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Chapter Text

All Hail The King

Chapter 1

Balerion sought out the god called 'Master of Death' he wasn't easy to find, he'd been searching for months. He'd thought about summoning him, but he nixed the idea. He wished to be granted a favour, not piss him off. No god reacted well to being summoned through a ritual (it literally forces one to attend) albeit depending on how powerful you were. Plus, the last time he'd been summoned…had not gone well at all, and it wasn't repeat performance he wished, not that it could happen, thus his search for this elusive MOD. He didn't seem to stay in the same area long, constantly travelling and if he went down to visit the world, there was no following him thus he had to wait until he returned.

'You better be quick, he never stays in one world long, his visits are always quick and fleeting things' he'd been warned by Meraxes, when he'd informed her of his decision to ask the young god for a favour. Hoping against all hope to save the Targaryen family from its fate and thus save the entire world of man from its folly. The entire situation left him feeling enraged, his warnings were not being heeded. It was as if this Targeryen was blind and deaf! All his warnings had been heeded, if they had not, they would have perished in the doom.

He could have cursed Meraxes for not giving him more information, he feared any moment that he would go back to his own world where they couldn't follow. Well, he could, he just shouldn't. God's were extremely territorial, the only exception to the rule was the MOD, he was a supreme being.

Nobody would mess with him.

He envisioned something grand, tall, foreboding, ominous and without equal.

He must confess, he did not expect a short, black haired, aristocracy features, delicate to be sure, and the most beautiful green eyes he'd ever seen. He watched him chat with Vhagar of all people. One of the grouchiest, intolerable gods, and he was laughing, genuinely enjoying the MOD's presence. Then again, this might be just one of the many visions of himself, just as they kept their full 'god' features hidden.

"…they really are my favourites, it's been a long time since I had them," a very pleased look on Vhagar's face, he was surrounded by his favourite foods, peaches and figs and other fruits from Dorne, favourite fish from the north, and a whole host of cakes and muffins from Westeros. They could make their own food, but they couldn't summon it from the human realm and since they could no longer venture down, they couldn't get them like they used to.

Vhagar's gaze shuttered seeing Balerion approaching, not out of hate or anger, but because he knew his rather pleasant conversation was about to be cut off.

"I do apologise for interrupting your conversation, I am hoping that you'll help us," Balerion said quietly and without presumption, he definitely didn't want to enrage this god, he'd heard a rumour that he'd killed another god for his impetuousness. Just because they didn't enter each other's domains didn't mean they didn't and couldn't get word to one another.

Harry narrowed his gaze upon Balerion, noticing his features were near completely identical to Vhagar's, most of the minor gods were the same too. "What do you want?" Harry asked, without an ounce of political savvy in his body.

Vhagar smothered his amusement, he was unlike anyone he'd ever met. The complete ass kissing they got as major gods had gotten bored centuries ago. It's what had drawn him to Harry in the first place and actually strike up a conversation. He hadn't expected him to go down and bring up his favourites, the beer though, he'd hoard that and use it sparingly.

"Your help," Balerion declared, feeling a little wrong footed over his abrupt manner, finally understanding what had drawn Vhagar to him in the first place.

Harry ached a brow, "With what?" raising his hand, and a glass bottle appeared in front of him, and he grasped it before it could fall. Then three glasses followed, but he didn't touch them, he poured them while they were in midair, and then they zoomed to each of them.

"With her," Balerion declared, and an image of a woman stood before them.

Harry straightened up; his features impassive as he stared at the hologram of the young woman.

Vhagar made a small sound, as steam poured of his ears, after drinking the contents of the glass. Harry's lips curled up in amusement. A delighted look graced his features, before they smoothed back out, "This might just be my new favourite." He declared; it made every single bit of his body tingle like fire.

"It's my favourite also," Harry murmured, pleased that he liked it, handing over the bottle, with a roguish grin "Tell me everything." His gaze never wavering from the hologram.

Balerion did, he explained what came of the house Targaryen, the civil war that killed off the dragons, the death of the eggs and a child king so terrified of them he ordered the destruction of the rest of them. Of the three petrified eggs being saved, and how big a part they played in the future. Of the mad kings actions, and that of his son and the two wives he took, culminating in the Targaryen's dynasty's abrupt end. How three had survived the usurpers desire to wipe out the Targaryen's entirely. How the weight of the world ultimately broke her, the betrayal, the treason, and her death.

Harry frowned, replenishing his glass, he pointed to Balerion glass held loosely in his hand, "You're leaving something out, nobody, never mind a god, would interfere for that." He knew from personal experience that the gods themselves cared little for the mortal realm. Their lives were so fleeting that blink of an eye to a god they were gone and in the ground. It might have been fascinating once upon a time, but now? No, they held no desire to watch, like a child with a new toy, play with it a few times before discarding it to rot in the corner.

Vhagar laughed, cheeks rosy, flushed with drink "He's got you there, Bale," naturally he knew everything, it was something they all discussed a lot.

Balerion smiled, despite the conversation, he hadn't seen Vhagar like this in a long, long time. Vhagar missed going down and mingling with humanity, and enjoying the fruits of their labour. This, this was once in a lifetime sort of deal, sooner or later the MOD would leave although, given how he made Vhagar laugh and smile he hoped it wouldn't be for a long time yet. "That's not even half of it." He confessed, inhaling sharply, ignoring the scoff that came from the MOD.

"Harry, hear him out, you'll enjoy this." Vhagar said, causing Balerion to startle, Harry? Well, that was far simpler than MOD, but until he had permission perhaps it was best not to use his name.

"Tell me everything, I do detest half-truth's and lies," his tone cold and dark, staring at the palm of his hand as if it had a hidden message.

Balerion clicked his fingers, and the girl disappeared, and a figure almost completely white, appeared on the hologram. Eyes piercing blue, and utterly ethereal. They were too supernatural to be human, that thing. "This is the Night King, once a mortal man, one of the First Men, who was waging a long war with Children Of The Forest, he became a captive, killed for a terrible purpose. Killed with a cursed blade, his eyes turning blue, turning him immediately into one of the First Walkers. You see, they created him to defend them from the First Men of Westeros. They were cutting down their sacred heart trees and slaughtering their people.

Harry felt a shiver going through him, as the images played for him to see. He had a feeling he knew exactly what was going to happen. You couldn't do what they did without consequences. Recalling his own actions, after what had been done to him. He didn't regret it, not even a little bit.

"However, the White Walkers soon turned on their creators," Balerion declared, and Harry nodded as if confirming his own inner thoughts, confirming his suspicions. "It begun what is known here as The Long Night."

"Let me guess, they worked together to get rid of the 'true evil'," a dry look on his face, no matter where you went, what you did, the stories were all the same, just different people.

"You'd be correct, but the Night King survived, he retreated to the place that's called The Land Of Always Winter. Where they hid and faded from memory, becoming naught but a legend." Balerion continued.

Harry arched a brow, pursing his lips, surely those there would have handed those stories down through the ages. however, they weren't very good at naming things were they? The Land of Always Winter? Hopefully they spread the word, to ensure that if anything happened again, they'd know what to do. Then again, perhaps it wasn't an important part of the tale and Harry had no desire to know if they did or not. He stood up and strode around the seating area, his gaze never wavering from the figure. Seeing him reanimate a dragon had shivers running down his back, and goosebumps raising along his arms.

"The curse is attached to the Night King, kill him the rest will die with him." he easily deduced, live as long as he did, you learned.

"Correct," Balerion said, with a smirk, not surprised the god was on the same page as them.

"What do you need from me?" Harry asked bluntly, "To kill him?" sitting back down in his seat.

"You're not the chosen one." Balerion shook his head.

Harry barked out a laugh, "Depends on who you ask." Green eyes gleaming with deadly intent, as if begging to unleash his baser desires and just end everything and everyone in the world. "Did she do it?" there had to be a whole other reason he was being asked for something.

"No," Balerion confessed, "She was killed before she could complete her task, and with her any hope of humanity surviving ended."

"And?" putting his feet up hoping he'd get to the bottom of his quest sooner rather than later. What did they want him to do? Kill the night king? Go back and prevent whatever or whoever caused her death and save her? Lead her on the right path?

"They weren't the only danger," Balerion said ominously, "When Aegon, Visenya, Rhaenys conquered Westeros, we allowed him to see the great night, the Night King was only part of it…with the death of dragons and the last of the magic from the First Men that world could bring to bear…comes the true long night."

Harry's eyes widened, "An ice age," seeing nothing except white on the landscape of the hologram, he couldn't imagine the fear that would inspire in someone. He was just one man, strong, powerful, but still ultimately one person and he knew how it felt to have the weight of the world upon your shoulders. He wouldn't wish it on anyone.

Harry could imagine the sheer terror for snow to barrage them on all ends, after multiple and lavish feasts in succession leaving them without provisions. Then the snow, raining down upon them, thinking it's only a winter until humanity ended, unable to survive the harsh and unrelenting cold without food and warmth.

"The Targaryen's are demi-gods, children of your own seed," Harry deduced, he would be a fool not to realize it, that girl had looked a near carbon copy of them. Purple eyes, and white hair? It was only natural to want to save your family, he guessed. "I don't get why their existence would prevent an ice age…" the gods having children with mortals was nothing new, they'd done it since the dawn of time. All of their offspring - or family line - had done something worthwhile. If was the nature of Demi-gods, vastly intelligent, drew people in, captivating.

"Humanity would describe it as a ice age, but the truth is this world cannot survive without magic," Balerion declared grimly, wondering at his use of ice age, had he not been around to know that any barren wasteland - Iceland - were plants long forgotten never gotten out of their infancy when magic died out?

Harry laughed bitterly, "Hmm…and let me guess, there's a faith that denounces all magic?" he hated faith, humanity believing in them was the biggest curse of them all. humanity did unspeakable things all in name of their beloved gods who didn't give a second blink at them. Didn't care what they envoked, prayed or even killed in their name, humanity was just insignificant for the most part.

Vhagar's own lips curled into a disgusted sneer, their own people had converted over to the very faith that renounces them. Believes them to be an abomination, the betrayal sat heavily upon their tongues. Regretfully, they Targaryen's did not remember their own history, they didn't know any better. They weren't sure how long they could let the insults stand.

Balerion inclined his head, yes, it's true the faith – people without an ounce of magic – believed it to be an abomination.

"Fine I'll help her kill the Night King," Harry replied, although, part of him was quietly cautioning himself, having control over him if they touched? The entire world would be in horrifying danger that would make the ice age look like a preferable outcome. He'd just make sure she knew what to do, and when to do it. Use magic to keep him contained at a distance. He wasn't sure if this creature could do anything to him…but the ease in which he'd claimed control over a magical dragon was beyond terrifying. It was little wonder he won to be honest.

"Your help would be needed far earlier in the timeline," Balerion denied him, but was pleased he wanted to help. Unaware of course, that his words themselves, what he called 'the chosen one' had his attention more than anything else. He'd do anything to prevent someone from having to go through what he did.

"Now you're just beginning to piss me off," Harry stated, his British accent peeking through in his ire. His gaze boring into Balerion with a glare that spoke a promise of unending pain if he didn't stop his bullshit.

"Welcome to my world," Vhagar grumbled, and the others wondered why he didn't bother speaking much anymore? It was tiresome, but the gods did like to find amusement in the smallest things and often spoke in riddles.

Harry's lips quirked; he knew his fondness for Vhagar came from a twisted fondness he'd felt for Snape. He respected what he'd done to stay alive and actually successfully did it. He wasn't killed for being a spy after all, but for something so utterly beyond his control (and not to mention wrong) it hadn't been Severus it was Draco. Didn't make what Snape did any better though, he hadn't deserved the treatment he'd received, hadn't deserved a lot of shit that had gone down in his life. Given everything that happened and the treason he'd undergone, Snape's attitude was but a blip on the radar. The no nonsense attitude was just his thing after everything.

He hoped he didn't become like every single god he'd ever met, even Thor was an idiot. He was the epitome of a Gryffindor, all brawn and no brains. Exactly what Harry had been in his humanity.

"Viserys Targeryen ignores every single warning we sent him, we warned him if he had a son, there would be a civil war breaking out, that leads to what become known as The Dance Of The Dragons, that it would kill off the dragons." Balerion explained, huffing in annoyance that they wouldn't even allow him his eccentricities.

Harry winced, glancing away, "How many people died?" those dragons would have without a doubt caused a lot deaths, a shudder wracked his frame when he saw humans killing the dragons. Swallowing thickly, wondering if he'd ever get the sound of their shrieking out of his mind. Watching as the dragon desperately tried to get out, wrecking its own body in a futile attempt. Okay, some of them deserved it, did they think the damn dragons were just going to sit idly by while they were killed?

"Thousands upon thousands," Balerion, a great many of them were Valyrian origin sadly, causing the further decline of their numbers and worshipers. "You can change all that."

Harry just stared at him in amused disinterest, he was beginning to tire of the run around. Perhaps it was time to move on, especially if he was going to start being asked for favours and the like. Sighing softly, he made a move to get up and leave, he was not about to endure endless riddles and suggestions by the gods, not when they'd came to him seeking his help.

"He wants you to go down there and seed with one of the Targaryen's," Vhagar revealed bluntly seeing his friend ready to leave. "Bring more magic into the family, enforce greater ties between dragon and rider. To save the family and prevent the civil war that will rain destruction down upon the Targaryens."

