath:

“Spools of black, spools of green, unraveling at the seat of the Merling King.”

The Driftwood Throne loomed behind Viserys, plain its wood-planked, jagged appearance.

Yeah, alright, way to make her feel like shitting her pants even more.

In the quiet that followed the children’s outbursts, Viserys questioned Aemond on where he heard the treasonous rumor that Jace and Luke were bastards. Aemond glanced around with his good eye for help, but none came.

“Well? Whose words have you repeated, boy?”

Oh, Jesus save her from these sinners and give her bowels strength! She had to do it, didn’t she?

Rhaena nudged Helaena to move to the side. She stepped away, taking Aegon with her. Nobody in the room noticed the subtle shifting, too focused on whatever Aemond was about to say next. Aegon threw Rhaena a bewildered look.

She winked back, saying, Watch this, sucka.

Then her face smoothed like it did right before the lights went up.

Aemond opened his mouth to answer—

—And Rhaena clawed at her face, threw her head back, and screamed.

It was bloodcurdling, for sure. And drawn-out. The Hall of Nine had wonderful acoustics, too, so she really laid into it.

Because nobody was expecting a ten-year-old to start randomly rupturing eardrums, they reacted appropriately by being scared at of their fucking minds. All their attention whirled on Rhaena.

In the quiet of her dwindling scream, where the only other sound was the crackling hearth, she hunched forward. Her soft sobs and quiet moans sounded appropriately eerie.

Good opening.

Now: the monologue.

“These violent delights have violent ends,” she spoke, voice trancelike. Not the most original line, but boy was it fucking memorable, and a Shakespearean setting deserved a Shakespearean quote. “These violent delights have violent ends.”

Rhaena raised herself back up with a finger extending outward. It pointed to Alicent first because she was the closest, looking cinematically beautiful with horror etched on her face and wide brown eyes turned amber in the firelight.

“These violent delights have violent ends.”

The finger went to Otto Hightower next, because he definitely needed to be singled out with the rest of them.

“These violent delights have violent ends.”

Then to Rhaenyra, pale and gripping Jace and Luke close to her.

“These violent delights have violent ends.”

And of course to dear Dad after that. Daemon must have moved closer when Rhaena belted out a harpy shriek.

“These violent delights have violent ends.”

She meant to move on to Viserys and get this whole thing over with, but an adlib struck her with such brilliance that she frightened herself a little. Geniuses needed to be cautious of their intellectual prowess.

Her finger found Larys Strong in the frightened crowd. He didn’t look particularly scared before she locked in on him, more intrigued than anything, so she intended to make him scared.

Rhaena tilted her head in a disjointed, consumed-by-the-throes-of-prophecy movement. “Soon, you will know these violent ends, kinslayer! The old gods have seen the acts you committed against father and brother, against blood. You will burn, kinslayer, just as they did.”

And oh yeah, now Larys was properly terrified. As for the burning prediction, well, Rhaenyra had a dragon. One plus one equaled two.

She didn’t need to linger on the clubfooted pervert.

Because it was Viserys’ turn.

Rhaena pointed at the king, who took a fearful step back. She made it up by taking one wobbly, shuffling step forward, then another. The overused uncanny valley smile was not overused here, so she let her lips pull back into one. She hoped she was quite the sight, with Aemond’s blood still coating her extended hand and clothes. Though, Viserys cut his own striking image as well, gaunt with thin white hair hanging in strings down the sides of his sallow, pock-marked face—a ruler unprepared to be given the divine ruling, for even kings could not escape the gaze of the gods.

Not that Rhaena was saying she spoke for the gods or anything, but…like, she was here, wasn’t she? Somebody—not naming names, old gods and new gods and all the gods in between, let’s be clear—had done something to place her right at the seat of the Merling King this night. They should have predicted how she’d act.

And act, she did.

“The King Who Never Should Have Been,” Rhaena sneered, a mad giggle trailing her words, “oh, how he makes the gods weep! For he has ensured the death of House Targaryen!”

Her arms abruptly splayed outward. She almost twinged her neck when she snapped her head up toward the ceiling, back bowed to emphasize the possession that overcame her.

