Dance of The Dragonwolf

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The Following 15 Chapters are available for Patrons.

Chapter 33 (Lady Hightower), Chapter 34 (The Storm), Chapter 35 (A Dance Under The Full Moon), Chapter 36 (Magic is Dark and Full of Lies), Chapter 37 (A Prince and A Princess), Chapter 38 (A Tourney of Sacrifice), Chapter 39 (Words are like an Arrow), Chapter 40 (Viserys's Decision), Chapter 41 (Aenar's Answer), Chapter 42 (You Will Doom Us All), Chapter 43 (The First Cry of War), Chapter 44 (Revenge is a dish best served Cold), Chapter 45 (Dragons and Snakes), Chapter 46 ('You are not Loved'), and Chapter 47 (Rhaenyra's Rage) are already available for Patrons.

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Daemon

Another small council meeting. Sometimes, he wondered why he bothered to attend them, why he needed to always be on time; his brother would understand and probably be relieved that he wasn't present; he always seemed on edge when he was there.

Daemon wanted to spend time with his son, to train perhaps, or maybe fly together with their dragons. Something they both loved doing together since Cannibal seemed to tolerate Caraxes's presence near him but not Daemon's presence.

Daemon had tried once approaching him; Cannibal had roared before letting out a fury of flames from his large mouth, dark like a pit. The flames had almost burned his skin, but they didn't touch him. Instead, they burned the ground around Cannibal, a warning for Daemon not to get closer.

Daemon thought of perhaps spending time with his Gold Cloaks. Veyne Ark, Godsen Hill, and Artti Snow were the best soldiers he had under his command and perhaps the ones he trusted the most right now. Daemon didn't care much for law and being a good man, but he knew how important it was for Aenar, for thieves, and for all criminals to be punished accordingly. Aenar wanted to make King's Landing a better place; one of his plans even involved expanding the city, building the outer town of King's Landing; the soil was very rich, and according to the Maester, Aenar had made plans to expand the territory, and once the new town was built, a wall would be built around it to keep everyone safe inside.

Daemon knew Aenar had a reputation in the city, a big one. Artti often spoke praises for him, saying the people were no longer thirsty and didn't need to pray for the rain to fall.

Daemon felt a growing pride; he knew why it was important and would do his job to complete Aenar's wishes. If being on time for the small council meeting was one of them, he would do that without complaining.

Upon entering the chamber, his eyes caught sight of his grandmother and his brother; they both seemed to be having a conversation in hushed tones; the Queen's eyes found him as he closed the door.

"Daemon, you are right on time. I was just having a discussion with your brother." Her words were sharp like Valyrian steel, and Daemon's lips twitched upwards; despite her age, the Queen was just as sharp as always.

"Please, don't let me interrupt you," Daemon said with a smirk as he crossed the chamber; his seat was right next to the Queen's seat; he scooted out the chair before sitting down, and he noticed that Rhaenyra wasn't serving. A glass of wine would clear his head.

"Viserys, we talked about this, I don't want to see you with Lady Alicent again." Hearing those words, Daemon looked away, the thought of his brother doing something like that, he didn't know how to feel. Before meeting Lyanna, Daemon would have congratulated his brother, being proud of him for breaking the rules for once, but now, Daemon couldn't help but feel disappointed. Viserys was soft, but he was a better man; at least, that's how Daemon had seen it. Daemon knew he needed to tell him something, but he decided that speaking privately without their grandmother's presence would be better for Viserys.

"Grandmother, can we please end this discussion? We talked about this; we are just drinking tea. We are not doing anything. You know I love Aemma. I would never do anything to hurt her." Daemon heard his brother say, with a hint of exhaustion in his voice. Their grandmother let out a sigh, but her look made it clear that this discussion was far from over.

Suddenly, the door opened, revealing a short man, Lyonel Strong; the man was followed by the rest of the members of the small council. Daemon wasn't sure what to make of Lord Strong, but the man was good enough in his job as Maester of Laws.

"Good morrow, your grace. It's a pleasure to see you again." Lord Beesbury said, with a crooked smile, the man was ancient, but a good Maester of Coins. Grand Maester Runciter walked in; the man had helped to bring Princess Rhaenyra and in the failed births of all of Queen Aemma's stillborn children. The man was the oldest man in the Red Keep; Viserys sometimes japed that Maester Runciter was probably the oldest man in Westeros, being 94 years old; the man limped towards his seat; his bad leg had swallowed, turning red like blood.