Harry choked on his own spit, incredulous, "Been there, done that, never happening again." he'd always wanted a family, not the forced one, one created out of a desire to have a family. Ironically, he'd seeded one particular wizard that ended up with a far greater notoriety than his own. Myddin Wynn Emrys, better known as Merlin. He'd never been part of his life though, but helped where he could. It broke his heart not to be there for him, knowing what it was like to be without his father himself. Yet the gods themselves prevented his direct interference with his life. To have the gods do that to him had further hardened him, for a time, but time mended most all things.

"Did he forget to mention it would need to be in female form?" Vhagar commented drolly. There was only two unwed Male Targaryen's left, Daemon and Baelon Targaryen and he'd never remarry, not even to save anyone's lives, he stuck true to the oaths he'd given to his wife, and such a thing was as rare as unicorns in this world.

"Oh, hell, no!" Harry barked out vehemently, much to Vhagar's amusement, "I'm never becoming female again, it's bloody rotten! They get the short end of the stick! Constantly! The back ache from the boobs! The damn stomach pain every single bleeding month forever! Don't even mention pregnancy! I'd rather simultaneously get crucio'd a dozen times!"

They didn't understand the 'Crucio' deal, but they got what he meant by the tone of voice used.

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Chapter Text

All Hail The King

Chapter 2

97 AC The Red Keep – Kings Landing

The Red Keep in Kings landing was all in an uproar, excitement and worry consuming all the inhabitants. Today Aemma Targaryen had begun her labours. Today was a prosperous day indeed, today was the day the next heir would make itself known. Prince Viserys Targaryen proclaiming to all and sundry that his wife would bring forth their son. He could barely contain his excitement, the jolly Prince strutted towards their fathers' solar, where the family always break their fasts. "The babe is coming!" the Prince announced as he entered the Baelon's solar looking extremely pleased.

Prince Baelon gave a rare smile, "Congratulations, my son, I must visit Aemma soon," his stomach plummeting at the mere mention of childbirth. He had lost his youngest son and his wife to the child bed; she'd never recovered from that birth and had deteriorated until he lost them both. Despite the urges from his father to remarry and bring forth more children, he had refused. In fact, he had threatened to walk away if his father brought it up again. He had loved his wife with every fibre of his being, every day he was without her was a new hell but he would be reunited with her and Aegon one day, until then he would turn his children, his boys, into men his wife would be proud of.

His sons, they couldn't be more different if they tried, one thin and reedy, the other pure bulk like his own brother, Aemon. Daemon didn't have Aemon's spirit though, no he was mercurial, quick to anger, blood of the dragon ran strong in his son. Viserys was more like Aemon in spirit. Daemon was more volatile as of late, he was not impressed with his match, and he made sure everyone knew it. Baelon had even gone to his mother to ask her to let Daemon choose his own wife. His mother hadn't been receptive to his pleading, not that it surprised him, his mother was…stubborn just like the rest of the Targaryen's. He knew his son, he was going to be as impossible as he could, nothing and nobody would be able to change him. Not even the Queen, for she had been just like him in her youth.

"My son and heir!" Viserys declared, rubbing his hands excitedly, as he begun to eat his fill. He knew he'd have a son, he'd dreamed it, a son.

Daemon rolled his eyes good naturally, talk about counting your dragon eggs before they hatch. "Aemma could have a girl," he pointed out, wondering idly why he was here and not with her. Vaguely recalling his own father being at his mother's birthing chambers when she was giving birth to his brother Aegon. He might have been a boy of four name days at the time, but he clung to the wispy memories of his mother, as any child would. It helped that his father spoke about her, frequently, and he wasn't deep in his cups when he did.

"She's having a boy," Viserys said still delighted despite his brothers teasing, so proud of how quickly she'd caught, and now he was to be a father. He couldn't wait! To do all the things his father did with him, although his eyes dimmed recalling that he couldn't take his son on his first flight, since Balerion was gone. "Just you wait until it's your turn, brother!"

Daemon's eyes darkened, lip curling at the very idea of laying with Rhea of Runestone let alone seeding within her. He vowed never to touch her, never mind them having a child together. "Never, I'd rather let Caraxes burn me alive." The new knight declared with utmost seriousness.

Baelon stared at his son alarmed by his words, he definitely needed to talk to his mother. If anything could jar them into seeing how serious Daemon was, it was that. The family had such low numbers, more so than in the past, they were the next generation, they were meant to carry on where they left off. There was only Daemon and Viserys, they needed to have a big family, recoup the Targaryen name. Eight Targaryen's left in the world, well, seven, since Rhaenys was now married to a Velaryon and would never continue the Targaryen's name. Neither would Gael, so that too was out, although the idea of his mother allowing her to marry was laughable. He'd never take another wife, not ever. He couldn't. The very idea was repugnant.

He had to try at the very least, although, he didn't think it would change anything. His mother always believed she knew best.

Baelon opened his mouth, to say what he honestly didn't know, to ask his son from such declarations outside the rooms at least.

Sudden harsh knocks at the door surprised them all, "Enter!" Baelon called out, his earlier thoughts forgotten, perplexed on what could possibly be needed. They weren't often interrupted while breaking their fast, especially when his father, the king, wasn't there.

"Prince Baelon, Prince Viserys, Prince Daemon," the Kingsguard bowed deeply in deference as he entered the room. He didn't wait long before continuing to speak, his voice a little breathless, having run the entire way there, in his armour. "There's been a sighting of a dragon, approaching head on towards the capital."

Baelon glanced at his sons, "What dragon?" Balerion was dead, Caraxes was secured in the pit, Vhagar wouldn't cause concern, they were familiar with his mount and she was too big to be secured to the pit, too old to grouchy to put up with the Dragon Keepers attempts to corral her. The rest of the dragons tended to remain on Dragonstone, it's as close to their home, to Valyria that they'd ever get.

Daemon didn't even attempt to feign disinterest, he was very, very interested. A dragon? Coming from where?

"There's more, we believe there may be a rider on its back."

"Think?" Daemon's tone was severe for a six and ten Nameday old, almost with a hint of mocking, standing up, breakfast forgotten, practically vibrating out of his skin at the possibility of action. These past days he just avoided his family as much as possible, hid in passageways so he didn't need to see his betrothed. They couldn't stand each other, Rhea as better at hiding it though especially in front of royalty, playing the wounded party.

"We caught only a glimpse of something that might have been a rider, my Prince," Gyles Morrigen explained, not in the least cowed by Prince Daemon. He had a healthy respect for the youngest Prince, he was one of the most extensively trained warriors, well worthy of the knighthood he had been given.

"What Dragon has left Dragonstone?" Viserys calmly asked, the furrow in his brow denoted a displeasure or worry, his wife was in labour, and a dragon was approaching? It did not bode well at all, not that he would go out to battle, he didn't have a warriors heart like his brother. He preferred reading, and studying history primarily of Valyria it was his dream one day to build a comprehensive map so that people could actually study Valyria in all its glory.

The Kingsguard opened his mouth to reply only to be shoved forward by someone barrelling into him from behind. He turned around, sword already in his hand, ready to defend the royal family by any means possible. "Ser William! what is the meaning of this?" Gyles commanded, as the commander of the Kingsguard he glared at the younger one with a fierce glare.

"It's Cannibal! The dragon! It's Black and green eyes! It's cannibal!" Ser William choked out, mere moments from becoming hysterical. He had every reason to be, not only was Cannibal a wild dragon that had never been tamed, it was rumoured to have been there long before the Targaryen's came to conquer Westeros.

"Has my father been told?" Baelon asked, standing up, his presence commanding the entire room, despite being known as the spring Prince his presence wasn't as lovely as the name suggested.

"He's being informed as we speak, Prince Baelon," Gyles promised him.

"What are we waiting for? Let's go take care of it!" Daemon urged action; how else could you get answers unless you take direct action? The closer it got to the red keep the more danger there would be. If it had a rider, they needed to find out, the dragon could kill everyone in Kings Landing.

"Calm down, Daemon," Viserys told his youngest brother, glad he wasn't having to decide anything, his mind had gone blank and nausea was swirling in his gut at the very idea of deciding on the best course of action. He was one day to be his father's heir, he had to get better at decision making, but with the right Lord Hand perhaps Otto he'd do well enough. Otto was kind to him, always spared him time when he was so busy working for his grandfather. It was nice to have someone who understood him. He gave good advice and was never presumptuous far wiser than his age.

"Was it ascertained whether the dragon has a rider or not, Ser William?" Baelon demanded, his son was right, they couldn't stand around while the dragon that could kill them all was descending on them. Not just them either, a dragon that was a well-known cannibal, and could potentially lay waste to their dragons. He was dangerous even from Dragonstone, but they never killed dragons, they were akin to gods for the Targaryen's. Plus, it was a sign of their power, to destroy one would be a bad omen of things to come, giving the realm ideas it shouldn't have.

"It's not known." William replied, embarrassed by his blunder earlier, but not letting it get the better of him. It wasn't easy to see a small human on top of a massive dragon from the sky. Lorence said he caught a glimpse of something that could have been a human, but he couldn't say definitively, and nobody could make out much else.

"Let's go son!" Baelon smacked his son on the back, he wasn't called Baelon the Brave for nothing. While he'd never been as strong as his brother, it was still a surprise Daemon didn't face plant into his eggs.

"The horses are ready to take you to your dragons, we will follow…" already on the move, following behind the two running Targaryen's, William followed closely behind Gyles, able to keep up with ease, they underwent strict training to become a Kingsguard, and that did include an intense exercise regime along with the usual training and swordplay they did with one another or testing their squires and keeping in tip top shape.

The Kingsguards managed to succeed in keeping up with the heir and Prince Daemon. At least until the both got on their horses and took off, squires acted as hastily as possible to bring horses to them, before a group of sixteen Kingsguard knights followed Baelon and Daemon. They couldn't see either of them by the time they climbed atop their horses, but they knew exactly where the two were going, it was difficult to miss the dragon that was coming at them with alarming speed.

"Thank the seven it's aiming for BLACKWATER BAY!" Gyles bellowed out, so that he could be heard by all the rushing Kingsguards, he didn't need to specify why he was thankful for that. Since there would likely be no civilian casualties if he landed where the dragon seemed to be aiming for. Although, if nobody died, it would be a miracle all on its own, he prayed to the stranger to not take his soul this day, and the mother and warrior for safety.

They all ignored the screams of alarm by anyone caught in the way as they made their mad dash towards Blackwater bay. They prayed the dragon didn't change its direction, because they definitely wouldn't get to it in time if they had to stop and run towards a different location. Blasting things, they were dangerous, all of them should be locked up, but there was no locking up the most dangerous ones, too big and quite frankly, more likely to kill any dragon handlers than let them chain them anywhere. Urging the horses on, pushing them to their limit, if anything happened to the heir, well, they didn't want to even contemplate it.

"It's got a rider!" William shouted, his panic evident in his shrillness, as he turned and stared at the other Kingsguard, his face pasty white, as fear shot through him so fast it almost left him feeling dizzy.

"Seven save us!"

"Quickly now!" Gyles called out, as they passed through the gates then before they knew it, the terrain changing to sand. Finally, they were in sight of the heir of the throne and the youngest Prince. There was a massive distance still between them, but they felt much better just actually being able to see them and know they were unhurt. Their dragons were stationary, Vhagar and Caraxes on the sand, both their riders still in the saddles. It was a good guess on where the dragon would land, but not accurate, the dragon passed over both Daemon and Baelon.

Shouts and shrieks of fear rained down on the advancing Kingsguard as the black dragon advanced dangerously close to them. In fact, a few could have sworn they felt the dragons scales brush against their heads as it dove past them. Seven of them were knocked off their horses due to the ferocity of the wind passing over the enormous dragon.

A second wind let them all know a second dragon had passed over, Caraxes they realized, catching the red gleaming scales as they scrambled to their feet. Two of them to hurt to continue moving after being flattened by their horses, who thankfully stood back up easing the burdensome weight from the fallen Kingsguard. Most of them rushed their horses on after Prince Daemon, since he was the one potentially in danger. All they knew about the dragon was it was dangerous even to other dragons, and with a rider on its back? The havoc it could wreak on Kings Landing? They knew good and well what dragons were capable and just how dangerous the situation was.

"Fan out!" Gyles barked to the others, as he nimbly jumped from his horse, unsheathing his sword, approaching the unknown rider. His guard dropping automatically seeing that it was a woman, a woman with Targaryen colouring. Before he could order everyone to lower their weapons, the woman's eyes snapped open, and used her legs to grasp onto his sword and bend forcing him to let go of his sword. Meanwhile ignoring the sword actually impaled in her.

The unknown female, made no attempt to get the sword from where she was practically straddling it, satisfied enough to have disarmed him.

The massive black dragon roared its displeasure, its green eyes narrowed into slits as it observed them, as if deciding which one of them to eat first. It's massive teeth open and bared, as if saying 'try me' the dragon knew it was dangerous and relished in the fear he could smell emanating by the two-legged creatures that thought they could tame one like him.

"lykirī! Lykirī, lykirī!" Daemon commanded in High Valyrian in an attempt to soothe the dragon, to calm it down, it was roaring loudly, violently, "daor, zaldrīzes, lykirī!" his hand up towards the dragons face, his gaze drawn finally, to the dragons rider. Only to curse violently under his breathe, it was little wonder the dragon wasn't calming down, it's rider was gravely injured. She had a sword protruding out of her, it was through and through, the amount of blood she'd lost judging by the state of her apparel…it would be a miracle if she survived.

"Back off! All of you! Now!" Baelon's voice was unwavering, commanding obedience from the Kingsguard. It was the only way to get through them, since they swore an oath to protect them, the king and the royal family. "lykirī," Baelon begun his own attempts at calming the roaring dragon, he was quite frankly impressed it hadn't already begun spewing fire at them. His rider was injured, dragons were very protective, even more so considering this dragon was a wild one. It hadn't learnt to tolerate humans in the way their own did.

