Building and Crafting in Game of Thrones

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Fifth Moon of 286 AC, King's Landing:

POV: Varys

The cries of the newborn had echoed through Maegor's Holdfast like a battle horn, though it heralded no conquest—only the arrival of the now named Prince Joffrey Baratheon, squalling and pink and very much alive.

Varys stood silently in the corner of the queen's chamber, his hands clasped together, expression unreadable. The room that had reeked of blood, sweat, and triumph was now clean and thankfully not silent. The child was whole, hale, and golden-haired but most importantly loud.

Robert had laughed when he'd seen the boy the first time.. A booming, delighted laugh, wine-sodden and true.

"My heir!" he had shouted with glee.

Cersei beamed like the sun, and for a moment Varys saw in her face what true power looked like: young, vindicated, and terrifying.

The realm would now see the king's line secure. The Stag and the Lion united by blood or atleast they would think. Already Varys held doubts about the true parentage of Joffrey but atleast legally Robert Baratheon had a son. The time was ripe.

And so, later that evening, Varys found Robert in the Red Keep solar, goblet in hand, robe half-loosened, still flushed with the day's high.

"The realm rejoices, Your Grace," Varys said gently. "Your enemies will think twice, now that your son lives. Your allies will wish to celebrate."

Robert snorted. "Let 'em. I'll host a tourney they'll be telling tales of for fifty years."

Varys bowed his head. "Might I make a suggestion then, Your Grace? A symbol to quiet the last of the whispers. Bring Elia Martell and her children south. She might have given birth to the Skywalker's bastard but she surely is healthy enough to travel again. Let her and her Targaryen children kneel before the Iron Throne. Before you, the queen, and the boy. Let the realm see all old wounds healed."

Robert's expression soured. "The Dornish woman? She's content up in that strange castle of theirs."

Varys's smile was thin. "And that perception is dangerous. Let her come. Let the world see her loyalty. It will cost you nothing, and gain you much."

Robert grunted. "Fine. Send word. She'll come or answer for it."

It was time for Aegon Targaryen's and his family's time to come to an end, not that the boy had had all that long to enjoy his life.

It only made it better that the loss of Elia Martell and her daughter would also severely impact the so called miracle bastard who was far away in Casterly Rock to do anything about it in time. Varys had come to the conclusion that the appearence of another castle, this time on the coast north of the wall, could not be random.

No some kind of magic was clearly at play and even if it didn't require the blood sacrifices like all the more powerful magic that Varys had ever heard of did, it was still magic and Varys deeply loathed any kind of magic.

**Scene Break**

Fifth Moon of 286 AC, Frostgate

POV: Elia Martell

The raven came at dawn, its black wings dusted with frost.

Lyarra read the message twice before handing it to Elia, her face as pale as snow and lips pressed in a hard line.

Elia read the letter in silence, then exhaled slowly, as though the weight of it stole her breath.

"By royal command," she said bitterly. "Robert wants a performance."

"He wants obedience," Lyarra said. "Ugh, well I guess it was only a matter of time."

Elia moved to the fire, tossing the parchment into the flames. "He'll have it, then. Or the appearance of it. We'll go to King's Landing and kneel if that's what he needs."

"Why go at all?" Lyarra pressed. "You're safer here. Your children are safe. No good comes of parading yourself before Cersei Lannister."

"I'm afraid the usurper doesn't see it that way. Aegon and Rhaenys must be seen." Elia said. "Alive. Loyal. And no threat. The Skywalkers may be wealthy and will undoubtedly command a lot of power in the future but we cannot just ignore a command of the usurper as much as I hate it."

"And Padmé?"

Elia's gaze softened as she turned toward the cradle near the hearth. "She stays, she is a Skywalker and no Targaryen after all.

Ashara Dayne, lounging nearby with a goblet of warm wine, raised a brow. "It won't go wrong. What's the worst that can happen?"

Elia laughed despite herself. "You've doomed us now."

**Scene Break**

Fifth Moon of 286 AC, Skyport:

POV: Lyarra Snow

The docks of Skyport bustled with life—dockhands, merchants, and guards all milling about under the cloudless morning sky. A single large cog awaited near the edge, bearing the sigil of House Skywalker in dark thread on its sails.

Elia stood at the ramp, cloaked in dark red trimmed with gold, her children beside her—Aegon in a Targaryen-red and black tunic, Rhaenys clutching a carved wooden dragon.

"It's not too late," Lyarra said, one final time. "We could ignore the raven. Stall this."

Elia smiled faintly. "You've grown into a fine young woman, Lyarra. But this isn't a battle you can outfox. I'm still a princess of Dorne. And I'll play my part."

"Won't you atleast take more ships with you just in case something will happen?" Lyarra asked but Elia shook her head.

"No need, the usurper already has shown he is willing to let me and my children live, I doubt he would send someone after me and Arthur and your guards are enough to deal with any pirates looking for trouble."