"Good Morrow, my Lord. I hope your legs are feeling better." The King said with a smile; all the exhaustion now seemed to have disappeared like smoke as all the members of the Small Council Meeting entered. The Grand Maester offered a weak smile with a small nod.

"Feeling better your grace. I feel joy that you are the King." Grand Maester said joyfully behind his beard, Daemon almost rolled his eyes at the words he heard from him.

Upon seeing Lord Ottos Hightower, Daemon almost snarled but restrained himself. He had told his son to always hide his emotions publicly, and Daemon would do the same.

"Good morrow, your grace," Otto said with a respectful voice as he bowed his head to both King Viserys and Old Queen Alysanne. The man had a beard that went from ear to ear, brown hair, and a mustache; he was wearing a brown-dark velvet trimmed with sable, as well as a gold mantle, two silver chokers around his neck, and the golden pin of the hand of the King was resting over his heart.

"Good Morrow, Lord Hightower. It's good to see your son didn't suffer any injuries." Viserys asked with a smile; Otto smiled back in relief, one of the few genuine smiles Daemon had ever seen on his face.

"We are all relieved, too, my King. My son is the future of my house." Otto spoke courteously; his eyes glittered with pride as he spoke of his son. Viserys cleared his throat, and Daemon leaned forward from his chair, both hands on the table as the small council started.

Viserys discussed the crown's expenses for the upcoming Tourney. Maester Beesbury told them that the tourney cost was nearly eighty thousand gold coins. Viserys barely reacted to the price, thanks to Aenar's idea.

'The Tourney will take place near the end of the month, we need to make it public now. People from all over Westeros will come to King's Landing, money will flow, yes, we might lose ninety gold coins to make this tourney happen, but during this month we increase the prices, just enough that people will still pay. We also decrease the prices of houses we own in the city. Those that win the gold coins will decide to use most of them in King's Landing, perhaps to buy a good house near The Red Keep or spend the coin in the whorehouse, and within a decade, the gold coins will return back to us through taxes.'

Soon, Lord Hightower discussed how the crops were growing this year; Daemon felt his eyes heavy as Lord Cunt kept talking about not important things. This was followed by Lord Strong talking about the new soldiers training this year and bringing up that they needed better soldiers and that someone shouldn't be able to become a Gold Cloak by just being able to hold a sword with his hands. But soon enough, Otto Hightower decided to poke the dragon.

"We also need to discuss Prince Daemon's potential future betrothal." Upon hearing those words, Daemon was wide awake; his eyes opened, and the drowsiness disappeared like magic as he gave the Lord the coldest glare he could muster, and a growl escaped his lips.

"What did you say?" Daemon demanded he didn't care that his voice was too sharp and clearly not talking about how his grandmother had taught him, but he didn't care; this discussion involved him, after all.

"I'm merely suggesting, Lord Commander. It's been years, and you are still young, young enough to wed and have more children. Lady Arryn is young, perfect age to bear children and not yet wed." Otto said defensively, his hands up as if trying to calm down the dragon he had awakened.

"You seem to be mistaken, Lord Hightower. Because I'm not a Princess as you can see." Daemon's voice reeked of sarcasm, earning an eye roll from Lord Strong.

"It's just a rumor, Lord Commander. She's a lovely lady and would be a perfect mother for your future children." Daemon felt his blood boil. The cunt of the man had been trying for months to make the marriage happen, disguising it as if him looking up to him, wanting him to be 'happy,' but Daemon knew what his true goal was, he wanted him and Aenar away from King's Landing, or worse. Me away from Aenar, Daemon thought with growing rage; his hand gripped the end of the table, causing the wood to creak.

"Why don't you marry then, it's been what, a decade?" Daemon asked, his smirk growing when Otto's face fell; now, he was the one who seemed furious; he looked as if he just swallowed a lemon whole.

"Your dear wife is gone; why don't you marry, or perhaps you enjoy the loud nights?" Daemon continued, his smirk turning smug as Otto looked at him, his face pale with anger. His eyes seemed to be making holes in Daemon's forehead, but the prince wasn't done as he opened his mouth to talk more.

"I agree with Lord Otto's suggestion." It took a moment for Daemon to realize that it was his brother speaking; his neck turned, and he looked at his brother with a look of anger. He opened his mouth to retaliate, but his brother spoke first.

"Brother," Viserys said with a careful voice before Daemon could. "Lady Lyanna was dear to all of us, but it's been twelve years; you deserve to be happy again." His brother insisted, but Daemon barely heard a word; his blood felt like it was boiling under his skin.