The Kingsguards moved back perhaps two steps before stopping, refusing to leave their charges sides. If the dragon burnt them, then they would die alongside them. The very idea of abandoning their charges felt too treasonous to contemplate. That's not to say they weren't terrified, because they were, the dragon was seconds away from burning them all to a crisp.

Then the woman moved, just her arm, petting at the dragon, and then she began to hiss, and almost right away, the dragon ceased it's roaring, and crumbled down into the sands making itself smaller and non-threatening as dragonly possible. The dragon had eyes only for the woman now the dragon wasn't the only one.

Daemon and his father stared, stunned in disbelief, had they just seen what they thought they had?

The woman groaned quietly, hissing some more, before she slumped entirely against the dragon, unconscious, if they had to guess they'd say from blood loss. It was pure luck she hadn't fallen unconscious backward or the sword sticking out of her would have become further imbedded. Baelon proved why he was crowned 'the brave' but instead of slapping Balerion on the snout, he reached for the unconscious woman carefully picking her up and cradling her so to avoid the sword she had impaled in her.

Just how were they going to get her back to the keep?

"I'd take her on Caraxes but she'd just end up hurt further," Daemon told his father, fascination beginning to fan within him as he stared at the woman. The blood Wyrm had a unique way of flying that no other dragon did, it wiggled in the air like a worm, thus his nickname. Given her delicate state it was definitely not the best idea.

"Going back to get a wheel house will take too long, we have no choice, we have to use Vhagar," Baelon declared, it was risky, but waiting for a wheel house to get her back to safety was just as risky if not more so. There was little hope given the location of her injury, but he had to try. Because she was Valyrian, if nothing else, there was so few of them left after the doom.

"Perhaps it's best she be tended here? If she dies…" Gyles said, glancing warily at the dragon, he may well just set the entirety of Kings Landing ablaze. He was a wild dragon, only the seven knows just how it would react to the bond shared between a rider and dragon shattering upon her death. It seemed very attached to her, even now it was watching them, poised ready to go in a single second. It's eery green eyes was very unsettling and this was a man used to being surrounded by large dragons. Vhagar, Balerion, Vermithor, Caraxes to name a few. This dragon was bigger than them all, so, yes, he had a healthy respect for the dragon.

"She's Valyrian, she will not be healed in the gutter!" Baelon all but spat at Gyles, infuriated by his words.

Gyles' face turned impassive, accepting the criticism, not saying anything that he was thinking, he'd long since learned to curb his tongue in his boyhood. Every day bastards from the royal family, Dragonseed, died in the gutter, what made this one so special? Oh, yes, she had a dragon, not any dragon, but a wild, dangerous and massive dragon that could end all life in Westeros if he so desired. It was illegal for Dragonseed to even attempt to claim a dragon, or anyone that the king personally didn't approve of, especially the women. The kings' granddaughter had gotten away with it, there was no way he would allow a Dragonseed to claim one, she was likely to die to prove a point. That you don't steal from the royal family without consequences. Or he would show mercy and she'd end up in the care of the silent sisters.

Between Baelon and Daemon they managed to get the girl harnessed in, in a position that didn't endanger her life. Vhagar was not too impressed about the added passenger and made herself clear. Luckily, Baelon had a strong bond with the dragon, that ensured her compliance by soothing her through the bond. Once Vhagar took off, Daemon made a beeline straight for Caraxes, and made his way directly to the dragons pit. From the sky he noticed that the Kingsguard were making their way

The Kingsguard helped each other up, onto their horses, and returned to the keep at a more sedate pace. There were more than enough Kingsguards on active duty to care for the Princes until they got there. Two were likely going to need rest or to visit the Maesters, the fall had hurt them, perhaps even broken a bone, he hoped not.

"Your grace," Baelon bowed to his own father, as he entered the throne room, where he'd been directed when he'd asked where his father was. Stalking down the hall towards the throne, feeling the eyes of everyone on him, but it had long ago ceased to bother him.

"What has happened? I've been told there's a dragon involved?" the King asked his son, his brow furrowed only slightly, showing his worry but only anyone who knew him well would catch how he felt. To the rest of the room the king looked just as serene as always, a wise man sitting on the iron throne. The only other royal near him was his daughter Gael, until Baelon joined them.

"There has been, yes," Baelon answered, even if he wished to make the situation seem better than it was for the girl, he couldn't, his father would likely get the Kingsguards thoughts on the situation as well. "Cannibal approached Blackwater bay, he had a female rider on its back, she's gravely wounded. It's unknown if she'll survive but the Maesters will do what they can."

"Who is she?" the Wise King asked, his mind reeling over what he must do, he could not allow anyone outside of the family have control over a dragon, especially not Cannibal. It was bad enough his own granddaughter had defied him and bonded with a dragon against his edict. The fact she'd married a Velaryon nearly had him having palpitations. They were rich, they could give her anything she wanted, but giving them dragons on top of it? It left him extremely leery, but he couldn't deny her what she wanted. What was one dragon against the rest?

"I don't know." Baelon answered, his tone grim, "She's not familiar to me or my son," which was odd considering they knew every single eligible young lady in the realm. She looked roughly the same age as Daemon, she should be known if she was anyone of note. While she was a little bit dirty and dishevelled, she didn't smell like some of the unfortunate people in Flea Bottom.

"A Dragonseed?" King Jaehaerys whispered so he wasn't heard by anyone except his son and daughter, his eyes going cold, he had outlawed the right of first night, finding the practice distasteful. The very idea of one actually having the gall to claim a dragon almost had him visibly seething. If he didn't put an abrupt stop to that kind of thought…should other Dragonseed decide they deserved a dragon as well, the idea was nightmare material.

Baelon just shook his head, "It's not known, your grace."

"Very well," King Jaehaerys said, waving his hand, dismissing his son, there was nothing he could do until she was awake and aware. "Inform the Maester I want a report once he's finished."

Baelon bowed low before turning and leaving the throne room, the sound of normal services resuming was heard as he moved. This one complaining about bandits destroying his crops and alarming his family. He vaguely made out the sound of his father promising to send some Kingsguards to aid him in his troubles before he was too far away to hear anything more. So much for visiting Aemma, no matter, she had the most important person at her side, her husband.

The next thing Harry became aware of was a manacles like grip on his shoulders and throat, and a foul-tasting concoction being poured into her mouth, which by the way, is saying something from someone used to taking potions every day. He'd even rather take Skele-gro for Merlin's sake, that was just utterly disgusting. He was definitely going to kill the gods for talking him into this bullshit. Gagging, he backed away, cursing and scrambling when he fell, of what was likely a bed. The fall caused the sword which was still in him to vibrate. "Fucking ouch!"

"Take it easy, it's something for the pain, wouldn't you like it to stop?"

Harry's gaze swung up to the fucking arse who dared to talk to him like he was a fucking idiot. He felt a sense of satisfaction when the grey robed idiot blanched at the look. Heh, even when he didn't have his own body, he still had it. Technically this was his own body, it was just changed to suit his needs. His lack of cock reminded him he was a female as of right now. Probably why they were treating him like a fucking dog.

Oh, why did he have to be such a soft-hearted shit all the time? And just how the hell was this going to save the girl in what? Two hundred years' time? Things had gotten a little jumbled, it had been six months since their initial conversation, since then six months had passed in preparation of what was to come. Training, learning how to speak Valyrian, and creating his own bloody backstory.

"Let us help you onto the bed, and give you something to ease your pain," the Maester practically crooned at her, as he approached with his fellow Maester. Both of them reaching out towards the girl, trying to get her to behave. How she was still conscious and moving was beyond all their understanding.

"Back off you fucking prick," Harry snarled, grimacing in agony, oh, fuck, he was so going to get Balerion back for this the shit.

A bark of laughter caught them all off-guard, as someone entered the room, "What's going on?" and she definitely wasn't a lady with language like that. Not that he'd thought she was, he didn't recognize her, but they had to be careful just in case she was someone of standing. His grandfather believed – according to his father – that she was Dragonseed, but he didn't believe that was the case. She might be in the most horrendously ugly clothing he'd ever seen, but she was well too cared for to be anything other than high born. She just didn't act like it at all.

Orwyle bowed hastily to the Prince, before going on to explain, "The girl is clearly suffering from some form of hysteria,"

"Sure, just because I don't want you creepy fuckers touching me, I'm the hysterical one," Harry said dryly, although, he probably should have care on how he was speaking to them. He was here to help, and if he made things too difficult, he knew they'd likely write him…her off as a lost cause. It was difficult though, he'd gone so long with an attitude, it would be difficult to lose it, especially if everyone insisted on talking to him like they were. Eh, push come to shove, he could just make sure the girl gets on the throne and there not be any siblings for her, and just tour the world if things got hairy. Then beat the shit out of Balerion.

Mellos explained what they were attempting and her responses, only to have the concoction removed from his hand.

"Here, this is milk of the poppy, you'll need it, the blade needs to be removed," Daemon told her as he approached her, kneeling on one knee, the glass was filled with white substance. He didn't blame her for her reaction, who would when two men were towering over you after you'd been attacked? There should have been a female in here too just to ease her, but they were all – quite rightly – attending to Princess Aemma. He was utterly fascinated by her, by rights she shouldn't even be awake, the blood loss, the pain, she was a young maiden likely, and despite her bruises, she was…deeply alluring. He'd never felt this sort of fascination before.

Harry inhaled sharply, gritting his teeth, "I don't want anything, just take it out," scooting to the end of the bed, and using the four-poster pillar to ease himself up, barely breathing as he did so. "Do it now."

The three men just stared at her as if she was insane.

Would you like to see Daemon crowned King Daemon? Will it be Westeros or elsewhere? Creating his own empire? Read & Review Please and Thank you x

Chapter Text

All Hail The King

All italics are them conversing in Valyrian the only exception will be when they're giving their dragons orders

Chapter 3

Haera Peverell wasn't surprised the two Maesters were useless, just standing there gaping at her like she was something unknown that they'd never encountered before. She was just beginning to fear that she would need to get the sword out on her own, which would be easily done with magic, but she couldn't use it right now. She'd never trust anyone in this damnable place, not those that believe in the faith of the seven. She still didn't get how marrying into the Targaryen family would help save that girl, she really didn't, but the gods clearly saw a path she didn't right now. What she did know was that she had to prevent the dragons from dancing, without dragons there was nothing they could do against the enemy – White Walkers – from the wall and the utter desolation of magic to the extent that an ice age would cover the entire world and killing off humanity in its entirety. They couldn't survive without magic, man that was…something else, he wondered if his own universe was the same or if this particular one was different.

Daemon put a hand on her shoulder, "Are you sure?" he asked, fingers inches away from the sword imbedded in the Valyrian beauty whose name he still didn't know.

"Do it," Haera declared through gritted teeth, inhaling sharply before letting his breath out and holding it, only to hiss through her teeth as the sword was extracted.

"Prince Daemon she will bleed out soon if she's not tended to," the Maester cautioned with a strangled voice, the Prince who was staring at the sword with a calculating look on his face didn't even blink. It was insignificant, the sword, something easily bought, the sword was sharp, badly looked after, numerous nicks in it where it had parried with other swords, whoever owed this clearly saw many battles with it but didn't care for his weapon. The idea was reprehensible to him, who had received Dark Sister, a Valyrian steel sword that he would cherish and care for until the end of his days. It also didn't help him identity who had dared to harm someone of Valyrian descent.

"Now who's hysterical," Haera muttered, gasping as she straightened up, moving over to the Maesters, she began rummaging in their bags, it looks like she'd need to do it the old-fashioned way. Well, at least this scar was easily hidden unlike the one that had once adorned his head. She took what she needed and went to sit on the bed, using water next to him to wipe the wound, casting a spell non-verbally to ensure there was nothing nasty residing in the wound that could cause infection. He doubted the gods would have thought about such things, they were immortal beings after all. They were created with pure magic; not born a human like he was.

Haera winced, her first attempt failing, her hands were shaking too much for her to steadily stitch herself up. She was just about to set the needle and thread aside and try to get her hands to stop shaking when a pale hand reached for them, taking them from her. It wasn't from fear or pain, it was entirely an adrenaline response.

"Let me," Daemon said, taking the needle and thread from her shaking fingers.

Haera glanced up, looking at someone properly for the first time since regaining consciousness. Her second blink was slower, as she took a second look. Daemon Targaryen, she realised, no, Prince Daemon Targaryen. He was very handsome, if she'd been in her right mind, she'd have likely been drooling over him.

"My Prince! Please, allow us…" Orwyle blustered, attempting to take over from the Prince, this was his purpose! To have the Prince attempting – never mind doing so – was at the height of impropriety. He took great offense at being relegated to the side.

The glare the young maiden levelled him with caused any further protests or advancements. She embodied the 'if looks could kill' perfectly, those dark lavender eyes filled with such scorn and disgust that it was rather overwhelming. They had done nothing to deserve her scorn or ire, yet here she was with such poisonous stare that could petrify a Maester such as himself. How was such a maiden capable of such reckless hatred? Pursing his lips, he held onto the milk of the poppy that the young Prince had given him, sure in his estimation that she'd need it to endure what came next.

Daemon smirked, highly amused by the days happenings, not many shared his distrust of the grey rats. To see them so affected by a young maidens glare made him gleeful to say the least. He was glad he hadn't missed this! Although, he didn't want to think on what would have happened if he hadn't ventured into the room. Likely they would have drugged her until she was completely out of it, proclaiming her hysterical and healed her that way.