Rhaena doubled down on the laughter so it was hollow and wrong.

“Rejoice, O Night King!” she proclaimed. “Rejoice, for your champion has been found! Know the name Viserys Targaryen, and welcome him into the cold and dark of your embrace!”

Viserys’ sharp, petrified gasp complemented the pause in Rhaena’s performance.

She bowed forward again to stare at Viserys, trying her hardest not to blink. Her pitch dropped to a slow, chilling cadence.

“For he has taken a knife to his own eyes and blinded himself, so he may not see what he has sown. Dragons will dance for his crown—dragons will die for his crown. And when the dragons are gone from Westeros, there is no reason to fear Targaryens. When there is no reason to fear Targaryens, there is no reason to crown Targaryens. And only when the Seven Kingdoms has torn the blood of the dragon from the Iron Throne, root and stem, that the Long Night will bring the endless winter and the army of the dead. All shall join his ranks, man and woman and child, peasant and noble, sinner and sinless.”

Like one of the dead herself, Rhaena moved ever closer to Viserys, who was rank and ill with a fear so viscous that it permeated the salt-ridden air.

Rhaena took the pressure off him, however, to wrap up this whole bellyache of an ordeal.

She deliberately looked between Alicent and Rhaenyra.

“Dragons will dance, and children will don the curse of kinslayer in pursuit of their parents’ war, until there are no children, for this is their fate when they are deemed soldiers to a cause not their own.” She made sure to turn her head to Aemond, who had sunk so low in his chair that he almost melted into its shadow. Only the inflamed flesh around his freshly-stitched eye caught the light.

“And no victory shall be had for the Half-Year Queen,” another glance at a devastatingly vulnerable Rhaenyra, “or the Mad Usurper King,” an equal glance at Aegon and his frozen frame.

“The only victory shall belong to the Night King, for the dragons destroyed themselves before the Wall of the North ever crumbled at his feet.”

Rhaena initially planned to say one last line and collapse, but Viserys’ dagger was just right there to grab. And it was, like, the dagger. She couldn’t pass up on the opportunity of creating more drama and terror.

Her impulsivity won out, and when she lunged for the dagger, Viserys wasn’t fast enough to stop her. He couldn’t really do anything, actually, with how he was moments from straight up dying.

She raised the dagger high above her. The gleaming Valyrian steel shifted and swirled in the firelight. Gasps rang out. Swift footsteps approached from somewhere behind her, which meant that she had only seconds to spare.

Rhaena’s tone dropped.

“Protect the flame of the dragon, House of Black, House of Green: For the night is dark and full of terrors.”

Every good persuasive speech concluded with a call to action.

Except—most orators didn’t have a dagger poised to their own chest because they weren’t fucking stupid. Rhaena had to kill herself now because it wouldn’t look authentic otherwise.

But wasn’t that what live theater was all about? Committing to the bit in the name of drama?

And it wasn’t like she was the real Rhaena, who had already gone to the halls of Merling King. She had her fun and created some chaos, but this world was not a good time. Never mind suffering under the oppression of feudal patriarchy; they didn’t even have toothpaste and seasoned salt. So no, she didn’t mind the thought of dying. Whatever afterlife she’d been shunted out of the first time couldn’t refuse her a second, right? And this death couldn’t be any worse, right? Just a bit of pain and bleeding was much less traumatic than drowning, right?

Right.

No use in freaking out. It was done, and so was she.

See ya later, assholes! she wanted to shout as the dagger arced down from the air and to the soft spot beneath her sternum. I hated every single second of living here!

People screamed.

The tip of the dagger pierced through Rhaena’s nightgown and bit flesh—

Then Alicent, the beautiful scene-stealing bitch, frantically grasped the dagger and halted its path. One of her hands managed to grip itself over Rhaena’s, but the other misaimed and wrapped around the blade. Valyrian steel cut through flesh like warm butter, or at least that was what Daemon always crooned. Alicent’s blood beaded up through the grooves between her fingers and sluiced down the edge of the dagger.

