The Dragon & The Wolf - XXVII (Patreon)

Chapter XXVII : Those who rule over Winter

Cregan had never seen so many people in Winterfell’s Great Hall. Lords, heirs, men at arms, some ladies -though they all wore leather and chainmail armor-, the walls were covered with banners, Cregan tried to identify them all, but blushed in shame when he realized he did not even know half of those sigils.

To the little Lord’s left, Arthur Stark sat tall and proud in the Lord’s chair, dressed in furs and leathers, with a fine black velvet surcoat bearing the direwolf badge over his heart and a wolf’s pelt over his shoulders. Cregan had been forced into the same clothes and he did not like it; they were too tight, he felt like he was a prisoner in his own clothes.
Sara, being a bastard, sat on the sideline, Cregan had tried to protest, but Arthur had explained him that Sara’s mission was to examine the bannermen and watch out for anything suspicious. Both Giant and Shadow were sitting at their masters’ feet, Arthur had tasked both dire wolves to enter the Great Hall after the Lords had sat. Their presence had quickly established silence in the room, and when both beasts took place near their masters, Arthur’s authority had found itself reinforced by the living proof that he was a descendant of the Kings of Winter. Cregan had not listened to Arthur’s welcoming speech, something his cousin had noticed and had harshly punished for, later in the training yard.
"You are to be the Lord of this castle in a decade." He had chastised him once they were in Maester Alim’s solar to get his numerous bruises treated. "How can you be the Lord if you do not learn?"

Cregan had never made the same mistake again.
A man of the Night’s Watch had introduced himself to the Lords of the North under the name of ‘Edgard', with Arthur’s permission, the man had declared that the Magnar of the Thenns -Arthur had later told Cregan that ‘Magnar’ meant Lord- had united the wildlings into a single army and had declared himself ‘King Beyond the Wall’. The new King’s name was Daggon Head-Snatcher, a man renown to be half-giant for he was eight feet tall. According to the First-Ranger’s report, Daggon wore a bronze armor that he had found in the tomb of the Age of Heroes. His weapon was a two-handed steel axe that he had stolen from an Ironborn that had joined the Night’s Watch years ago. An axe he had used to slay the King of the Giants to obtain their allegiance. The name ‘Head-Snatcher’ was apparently related to the fact that he tore off the heads of his ennemis. Many scouts believe that it took him ten years to assemble his army and earn his crown, as he roamed the Lands beyond the Wall to kill all the clan leaders and add their people to his ranks. All those who had opposed him had died, and he had collected their skulls as trophies.

He was also reported to be a skin changer, as he rode a massive ten feet-tall white bear that had killed a giant and its mammoth if the rumors were true.
His army had a hundred thousand men in its ranks, a number that had caused an uproar in Winterfell’s Great Hall as soon as it had been revealed.

"Quiet!" Had yelled Arthur, and the Lords had quieted down.

Cregan did not know wether he was terrified or fascinated by the black brother’s tale. Daggon Head-Snatcher sounded like the kind of monster that could only be found in the stories of the Old Age. Was Arthur going to fight this monster? How would the Northerners plan the battle? Would they go North of the Wall or hold the Wall? Cregan had so many questions. And his cousin had all the answers, he hoped.

Later that evening, Arthur had assembled Lords and heirs around the largest table in Winterfell. 

As heir to the North, Cregan had been given a sit of honor next to his cousin, which earned him many hard stares from the Lords, as if they had wondered what right a boy should be placed above them. Arthur’s tactic had been simple: the lords were to reinforce each castle along the Wall with their own men. Each of the Nineteen castles would fall under the command of a Northern Lord, who would be tasked to hold it in case of a wildling incursion. Should the entire wildling army attack a specific portion of the Wall, the Lord in charge of that portion would signal the others for reinforcement. The main objective was to kill this so called ‘Daggon Head-Snatcher’, the wildlings had united under his strength, him gone, the army would disband as soon as words of his death would start to spread. 

