Chapter Text
"This must be some sort of a jest!"
Rhaenyra choked out. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her face flushed as she reread the words.
Daemon let out a self-assured, arrogant chuckle. To him, the letter was nothing but a mirage—a ridiculous piece of nonsense not worth his attention.
"I've never known my brother to be a jester," Daemon said, a cool indifference in his voice.
"But it seems he has started today." He flung the letter away, already turning his attention to his sword, refusing to waste another thought on the disturbing request. He got up to rub Rhaenyra's shoulders where she sat at her desk, but she turned away and stood up, refusing to be pacified.
"No, no. This is not even a jest I like," she said tensely, rubbing the bridge of her nose. Her mind was lost in a cloud, trying to make sense of the odd letter. "I must go and see my father before this weird seed from his imagination germinates."
"If you ask me, we should just pretend we never saw this nonsense. Viserys knows better," Daemon said, trying to calm her once again. "He may be a lot of things, but he won't ask a stupid question twice if the first time he's met with silence."
Rhaenyra shook her head and looked Daemon in the eye. "I'm going to the Red Keep." The words were a declaration, not a negotiation. With that, she walked briskly through the massive doors.
From outside, Daemon heard her clipped tone. "Barbel, tell the keepers to ready Syrax."
REWIND: Two Weeks Earlier
Sunlight kissed the spotless marble floor, and a soft breeze ruffled the leaves of the plants on the large windowsill, adding a musical element to the already perfect weather. The King's chambers was the perfect scene for a painting.
King Viserys was all smiles, showing the Young Devon Celtigar his miniature model of Old Valyria. Everybody knew he loved his model, but what he loved most was using it to teach old Valyrian history. Nostalgia took him back to the times when he taught Rhaenyra lessons when she was a child. It had been so long that he felt happy teaching another young Valyrian with it, since Rhaenyra had outgrown that stage. Devon filled that role presently as he listened attentively.
"...And that is why our people kept the underground pits closed off, because when you account for mishaps, you quickly see that the sheer size is more..."
His speech trailed off as Maester Sheryk and Queen Alicent unexpectedly entered the room.
Alicent hovered behind the maester, as if to remain unseen, her eyes on the ground as she fidgeted with her nails. Her jaw was set tight as if she were holding her breath. Viserys raised an eyebrow, wondering what was to come from their presence.
"Devon, I think this lesson will end earlier today. It's almost lunch and I think duck is on the menu. You said you like duck, if I remember correctly," the King said, gently dismissing the young boy with a reassuring smile.
"Yes, your grace, thank you, your grace," the boy replied and left the room with excitement. Devon was none the wiser to the fact that he was the only one excited in the room.
When it was just the three of them, the Maester cleared his throat and spoke up, albeit with slightly visible nerves.
"Your grace, we've come to ask you to make a statement." Maester Sheryk took a deep breath before he continued. "We plead for you to tell the new dragon keepers—personally—not to listen to threats from... uhm... dragon riders," Maester Sheryk said, his voice trembling slightly behind his smile.
He went on by adding, "Their concern should always be the safety and well-being of people and dragons alike. In doing so, they commit no harm and no punishable crime." King Viserys noted the emphasis that Maester Sheryk placed on "punishable crime."
Viserys squinted, as if that might clarify what he was being asked to do any better. He slowly tilted his head. "Speak plainly. I sense there is something pressing you're not telling me."
The maester sighed. "Your grace, the new retinue of dragon keepers were on duty last night, and... well, Prince Aegon—the elder—was overcome with wine, again. He went to ask for his dragon, and when the young keepers hesitated, he threatened to have their heads on spikes. They reported it to the older dragon keepers, who told them not to be swayed, but they... they want reassurance from the king himself."
Viserys groaned a guttural sound, placing his elbow on his chair's arm and his head in his palm. He looked as if he was trying to rid himself of the disappointment he felt.
"Alicent, what do you have to say about this? Is there any hope of the boy going a day without doing something foolish? Do I need to put him on an actual leash?" he asked, with bitterness clear in his tone.
Alicent stood with her hands clasped, her jaw tight as if biting back a reply. "Your grace, I don't know what to say to that."
Viserys finally looked up, to say to Maester Sheryk. "And of course I know when it's Aegon the elder. At least my grandson Aegon the younger doesn't make my veins spike up."
That statement brought a frown to Alicent's face. She stared at the expensive draperies in the room and felt like tearing them with all the anger she suppressed. "I will talk to Aeg—" but the King cut off the Queen as he raised his voice.
"A dragon is not a bloody toy! If he wants to drink until it leaks from his eyeballs, so be it, but the line that should never be crossed is flying while drunk. This is so simple, I cannot believe I have to tell someone who isn't an infant, Alicent."
The King massaged his temple quietly, but Alicent knew that he wasn't done and so she didn't bother to say anything.
And truly, the King had another thing he wanted to get off his chest. And what better opportunity than now?
"Just yesterday, in this very room, I was told Aemond was mocking Ser Larys's clubfoot. I am ashamed. I am almost always perpetually ashamed of these boys. He not only mocked and imitated him but did it to his face in public. I had to apologize directly because he definitely deserves an apology and more. When it's not callousness, it's depravity with these children. They never do any good, which is not a necessity I hold them to, but can they not cause harm?"
"In Aemond’s defense, it wasn't without provocation. Larys is among the gossips who call him 'Hightower'!"
"Well, is the boy not a Hightower?" Viserys said before she could continue.
"He's a Targaryen!" Alicent almost shouted at the king.
"You can’t say you don’t hear what they are saying under your own roof," she added, her voice low as if about to say something secret.
"What is the problem? Is their mother not a Hightower? Do you not see Rhaenyra priding herself in Valemen apparels and jewels every chance she gets?"
"But nobody aside from herself calls her Arryn. They call the children Hightowers as a slight. They say that aside from their features, there is nothing Valyrian about them. That’s mockery. This is how it starts. Are they trying to write them out of Targaryen history?"
"Alicent, don’t be an alarmist. Nobody is writing anybody out of history. I don't actually know what to make of your claims. But there is never honor or blessings that follow someone making a jest of an incomplete man. Aemond should not interpret people remarking on his similarities with his mother as a slight. For him to do that, you as well must stop searching for the insult in it. I don't see why a mother wouldn't want her kids to be called the very image of her."
Alicent exhaled sharply and turned her head towards the window. There was no point. Not with King Viserys. He never saw things without being hassled. She couldn't understand why he, a Targaryen, was not offended by this name-calling. It was a common chorus now, to say her children were not Targaryen enough. They just sat and pointed fingers. What did not being Targaryen enough even mean?
King Viserys's voice, much lower now, cut through her thoughts. "Do something about Aegon's foolish exhibitions. He mustn't disgrace himself and everyone else when he drinks. From now on, let him confine his misadventures to his chambers. Because If I find myself having this conversation with you again..." The King trailed off.
But then with a tone that was almost softer, he stared into the distance and said, "If I am prompted enough, I'll have to take drastic steps. I mean it."
Alicent's head snapped from the window. Her eyebrows furrowed in perplexity. She stepped closer to the King and asked, "What do you mean by drastic steps?"
"What I mean doesn’t matter if you simply put a leash on the boy and stop letting him destroy himself and our name."
Alicent opened her mouth to object, then closed it. She simply curtseyed, gave a tight, "Very well, your grace," and turned on her heel to leave. Though not without a hint of sarcasm.
"Maester Sheryk, bring the young dragon keepers to me in the next hour. Let me clean up this mess, as I usually do."
"Of course, your grace." The maester left, leaving Viserys alone to stew in his anger.