For an instant, Rhaena and Alicent stared at each other, both wild-eyed and wild-haired.

Rhaena wanted to plead, I put on this whole thing for you, so you’d better make it work.

Also: God bless Alicent Hightower! Because on second thought? Rhaena didn’t want to die. Those thoughts were just the ravings of someone consumed by the passion of the muses. She was normal again.

Continuing with her original plan before the Valyrian dagger tempted her with its wickedness, Rhaena collapsed heartily on the cold floor of the great hall and feigned a loss of consciousness.

Her closing eyes served as the closing curtains, and after a beat, the eruption of frantic voices served as the applause.

“Gods be good—”

“My Queen! Your hand—”

“A prophetess—”

“Meant to be nothing more than an old wives’ tale—”

“Kinslayer—”

“Nearly ended her own—”

“The divide is evident—”

“Violent delights have violent ends—”

“Out of the way!” Daemon’s voice cut through the chatter. “Out of the way, you fucking cunts!”

Rhaena never expected to feel his hands cup her face and hear him whisper her name like he was worried. Like he was frightened. Daemon Targaryen? The same dude who couldn’t be bothered to hug Rhaena and Baela after Mother Laena died? Doubtful.

A raspy, awestricken voice asked, “Does she live?”

It belonged to Viserys, who wished to shake her awake and ask what she meant by everything if she still breathed.

Daemon picked Rhaena up, who spectacularly reenacted a limp body. He was far too gentle. “She does. But she needs rest.”

“…Of course. Of course. As soon as she wakes—”

“Yes, brother,” Daemon intoned flatly. “As soon as she wakes.”

He strode away. Rhaena felt the air disturb as people parted around them, dropping into hushed silence. Daemon called Baela to his side. She joined, wise enough to not speak until they exited the hall—which frantically resumed buzzing the moment they stepped through the doors.

“Father?” Baela whispered, voice small and unlike herself.

Daemon didn’t respond to her, and she didn’t prompt again.

He removed Rhaena’s cloak once he laid her down on the bed. Baela slipped off her shoes. Both acts were rather tender coming from a father who didn’t like her and a sister who wished she were dead.

“Stay with your sister tonight. I will guard the door. Fetch me should anything happen.”

 After Daemon left, a small sob slipped out of Baela. But she gently cleaned the blood off Rhaena’s skin with a washrag and cool water, even dabbing at the split lip she doled out, which must have bled more during the monologue. Ooh, Rhaena bet that had added to her portentous demeanor.

Speaking of the show. Time to review.

What went right:

Rhaena’s acting was top notch. Chill-inducing and enrapturing. Plain truth, probably one of the best performances of her life. She almost fucking killed herself over it! And she got the main message across. Everyone freaked the fuck out over it, mainly Viserys. She threw in the kinslaying bit with Larys and Aemond, so that was good. The phrase “for the night is dark and full of terrors” was a line that went hard and related to this world and the Long Night, which brought everything full circle. And Alicent saved her? Possibly forcing Daemon to have some foul gratitude for the Hightower whore? Unexpected but spectacular.

What could have been improved:

She totally forgot to implicate Otto in anything! Fuuuuck. She meant to come back to him after the initial finger pointing but got wrapped up in everything else. What a waste. Some of her phrasing could have been better in general. She also should have emphasized more that all your children are going to die because of your sinful covetousness for power to give them a bigger fright and hammer in the reality of it. She even should have thrown in that Alicent and Rhaenyra had no reason to fear the other hurting their children, and that to prevent further bloodshed, they needed to reconcile. And kiss and have long overdue sex, but she could admit that fitting such an addendum in a staged prophecy was potentially clunky.

Satisfied with her work, Rhaena decided that the only way to ignore the mild burning from the dagger’s nick on her stomach was to fall asleep. Whatever tomorrow’s problems were, the tomorrow her would deal with. But Today-Rhaena? She deserved to not think about any and all consequences.

So while everyone else was marinating, she was drifting off to the sound of the ocean and Baela’s quiet breathing.

-

“I don’t remember, your Grace. I’m sorry.”