Many lords accepted this plan, though some did it begrudgingly. But when Arthur started appointing the Lords to the castles they would defend, Domeric Karstark opened his mouth.

"I will take charge of Castleblack." He said, his voice strong and loud.
All eyes turned to him, all looks were disdainful or angry, except Arthur’s which was unimpressed.

"You?!" Harrion Umber roared. "I’d rather let that Daggon bastard snatch my head than place any of my men under your command, Karstark!"

"I don’t need any of your men, I have my own! I will l take charge of Castleblack."

"My uncle is Lord Commander of Castleblack." Gareth Forrester said, his tone calm but his voice strong. "By what right do you claim control of his castle?"

" He forfeited that right the moment he begged for our help." Karstark spat. "I have brought the most men, which means I will take charge of Castleblack."

"No you won’t." Arthur said, his voice calm and firm. "I will, we have twenty thousand men including the Night’s Watch, and there are nineteen castles to defend. Each Lord will have a thousand men under his command. Castleblack being the largest castle, its portion to defend is also larger. I and all of your heirs have lived beyond the Wall for a year, we have fought alongside the Night’s Watch against the Ice River Clans, during which Rogar Umber defeated Gerestre Raw Meat."

Lord Harrison Umber hit his son’s back with pride at Arthur’s words. The latter spoke again:

" Lord Karstark, you will take charge of Oakenshield."

The Lord of Karhold’s eyes almost burst out of their sockets.

"Oakenshield is small!" He protested.

"That’s why it must be guarded." Arthur argued. "A small keep is more likely to be attacked than a large one. You will take eight hundred of your men and reinforce the garrison."

"I will do no such thing!" Karstark roared. "I have brought two thousand men, and you expect me to simply give more than half of them to a green boy like you?! I will take command of Castleblack, boy, or I will take my men and march them home!"

Silence fell upon the table, all lords and heirs’ eyes, including Cregan’s, rested on Arthur who rolled his.

Domeric Karstark, despite being forty-four years old, had only been Lord of Karhold for less than a year. He had never fought any meaningful battle and seemed eager to prove himself as the Lord of one of the most powerful Northern houses. Arthur understood his reasons, but he had no time to deal with an overgrown child.

"Be careful who you’re calling green, Lord Karstark." He said, his tone cold and menacing. "You are greener than your own sons."

Mocking laughs erupted all around the table, but they died the moment Dominic Karstark unsheathed his sword.

"I will not be insulted by a boy who spent most of his life licking dragons’s cunts!" He roared again, his roars turned into screams the second he was done pronouncing his words.
Shadow’s massive jaws locked themselves around his leg and pulled him back, making him lose his balance and hit his head against the table edge. The black dire wolf dragged the screaming Lord of Karhold until it had enough space to jump at his back and pin him to the ground. Only Karstark’s twin sons, Galbart and Theomore, had risen from their sits, but none of them had been stupid enough to draw their steel. Erick Bolton cackled quietly at the Lord’s expense. Which earned him a cuff by his father Jorah.

Arthur picked up his horn of ale and drank.

"You are lucky I am only the Regent, Lord Karstark, for it is death to bear steel against your liege. Instead of taking your head, I will have you locked in the donjon until we are done with the wildlings. By then, I hope your head will be cool enough to remember your oaths so you can swear them again to my cousin, Cregan. If you don’t, Karhold will have a new lord. Guards, take him away."

Once the guards had done their duty and peace had returned, only Galbart Karstark had not taken back his seat.

"Arthur…" He said, his voice conflicted. "He is my father…"

"I know." The Regent’s voice did not waver. "And that is precisely why he still lives. I only spared him out of friendship for you. I trust you will be able to convince him to do what is best for your family and your house once we return. In the mean time, you will take command of Oakenshield in your father’s stead. Theomore will come with me to honor your house and put this incident behind us."

Galbart Karstark sighed in resignation and nodded, Theomore Karstark shook his head in sadness and did the same.