The Maesters watched Prince Daemon with narrowed gazes, just watching and waiting. Prince Daemon was mercurial, rarely sat still, was violent and temperamental. To see him on his knees carefully and with much patience and care, stitching the wound closed came as a huge surprise to them. Then again, he was one for the ladies.

Nothing was more astonishing than the fact she remained still and silent as she endured the treatment. She barely breathed more than she had to as Prince Daemon set to work. Luckily the wound wasn't so big, but it would mar her, it would cost her potential husbands, nobody wanted to take a scarred maiden to wife. Both her back and her chest would be marred, but she was astonishingly lucky, a couple of inches in either direction, would have been all the difference between life of death. She wouldn't have survived if it had been an inch in either direction. Of that both Maesters agreed.

Daemon finished the front, glancing up at her, truly impressed by her, she hadn't even twitched once during the process. Standing up, he poured some water from the ewer into the bowl and dabbed the fabric in it before he carefully pressed it over the wound, getting rid of the blood then dried it with the other side. Her eyes were glassy, it looked as though it was sheer stubbornness alone that had her remaining conscious. He didn't think she'd be able to move much more without passing out again. Once more, he couldn't help but wonder if she was a commoner, no lady would be able to put up with this without pain relief surely?

It didn't spell a good fate for her, his grandfather would never borne a commoner, even a Dragonseed having a dragon, and he'd never perceive allowing a commoner- even one of Valyrian lineage – to be married into the family. Not that there was anyone left to marry, he'd soon be bound to his Bronze Bitch and there would be only Gael, who was unsuitable, leaving only one person suitable, his father, but he had vehemently refused to remarry to the point of being obstinate with the king. Something nobody did, ever.

And people would wonder where he got his attitude from. Ironically nobody said it was 'because of the spring prince' even if he looked remarkably like him. Then again, who really knew the royal family? Nobody, not even the guards could argue that they did.

Haera swallowed, attempting to swallow back the nausea threatening to overwhelm her. The idea of moving was a painful one, let alone actually doing the moving. However, she knew she needed to be stitched up at the back, otherwise she really would lose too much blood. Pursing her lips, she swung her legs back onto the bed and turned to face the Maesters who were standing at the side of the bed extremely flustered.

"Damn, fuck, fuckity, fuck, shit!" Haera cursed violently, gritting her teeth, she would not be sick, she would not be sick. She was going to take a leaf out of the Greek mythology and hang Balerion up by his blood ankles and let birds feast on his liver every day for it to just grow back! He won't know pain like the Greeks did it. Oh, he was going to pay for this, the fucker, bloody stabbing her then transporting her to the damn Blackwater Bay right at the mouth of a damn cannibal dragon it was freezing cold at least until she got on the dragon. But, oh, the feeling of that bond snapping into place, the whole that Hedwig had left behind when he was just sixteen years old wizard, filling up, and even now she could sense her dragon. "I am going to kill them!"

Daemon's eyes widened; she hopes who was dead? The person who had done this to her? They, so it was more than one person. She was speaking High Valyrian, with perfect pronunciation, no commoner would know and speak High Valyrian, there were only three families that he knew who could speak High Valyrian, Celtigers, Velaryon and his family the Targaryens. There were a few other families that still had their Valyrian blood, but they spoke a bastardisation Valyrian not High Valyrian. Before he could even think of actually asking anything, her body went lax, his grandfather would have to get in touch with the Celtigers and Velaryon who else could it be? He didn't understand why they'd never introduced her to court, why hide her? Surely, they'd have come to his grandfather if one of their own were attacked in seek of aid?

Mentally shaking off his thoughts, he finished stitching up the last of her wound, taking painstaking care to ensure that the stitches weren't too tight and that it was even. Using a clean new piece of fabric, he dunked it into the water and wiped the wound down, before patting it with the dry side before discarding it.

"Here, my Prince," Mellos said, handing over bandages that would cover the wound, keep it clean and dry until it heals.

It was a testament to how many times Daemon had already been injured – he was a Knight and had been knighted – that he knew what to do without another word. He very rarely went to the grey rats with any injury, unless he had to. Preferring to see to his own wounds, although, he hadn't had any injuries quite like the maidens just general bruises, cuts and other hurts.

"Daemon? What are you doing?" for such a large imposing man he was extremely quiet when he wanted to be, as both Maesters jumped out of their skin at the sound of his voice.

"We aren't being allowed to do our job," Orwyle complained, lips pressed in a firm line.

"She didn't want them near her, but she allowed me to help her," Daemon retorted, as he finished dressing her wounds. Rolling his eyes at the grey rats complaining, if they healed people more than they complained perhaps they'd be better at it.

"The King demands your presence as soon as you're done here." Baelon told the Maesters, it wasn't the first time his son had spoken of such distrust. "You as well, son." Seeing as he had been the only one allowed to get close to her. "The King is in his solar." He wanted to keep the information as tightly contained as he could. The idea of a bastard Dragonseed gaining control of a dragon actually had his father's stress levels shooting through the keep.

Naturally the Maesters immediately bowed to Prince Baelon and scarpered off towards the Kings solar.

Daemon watched them go with his usual air of distaste.

Prince Baelon watched with a sense of curiosity at Daemon's, well, softness, his gentleness, she was injured, yes, but he'd never seen him act so with anyone that wasn't family. Although, as of late, Daemon had been angry at the entire world, avoiding them all for the most part. When he wasn't avoiding them, he was pleading with them not to force him to marry the Lady Rhea Royce. Just hearing his son pleading with him made him feel sick to his stomach. It made him have flashbacks to his own sister attempting to entice him to avoid her own marriage. She'd died before he could even apologise for not just even simply listening, or try anything to help her. He'd just been too pissed off at the sheer audacity of her actions. He knew deep in his heart it wasn't maliciously meant, that she didn't think for a second, she could replace his wife. She'd just been desperate, who wouldn't be forced to marry a man three to four decades older than you?

Now his son was coming to him with the very same problem, pleading for his help. Truth was, he was just as helpless as he would have been back then. The King and Queen would not budge, he'd tried, he would try again for the sake of his son, but he doubted anything would work. The only other way he'd get out of the marriage is to leave the royal family. Daemon wouldn't do that, but he'd make them wish they had. He was very vindictive, his son, Baelon thought proudly.

Baelon turned and exited the rooms, giving a nod to the guard on duty before following the two Maesters and his son to the Holdfast, and the King.

Twenty minutes later, he was announced and granted entrance, only to find the Maesters complaining to the king over the actions of the young maiden. How Prince Daemon had taken over their duties and not allowed him to fulfil them.

"How long have they been complaining now?" Baelon murmured as he neared his son, asking him how long they had been complaining to the King as if he could do something about it. Leaning against the table, both arms crossed, a blank look on his face, the only acknowledgement of annoyance was the question he asked Daemon.

"The second they got here," Daemon replied, they'd been complaining the moment they arrived.

"Daemon, what do you have to say for yourself?" the Wise King asked, observing the young Prince, who was so much like Baelon and Aemon, so similar to them but uniquely himself.

Daemon known for his insolence knew better than to start something with the king, he straightened up, "They were hounding her, she's been attacked, they told me she was hysterical due to the fact she didn't want them touching her."

"She also refused Milk of the poppy!" Mellos explained as if that deemed her hysterical.

"There may be a reason for that," Baelon declared calmly, "We have no idea what she's been through."

"Did you get a name at least?" the King asked, but it was truly a command.

"No, but she spoke High Valyrian," Daemon answered, swore and cursed in High Valyrian at that, "If I'm not wrong it's her first language, nobody that's completely out of it, would revert to a second language not at her age." Even he spoke the common when he was furious, because it had been the common tongue that he'd learnt first. Sure, he had known a few Valyrian words here and there, mother, father, dragon, big brother, the general dragon orders as a child but he'd never known it as a second language until later in life when he took to learning it proper. He didn't consider himself Westeros but Valyrian.

The King straightened up at that, a thoughtful pensive look crossing his features.

"Should we have Rhaenys and Corlys come? They might be able to identity her?" Baelon questioned, his face tightening in pain, his brother's death had been terribly painful, not even killing everyone that day had helped any. Then the King had gone made him his heir, and he hadn't heard from his niece since. She hadn't replied to any of his letters. He hadn't asked for this, by the fourteen, if anything happened to her his brother would never forgive him. "Or one of the Celtigers?" she wasn't a Targaryen, so she had to be one of the other families, they were the only ones who still spoke High Valyrian.

"When will she be awake and aware for questioning?" the King asked the Maesters, without answering his son for the moment.

"I cannot say, your grace," Orwyle confessed, "We didn't get a chance to do a proper exam before she woke up."

"I'm not sure we're going to be able to conduct one, she is very opposed to our presence. To force her would cause her more harm than good." Mellos added, more concerned than insulted like Maester Orwyle. Her actions had truly alarmed him, how on earth could she stand having a sword removed from her body without nary a peep out of her mouth? Without needing the milk of the poppy? He could only imagine the severe pain she'd undergone, not to mention the stitches. "So far she isn't feverish, which is a good sign, with food and water she will become stronger." Never mind that he was sure she wouldn't survive, but seeing what he had…changed his mind, she was very strong indeed.

"Don't write to them, I will get answers out of our guest before they could receive them." The King decided, as always decisive and sticking to his guns. Then there would be the travelling, no, there was no point to asking them to come to the capital.

Baelon bowed to his king, "Your grace,"

"Now leave me, all of you." The King commanded, he wasn't as young as he used to be, and his body wasn't half making it known. He wanted some peace and quiet, the Maesters didn't half like to complain. The young maiden was becoming more troublesome not less. The sooner he could deal with that particular problem the better. The rumours were concerning but not only so right now, not with his Master of Whispers prodding them in a more reasonable manner. "And Daemon, you will spend time with your betrothed." The king warned his wayward grandson.

"Don't push The King, Daemon." Baelon warned his son not to take it too far, the King did not have a vast infinite of patience.

Daemon just scowled, but knew better than to comment, he was well aware that the walls in the Red Keep had ears.

Daemon watched the Lady Rhea Royce with unmitigated disgust, if there was ever a time where he actually wanted to flee it would be now. He loved his family (even if he hated them right now) the idea had merits, he wanted to travel, see the world, but it didn't hold a candle to his family. Here she was strutting around his home, especially after what she'd been overheard saying, it made him grit his teeth to stop himself from bashing her head in and relieving himself of the fate of actually being married off to her.

He'd never consider it a marriage; he didn't believe in the faith of the seven.

The idea of just taking off on Caraxes and never returning was a recurring dream as of late. It was an enticing prospect, but he loved the position he had. He knew he was lucky, all he had to do was visit Flea Bottom to know that for certain. He was impulsive but not that impulsive to give up his position.

He blanched when he heard her approaching with a gaggle of admirers that had come with her, he made a mad dash for the nearest secret hidden passageways he'd found when he was younger. Sighing in relief, temporarily as the reprieve was, he would need to be seen making some sort of effort, if only to point out that he had done as the king bid.

The silence was very welcoming, even if the sound of his feet seemed to be extra loud in the cavernous passageways.

He didn't realize he had veered off quite so much until he heard his grandparents speaking from the confines of their own rooms.

What do you mean?

She's clearly been through some sort of trauma; to have such a high pain tolerance, it doesn't bode well for her. There's a chance even if her family is found that they won't want to take her back. The king, Daemon realised, was talking about the girl, he was implying she'd been sexually assaulted and that her parents wouldn't want to put up with her. Nobody would want broken goods, and that's exactly what people thought of those ladies who weren't 'pure' on their wedding night. Bullshit if you asked him, then again, nobody did.

Perhaps Baelon's idea would prove useful, she's not one of ours, she may well be a Velaryon or Celtiger.

She'll be awake and able to tell us herself before word reaches Driftmark or Claw Isle.

Then what will you do? There was a shallow hint of concern for the girl in his grandmothers voice, which surprised Daemon. If it wasn't about his aunt Gael or cousin Rhaenys his grandmother didn't seem to care about anything these days.

We'll see what she has to say, then a decision will be made. His tone grim, it was clear he'd already made a decision on her fate.

King Jaehaerys could not risk someone else outside of the Targaryen family controlling a dragon. Bad enough his granddaughter had one for the Velaryon's. While there were four for the Targaryens, unfortunately, neither he or his wife were in any state to enjoy dragon riding anymore. Which caused such a mass of longing within him just to ride him again. Vermithor, his beloved dragon, and his wife had once rode Silverwing. With the death of Viserys mount, it left only his son and grandson mounts to defend them if anything happened. Nobody in their right mind would go up against Vhagar and Caraxes seemed to inspire fear in everyone due to his unique appearance.

Of all the dragons why did it have to be the cannibal? The second biggest dragon in the world, after his own sons Vhagar. By the seven, he could do without this at the end of his reign.

He had a feeling things were about to get messy, and he always listened to his instincts, which by the way, were screaming of a calamity they were about to endure.

"What if she's a Celtiger or Velaryon?" Alysanne questioned her husband, without a single speck of emotion on her face for the 'love of her life'. She stared at him as if he were a stranger, still enraged by her husband taking on Baelon as the heir over Rhaenys.

"Then the betrothal between Lady Rhea Royce and Daemon will be nullified and she will marry him in her stead." The king declared, staring just as coolly at his wife, neither backing down on who they believe would be a better heir for the throne. He was king, it was decision at the end of the day.

They did put on a wonderful front the moment they stepped out of their bed chambers.

Or as Daemon liked to put it, put on a murmurs farce.

