The high-arched windows of Maidenpool's keep offered a sweeping view of the Bay of Crabs, but inside the solar the afternoon sun did little to ease the weight that hung over the court.
Upon a long oak table lay a map of the Seven Kingdoms, its corners pinned beneath bronze weights. Seven-year-old Rhaenyra Targaryen sat perched upon a chair far too large for her, her legs dangling above the floor as she idly traced lines across a scrap of parchment with a piece of charcoal.
Standing beside her was Alicent Hightower.
At sixteen, Alicent was the very image of Oldtown propriety. Her dark curls were pinned neatly back, and her grey gown was modest and severe. Though she had spent her formative years at court in King's Landing, her heart remained tied to the stability of the South. A slender weirwood pointer rested in one hand as she conducted the lesson.
"The Reach is the breadbasket of the realm, Princess," Alicent said, tapping the painted green expanse upon the map. "Through the bounty of the Mander come grain, fruit, and harvests enough to feed much of Westeros. It is a land of fertile fields and flowering meadows, where the roses—"
Her voice faltered.
Her gaze drifted southward through the window. For a heartbeat, the careful composure she wore slipped away. Grief for the burning heartland of her home region touched her features before she mastered herself once more.
Rhaenyra looked up.
Not at the map.
At Alicent.
"It burned."
The words broke the silence, dropping into the quiet room like a stone into a still pond.
Alicent stiffened, her hand freezing over the parchment.
"What did you say, Princess?"
"The Reach," Rhaenyra said, climbing down from her chair. The charcoal rolled forgotten across the table as she walked closer to her tutor. "I saw it in your face. You looked the way Father does when the maesters bring black-sealed letters. It burned beneath the blue dragon's fire, didn't it? That is why the pavilions outside are empty. That is why you're sad."
Alicent felt her stomach knot.
The King had strictly forbidden any open talk of the disaster, desperate to maintain an illusion of stability. Yet his daughter had reached the truth all the same.
"Princess, we are studying geography, not court gossip," Alicent said, desperately trying to force her voice back into a stern, educational drone.
"It is not gossip," Rhaenyra insisted, her sharp violet eyes flashing as she pointed a small finger toward the window. The distant, rhythmic sound of hammers echoed from the fields below. "They are building a giant circus outside the walls. They are going to drink wine, eat roast boar, and cheer for men hitting each other with sticks. Meanwhile, the Tyrells' lands are covered in blue ash! Why are we pretending everything is fine? It's a lie. It makes us look foolish, not strong!"
Alicent closed her eyes for a brief second, feeling the raw, unyielding heat of the child's Targaryen blood. Rhaenyra saw the world in absolute truths—in fire and steel. She was too young to understand that a crown was held together by thread and whispers.
"It is not a lie, Princess. It is a shield," Alicent explained patiently, looking down at the empty spaces on the map where the Mander twisted toward Highgarden. "If your father cancels this celebration, he sends a message to the entire world. He tells the Stepstones, the Triarchy, and the Dornish that a single rogue dragon can paralyze the Iron Throne. He tells them we are afraid."
"But we are afraid!" Rhaenyra argued, stepping right into Alicent's space and grabbing her hand. Her small face was filled with fierce, stubborn conviction. "You are afraid. I saw it in your eyes. If a monster can melt the Tyrells' castles into blue glass, a tourney won't change that. We shouldn't hide behind a feast. We should go there! I have Syrax. She grows larger and faster every day, Alicent. If we fly south right now, Syrax can fight the blue dragon. We can find it and make it answer for what it did to the Reach!"
Alicent's blood ran cold.
The frantic pace of the conversation suddenly crashed into a wall of genuine terror. Hearing a seven-year-old speak so casually of dragon warfare—of pitting a young, untested dragon against a sapphire nightmare—shattered her composure completely.
She dropped the weirwood pointer.
It clattered against the floor as she seized the princess's shoulders.
"Princess, stop!"
The sharpness of her tone made the little girl blink, her breath catching.
"You must never, ever say such things," Alicent said.
Then she stopped.
The words that followed came not from a tutor, nor a lady-in-waiting, but from a frightened friend.
"Rhaenyra," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Not to me. Not to your father. Not where any lord may hear. Fight it? And do what? Die? Let Syrax burn until she is nothing but yellow bone? You think like a warrior, but your father must think like a king."
Rhaenyra's lower lip trembled, caught between her fierce desire to help and the sudden shock of the rebuke.
"But I want to protect you. I want to kill the thing that made you weep."
Alicent's expression cracked.
"I know."
She pulled the little princess into a tight embrace.
For a moment she simply held her, burying her face in silver-gold hair and inhaling the faint scent of lavender and sweet milk. The fear she had carried since the ravens arrived from the south felt suddenly unbearable.
"I know you do, little dragon," Alicent whispered. "You have a giant heart. But some monsters are not so easily hunted. Syrax is your joy. Do not think of her as a weapon."
She pulled back enough to meet Rhaenyra's eyes.