"My son." Bennard Stark spoke. 

As a Stark, he had been given the right to sit at Arthur’s left.

"As your father, I request the right to take charge of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea."

Arthur instantly rose his hand to kill the uproar in its crib.

"No." His tone was final. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. And our Lord, though he still breathes, cannot rule a castle. You will be the Stark, Father. Eastwatch-by-the-Sea needs a fleet to be defended, Lord Manderly will take command of the castle."

A murmure of approval went through the table, Bennard Stark scowled but kept his mouth shut.

Arthur spoke again:
"Lord Umber, Lord Manderly, Lord Bolton. I have three brothers that need to bleed themselves. Each one of you will take one of them. And though I don’t expect you to turn them into men in a matter of weeks, I trust you will beat some much needed sense into them."

Each lord nodded, Arthur put a hand on Cregan’s shoulder.

"Cregan, you’ll come with me to Castleblack as my squire."

The little Lord almost stuttered, but refrain himself from letting a single sound escape his lips. Lord Manderly voiced his concern:

"Is that wise, my lord? He is a boy."

"Aye, and in a decade he will be our Lord. The sooner he stops pissing grass, the better." Arthur said. "Rest easy my lords, I don’t intend to send him out against the Head Snatcher, that little pup would crawl up his mouth and eat his guts. Such a foe deserves a fair fight."

Lord Umber roared in laughter.

"By the old gods, what a shame! That would have made one hell of a song!"

And the Lords laughed, ignoring Cregan and the knots in his stomach, Arthursqueezed his shoulder and smiled at him when he rose his head, that made him a little better.

They spoke and argued for hours, Cregan almost fell asleep, but was always prevented by a roar of anger or laughter. Once the plans had been made, Arthur decreed that they would leave in four days, for they needed to wait until they had enough food to feed an army as massive as theirs for a few moons. Once all the Lords had left the Great Hall, Arthur dragged his cousin to a corner.

"Tomorrow, you will wake up early, fetch Ice and I will teach you how to take care of it." He told him. "Are you afraid?"

Cregan almost protested, but his cousin knew him too well. So he chose honesty.

"Yes."

"Good. It means you are not stupid. Now, I want you to make me a promise, little cousin of mine. You will do what I say, you will ask no question, and you will not disobey me. Swear it."

"I swear."

"Good." Arthur patted his head. "Go to sleep now, hard days are ahead and you need strength."

Cregan nodded and did as he was told, Giant stood up from near the hearth and followed its friend, ruffling his face with its nose to reassure him.

Once Arthur was alone, Shadow came to do the same with him. The Lord Regent scratched the top of his dire wolf’s head.

"It’s not easy, planning a war when you have a girl on your mind." He whispered.

Shadow whined in approval, which drew a slight grimace on Arthur’s face.

"I guess you miss her too, don’t you? She gave you more attention than I did… She spoiled you too."

Shadow slightly head butted his friend who laughed a sad laugh.

"What do you think she is doing?" He asked. "It has been six moons."

The direwolf tilted its head.

"I should stop thinking about her… if she listens to me then she will be married before the end of the year, but it is easier said than done when she haunts me every night."

(-)(-)(-)

Rhaenyra Targaryen had been standing in front of the weirwood tree for almost ten minutes, imagining Arthur sleeping at the Tree base and wondering how he prayed to his gods. She had always liked this tree, despite the face on its trunk, it was a rather relaxing spot. Since she was a child she had always thought that this relic of the First Men scarred the servants away because they considered it to be an insult to the Seven. But since Arthur had left, she had found herself in this place more often than before.

Rhaenyra wondered why, was it because this tree remind her of her Northerner? Was it because she had lost her faith in the Seven who are one and hoped the Old Gods of the First Men could answer her prayers? Or was it because she did not know what to do and was looking for an answer where she had never looked before?

She laid against the tree and closed her eyes, she pressed her ear against the trunk and wondered what she should pray for.

"What do I want?" She thought. 