Read & Review please and thank you so much for your comments x

Chapter Text

All Hail The King

Chapter 4

Haera was bored out of her mind, pretending to be asleep every time someone so much as ventured near the door. Not that it was difficult to hear them, you could hear them a mile away. Their armour clamouring noisily as they moved, that must be a hinderance in every aspect of their duties. She'd already taken a few potions to replace the blood she'd lost, and had slept for the past few days, like it or not she'd actually been stabbed, and her body needed to recuperate.

She also needed to plan everything out, but the thing was she'd never been a planner. She was a doer, made things up and she went along. She could have an entire plan ready waiting at the wings and fuck it up by opening her mouth. In fact, she could guarantee that's exactly what she was going to do, repeatedly. Especially given how this world viewed women, as lesser, only fit for childbearing, ha! He'd like to see any of those assholes actually say that after giving birth themselves. She really would have preferred to remain male and 'Harry' but clearly it wouldn't have worked for whatever reason. Vhagar hadn't exactly been forthcoming about the details, much to his vexation.

They had brought her three meals a day, and she ate them, the food was good, they didn't have any processed food in this backwards world she was on. New water was brought in as well, and the information she'd gleaned while feigning sleep was…humorous. Apparently, the King was beginning to lose his patience with the fact she wasn't awake, aware and ready to reveal all. There was also a lot of speculation as to whether she was one of the Princes bastard children or from the only two other Valyrian families. Seemingly it was the only reason they could fathom as to why she'd been brought there, or better yet, been able to claim a dragon.

Try as you might, you couldn't stop gossip, and that was likely annoying the king further.

She was going to enjoy his reaction, when it came time to reveal her name.

she had created a whole life for herself, mostly using magic of course since she had rightfully not existed in this reality. In the six months she'd spent with the gods before she came down – quite literally, bloody shit bag that Balerion was she was going to get him back – learning everything she'd need to survive this world. She'd refused a lot of the shit they tried to make her learn, she didn't care if it made her unusual, in the end they decided to make it less odd and have her born in Essos not Westeros.

There were forty Dragon riding families of Valyria before the doom, all were powerful and filled with the brim with magic, with many seeking more, hungering to be just that bit more powerful than the next family. The Peverell family was always the number one contender for being the most powerful, not just for their dragon riding, but their ability to communicate in a unique way with their dragons and their magic differed from all other families who relied solely on blood magicks.

Their hunger for more magic had doomed them all, for what they had done…was so unspeakably stupid and daring.

The Peverell in the male line was gone, as was the magic, in all Peverell descendants from this original world. There were a few peppered out all over Essos and Volantis unremarkable as they were and unaware of the legacy. To be fair, it was a good thing, imagine knowing your line and what it had been capable of?

Haera had 'created' another branch, making it similar to her own first life so that she didn't trip up if questioned, no, when questioned. She has been told claiming a dragon was the only way to get the Targaryen's attention and keep it. It also put her in danger but that was nothing new, if she wasn't in danger was, she even her? It would be a very boring existence to be sure, although, perhaps it would be novel enough to live an existence where she was free of any harm? Only time would truly tell.

She should have known better.

Any wife of Daemon Targaryen was always going to be in for an adventure. Well, except if you're Rhea Royce.

Three rapid knocks on the door heralded the Kingsguard at her door again, was it time for lunch already? She didn't bother feigning sleep this time, as a man peered around the doorway, "The Queen Alysanne Targaryen."

Haera's eyes widened in surprise, arching a brow as an older woman appeared in the room she'd been given. Small in stature, and that was saying something since she was taller than her. This woman had given birth how many times? With that slim waist? That was impossible! She could recall Molly's plump figure after having only seven children. They didn't even have potions or spells here to really help, she couldn't help but admire her slim form. Her long neck somehow suited her, and her white hair was pulled back into a bun, she had a kind face.

Sliding out of the bed, she gave the Queen "Your grace," she said, giving her a curtesy while simultaneously giving a nod. This was a woman who cared. For both high born and low born people, and did her best to see that her people survived. Spent most of her time with the less fortunate, donating fundings to various causes. She made no other move as she watched the Queen more curious than cautious.

"I see you decided not to wear the offered dress," she said, somehow the Queen managed to found placid with a hint of offence in her voice.

"Breathing hurts enough without putting that on me, I'd really rather not feel like a roasted turkey." Haera replied smoothly, she could just imagine how bloody tight it was meant to be. The corset would likely cause her to bleed, the tightness really wasn't ideal, they surely didn't have women wearing those with injuries like hers, do they? She'd stay in this thank you very much, at least until she could get back 'home' where everything she owned was waiting for her return.

In the background the Kingsguard valiantly attempted to muffle his amusement at her words. He succeeded, for the most part.

Alysanne's lips twitched just a tiny bit, showing her amusement, her blue eyes observing the child before her. She sounded foreign; she definitely didn't come from Westeros. Which made it less likely that she was a bastard from the Targaryen line. "Yes, perhaps taking milk of the poppy would help in that regard?" her tone dry, it was highly idiotic to bear pain instead of taking something for it.

"Oh, I see the Maesters have been complaining," Haera murmured, her amusement plain as day, a wicked smirk adorning her face, something that caused Alysanne to be genuinely taken aback, she'd never seen such a look on a young lady's face. "It's a surprise your husband ever gets any work done if they go scuttling to him because someone didn't do as they wished." She could just imagine the complaining from the idiots she'd saw…whenever it was, the days were sort of beginning to blend in together.

"They're good people, they do good work," Alysanne defended them, she always would, they had been such a great help to her over the years. Soothed her fears and actually listened to her when she listed off symptoms of anything ailing her.

A bitter grimace crossed Haera's features, wondering if she'd be saying that if she knew everything. No, she knew the Queen wouldn't be saying such things if she knew the truth. It's truly not her fault, really, no matter where she'd been and in what time, there were always those in positions of trust that betray people in the most horrendous way. From 'Angels of death' to people that just liked to kill for the sake of it and got a kick out of it.

These just happened to be religious zealots.

The Queen was just beginning to feel uncomfortable with the silence, not that she'd confess this to anyone, it was definitely a new experience for her though. She was used to people clamouring all over themselves to talk to her. Positively gushing to gain an invitation to one of her tea parties, or garden soirees, she was well known for her gatherings and always ensured everyone had the best of times.

Just then they were saved by one of the maids, coming bustling in hastily with a large silver tray filled with an assortment. Teas, sandwiches, biscuits. Setting it out on the only table Haera had in her rooms. It was next to the lit fire, she didn't speak, just begun to perform her usual routine before curtseying to them both before beginning to leave without a single sound leaving her lips.

"Thank you," Haera called out to the girl, politeness never killed anyone, and her experience made her uniquely qualified to know how it bloody felt to feel invisible and ignored her entire life.

The girl froze, before turning back and giving another curtesy with an added, "My Lady," before she turned and left, she knew if she was requested again, the Kingsguard would find her without a problem.

"Join me," Alysanne said, as she delicately folded herself into a seat, making it look like a dance.

Especially when compared to Haera's gait before she practically plonked into her seat, watching everything happening around her in utter amusement. From the presence of the Kingsguard – she was here to save the family not end them early – to the prim and properness of it all.

"Forgive me I don't remember your name?" Alysanne prompted, as she took her cup and warmed her hands with it peering over at the blonde haired purple eyed child before her. She was definitely just that, a child, and seemed rather petulant, nothing lady like about her at all. She reminded her of all the common women she'd seen and spoken to all her life. If she was pretending to be a lady, she was only making things more difficult for herself.

"Lady Haera," Haera answered, leaning back, just watching.

"Of which house?" the Queen enquired, replacing the cup daintily on her saucer.

"Why are you here?" Haera asked, even the Kingsguard – who really shouldn't be listening in on conversations – inhaled sharply at her disrespect. "No offence intended, but you're the queen, I'm sure you've got more important things to do with your day." Adding this when she realized she might have gone a bit too far, she really didn't want to offend them or worse, end up in whatever torture hole they have somewhere to interrogate people. It also helped veer the conversation away from her last name, oh, she wanted to be the one to reveal it to everyone, to see their reactions.

To be fair though, they might not even remember the Peverell name, the gods said they'd lost most of their history in the doom.

Still, she wanted to see the possible looks on her face, they deserved it for all the boredom she'd had to endure and for everything she was about to do for their family.

That and the king was an asshole.

"I wish to ascertain who you are," the Queen commented, "You will be brought before the king by midday."

Haera arched a brow, she was pretty sure the queen meant that to sound like a threat, but the truth was there was nothing that could terrify her. In this world, though, being threatened by the prospect of a king was likely a death sentence.

"I look forward to it," Haera replied drolly.

The Queen looked at the young Lady with a look of confusion, it's not people's normal reactions, she felt a little lost. She had never seen anyone react thusly, and she did not like the feeling it produced in her. "You must not be so flippant while in the presence of the king." She tried to caution the girl against her attitude, she knew exactly what happened to anyone who acted that way, their own daughter – who she missed so much – Saera had been victim to it too. Haera reminded her of her daughter, and it hurt, she'd lost so many already, too many of her children, she'd give just about anything to see Saera again before she passes. She knew she didn't have long left to live, few years at most, she'd had a long life, a good one for the most part.

Haera softened, hearing her thoughts, "I won't," she said, sympathy thrumming in her heart, she'd lost a lot, and the fact she'd reach out to her despite what she thought was her being obstinate, mulish, she still attempted to save her from what she believed was her own folly. She wondered if she'd be able to apparate here, or if she'd need to know where she was going in order to do so. She knew nothing of this world, not really anyway, just names and where they were. Her dragon, she could very well use her dragon to get 'home' so to speak.

"Now, tell me all about yourself!" Alysanne said, "Can you embroider?"

"Um…does stitching wounds count?" Haera asked.

"How is your hook weaving?" Alysanne, surely, she was jesting? No lady would be raised in such deplorable manner, even Alyssa had learned womanly arts despite her love of dressing unconventionally. "Knitting?"

"I never learned those skills, I'm not the best with my hands," she answered, smothering her laughter, the look of shocked, horrified offence on the Queens face was comical. It was also very true, she hadn't learned such crafts with her hands, spells on the other hand? She could use whilst sleeping if she was honest. You couldn't watch Molly Weasley and not become well versed in household spells. The time at Grimmauld Place had been also eye opening regarding everyone's cleaning skills…which sad to say were non-existent.

"Your dancing?" desperation coated her voice, horrified at the possibility of her becoming Daemons wife, when she couldn't embroider or stitch! How had she gone through life without becoming proficient in both tasks?

"Depends…do they need their feet to work afterwards?" Haera asked suggestively, "If they do, then I'm not very good." Straightening up, genuinely alarmed, it looked as if the queen was going to have a stroke! She couldn't have one here! She'd be blamed!

"How is your drawing?" Alysanne queried.

"I must confess I'm abysmal, a toddler would be better out of the both of us."

"How is your singing?"

"I can do a fantastic rendition of a cat screeching," Haera replied, her chin wobbling as she tried to stop herself laughing.

"How about an ability to play a musical instrument?" the Queen's voice was strained.

Haera glanced away, "I can whistle?" her lungs hurt so much trying to stop herself laughing.

Alysanne stared aghast at the girl, unable to believe her ears, she had to be jesting surely. The very idea of a girl not knowing how to dance, embroider or knit was beyond the pale. What on earth had that girls parents done? Even the common children in the orphanages learned these tasks in order to aid them later in life. "Can you read?" she asked, sounding very desperate indeed, without any desire to be heard thusly.

"Of course," Haera replied deeply offended, staring at her like she'd laid out the most grave of offences before her. All the while her fingers dug into her knee to stop herself laughing. The Queens thoughts were hilarious, she was acting like Haera was a beggar off the street just because she couldn't dance.

"And how is your Arithmetic?" beyond relieved she could at least read, she had that going for her at least, but how could a lady go through life not learning such basic skills they need to get through life?

"Finally getting to real talents! I'm brilliant at math!" Haera declared enthusiastically, watching a look of deep offense spread across the Queen's face at the unintended dig.

No, this was unacceptable! Daemon would be the laughing stock with such a wife. Her only values were her ability at Arithmetic and her ability to read? Whoever her parents were, clearly had done the girl a disservice and allowed her to run wild without care for her future. She was suddenly so very thankful that Alyssa had been willing to attend the classes at least. She needed to go to her husband at once, convince him that she was not right for their grandson. She likely didn't even have any inheritance, Rhea Royce did, at least Daemon would have something and not be beholden to his brother for the rest of his life. He needed someone to temper him, not add to his wild nature. Definitely not, no, she was too wild, Daemon deserved better than this, the very idea of it horrified her.

Haera closed her eyes, envisioning her dragon, the soul deep bond she had with it. It was new at the moment, very new, but her magic strengthened it beyond what any Targaryen was capable. At least on their own, it would depend on the strength of their magic, but even at that she was a god(ess) so her magic was more powerful than anything they could ever perceive. The dragon was close, very close, and a smirk slowly spread over her face, the next phase of the plan was soon to be put into action then it seemed.

Once again, Haera heard the guards before one knocked on the door of the room that was hers, temporarily as it may be. Her eyes snapped open, the smirk disappearing, well, it was time to meet the King then.

"We're here to escort you to the King, My Lady," the guard informed her.

Haera stared impassively at the figure, lip curling a little at the seven swords surrounding a crown crest. Even their uniform was surrounded by the faith of the seven, although, truth it could be the seven kingdoms, but she reckoned it was the faith, they were everywhere. She did wonder how they kept the white cloak so clean, eyeing it speculatively.