"The lords of the Riverlands and the Stormlands are arriving even as we speak," she murmured softly. "They are frightened, and they are looking to the Crown for reassurance. If we show them a mourning court, we invite chaos. But if they see King Viserys sitting high, smiling, and distributing gold, they will believe the Iron Throne is still unshakable."
Her gaze drifted briefly toward the window.
"A tourney is a distraction, yes. But right now, a distraction may be the only thing keeping the kingdom from tearing itself apart."
Rhaenyra stared at her.
The anger slowly drained from her expression, replaced by reluctant understanding.
The lesson tasted bitter.
Yet she could not deny its truth.
"So..." she whispered. "I have to put on a pretty dress, and smile at the knights, even if my heart feels heavy?"
"Yes."
Alicent offered a tender, bittersweet smile.
"You must be the Realm's Delight, because right now the realm desperately needs something to delight in."
Rhaenyra glanced toward the map.
Then back to Alicent.
"Promise me you will leave the fighting to the knights, the parleys to Princess Rhaenys, and simply play your part."
The young princess hesitated.
Then she nodded.
"I promise."
"Good."
Alicent released a breath she felt she had been holding for days.
She bent down, retrieved the fallen weirwood pointer, and smoothed the creases from her skirts.
For a few moments neither spoke.
Outside, the sound of hammers continued their steady rhythm as pavilions rose across the fields.
The kingdom prepared to celebrate.
Even while part of it mourned.
At last Alicent tapped the blue ribbon of the Mander once more.
"Now," she said, her voice regaining its calm, measured cadence, "let us return to our lesson. A princess must know her realm, even when parts of it are grieving."
The valley echoed with the groan of breaking stone.
High above, four robed figures hovered between the peaks like dark carrion birds. Their movements were perfectly synchronized. As one, they wrenched colossal boulders from the surrounding mountainsides and sent them hurtling downward.
Entire sections of cliff face broke apart and plunged toward Thaddeus like falling stars.
Gritting his teeth, he slashed his wand through the air.
A titanic wave of silver force erupted upward. The spell collided with the descending avalanche in a deafening crack that echoed through the valley. Several of the boulders shattered instantly into clouds of dust and gravel, but the rest continued their descent, undeterred.
Thaddues reacted without hesitation. Lunging toward a lightning-struck oak nearby, he swept his free hand over a fallen branch. The wood twisted and reshaped itself in an instant, forming the polished handle and rigid bristles of a broom.
Throwing a leg over it, he launched himself skyward just as the surviving boulders slammed into the ground. The impact gouged a crater into the valley floor and sent debris exploding outward.
Wind lashed against his face as he climbed. Behind him, the four wizards immediately gave chase, their dark robes streaming through the air.
A streak of amber light flashed toward him.
Thaddues dipped sharply to one side and flicked his wand. The jinx ricocheted away, striking a nearby cliff face and reducing part of it to a cascading landslide.
His pursuers were already preparing another attack.
Three raised their wands in unison. The clouds above churned and darkened as transfiguration magic seized control of the atmosphere itself. White vapor thickened into massive hands of compressed mist, their fingers stretching across the sky as they closed around him from every direction.
Moments before they could crush him, Thaddues fixed his mind on a point below.
Crack.
He vanished.
The cloud-hands slammed together around empty air while Thaddeus reappeared on the valley floor, his boots skidding through loose dirt. The reprieve lasted less than a heartbeat.
Four brilliant spells erupted from above and converged on his position.
"Protego Maxima!"
A shimmering dome sprang into existence around him.
The first curse struck with tremendous force. Cracks raced across the shield's surface like fractures spreading through glass. The impact reverberated through his entire body, and he knew at once the barrier would not survive the remaining attacks.
Acting on instinct, Thaddues ripped his arm upward.
The earth answered.
A massive sphere of bedrock tore free from the valley floor, ripping roots and stone from the ground as it rose before him. The remaining spells slammed into it an instant later.
The explosion was cataclysmic.
Rock vaporized into molten fragments. Dirt and debris blasted outward in every direction. When the dust began to settle, the valley bore little resemblance to what it had been moments before. Craters scarred the landscape, artificial fog drifted between shattered ridges, and ancient stone formations lay broken across the ground.
Crouched behind the settling cloud of dust, Thaddues fought to steady his breathing. His heart hammered against his ribs, and for a brief moment he allowed himself to believe he had weathered the assault.
Then a calm voice cut through the ringing in his ears.
"In battle, never lose focus."
Before he could turn, a flash of red light struck him square in the chest.
Pain exploded through his body.
It felt as though molten fire had been poured into his veins. His vision blurred, his legs threatened to give way, and he barely managed to remain standing by bracing himself against his wand.
Through the haze, he looked up.
Rowena stood amidst the ruined terrain, untouched by the chaos surrounding her. Smoke drifted around her robes, and the tip of her wand still glowed with a faint crimson ember. Her expression revealed nothing.
"Again," she said.
Thaddues swallowed against the metallic taste of blood and forced himself upright. Every muscle trembled in protest.
Looking at Rowena's unwavering stance, he felt a bitter realization settle over him.
He deeply regretted how arrogantly he had behaved toward her in the carriage.
TBC
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