Perhaps it was a good start, what did she want?

Over the past six moons her life had been nothing but misery. She had done everything that had been expected of her, she was the heiress to the Iron Throne, the Realm’s Delight, she was… alone.

"What do I want?" She thought again.

Rhaenyra imagined herself sitting on the Iron Throne, ruling as Jaehaerys and Aegon had ruled before her. She imagined herself as the best Queen, no, the best ruler the Seven Kingdoms would ever have. Everyone was in the Throne room, everyone was happy, her father, Alicent, even her half-siblings. Then she saw Laenor Velaryon, smiling, surrounded by children that could only be theirs. Each one of them… Rhaenyra tried to imagine them as beautiful as pureblooded Valyrians could be. Then, she spotted Arthur, leaning against the great doors with his arms crossed, a small yet proud smile was displayed on his face.

Everything was perfect, she had succeeded, she had done her duty, that was everything Arthur and her had worked for.

Rhaenyra felt a tear run down her cheek, sadness had taken her and she knew why: such a vision, if it ever came true, would never make her happy. If she could not reach happiness, then how could this be called ‘a success’?

"Love is the death of duty." Arthur had said. "And duty is the death of love."

"Arthur had chosen duty and I… refused to choose."

And she had lost everything… Arthur was gone, Arthur hated her, Arthur was scarred for life, Arthur would never marry her, Arthur would never love her.

Rhaenyra cried but did not sob, she let her tears flow but controlled her breath, she hid her face against the trunk and lost herself in her own mind.

Every night she dreamt of him, every night she was happy, even for a short time, she dreamt of children that had her eyes and his hair, others that had her hair and his eyes, she dreamt of boys that looked like him and girls that looked like her, she dreamt of making them, she dreamt of his skin, of his embrace, of his lips, of their love. Then everything turned to ash and she woke up …alone.

"I don’t want to be alone." She whispered to the weirwood. "I want to spend my days and my nights in his arms, I want to make him happy, I want him to sire my children, I want… I want him to love me as much as I love him, I want…"

She took a deep breath.

"I want to make things right. If you cannot grant me what I have lost, then please… Please, show me the way toward redemption."

A minute passed, and then another, Rhaenyra kept crying against the white bark, hoping no one would see her in such a state.

When she was out of tears, she exhaled to calm her emotions. The hour was growing late, and she had to prepare for diner, she opened her eyes in defeat.

And gasped in fear when she saw that the Red Keep was gone.

Rhaenyra instantly stood up and looked around, a powerful wind hit her figure and almost made her sway. She spun around frantically. Even the weir wood tree was gone! She found herself in a plain covered in grass, a plain that was cut in half by the largest river Rhaenyra had ever seen. 

On the other side of said river, the Princess almost screamed in alarm when she saw what could only be a large army, she kept spinning around, looking for help, and ended up seeing men at arms carrying Targaryen banners, she rushed to them.

"Help!" She called. "I am the Princess Rhaenyra of House Targaryen! I demand to speak to whomever is in charge! Where am I?!"

Despite her cries, none of the men at arms moved, they did not even turn toward her, they kept chatting as if they hadn’t seen or heard her.
When she finally reached them, she gasped to catch her breath.

"You…" She pointed at one of them, a fat man wearing boiled leather. "I demand to know…"

"You think the Northerners will bend the knee?" He asked his companion, ignoring the panting princess.

The other, a short man with a red beard, laughed a burly laugh.

"You’ve never crossed the Neck, have you? Northerners are more stubborn than mules, they would rather burn than bend."

The fat man wrinkled his nose and spat on the ground.

"It’s gonna reek of burnt meat then. I say it’s about fucking time, the Seven must have sent us King Aegon to get rid of those faithless pagans. Just like he did with than bastard, Harren."

Rhaenyra widened her eyes. 

"King Aegon? Harren… the Black?"

It was useless, they still could not hear her. 

The man with the red beard spoke:

"You think the Seven chose a sister-fucker to spread their faith? This is horseshit."