Slowly and deliberately, she stood up, careful to stop the stitching from tearing. She bypassed the dreadful dress that had been sent to her, and the shoes that definitely did not fit, even if she was willing to wear them. She smothered her amusement imagining the look on his face when she appeared still in this get up. Poor Alysanne, the Queen had been kind enough to send something for her to wear but there were limits to what she was willing to do.

Then they were on the move, to Haera's surprise, the noise wasn't quite as loud as she expected it as she walked just slightly behind them both. They passed people on the way, mostly servants, but there were a few 'Ladies' that looked completely horrified at the state of her. The men just looked her up and down with an air of distaste as they walked on by. Clearly, they hadn't heard of the saying don't judge a book by its appearance. Foolish idiots, honestly, she sniggered at the indignant looks on their faces when she just merely smirked at them.

Everyone was too easily riled up. Especially ones who were concerned about appearances.

She did begin to slow the longer they walked, the wound beginning to twinge unpleasantly, a reminder that she was still healing. That and she'd not taken another dose of the pain reliever, she'd been interrupted by the Queen then she'd slept for a few hours. The pain relief dosage was quite strong so it did make her a little lethargic. She didn't take it very often as it was, no way was she getting comfortable here when she had no idea what was going to happen. She was grateful for the potions though, massively, otherwise she'd still be in agony.

To think the king was likely aware of this but had dared summon her anyway? Dickwad. Although, she kind of respected that, someone unknown riding a dragon, in his keep, he wanted answers, which fair, she would too.

Didn't mean she was going to make it easy on him.

The dickwad probably hadn't been told no many times in his life.

Well, he had, really, and she respected the hell out of the girl who had. Hats off to her, it couldn't have been easy.

Her feet were freezing, the keep was by no means covered in rugs or carpets, perhaps she should have put those shoes on even if her feet would be half over the shoe itself. She cast a warming charm on herself, on most specifically the dress, non-verbally, which wouldn't help her feet, but she'd warm up nonetheless.

"Your name, my lady?" the Kingsguard asked, staring expectantly at her.

"What? Why?" she asked, surprised.

"So, you may be introduced," gesturing towards the room.

Haera grinned, all teeth, "Are prisoners always introduced?"

The Kingsguard shifted just slightly at the look gracing the lady's features, feeling rather wrongfooted for reasons beyond his comprehension. The second one just looked beyond bored, as he stared straight ahead, looking as if he was in a world of his own design. Although, Haera had the impression it was all put on, and that if she attempted anything, she'd have his sword pointed at her as quick as lightening. If he met her gaze just once she'd know everything he was thinking and then some…but regretfully he didn't and she wasn't going to try and catch his gaze for however long they had before she was ushered into the room.

"My Lady?" he spoke again, waiting.

Haera sighed dramatically, "Alright, fine, Lady Haera," she replied as if it was a chore.

The second Kingsguard just watched them, eyes gleaming in a certain way denoting an amusement at his fellow brothers expense.

"Don't keep looking, that's all your getting, I want to see his face when I tell him my name." Haera declared, having zero shame about sharing her desire to get a reaction from the King.

The second Kingsguard coughed, and sputtered for half a second, and Haera was positive it was to hide a sudden laugh.

After that it was quickly announced, "Lady Haera, your graces,"

"You really don't want to see his reaction? Come on! How often does he react to anything?" she said, bouncing on the balls of her feet, with a wicked grin.

Both men remained impassive, for the most part.

"Eh, spoil sports!" with that she wandered in, looking around the opulent room, giving zero attention to the King. She probably shouldn't be purposefully riling him up, but she couldn't help herself. She'd faced death so many times that a king wasn't all that intimidating really, not even one such as he. It helped that even if by some miracle that he managed to overpower her and she 'died' it would be temporarily. She could not die, she was a god, a supreme being, she could roam around universes without delay, could go anywhere in this whole wide universe.

Although, she was rather fascinated by this one, dragons! Bonded dragon riders! She wondered if the Targaryens could cast magic or not. It was proven before she even knew about the Targaryens for Merlin's sake, she'd been down here frequently, most recently before the gods asked him for their help was Dorne. He'd gotten a lot of Vhagar's favourite treats and fruits, knowing that the gods couldn't come down to…well, let's just call it Earth even though it wasn't. Such contact with the human race was strictly forbidden, and not to mention impossible.

A throat cleared and Haera mentally patted herself on the back 'ten points to Gryffindor!' she thought, before she glanced to where the sound had come from. Only it wasn't just the king, oh, no, he had his entire family there, bloody brilliant. She cleared his own throat, "Ah, the second Targaryen usurper king, you know…you're exactly how I imagined you'd be." She told him as she walked further into the room, "Including the twinkle in your eye." She informed him, leaning against the wall, right next to the windows, plucking the apple from the bowl.

Most of the family looked completely aghast by her words, even Baelon.

Daemon however, had looked away, keeping his face hidden from his family having found the words hilarious. He loved chaos though, so it was hardly surprising that he'd find it all entertaining and funny. He knew better than to laugh at this very moment, his grandsire would likely flog him if he laughed at that. There was no way he'd forget such disrespect, especially from him and he was on thin ice as it was. As made clear by the fact he was being forced to marry Rhea Royce.

"You know, you're referred to as King Jaehaerys the wise in the history books after you die," Haera continued, and the entire room froze at her words, "If only history knew the future, truth is, your actions bring about the downfall of the Targaryen dynasty, which wouldn't be bad all on its own if it hadn't taken the damn dragons as well."

The king could only stare, completely caught off guard, but his gaze was sharp and shewed, taking in everything she was saying. Baelon unsheathed his sword, believing it to be a threat against the king.

"But the icing on the cake? The long night takes all of humanity with it…and it all starts with a damn mistranslated word…a single damn word…" Haera stated sharply, "You're a fool of the tallest order, I've been asked to save you and the dragons…but you know what? You wouldn't believe a word I have to say. Would you? For the simple reason I wasn't born with a fucking cock between my legs."

Baelon and Daemon choked on their own spit at her words.

"You're too far gone," Haera said sadly. "I hope you can sleep at night though, knowing you're the one that destroys the Targaryen dynasty and all of humanity. Congratulations, I don't think even Meagor got that high a kill count."

The King straightened up, almost seizing in his fury, belatedly realising something was going to happen but not what, but before he could even think to order her to be contained until he could think of everything, she'd just spat at him. She kicked the glass causing it to shatter just as the sound of a dragons roar almost shattered their eardrums.

She jumped upon the ledge, wincing at the tiny bits of glass imbedding in her feet, okay, she definitely shouldn't have done that. Turning back around, she added, "Since you were so desperate to know who I am…I am Lady Haera...of house Peverell." With that she jumped off the ledge causing startled screams to leave the queen and Gaels mouths.

The half-eaten apple swung back and forth on the ledge amongst the glass.

A/N – ha! That was fun! I just don't think it would be much fun writing a demure Haera (Harry) so she's always going to be feisty and I'll fight anyone who thinks she'd react any different, she might be a female but she's still Harry in there so yeah, she's going to be hilarious to write like this Hehe of course I cannot have her going too far which is difficult got to have some public respect for the king after all whether you like him or not. I've also edited the first few chapters nothing drastic just removed that they win against the white walkers and that humanity ends. I really, really hope you got a giggle out of the conversation between the queen and Haera! I certainly got a laugh out of imagining it! Read & Review please! 

Chapter Text

All Hail The King

Chapter 5

Baelon and Daemon were swift in their reactions, making their way to the window, both of them couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration. She'd not only kicked the window out on her bare feet, but had jumped a considerable height and landed expertly on her dragon. Oh, Alyssa would have loved her, Baelon thought, as he watched her leave. A Peverell, he'd had no idea they had survived the doom. All this time they'd survived, and they'd had no clue.

Alysanne, the Queen, clutched Gael to her bosom, staring at the window horrified by what had just happened. Gael herself looked just about done with everything and everyone. She wanted to shove her mother away and placate her at the same time.

"Grandsire! Shall I call the Maesters?" Viserys was first to notice that the king had almost toppled out of his seat, such was the shock of hearing that name.

"Your grace?" Baelon queried, rejoining his family on the other side of the room, "Wherever she's going, she's heading east."

Jaehaerys' hands were still shaking, which he curled up into his cloak, still shaken by the existence of that family. He'd always believed, as had the rest of the families, that only three Dragon Lord families emerged untouched from the doom. Had their abilities persisted throughout time? Did she have their abilities as well as a dragon? The very idea made him nauseous; she could take them out without breaking sweat if the rumours of their abilities were true. It was regretful that the Peverell family were rather…secretive, the true extent of their abilities had always been hidden.

He felt numb, just thinking about her words, he'd done so much to create peace in Westeros, to show that the Targaryen's weren't as bad as Meagor. To think of being compared to him? She could have paid him no greater insult, the idea of her being right was enough to almost close his entire body down in sheer shock of it all. The dragons though? The Targaryen family? The long night? She was talking of Aegon's prophecy, something only his family should know, it had been kept secret, handed down from king to heir.

"Who are the Peverell's? I have never heard of them," Viserys said, only to startle when he saw his male relatives glance at him as if he had grown an additional head in the moments since he spoke. Everyone knew he loved investigating Valyria, but more the landscape and the actual history they could find on it, which regretfully wasn't much. Especially considering the Targaryens had over a decade to bring whatever they wished to Dragonstone before the incident occurred.

They were too busy planning to take over Westeros to think of preserving their history, the Targaryen's hadn't thought about their history but the Celtigers most definitely had. They'd gone back and forth between battles preserving what they could of their glorious empire before it was gone for good. Their island (Claw Isle) was like a small glimpse into Valyria itself. Despite the fact the Celtigers had married outsiders first they truly were proud of their heritage.

Gael was watching them closely, her desire to know evident in every line of her body. Grateful when her mother finally let her go, as if the young girl had been a threat to her to begin with. She wasn't one for learning the history of Valyria, or languages, although she did love to read, and did so extensively. She loved her murmur shows and books and poetry and music.

"I knew it." Daemon proclaimed, with a triumphant smirk on his face. He knew it, he'd been in the library searching through everything he could get his fingers on when he wasn't avoiding Rhea Royce, and lingering in the passageways to get information. "I knew she spoke to Cannibal, stopped him from doing anything before she fell unconscious." Cannibal was as wild as a dragon could become, had never interacted with any of his family or been ridden. They say that the dragon was there before they even started to prepare to leave before the doom. Even commanding the dragon would have little effect, it hadn't been in essence domesticated like the younger dragons were. There was a deep sense of admiration about Daemon as he fervently spoke.

Baelon closed his eyes, by the fourteen flames! His son was infatuated with her. Not that he could blame him, if he didn't love Alyssa so much, he may have given her a second thought. She's the first person to actually get more than a glance since his twin flame had left taking with her their third son, Aegon. She was much too young for him, and he'd never remarry. He still loved his wife and could not bear betraying her in such a way. Marrying in the way of old Valyria, was for this life and the next.

"Grandsire? Should they go after him?" Viserys asked, kneeling before the uncommonly quiet king. "Get a Maester now!" he called, feeling the clammy skin of his grandsire, noticing his vacant expression, and blue tinged lips and fingernails, which were clutched to his chest now.

"His pulse is weak," Gael murmured, taking the kings hand into her own, checking herself, she had learned a bit from the Maesters whilst taking care of her mother during various illnesses.

"Baelon, Daemon, go after her, bring her back here by whatever means necessary," Alysanne declared grimly, this incident weakened their family immensely, nobody could know, which means dozens if not hundreds already were aware of it. Nothing remained a secret in the Red Keep.

"Mother…" Baelon cautioned her, if what they knew was true, they could be sent back in an urn a pile of ashes.

"This is an order from your queen," Alysanne declared curtly. She was in charge while her husband was incapacitated. Baelon would not be in charge of this family until her husband died, until then, he would obey her or suffer the consequences. It shouldn't be Baelon anyway, Rhaenys should be the next future Queen. She should be here, learning the ropes, instead she was reduced to being a Lady of Driftmark.

Baelon bowed stiffly, "Your grace," and exited the room without another word spoken, his son following silently in his wake. He was never more grateful for Daemon's situational awareness – unlike Viserys – for he did not want to make small talk. It was taking his every effort to remain impassive when he just wanted to smash everything in sight. He hadn't asked to be named the heir, hadn't really wanted it, but you don't just say no to the king. It wasn't just his relationship with his niece, Rhaenys that suffered, but the queen treated him with such distain, not even those in Fleabottom got that sort of reaction from her, it made him feel worse than dirt under her shoes. He missed his wife and his brother so much, what he wouldn't give to just to have someone to talk to. Once again, his heart broke into a million pieces, chipping away at each dismissal from the people who should love him unconditionally.

"I'll go to the kitchen," Daemon quietly offered up, before breaking off away from his father, not quite able to hide the excitement he was feeling at the thrill of the hunt. He didn't bother to use the secret passageways, there were too many people about – currently moving out of his father's way hastily – as he stomped towards the front of the keep. Ordering their horses to be ready for them.

The kitchens in turn were bustling with activity, more so than the rest of the keep at this very moment. No surprise, they were creating food for various different people and making the main meals all at the same time. Harried maids rushed out with refreshments and various food platters for their Lords and Ladies and royal family.

"Prince Daemon," the serving girl said, giving a deep curtsy, any disrespect to the royal family was met with immediate dismissal. King Jaehaerys did not give second chances, not when there were plenty of other people who would do the job and do it properly. "How can I help?" eager to serve, especially Prince Daemon, he was always so down to earth and friendly with them.

"My father and I are going on a long flight, we don't know how long we will be, pack up enough provisions for us," Daemon said giving her a crooked smile. "Days not hours."