Behind her, Arthur tightened his sword belt. Two dozen men-at-arms stood ready, along with two of the diamond guard and a ship's crew. Not enough for war but enough for protection... or atleast Lyarra hoped so. With Torrhen away, Val was the lady of the castle and while she may have been here for less than a year, Lyarra knew that Val and Elia had grown quite close in that time. If anything happened to Elia and her children during the voyage then hell would be let loose in Frostgate.

Elia bent to kiss Padmé's forehead one last time before turning to board the ship.

Lyarra stood watching as the gangplank was drawn up and the ship slipped into the bay.

She felt the unease like a stone in her gut.

**Scene Break**

At Sea, Two Days Later

POV: Elia Martell

The sea was calm, glasslike and the weather perfect for travel.

Elia stood near the prow, wind catching her dark hair, Rhaenys humming to herself under the watch of a diamond guard called Ahsoka Tano nearby. Aegon was asleep in their cabin.

Suddenly, the lookout called from the crow's nest: "Ships! South by southeast. Four. No banners."

The deck fell silent.

Elia's spine straightened.

"No banners?" she asked.

The lookout confirmed. "No colors, no sigils. All headed straight for us."

Elia squinted into the horizon. Sleek hulls cut through the water like spears. Too purposeful. Too fast.

"Maybe traders," one sailor offered. But his voice lacked conviction.

"They wouldn't be sailing straight towards us if they were anything but

She turned to the guards. "Ready yourselves. Wake the children. And stay sharp."

From her periphery she could see that the captain of the vessel was approaching her, "Princess, what do you wish for us to do? I fear that these vessels appear to be faster than this one and we do not have the manpower to resist four vessels."

"If they are looking for loot then give it to them, anything you will lose will be reimbursed by my family" she said. Either one of her families would surely pay happily knowing it avoided her being captured or worse.

"Princess, I am sorry to say but I fear this is a coordinated attack on your person. These ships have appeared too soon to be random pirates or the like. They must have known when we would depart from Skyport beforehand" said Ahsoka who had walked towards her.

"Let's hope it is not as you think. Please wake up Ser Arthur from his slumber. I fear that we will need his skill soon."

She rested a hand on the hilt of the dagger beneath her cloak as Ahsoka departed with hurried steps, murmuring under her breath—

"I have a bad feeling about this."

**Scene Break**

The slaver ships struck like sharks.

There was no parley, no warning, no chance to flee. Grappling hooks arced through the morning air. Black sails whipped above them like the wings of crows. Elia had only time to pull Rhaenys to her side as the first crack of steel rang out across the deck.

"Cabin—now!" Arthur Dayne shouted, already drawing his blade.

Ahsoka was beside her in an instant, two curved blades flashing from her back as she shoved Elia and her daughter toward the stair.

The ship rocked underfoot as the hull was rammed. Screams followed—sharp, human, dying.

Elia didn't look back. She yanked the cabin door open and pulled Rhaenys inside, slamming the bolt behind them. Aegon was waking in the corner berth, confused and blinking.

"Mama?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Elia crossed to him, crouching down and pulling him into her arms. Rhaenys clung to her from the other side, trembling. The thudding above them grew louder—boots and bodies, wood splintering, the hiss of fire. The ship groaned under the weight of the boarding.

Outside the cabin walls, war was being waged in close quarters.

**Scene Break**

POV: Arthur Dayne

Arthur ducked a thrust and ran the man through, his blade flashing silver. The slavers wore no uniform—only layers of mismatched leather, mail, and greed. Some bore chains at their belts, others collars or brands burned into their flesh. Hard men. Heartless.

But not without limits.

Ahsoka spun between them, silent and swift, blades a blur of blue and steel. Two went down before one of them managed to strike—an axe buried deep into her side.

"Ahsoka!" Arthur shouted.

She stumbled, then righted herself long enough to kill the man who struck her. And then another. But the wound was mortal. Her eyes met Arthur's across the chaos, wide and defiant, as she finally collapsed.

Arthur didn't have time to mourn. Another wave came—more slavers pouring down the ropes. The diamond guard rallied around him, but the crew had already fallen. The captain was dragged from the helm and gutted like a pig, his scream cut short.

They were being overwhelmed.

"Fall back!" he shouted. "To the cabins—!"

But it was too late. By the time Arthur had reached Elia's cabin, all the other guards had been killed and he was hunted by the attackers. At the cabin he managed to to kill another five who were already trying to break the cabin open and then defend the door for another few minutes before a spear pierced his side, and he dropped to his knees, bloody but unbowed. He looked up defiantly as his head was severed from his body.

**Scene Break**

POV: Elia Martell

The door exploded inward in a spray of splinters.

Elia shoved Aegon and Rhaenys behind her, dagger drawn. There were six of them—armed, bloodied, wild-eyed. She lunged at the first one, slashing blindly.

They struck her down in seconds.

Rhaenys screamed. Aegon cried out her name.