"If you desire my happiness, brother, you should drop this discussion and never bring it up again. I'm happy as I am right now." Daemon declared, his voice rising with each word he spat, looking directly at his brother, who sighed; he seemed ready to say something else.

"Perhaps it's enough for today, don't you think your grace." Queen Alysanne interrupted their discussion, looking at Viserys, who blinked before nodding reluctantly.

In a synchronized manner, the entire gathering rose to their feet, one person after the other, causing a melodic symphony of wooden chairs scraping against the smooth, cold surface of the stone floor. Daemon was ready to leave the chamber; perhaps flying with Caraxes could help him calm his nerves, but the Queen quickly gave him and Viserys a look, making it clear that he wanted to discuss with both of them in private. Daemon glared at Otto's back as he left the chamber; once the door was closed, Daemon turned to face Viserys, ready to yell at him for siding with his dear Hand.

"What is your problem? Siding with-" "Enough." The Queen's voice made Daemon shut his mouth tightly before he looked at his grandmother, waiting for her to continue; her eyes looked at them both with a scolding look as if they were her children.

"You are both brothers, act like it. Your grace, why do you want Daemon to marry Lady Arryn?" She asked with courtesy; Daemon snorted; whatever reason his brother had, he didn't want to listen to it.

"I stand by what I said, brother. I only want you happy, like you were with Lady Lyanna. Lady Jeyne Arryn is eighteen name days, the proper age to bear your children." "My happiness." Daemon interrupted with a snarl while shaking his head; his eyes looked around the chamber before finding the vase filled to the brim with wine; for a brief moment, he wondered where Rhaenyra was, but he quickly remembered that House Velaryon had probably already arrived, and he figured she was with Aenar and Lady Laena.

The thought of them spending time together brought a small smile to his face, but as he drank wine, trails of wine trailing down from the corners of his lips before dripping into the carpet below, all thoughts disappeared from his head as he drank all the wine he could.

After drinking his fill, he wiped the wine off his chin and lips; the familiar taste of sweetness and bitterness on his mouth remained in his mouth before looking at his brother. "My son and your daughter are good friends; they might marry one day. If I marry off to the Vale, either Aenar has to stay here and force me to be away from my son, or my son comes with me, and this leaves Rhaenyra without any friends unless you want her to befriend the Hightower whore." Daemon spat the last words, glaring at his brother, making his thoughts clear.

"Lady Alicent is a good lady, I won't have you sullying her name for no reason." Viserys quickly defended her, with a hint of anger in his eyes, a rare sight to see in Viserys's face.

Daemon laughed bitterly; Lady Alicent was obviously just toying with him; he had to give her credit; she had managed to fool the king, the most powerful figure in the Realm.

"Then I won't marry Lady Arryn, the cunt Otto wants this because he knows it will get me far away from here; whenever or not Aenar comes with me doesn't matter; it's a win-win for him," Daemon said with growing anger in each word he spat out, he wanted nothing more than to burn that cunt, Otto.

"Viserys, Daemon married once. He will marry only if he wants to," His grandmother spoke with authority. Daemon felt relieved. At least his grandmother was supporting him, but it seemed his brother wasn't done yet.

"I have already sent a raven. Lady Arryn is sailing to King's Landing. I didn't promise her anything, but I think you should humor her throughout the feast." Viserys said. Daemon felt like he wanted to slap his brother, but somehow he restrained himself. He reminded himself that Viserys wasn't doing this with malicious intentions, but his brother genuinely thought that marrying again would get him to be as happy as he had been when Lyanna was still alive. Never, Daemon thought.

"I'm not marrying anyone, Viserys." Daemon declared with a tone that made it clear that he had already made up his mind.

Daemon left the chamber and walked downstairs before turning to his right, leading him to a balcony above the God's Wood of King's Landing. As Daemon walked closer, he heard the growing sound of someone singing; the voice brought a smile to his face. As he reached the balcony below him, he could see Aenar singing a song to Rhaenyra and Laena, the way they sat near one another. Daemon closed his eyes, remembering a time when he used to sit with Lyanna in the same place.

He could see her face, the smell of fresh flowers and snow, beautiful grey eyes, and long hair; he could almost feel her touch and warm breath. Daemon felt his eyes welling up as Aenar finished his song; he quickly walked away. His son was having a good time with Laena and Nyra, and he wouldn't get in the way.