"Right away Prince Daemon!" she chirped, that was definitely an easy task to perform. Already moving to begin to gather up provisions for the heir and Prince Daemon.

"I haven't taken you from any tasks, Floris?" leaning against the counter, nabbing a lemon cake from the pile.

"No, my prince," Floris called out as she begun to cut up cubes of various meats and cheeses, her cheeks flushing red at the attention. Oh, she knew it wouldn't ever go anywhere, she wasn't so foolish as that. However, it was lovely to get some attention especially from a man such as Prince Daemon. There was no denying he was so very handsome. "I'm happy to help!"

Daemon found the servants and those frequently overlooked to be of immense value with information. They saw everything and were mostly ignored by the general population of the keep. He made sure to play nice with them and they frequently shared all the gossip with him first and foremost. He couldn't be everywhere at once after all. He watched her fill two packs filled with provisions, cheeses, meats, fruits, cakes and breads and bladders of water with one single canteen of wine each. There were enough provisions to last a week if they were careful.

"Hopefully that will be enough for you, my prince," Floris rushed to hand him over the provisions she'd just painstakingly crafted for him.

Daemon inclined his head, taking both packs before rushing off when a servant reminded Daemon that his father was becoming impatient. Given the mood his father was in, he didn't dally around, not that he had done so regardless. The bladders nosily clattered against each other. It took fifteen minutes at a straight run to get towards the entrance of the red keep.

"I'll meet you up in the air, we'll head east, see if we can catch up with her," Baelon accepted the food and water, hastily putting it in the pack on the horse. Short as the journey may be to his dragon, he didn't want it falling out and making him have to retrieve it. They were already losing time as it was, as he glanced up at the sky, which was quite fortuitously clear.

Which was the only fortunate thing about this situation, the things they did know about the Peverell family…honestly, he didn't think they'd survive if they angered her.

"How is the king?" Daemon asked, gracefully mounting his black horse patting it's neck in comfort, an unconscious thing, he did the same with his dragon.

Baelon shook his head, he had no idea, giving one last look at the keep, he urged the horse on and both of them split up. Baelon went straight for Vhagar's nest while Daemon headed to the pit, which would take longer than his father. So, it was no surprise to hear Vhagar roaring overhead before he was even in the dragons pit, someone must have rushed to tell the dragon keepers, since they had Caraxes waiting, unchained in the middle of the pit.

He wasted no time in mounting his dragon, securing himself to his blood wyrm before giving the command to fly, "Soves!" and they took off like a shot. Joining his father and Vhagar in the air, luckily the two dragons were used to each other, and got on quite well. After all, Caraxes used to belong to his uncle Aemon, his father's brother. There was no trouble as they started due east.

As it began to darken hours later, Daemon was very appreciative of his forethought to bring provisions. For they did inevitably have to stop for the night to not only give their dragons a rest, but allow them to hunt and find themselves something to eat.

"She can't be too far ahead," Daemon speculated, his brow furrowed, from where he sat on a log next to a fire that was burning merrily, the dragons had set it before flying off to hunt for something to eat and drink. "But I didn't catch a glimpse of Cannibal, Kepa, not once."

"No, nor I." Baelon answered just as perplexed as his son, "If she was an experienced rider, I'd suggest that was just an attempt to throw us off." And she definitely wasn't an experienced rider, the dragon handlers at Dragonstone had informed them that Cannibal had been there in the days leading up to the woman appearing in Kings Landing.

"She wouldn't need to be an experienced rider," Daemon pointed out, taking a long drink of water from his bladder, "She can speak to dragons." She could likely get them to do whatever she pleased; he'd love to know how far her talents went.

Baelon cursed colourfully in Valyrian, of course, he hadn't even considered that possibility. Sitting down tiredly, rubbing his face, "Don't go getting too attached to this girl, Daemon," Baelon warned, oh, he knew his son liked girls a little too much, given the amount of time he spent with whores, but they'd all done it, they were usually just more discrete. Daemon didn't have a discrete bone in his body, and the King was at his wits end with his antics. This was the first time he'd seen…admiration and desire intwined in one person. For one person. "If by some miracle we get her to return to Kings Landing, she might not survive."

Daemon stared at his father with a face filled with doubt, his father had blatantly tried to lie to his face. For someone raised in the public eye, a royal, his father was a horrendous liar. His brow furrowed, realizing his father was actually worried, terrified actually. His father was one of the bravest people in the world, the bravest, in Daemon's not so humble view.

"If I tell you to leave me and fly away, you do it, Daemon, do you hear me? That is an order from the Crowned Prince and your Kepa." Baelon commanded his son, his gaze boring into Daemons from across the crackling fire, giving them the warmth they needed. regardless Daemon felt a shiver crawl up his spine, perhaps for the first time in his memory, he realized his father was human just like everyone else and not this god that was untouchable. "Vow you will do this, on the fourteen flames." Commanding obedience from Daemon. He'd lost his wife, his youngest boy, he refused to lose Daemon too. He'd never be able to go to the beyond to be with his wife if he let anything happen to Daemon or Viserys.

"I swear on the fourteen flames that if you tell me to leave on the back of my dragon during this order, I'll go." Daemon declared, his hands out in an attempt to ward off the chill that suffused him.

Baelon sighed, giving a nod, glad to hear it, he'd also noticed Daemon's wording to his amusement. "Get some rest, I'll wake you up when it's your turn." They couldn't go the entire night without rest, and they also couldn't leave themselves vulnerable by both sleeping, even with their dragons nearby.

Daemon nodded, before getting himself comfortable as possible, close as he could to the fire for warmth.

Baelon watched over his son, his ears constantly picking up the quietest of sounds. Investigating any that happened to do so, but never leaving further than he could keep his sight on his son. He'd feel better when the dragons returned, he wished he'd packed his riding leathers, but neither had done so. If they'd stopped to do that and more, they'd have lost any ground, but it seemed like they had regardless.

"Drink up, there's a market up that way, we're going to find out if they saw anything," Baelon called out to his son, throwing one of the bladders at him. The dragons opened their eyes hearing their movements, but didn't bother moving, after all they hadn't been given any commands and were quite happy to remain grounded for now. "There's no point in going any further until we have definitive proof she's come this way."

"Essos is that way, she did sound like she was from the Valyrian Peninsula." Daemon suggested, as he rubbed his eyes, yawning tiredly as he stretched out. "Valyrian is definitely her first language." Rather put out with that, he would give anything to have Valyrian be his first language and not the common. Although, he had uttered plenty of Valyrian he was by no means fluent until he began learning on his own.

"She's going home," Baelon realised, had anyone even thought to ask her if she wanted to write to her parents? They were no doubt beyond terrified. She'd been gone at least three or four days; it would cause his own hair to go grey should his sons go missing like that. Unless, she'd gone out on her own with the purpose of obtaining a dragon and something had gone wrong. Either way, she was alone and afraid in an unfamiliar place, he was stupid not to have thought of this sooner. No matter how strong someone was…they'd always want somewhere familiar. Pinching the bridge of his nose, wondering if she believed she was a prisoner and sought to escape?

The very idea of her having a betrothed spurred anger within him, he wanted her, enough that he'd kill whoever her betrothed was in order to obtain her hand. They wouldn't appreciate her fully, not like he could and would. Essos wasn't quite as backward as Westeros, they treated their women better there, and they had more rights. Then his stomach plummeted, unless she was actually already married. It was possible Aemma had married his brother when she was eleven name days.

Daemon stood, gathering everything and putting it away into his satchel and tightened his coin purse to ensure it was secured properly. The provisions they'd bought was already at the bottom of the bag, which he always had secured to Caraxes' saddle luckily. It saved them having to actually carry the rationed foods, kept their hands free in case they had a need for them.

Which in the middle of nowhere, they likely would.

"How busy is it?" wondering if they should just mount their dragons and only come down to ask a single question.

"Not too busy, morning rush hasn't started yet," Baelon answered, ensuring all his weapons were secured and fastened properly. If there were birds anywhere in the vicinity – there wasn't they'd sense the dragons and flee in the opposite direction – they'd just be in the beginning of starting to tweet their morning songs.

That said, Prince Baelon gestured for Prince Daemon to follow, which he did with ease. They headed straight for the marketplace, Baelon took immediate notice of a woman with two children, one roughly three name days old and the other barely three moons. He made a beeline for her slowing down as he got nearby, not wishing to cause her undue alarm.

"Good morrow, well met," he said kindly, noticing her locking up in fear, her grip on her children becoming rather firm. "I seek only information; did you see a dragon going by?"

The oldest child, a boy, gasped and nodded eagerly, his dirty blond hair moving with his wild movements. He emphasised by pointing at the sky, as if to say that's where it came from.

"It was up there, was it?" Baelon said indulgently, "Was it black like this," gesturing towards his doublet.

"Tis' Black!" the little boy said, it made Baelon consider he might be older than three considering his speech.

Baelon glanced up at the mother, who nodded, "It went by before the sun rise. it's eyes were green." She shivered just remembering it, it was just so eery.

Daemon straightened up at that, it couldn't have been that far up if she'd seen its eyes, which meant she'd been nearby herself in the evening. "It was only just in the air when you saw it?"

"Where that bird is," the little boy insisted jumping up and down, attempting to get out of his mother's hold to meet the nice new people.

Daemon and Baelon glanced up, yes, she'd definitely rested somewhere nearby, very close by actually. Glancing at the woman again who nodded, her threadbare clothes denoting a struggle, but the children were clean, if not a little bit on the thin side. Opening his coin purse, he fished out coins, three gold dragons, fifty silver stags and half a dozen pennies. He gave all but one of the silver stags to the mother before handing one silver stag to the boy, before ruffling his hair, not that he noticed, too awed over the coin in his hand.

Having got the information, they sought; they inclined their heads before leaving. "Should we see where she camped out, Kepa?"

"No point, it hasn't been that long since the sun rose, we might be able to catch up with her if we're swift enough," Baelon answered, as they both begun to run back towards their dragons at a fast pace. "It's a miracle we've managed to trail her this far, we didn't catch a sight of Cannibal the entire we were in flight." Which was somewhat puzzling, since they clearly didn't have too big a head start. Dragons weren't easily missed whilst in the sky.

Turns out they ended up in the sky for over ten hours before they caught sight of Cannibal. In Essos.

In what they'd come to realize was the Peverell Keep.

The two Dragon Lords guided their dragons to land, giving Cannibal a wide berth, the last thing they wanted was for Cannibal to attack either one of them. Although, Baelon was positive between Vhagar and Caraxes they could take on Cannibal but it would likely come at a great cost. Cannibal didn't normally go after healthy dragons, usually eggs, baby dragons and dead dragons. So, he felt it best not to tempt fate.

The sight that met their eyes whilst on the ground was concerning, a pile of bodies lay discarded to the right of them. Dozens of urns sat on the cobblestone path. The grass was saturated with old dried blood, and badly burnt, by a dragons flame no doubt. Had she been attacked here and brought to Kings Landing by her dragon? No, not possible, this entire thing was completely baffling. He opened his mouth about to ask her exactly what had happened, as she scooped up ashes into another urn.

"You took your time, I expected you ages ago," Haera commented, as the two Princes approached, she didn't give them any curtsy's, they weren't in Westeros, and honestly? If she had to curtsy right now, she was going to end up on the floor, her exhaustion was very real and very evident in every line of her body as she struggled to keep herself upright. She was moving about like a newborn deer, such was the ache and shaking of her body, the long ride did not help matters and this was coming from someone used to long flights.

Daemon just watched her half in utter besotted admiration and concern, "Did you sleep at all last night?" this wasn't just aches due to flying, she was fatigued.

Haera snorted, "No," like she was going to be able to sleep in an unknown environment even with magic to protect her. She'd stopped for the night and urged Balerion – the name he'd chosen for his dragon – to go get something to eat or drink. It had taken her over an hour to move and actually sit down.

Bending down, she plucked three urns before thrusting them at Daemon, before claiming another three for herself. The gods had decided on a course of action, but as usual Haera had to mess it all up, it was their fault, she'd told them. Still, she was going to get Balerion back for stabbing her, although, she knew it was likely the only way she'd end up meeting the Targaryens in order to help them, he'd likely seen her change the course at the last second.

Truthfully, she wasn't sure she actually wanted to help the Targaryens, but for that girl, she'd do it. "Follow me," she told him, before striding back into her keep.

Daemon gestured with his head, towards the top of the doorway, the Peverell family crest there for all to see. Further confirming what they'd been told already. All this time there had been another Valyrian family having survived the doom, and one of the most powerful families at that.

The dragon emblazoned with claws deep into the triangle with a circle and line through it. If one looked close enough at the family crest, they'd notice that the circle was in fact a snake. The Peverell family like Merlin were in every single world, in every single universe in all the world. In every single one of them, they were necromancers and oftentimes Parseltongue's with their habit of marrying into the Slytherin line.

Under normal Daemon would have taken an extremely antagonistic view of anyone treating him this way. He was too besotted to find the situation as enraging as he ought to. Instead, he was quick to make his way into the keep, absently noticing the fighting had been inside as well.

He blindly followed her into a room, only to feel…something stirring within him, a warm welcome suffusing him. It was the only way he could explain it, it was like when he bonded with Caraxes for the first time. "What was that?" almost breathless as gooseflesh appeared over his arms. He almost dropped the urns he'd been given.

"The fourteen flames welcoming you," Haera explained, as she put the urns into position.

There were fourteen pillars which had dragons carved out in them, with faces etched above them, how stone could be ethereal was beyond his understanding. However, they were so beautiful depicted that he was in awe, even the dragon scales were magnificent. At the bottom had a candle for each and every Valyrian god and goddess. A lot of people had one god in particular they prefer to pray to above all others, yet it seemed here they were treated equally, Daemon rather liked that. This room vividly reminded him of Dragonstone, the etchings, the stones, the feelings suffusing the room.