The men did not ask questions. One raised his blade. Elia clawed at him, screamed, begged—but it was over in a heartbeat.

Aegon fell. Blood stained the sheets.

Elia's scream turned ragged. A hand slammed into her face, knocking her unconscious.

When she woke, the ship was moving. The sea was calm again. The dead had been thrown overboard.

Her wrists were bound. Rhaenys lay beside her, trembling but alive, her mouth gagged.

**Scene Break**

POV: Rhaenys Targaryen

The harbor of Pentos smelled of fish, piss, and spice—and for once, Rhaenys welcomed the stench it meant she had something to distract her from the fact that her beloved baby brother was dead and that she had been seperated by her mother.

Her wrists were chafed raw from the bindings they'd finally removed, and her small feet ached with every step. But her guards—sloppy, foreign men more used to bullying slaves than minding a princess—were too busy gambling over a wine jug and arguing in broken Valyrian.

She kept her head down, cloak drawn up, eyes watching everything.

Wait… wait…

Then: a distraction—a fish cart upended by a loose mule, curses flying, barrels rolling.

She ran.

The sound of her own heartbeat drowned everything. Boots slapped the stone docks. Someone shouted behind her.

She ducked under ropes, between crates, past vendors and beggars. A dagger tied to her belt—stolen from a half-drunk guard—weighed like lead at her side.

The ship she trusted to rescue her eventually came into sight. It was a cog, sleek and readying for departure flowing the banners of House Skywalker, and it felt like safety.

She reached the gangplank as the shouts grew closer.

A sailor moved to block her—but froze when she gasped, "Frostgate! I am Rhaenys—of House Skywalker and Targaryen. Please."

The man blinked once—then turned and shouted for the captain.

An older woman emerged, eyes like chips of granite, a diamond pin gleaming at her collar. One of the Faithful. She took one look at Rhaenys and barked orders.

"Raise anchor. Now!"

Just as three slavers rounded the quay with drawn knives, the ship pulled free.

Rhaenys collapsed on the deck, gasping. The Faithful captain crouched beside her.

"We'll get you home, child. By sky or storm, we'll get you home."

"They still have my muna" Rhaenys began crying to which the woman gathered her in her arms.

"Don't worry little one, whoever has your mother right now, wouldn't hurt her, she is far too valuable as a hostage."

Somehow Rhaenys couldn't quite believe those words.

**Scene Break**

POV: Illyrio Mopatis

The candlelight made his rings glint like eyes—cold, watching, weighing.

Illyrio Mopatis stood before a lacquered map of Essos, one hand hovering over the Narrow Sea. His goblet of summerwine sat untouched.

"They will never be quiet," he muttered.

In the chamber behind him, Elia Martell lay in a silken bed, wan and silent. Her pulse still beat—barely—but the poison was slow and sure. Gentle, painless. For a former princess, it was the best he could offer.

But even that was a mercy he'd not extend again.

Aegon—his Aegon—was young but he wouldn't be forever. The world would need to believe he was Elia's son. Rhaenys alive endangered. Elia, even more so. She had seen her son die and would not stay silent when the time came.

Since he could not have her speaking when Blackfyre banners were raised in her son's name, she needed to be removed. Like her daughter. Speaking of...

He turned as the captain of the guards entered. His face was pale.

"She escaped."

Illyrio's voice was calm, deeply disappointed. "Rhaenys?"

"She fled the harbor. Slipped past the guards and vanished. Some say she boarded a merchant cog. No confirmation yet."

Illyrio sipped his wine at last. "Then find her. I want the girl either dead… or returned in chains. No third option."

"She's barely six."

"She's still her mother's daughter. And the foster daughter of a Stark now, too."

He gazed out the window toward the moonlit bay.

"History must be clean. No clutter. No surviving witnesses."

**Scene Break**

POV: Rhaenys Targaryen

The wind had changed.

The stars above were cold, sharp pinpricks in the velvet dark, and the sea below rolled like a giant's slow breath.

Rhaenys stood at the prow, a heavy wool cloak wrapped around her, watching the horizon. Behind her, the crew murmured and worked—their accents northern, their speech clipped and familiar.

She hadn't eaten much. Couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw red—blood on the sheets, her brother's face, her mother's scream.

The Faithful captain joined her, offering a steaming mug of broth.

"We'll reach Frostgate in three days, if the wind holds."

"Do they know?" Rhaenys asked quietly. "Do they know we were attacked?"

The woman shook her head. "No word yet. But we carry it now."

Rhaenys looked down at the waves. "He killed my brother. I think… I think they meant to kill me too."

She was young but she had already seen more death than many people would in a lifetime.

"They did," the woman said without flinching. "And for that, someone will burn. But not tonight. Tonight, you live."

Rhaenys nodded, clutching the mug close.

She said nothing more that night. But something hardened in her eyes as the ship surged westward—toward home, toward vengeance.

**Scene Break**