Corlys

Corlys had been watching his wife get ready for the feast for the last hour or so. He'd marveled as one of their servants set to work on her elaborate half-up-do and how Rhaenys had even helped with some of the braids.

To an outsider, nothing looked out of the ordinary. But he'd spent countless years observing the woman who was currently rolling her eyes at the idea of applying rouge onto her cheeks. He knew she'd indulge the young girl who'd suggested it; she always had a soft spot for that particular servant. The confirmation came with a terse, though not unkind, "only a little though."

He smiled to himself, but it morphed into a small frown as he watched her bring up her goblet of wine to her lips and began applying the powder onto her face. It wasn't the fact that she was drinking that bothered him; he'd never admonished a grown woman, let alone his wife, for anything. No, it was the slight tremble in her hand that was causing his feeling of concern.

"That is enough," Rhaenys announced, placing the goblet down. She leaned in towards the mirror of her vanity, inspecting the servant's work.

"You look very pretty, Princess Rhaenys." The girl complimented, a genuine smile on her cherubic-looking face.

Rhaenys hummed under her breath; she wiped a little at her skin, where Corlys could only assume she felt that there was too much powder. "I look old." She sighed, reaching for her wine again. The servant looked momentarily defeated until Rhaenys spotted her disappointment through the mirror, "But thank you, you're right; it's just what I needed." She reassured her, and Corlys felt his heart swell in his chest. Rhaenys was a woman of high standing; she was not obligated to make a servant feel better, nor to lie to her when she clearly wasn't keen on the rouge, and yet that's exactly what Rhaenys was doing.

"I think it's almost time for Princess Rhaenys and me to leave," Corlys announced from his seat near the window. Both women turned to look at him; the servant bowed her head respectfully and hastily made her exit.

Rhaenys didn't move to get up. Instead, she turned her head back to study her face, one hand absentmindedly combing through her hair, the other holding onto her goblet. "Poor Aemma," she sighed, "I fear the bloodshed during the joust will be nothing compared to the birthing bed." Corlys caught her wince before sipping her wine again.

"Is that why you're so tense?" He asked, getting up from his chair and approaching her. "You're worried about her?" He kissed the top of her head. Then, he placed both his hands on her shoulders and squeezed them gently.

"Who says I'm tense?" Her rebuttal was met by an amused look in the mirror from Corlys. She smiled bashfully at him, then shrugged, "You do know me better than anyone, husband." She placed the goblet down, then leaned into his touch. "But no, I mean, of course, I sympathize with her; from what I understand, this pregnancy hasn't been easy for Aemma." She stopped momentarily. She looked like she wanted to say something, but eventually, she took another sip from her goblet of wine. "Anyway, I hope all is well, and she and Viserys are blessed with a son."

"Then what is it that's troubling you?" He prompted again. He felt her shoulders slump this time, and she averted her gaze.

"The Boy." That is all she said. Corlys knew who she was talking about. Despite being only fifteen name days, Aenar Targaryen was somehow still a mystery to him. When Corlys received the news that the Prince had tamed Cannibal, Corlys would be a liar if he said he wasn't impressed by the feat; despite not being a Dragonrider, Corlys never feared dragons, but Cannibal, that beast, he was the expectation. He could breathe Wildfire, something that could burn through everything like a hot knife through butter; Corlys hated to admit that he never wanted to be against that one dragon; he wouldn't mind facing Vermithor or even Vhaegar, but not Cannibal.

Corlys had seen it with his own eyes, the way the commoners cheered for Prince Aenar; one would think he was the Crown Prince or even the King, but Corlys thought the latter part with a bitter taste in his mouth. Neither Corlys nor Rhaenys understood why Prince Aenar cared for the commoners; they were below the dragons, and it was not like the commoners could fight against Dragons, so it was a mystery why Prince Aenar seemed to want their support as if he knew he would need it one day.

"What about him?" Corlys prompted. Rhaenys looked at him, annoyed, the goblet of wine now moving around her hand in circles.

"He has a look on his face; not even Daemon had that look."

"What look?"

"I'm not sure, but whenever he talks, sometimes it feels like I'm talking to someone much older than him. But the look he has on his face, he has ambitions." Rhaenys said as she took a sip from her wine.

"We all have ambitions, do you think I reach this far by doing nothing and hoping everything would be given to me in a silver platter." Corlys was quick to add that if he didn't have ambitions, then he wouldn't be here; ambition is what drives both men and women to strive higher, to climb the ladder, the ladder of power.