"Well it doesn’t matter, I suppose. The sooner those Northern cunts burn, the better. We’ll be in for a short winter after they’re gone, they won’t ever bring it back."

They both laughed at that. Not knowing that a certain Princess had been listening to them and was feeling more confused by the second.

"What is going on?" She whispered, ignoring the men’s laughs. "Where am I? Why can’t anyone see me? Or hear me?"

A mighty roar pulled her out of her thoughts, Rhaenyra rose her head, and saw a Dragon larger than Vhagar herself fly above her to land at the River’s shore.

Rhaenyra could not believe her eyes, that dragon was black as coal, considering its size, only one dragon fitted that description.

"Balerion…" She murmured.
Rhaenyra started to run, she could not say why, she could not tell if she had a specific purpose. Perhaps she wanted to see the Conqueror for what he was, perhaps she felt that she needed to be where Balerion had landed, it did not matter in the end, she ran.
Once she finally reached the shore, she threw one hesitant glance towards the Black Dread, once she was sure it could not see her, she turned her head towards the man that was standing in front of the River, with his arms crossed and a serious expression on his face.
Aegon the Conqueror was not very tall, that was the first thing Rhaenyra noticed, yet he was broad-shouldered and powerful in appearance. The Realm’s Delight could tell how charismatic her ancestor was, his simple presence commanded respect.

"Can you see me?" She asked, but got no answer. "Well… You look like Daemon… Or… Well Daemon looks like you, I suppose."

She snorted, she was standing next to the greatest man in the history of her House, and those were the words she had spoken in his presence? She was glad he could not hear her.

She glanced once again toward the Black Dread and found it majestic. This Dragon was more terrifying than Vhagar, Rhaenyra felt a touch of sadness as she remembered the skull in front of which, her father had told her about Aegon’s dream.

"Am I dreaming too?" She wondered out loud. "I must be, it is the only explanation that makes sense."

"There you are." Aegon said, startling his descendant. "You took your damn time."

For a dreadful second, Rhaenyra thought he had been addressing her, but when she followed his gaze, she saw a raft with a dozen people, rowing in their direction. A tall man with dark long hair tied to the back, wearing a wolf’s pelt and a crown, was standing proud at the edge of the embarkation.

"Don’t be stubborn, Stark." Aegon murmured between his teeth. "Bend the knee and be done with it."

Once she had heard those words, Rhaenyra finally knew where she was and when she was. 

She was in the Riverlands, south of the Trident, the man coming to meet her ancestor was none other than Torrhen Stark, the Last King of Winter, the ‘King who knelt’ as the Northerners had dubbed him.
"Expecting a Stark not to be stubborn is like expecting the Sun not to shine." She casually said toward Aegon and giggled. "I know that by experience."

As the King in the North jumped out of his raft and walked toward the Dragon King, Rhaenyra wondered:

"This cannot be a coincidence. This is… insane and yet… fascinating! Do I owe this vision to the Old Gods? Is that their answer to my prayers?"

Rhaenyra was baffled, she had never truly been a pious woman, learning about the Faith of the Seven had been mandatory since she had been a toddler, following it had been part of her duties. But every time she had prayed to them, she had gotten no answer but the calming of her mind once her heart had opened. She had opened her heart to the Old Gods as well, and their answer had been… perhaps not ‘godly’, though she did not know what could truly be ‘godly’. But at the very least, this was something incredible. For the first time since Arthur had left, she did not feel alone, someone had listened to her, someone had answered her prayers. Now, she needed to find what it meant.

Torrhen Stark was even taller up close, he was at least five inches taller than Aegon, he carried a greatsword at his back, Rhaenyra believed it was at least six feet tall.

"King Aegon." Torrhen greeted, his voice gruff and firm that reminded the Princess of her own Northerner.

"King Torrhen." Aegon greeted back with a polite nod. "Your brother has been… most passionate about those negotiations."

Torrhen shook his head with sad amusement.