The best way to get out of answering questions about prophesying the end of House Targaryen and the world was to play innocent amnesiac.

“Nothing? Nothing at all?”

Viserys came to her room the very next morning once she awoke from a restful sleep. Either he asked Rhaenyra to be with him or she demanded to be present herself, Rhaena had no clue, but the heir shadowed her father with faces equally solemn.

Rhaena shook her head once with big, remorseful eyes. It was easy playing little girl when she wore the face of one.

“I remember…everyone fighting. I remember thinking how sad it made me.” Rhaena’s mouth pouted with perfect sorrow. “Then…I felt cold. Very cold, which was strange because I was right by the fireplace. So, I went to move closer to it, and…then I awoke in my bed.”

She pulled off looking guilty. “Forgive me if I wronged any of you. I may not remember, but I shall take any befitting punishment that is according to my words and actions.”

Rhaenyra’s motherly heart urged her to sit next to Rhaena on the edge of the bed. She clasped her hand, which still had some of Aemond’s blood beneath her fingernails. “There is nothing to forgive, sweet girl.”

She hid her disappointment better than Viserys, whose head bowed with the heaviness of Rhaena’s words. Calling him the champion of the Night King because he fucked over the Seven Kingdoms so badly was pretty harsh, but she also thought it went too hard to not use.

“May I ask…what is it that I said?”

Rhaenyra took a breath, struggling to maintain her composure when memory of last night arose.

“You simply reminded us that we must be as one family, lest the realm suffer.”

Pretending to understand what she didn’t understand even though she did understand, Rhaena nodded once. “Oh. I see.”

“But more importantly, are you feeling well? You gave everyone quite the fright.” Rhaenyra’s eyes darted to the splotch of blood still on Rhaena’s dirty nightgown. “We wished for the maester to see to you last night, but…”

“Father refused them.”

Yeah, Rhaena recalled being woken up by voices failing to keep quiet on the other side of the door sometime last night.

She was also woken up by a flash of dragonfire light pouring in from her window, followed by a bit of screaming, then darkness again. Probably Larys Strong getting acquainted with Syrax for the first and last time.

“Indeed.”

“I feel a bit tired, but I think I am fine otherwise. However, I understand if you wish for the maester to examine me.”

“Yes, we think that would be the best course.”

Since they wouldn’t get answers out of someone who didn’t remember anything, Viserys and Rhaenyra allowed the maester in—along with a pissed off Meemaw Rhaenys. She shot the two a Glare as she strode over to her granddaughter and politely told everyone to fuck off once the maester concluded that Rhaena was hale. Viserys and Rhaenyra could have argued back, but preferring to keep their fingers intact (and Viserys couldn’t afford to lose more), they exited the chambers, likely heading somewhere else to confer. Rhaena hoped they included Alicent in at least some of it.

Rhaenys kindly inquired about how Rhaena fared. She replied with a similar spiel that she gave to the king and heir. But even though Rhaenys clearly suspected that her granddaughter was speaking falsehoods, she didn’t push and asked if she could send in Baela, who had been quite worried about her all morning.

With a smile, Rhaena said that she would love to see her sister.

If Meemaw Rhaenys knew that Baela would spring into the room with guests, she certainly didn’t stop them.

The spawn of the Greens and Blacks filled the room. Aegon wrinkled his nose and muttered, “Ugh, yeah, dear Father has definitely been here already. His essence of death is particularly ripe this morning.” Drolly, he threw his gaze to Rhaena under the façade of indifference. “Wonder why.”

Once Baela shut the door, she hurried over to hug Rhaena—then remembered what she said and did last night.

“Sister,” she clumsily started instead. “Good morning. Are you…are you well?”

Rhaena smirked, tossing the pretense of meek and mild out the window. “I’d be much better if you fetched me a clean gown, sweet sister.”

Baela messily dug through their wardrobe, and Rhaena moved behind the dressing partition. Aegon continued to appear disinterested. Aemond kept his one eye fixed on the ground and placed himself far away from Rhaenyra’s boys. Jacaerys and Lucerys were the pinnacles of penitence. Lucerys kept looking at Aemond like he wanted to cry and apologize. Helaena was the only serene child, as if she hadn’t practically shoved Rhaena into performing in front of a live studio audience.