"I know, but not even Daemon has the look Prince Aenar has; I think he desires more than just the Iron Throne. I don't want him near Laena." Rhaenys said with a deep frown. Corlys kneeled to her level, his hand on her knee as he looked at her.

"Why? The few letters they sent to each other were all innocent." Corlys prompted; he knew Rhaenys must have a good reason not to want Aenar near their daughter other than being Daemon's son. Not that Corlys would ever agree to marry his daughter to Prince Aenar; his daughter would marry King Viserys and become Queen like she deserves to be. Corlys knew the King would never drop the chance to create a bond between House Targaryen and House Velaryon, not even for Lady Hightower; Viserys wasn't foolish enough to refuse the chance of an alliance between their houses.

Rhaenys again opened her mouth to speak, but no words were heard. Before Rhaenys could say anything, they heard someone knocking on the door. Corlys stood up, his hand extended towards Rhaenys, who took his hand as she stood on her feet from her seat, standing beside him.

"We will discuss later." Rhaenys spoke hushedly as they both left the chamber.

Iron Gate

As the sun descended, the distinct sound of horses' hooves reverberated through the damp and muddy ground, carrying all the way to the sturdy Iron Gate that marked the entrance to King's Landing. The place buzzed with a multitude of excited individuals eagerly anticipating the upcoming event. Anticipation reached its peak as the spectacle of the Tourney loomed only two days ahead. Valiant knights from far-flung lands had undertaken the arduous journey, seeking to test their mettle and luck in hopes of claiming titles and valuable prizes that awaited them at the tourney. However, an irresistible opportunity presented itself before these noble warriors: the chance to dance with Princess Rhaenyra. Houses from all over Westeros were arriving; she had heard that House Stark, including Princess Gael Targaryen-Stark, would arrive tomorrow.

As she sat in the comfort of her luxurious carriage, a soft breeze wafted in through the open window, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of smoke and freshly roasted meat. The lingering aroma danced around her senses. Her slender, elegant fingers, adorned with rings, clasped firmly around the vibrant red choker that graced her slender neck. Her red eyes were fixed upon the distant silhouette of the Red Keep, standing proudly amidst the sprawling cityscape. She had never thought that she would see another beauty built by Dragons.

The King's Landing shone through the night; the torches and candles were everywhere, and one would think it was the middle of the day. But she knew darkness was a good cover for thieves, too. Suddenly, the carriage stopped riding, and the door of the carriage opened, and a soldier motioned for her to step outside; she did without hesitation; the soldier was young, and his face turned red at the sight of her.

"M-My lady. Why are you coming to King's Landing?" The soldier managed to ask as he stuttered through his words. Her beautiful red lips twitched upwards.

She had beautifully flowing long hair cascading down her back; its color was burnished copper. Her captivating red eyes held a mesmerizing depth. Her skin possessed a flawless porcelain-like quality.

Her slender physique was accentuated by curves that perfectly complemented her overall aesthetic. Full breasts, while a narrow waist emphasized her delicate proportions. A heart-shaped face framed her captivating features.

Adorned in a flowing fabric of vibrant red, the gown she wore draped around her figure. A scarlet cloak cascaded down her shoulders.

"I want to have an audience with Prince Aenar Targaryen." She said bluntly. She never lied in her life. Her words seemed to catch the soldier off guard.

"The Prince? Does he know of your arrival?"

"Good soldier, I'm no danger to Prince Aenar; he's blessed by God. I have come from far away to meet him; if I'm lying, then the King will have my head." Her voice came out melodic and beautiful.

The soldier looked uncertain until a soldier with a gold cloak approached them from behind.

"Artti, why are you here?" The young soldier asked for the gold cloak. Artti's eyes flickered at her for a moment before telling the rider to pass through the gate.

"Don't worry, good ser. She's a healer."

She stopped listening to them, their voices sounding like distant echoes as her carriage rode through the Iron Gate, and she drove through Flea Bottom. Her fingers touched the red choker around her neck before touching the ruby that glittered brightly.

I can't wait to meet you, Prince Aenar, she thought with eagerness, her lips twitching upwards. The Red Lady looked at the Red Keep, getting closer, reminding herself of the vision she had seen.

One stood above all upon a sea of burned snakes, endless fields of scarlet sand, and endless burned flags. The flag of House Targaryen, Prince Aenar Targaryen, and beside him was a woman with long silver hair.

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