"Brandon is a true Northerner, and a Stark despite his bastardy, he did not fear your dragons, he thought he could poison them during their sleep."

Aegon’s purple eyes shone a dangerous light as Rhaenyra rose her eyebrows in dismay.

"I bet Arthur would have tried something like that, had he been here." She snorted.

"It would not have worked." Aegon warned.

"You do not know that, neither do I, in the end it does not matter, it is not going to happen."

The Dragon King’s shoulders slightly relaxed after those words.

"So… What is your decision, King in the North?"

Torrhen took his time to answer, he looked at the Black Dread, whose growl though throaty, was still menacing, then he looked at his men on the other side of the Trident, finally, he looked in Aegon’s eyes.

"Here are my terms." He declared, his tone strong yet regretful. "You will take no hostage from the North. You will not tax us until the end of the next Winter, so that we can prepare for the survival of our people. You will not take my sword, nor any Northern ancestral blade. Make those promises, and I will bend the knee to you and call you my King."

Aegon did not uncross his arms, yet, Rhaenyra could tell that he was relieved. Perhaps he had felt remorse after the Fields of Fire and wished for as little deaths as possible for the accomplishment of his dream.

"Your sword." Aegon spoke casually. "I have heard it was made of Valyrian steel. And I have also heard that it was thousands of years old. May I see it?"

"It is not thousands of years old, the name ‘Ice’ is a legacy from the Age of Heroes, this sword is merely two hundred years old and was forged in Valyria a century before the doom."

Aegon clearly looked disappointed by those informations.

"Nonetheless, I would like to see it if you would allow me."

Torrhen frowned slightly, but unsheathed his sword nonetheless, Rhaenyra was astounded by the sheer beauty of this weapon. 

Aegon took it and examined it closely.

" This sword is also part of the legacy of Valyria." He declared after a minute of examination and a few swings. "I wish for Westeros to become a new Valyria, and I cannot do so by diminishing those who have ruled it for millennia with fairness and justice. Keep it, I swear neither I nor my descendants will ever covet it."

He handed it back to the King in the North who sheathed it back.

"So?" The Northerner asked. "Do we have an agreement?"

"I have a condition of my own, King Torrhen." Aegon said. "If I cannot have your sword, then I request your crown."

Both Rhaenyra and Aegon could clearly tell that the King in the North was not happy about this request, but Westeros only had one King now, and only a King could wear a Crown.

"I will give it to you if you swear to uphold your end of our bargain."

Aegon nodded.

"I, Aegon Targaryen, the First of my name, King of Westeros by right of Conquest, swear that I will take no Northern hostage, I will not tax my Northern subjects until the end of the next Winter, and neither I nor my descendants, will take any ancestral northern blade from their rightful owner."

Torrhen nodded, he took his crown off, took a knee down, and handed his crown towards his new king with both hands.

"I Torrhen Stark, Lord of Winterfell and King in the North, promise to be faithful to King Aegon of House Targaryen, I pledge fealty to him, and shall defend him against all enemies, in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by the Old Gods."

"And the New." Aegon added.

Torrhen Stark rose his head.

"The New mean nothing to me, swearing by them would be an empty oath, and Northerners do not make empty oaths. Remember this if you wish to rule upon us."

Both Aegon and Rhaenyra snorted. Northerners, what an interesting bunch.

"Then I accept your oath, Lord Torrhen."

Aegon took the Crown from Torrhen’s hands and looked at it, Rhaenyra did as well, intrigued.

The Crown of Winter was an open circlet of hammered bronze incised with runes that were probably written in the Old Tongue, surmounted by nine black iron spikes in the shape of longswords.

Contrary to Ice, this crown was thousands of years old, and Torrhen had given it to Aegon to save his people. Rhaenyra could read the pain on the former King’s face and felt a pang in her heart.

"It is humiliating for him." She understands. "He has chosen duty over pride, and will always be remembered as ‘the King who knelt’, is that the lesson the Old Gods are trying to teach me?"