“Well,” Rhaena said as she stripped, “at least yesterday went from completely depressing to fucking insane. Tell me, how did I do?”

Aegon spluttered with the entire choir of teenage indignation, “How did—how did you do? Are you fucking serious?”

“But I overheard Mother saying that you didn’t remember anything,” Jacaerys said.

Rhaena sang back, “I liiiied.”

Helaena helpfully added, “A lie, a truth, little matters in the falseness of youth.”

“Something like that, Hellie. Because you see…”

Tying up the back of her dress, Rhaena stepped into view again and stared squarely at Baela. “You’re right. I’m not Rhaena. At least…not all of her anymore. I’m also someone else? Someone more? The boundaries of these things are a little messy.”

Vindication didn’t rise up in Baela like she hoped. Instead, her sister just curled into herself.

Rhaena would have a nice, long, heartfelt conversation with her later. For now, though, she had to speak to the dragonlings while she could.

She moved to the vanity to undo the black ribbons that kept her disheveled bubble ponytail together. Daemon tossed her onto the bed without having the decency to wrap a scarf around her locs, and Baela was too distressed to remember it for either of them—and she couldn’t wake up only to rasp “I need…the hair scarf!” before passing out again—so now her locs were looking rough.

“I’m not a real seer…dreamer…whatever…like Helaena.” Aforementioned seer-dreamer-whatever helped Rhaena untie the ribbons. “But nobody listens to her even though she is one, right?” She didn’t get a response. “Right. Exactly. So, in order to make those hardheaded loons we call mothers and fathers and grandparents listen, I had to, as the artists call it, embellish.”

Aemond finally lifted his gaze to Rhaena. His stitched wound was angry-looking, the mottled colors contrasting starkly against pale skin.

“If you’re not a dreamer,” he said, “then how did you see what will come upon our family? Upon the realm?”

He used the Common word “see” as in witness, behold, envision, foresee.

“Ah…less saw, and more watched. Not that it makes any sense to you. The place I come from is very different than this one. Mayhaps I shall tell you about it one day, if you are all good boys and girls—excluding you, Helaena, as you are always a good girl.”

Helaena hummed. She tugged on the last ribbon, and Rhaena’s locs fell down around her shoulders.

Turning in the chair, Rhaena propped her arms on its back. “Think of me as a friendly mummer who just so happens to like all of you enough that she’s using her master skills to change the entire course of your fate.”

She mimicked bowing, which she didn’t get to do at the end of her award-winning performance. Never mind that she was doing it in front of literal children.

Then Lucerys shattered all the lightness by hitting Rhaena right in the heart with those innocent, gleaming brown eyes, a healing nose, and a quivering lower lip. “Are…we all going to die? Everyone?”

Rhaena crouched in front of him and put on her best assuring smile. When she spoke, she spoke the truth, even if the truth she believed might not have been the truth of what awaited.

“Not if we can help it.”

She stood up again to address everyone.

“But we have to start right here. Right now. We can’t trust the adults to do what is right—the wounds they’ve given each other may run too deep to ever heal. So, since we’ll be the first ones on the line if they fail to do what is right for us, for everyone, we also must have the power and courage to defy them.”

What was Rhaena doing, giving this defend-the-motherland speech to kids? Despite the grandeur and gravitas of last night’s ordeal, this one felt…heavier. Real. And that fucking scared her.

“It might not seem like we can, but we have to if they’re going to keep doing what they’re doing no matter what I’ve told them. None of you should be forced to accomplish what they cannot, but maybe in doing so, you can break the cycle they’ve never been able to escape. Then we can save ourselves and everyone else, both right now and in the future.”

Fuck. Rhaena wasn’t going anywhere, was she?

She’d be stuck here until the end, whether it was a fiery or icy or boringly peaceful one.

All because of these tide pool urchins.

God give her strength.

Rhaena folded her arms and grinned, a Southern drawl creeping into her voice. “So, make your apologies and amends now, children, because we need to start conspiring.”