She looked at the Crown again, and realized that a direwolf adorned the front of the Crown. She instantly thought of Arthur and Shadow.

"Arthur had sacrificed his pride to serve me, no matter how many times I disappointed him, he kept trying until I went too far. What I did… At least Aegon had the decency to allow Northerners to prepare for the next Winter and had not taken away their legacy and pride. Only Torrhen had been humiliated. But it had been his choice, I disrespected Arthur’s choice and humiliated not only him, but his House. I owe him reparations…"

She looked at them again, Aegon, who looked as proud as he was relieved, and Torrhen who looked as relieved as he was humiliated… The Starks had ruled upon the North for thousands of years, resisting rebellions, ironborn incursions and wildlings invasions, yet, it had only taken one Valyrian man and his spouses to make them lose their…

Rhaenyra’s eyes almost popped out of their sockets, could it be? Would that close the wound she had opened in her northerner’s heart? Could it truly be so simple? 

"Rhaenyra…"

She froze, that call had barely been louder than a murmur, yet she had heard it. She looked, once again at the Kings of old, but none of them had noticed her.

"Rhaenyra."

It was getting louder, the Princess spun around trying to locate who was calling her.

"Rhaenyra!"

And she woke.
She coughed violently when she realized than an unknown liquid with a weird taste had found its way inside her mouth. She spat it and noticed its red color. The weir wood tree had been crying its sap, and she had drank some without realizing it.

She was about to wonder if anything of this had been real, but someone grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to look at their face.

"Rhaenyra!" Her father cried, relieved. "Are you alright? What happened? I have been worried sick! We’ve been looking all over the castle for you."

The Princess was still confused by the dream she had and her father’s screams did nothing to help her regain her senses.

"I…" She did not know what to say, what was there to be said anyway? She had dreamt. 

"I fell asleep."

"Gods be good." Viserys let out a long sigh. "Are you sick? What did you swallow?"

Rhaenyra blushed, her father had been accompanied by two Kingsguards, Ser Steffon had not left her side during her nap, but looked sheepish.

"I was not in danger." She protested. "Ser Steffon stayed dutifully by my side."

"Ser Steffon should have woken you up."

"He is not allowed to touch me." Rhaenyra argued. "And he knows I am… Well… I… I’m not always happy when someone wakes me up."

Viserys snorted in dismay and rolled his eyes, out of all the things his daughter could have said, he had not expected that.

"I think I have worked too hard." She finally said, it was a lie, she felt fine but had no wish to answer any of her father’s questions. "I am sorry about supper… But I think it is best for me to rest for tonight."

The King was not happy, Rhaenyra could tell that he knew she was hiding something. But what was there to hide? She had fallen asleep in the gardens and felt tired. Viserys had no reason to question her need to rest.

"Very well." He conceded. "I will have the maester sent to your room."

"Oh! There is no need, Father, I…" She yawned a genuine yawn. "… I will probably fall asleep the moment I put myself into bed."

Viserys had reserves, anyone could tell that by reading his face, so he added:

"The maester will visit you in the morrow then."

"Very well." She accepted, that meant she had all night to find what she needed.

Once she was back in her room, she waited. Her father would probably have a servant bring her her supper in her room, and another to take the dirty dishes away. No one must notice her absence.

Once a handmaiden had arrived with a plate filled with soup, roasted swan, butter mushrooms and boiled vegetables. She told her:

"Do not come back for the dishes before the morrow, I am tired and will sleep once I am done eating my supper. I do not wish to be disturbed.

"Very well, Princess." She bowed and left.

Rhaenyra was tempted to leave now, but the protests of her stomach stop her in her tracks. So she sat and ate, and was surprised to find so much appetite in herself.
For moons she had starved herself, for moons she had lost hope for a future. But tonight, tonight her prayers had been answered and she now had a new purpose, that she hoped, would lead her to redemption.
Soon, very soon, she would see Arthur again.