Baelon brought in the rest of the urns, not trusting Daemon not to piss off the Lady Peverell. Then again, knowing his son, it would likely be the opposite he'd attempt. By the fourteen flame he didn't want to piss her off if she was capable of even a quarter of what the books imply. It was odd, they never wrote down what the Peverell family was capable of, only ever wrote around it and implied very heavily in a veiled manner. It was almost like they were incapable of writing it down. Which was ludicrous, wasn't it?

"Thank you," Haera said, accepting the urns before putting them in the large crevice's in the stones, intended for such things. Although, it was normally only for family, but these people didn't have family, its why she'd done the funeral rites for them, Valyrian ones at that since they were Valyrian and believed in the fourteen.

"What happened here?" Prince Baelon commanded with all the weight of his position behind him.

Haera tiredly rubbed her eyes and nose, would it be too rude to tell them to piss off and leave her alone? Surely, she could help them without marrying into the family? What chance did she have of succeeding now? The gods could have told her that king Jaehaerys was a massive, massive misogynistic prick. To think they'd wanted her to come down here as a woman for what? He almost, almost deserved the hellfire that was about to come down on him.

Pursing her lips, grumbling in annoyance, well, she'd went into all this effort for months, it wouldn't hurt to play along and see where it went. She had been bored after all, speaking to the Valyrian gods had been staving off the boredom just and no more. She took the last of the urns and set them together, it had been a family. They deserved better than to just bake in the sun as their bodies rotted.

"My parents died when I was one name days old, I was raised by my aunt and uncle," Haera explained, she had kept her 'story' similar to her first life. It was helpful in the manner that she wouldn't forget her backstory. With that she exited the temple, keeping the door open for them as well. "My father Jaehys married my mother Lilana, they got five years together, before they were murdered just for who they were." Stopping before the portrait, it was James and Lily with Valyrian features, instead of brown and red hair, they had platinum hair, instead of green and brown eyes, they were bright purple but despite their difference in features, Haera would recognize them anywhere.

Both believed they'd been killed because they were Valyrian and their abilities and it was a misconception Haera wasn't about to clear up.

"My aunt married an Andal and had a half-breed son," Haera said, disgust coating her voice, a shudder wracking her frame. Moving down to the kitchen, she pointed out that particular 'son' and both couldn't help but grimace in disgust. They'd seen pigs more attractive. "Too bad we weren't in Valyria; such unions were forbidden."

"Excuse me?" Baelon enquired genuinely fascinated to learn something new, "Do you know why?"

"How much of your own history have you forgotten?" Haera asked aghast, didn't they know? "Andal's have no magic, not like First Men or us. He's prime example of it, he was slow in the head, and check out his hands and feet, six fingers, six toes on each, he's never held a sword in his life, all he does is sit and sleep, eat and repeat. Magic keeps any problems that might arise through incest from plaguing us. Mating with Andal's though? Bad idea, within a generation or two, signs become evident. Unmistakable signs, truthfully, he was a walking medical miracle, they said he wouldn't live past ten name days."

Baelon blinked, utterly fascinated, "Do you have any written information on such things?"

Haera smirked, a delicious sinful thing that definitely caught both their attentions, humming softly, "How are you with your Valyrian glyphs?" a thoughtful frown on her face, pondering on which book would have the best affect over all.

"Daemon is without a doubt the best when it comes to glyphs, he's spend a considerable amount of time on them. We have a few tomes that are completely written in Valyrian glyphs to date, Daemon is the only one that has successfully read them cover to cover." Baelon declared proudly, patting his son on the shoulder, delighting in the red in his cheeks, wondering if it was embarrassment at his praise or something else. "I am not too terrible myself." Eyeing the rotten corpse of the girls cousin, who she clearly detested.

"You loathe him, why is that?" Daemon asked, trying to turn the attention back to the situation at hand. He wanted to know everything about her. Immediately reaching out to grip her firmly when she staggered, little wonder if she hadn't even slept last night, a unique situation where he wanted to reprimand someone and praise them for their forethought. Sleeping out there on your own was never a good idea, and gender truly did not come into it. Although, the very idea of her actually having books he hadn't read on Valyria was enticing enough. It wasn't just the fact he was half-Andal, although he suspected it was a good part of the reason.

"Other than for all the reasons I said before?" Haera asked amused, "My aunt and uncle were trying to force a betrothal on me to that sack of shit. To gain my inheritance through him. Didn't work. I was rather fortunate that my parents ensured if anything happened to them, that any marriage would be my choice. My inheritance wouldn't be released until I confirmed my acceptance of the marriage or I come of age. They learned the hard way I refuse to do as they bid."

Daemon straightened up as if he'd just been electrocuted when goblets and wine floated through from the kitchen presumably? His violet eyes the size of dinner plates as he observed it, with tiny twitches of her finger two of the goblets flew towards him and his father the last one delicately landing by Haera. Was she truly doing that? How could she be doing that? It hadn't said anything about…this levitation. He couldn't help but raise his hand above the wine container and tried to see if there was anything above it, like string or anything of the sort. There was nothing.

Baelon's eyes darkened considerably, easily figuring what exactly they'd done. "They were responsible for your injuries?" his tone dark and almost seething. Accepting the goblet positively brimming with questions, and a simmering excitement that was held back only by the information he was gleaning from the girl.

"Oh no, well, not directly," Haera replied with a huff of amusement, "They decided the best thing to do was sell me, killed good people to do it too." A glimmer of rage suffusing her, all feigned of course, there had never been an aunt and uncle, and she certainly hadn't been sold. The gods had come up with a 'cover story' that would pass royal inspection. Until she'd gotten over her amusement had told them she could have anyone believing whatever she pleased with one single spell. She was sure Balerion had stabbed her because of that.

"How did you get away?" Baelon asked, yes, she was much like Alyssa, she made him miss his wife so much and it was always a burning hole in his heart but days like today made it worse.

"Drugs wore off, idiots didn't even notice," Haera smirked, "After that it was easy to get rid of them all, even the bastard that managed to get me, poked the sword right through his throat, zero chance of survival." She got the last laugh, she always would. Touching the wound delicately, she ponded actually healing it fully but didn't want to risk too many questions, too many people knew about the incident.

"And how did that end up with you in Kings Landing?" Daemon enquired; the wine was unnaturally cold. He felt like he was bursting at the seams to ask so many questions. It was his royal training that was stopping it, and despite his best efforts he felt like he was going to literally explode if he didn't get answers to his questions.

"They took me by boat, the gods only know how long it was, the blade ran me through and I tipped over, into the water." Haera shrugged indifferently, lying through her teeth, "Managed to get myself onto an outcrop, next thing I know there's a dragon in my face, nudging me, and from there the bond formed." Which by the way, this was all true, Balerion had dropped her into the sea and she managed to get onto an outcrop near Dragonstone and the rest was history, she'd felt the bond to Balerion before she saw the dragon though, given who she was, it wasn't surprising.

"Can you do more than levitate?" Daemon blurted out, unable to contain his questions any longer.

Baelon remained silent as he watched Daemon come alive, so utterly enthusiastic in way that Baelon hadn't seen in such a long time. He hadn't seen him this way since he was a child, a young boy of what…eight name days perhaps? It made him feel incredibly nostalgic those were the days before he lost his brother, before the losses begun to ground them down to dust. His most ardent protector had passed and he'd been thrust into the spotlight. He noticed that Haera wasn't revealing very much, but considering everything (they were relative strangers after all) he didn't blame her one bit. He also watched a full meal (a roasted turkey of all things) be made in a matter of a few minutes. With root vegetables and potatoes and all the fancy trimmings he knew would have had the cooks slavering in the kitchen for nearly an entire afternoon before it was ready. Yet, pft, it was done, he'd never seen anything like it. He watched vegetables roast in front of his very eyes!

Now he was beginning to understand why there were no words in the books that mention the Peverell's. There were no words to be had, any mentions wouldn't give voice to the wonder he'd observed this night. Would her children have the ability? Where and how did she learn it? The king was going to be...god be good, he didn't even know how he'd react to be honest. He'd never been faced with this sort of thing before. At least not since before the doom.

Despite their exhaustion, they spoke for hours before retiring with a full stomach and as they did, both Daemon and Baelon realised they'd genuinely enjoyed themselves. Not once had she tried to gain their favour, tried to entice herself to them, and more importantly, she'd never once treated them like royalty. The only worrying thing was the fact during the entire time, there had been nobody around at all. It was highly irregular. Cooks, servants, someone anyone but there hadn't been anyone not even a Gardner or someone concerned about her enough that the bodies had lain there for who knows how long. 

He hadn't spoken of returning her to Kings Landing with them, nor his fears and worries about the king. He would broach that topic tomorrow.

The fact that they'd sat and ate and chatted with dead bodies surrounding them was surely immaterial.

Haera just found the entire thing amusing. What a strange world she was in. Most people she was used to interacting with (other than the gods) would have shrieked the rafters down and bolted. Okay, she was beginning to enjoy the Targaryens company now, at least two of them.

A/N – Not fully satisfied with this chapter like at all, but I suppose I could have them thinking on the magical displays later. Either that or I'll edit it, I'll let you know what I do If I do anything :) 

I like to think Daemon isn't quite as hardened as we see him as in the series, and a bit freer since he hadn't actually yet been forced to marry Rhea. He'll still be mercurial, loyal to his family, jaded but less so. Yes, Haera went home or what's supposed to be her home in Essos. Will they immediately travel after their 'marriage' or will we see them making differences in Kings Landing before leaving? Or will they remain in Kings Landing indefinitely? Hmm I've seen a few of each types of stories but I am leaning very heavily towards them travelling a lot. Will Jaehaerys be able to change or is it already too late for him? Will Haera save Baelon and prevent Viserys becoming king? Will he still kill Aemma for a son or will Haera manage to put a stop to it? She's far from the savior she used to be in her first life, hardened by time but still bored enough to do favors for others…if I was to show where they went and expand on it where would you like to see them? the north is done a lot but I think it's only because of the series showing it a lot more than anywhere else really but that's my guess! R&R 

Chapter Text

All Hail The King

Chapter 6

Daemon was wrenched out of his rather pleasant dreams abruptly, instincts already automatically seeking out his weapon. His first thought was this was definitely not his bed, it was far too comfortable and the room was too light. Blearily looking around, realizing that the reason it was so light was because he hadn't closed the bed curtains yestereve. Truthfully, yestereve had been…a peaceful one, normally he couldn't stand sitting around doing nothing, he was a man of action. He had to enquire and see if his grandsire would hire the mattresses from wherever Haera got hers, truly, it was the most comfortable bed he'd ever slept on in his life.

"You joining me for a midday meal?" Haera asked, standing in the doorway, an inquisitive look on her face, uncaring that it was not only uncouth but very rude to all but barge into someone's room, never mind just stand there and stare expectantly, especially as the Lady of the house. Especially when that someone was a guest, more so given the fact it was royalty.

"Midday meal?" Daemon jerked into sitting position, "I slept all morning?" he'd never done that, not since he was one and ten name days old, when he began his training. It was something he took very seriously; he'd wanted to become the best Valyrian warrior ever seen since before the doom. Failing that he wished to emulate Aegon the conqueror. He wanted to be able to protect his family, prove his worth. His grandsire had seen his worth, and he'd been gifted Dark Sister for his efforts.

"You both did," Haera answered, lips twitching showcasing her amusement. "Do you require aid in bathing and dressing for the day?" her tone more sardonic than it ought to be, given her own experience in trying to get those blasted clothes that pass for fashion in this time on. She'd given up very quickly and hired three seamstresses who worked for her on retainer and gave her exactly what she wanted in clothes which were vastly different from what they were used to creating for their Lady's or Lord's. They'd only worked for her six months since the moment she had begun this elaborate ploy to get an in with the Targaryens to save them and their Dragons.

"A Valet but a Squire will do if there's nothing else," Daemon declared, unabashedly removing himself from the covers, if she wanted to barge into his – temporarily – guest quarters, then she deserved this, perhaps she would refrain from doing such again. Not that she reacted, other than blinking, how strange, she wasn't married, so she was a maiden, usually maidens reacted very differently. How fascinating.

Haera sneered, "We don't have knights of the faith here; therefore, we have no need of squires." She didn't hold them in very high regard, a lot of them were paid to be knighted, others did do their best and become excellent fighters, it was their faith she held in seething contempt. "I'll send someone up to help you." With that she spun around and walked away leaving Daemon gaping part indignation and part bemusement. Highly perplexed by her sudden change in attitude.

Ugh, he (Daemon) was just like the rest of them, Andal in all but looks. Shame.

Haera loathed the mere mention of the faith of the seven, they didn't exist, the book was written by a Hightower. The ugly motherfucker had his heart broken by the girl he obsessed all his life over. Who was going to accept the third son of a seventh son? Set to inherit nothing? Certainly not the girl, who was beautiful and could set her sights very high indeed. She chose a Lord and he couldn't hack it, the idiot then proceeded to write, and it snowballed to what it was today. Even if they had existed, she'd hate them on principle alone. The bloody book made women into broodmares without a single thought between their heads…not to mention the fact the damn book didn't even allow them to enjoy sex. It ensured their entire existence was naught but misery. She had never expected anything to be worse than the bible of her original world.

Nothing ever changed though, there was always religion, always aversions to magic, jealousy and spite over the lack of it to be precise. Even before everyone learned to read and write (before it was even a thing) they still worshipped things, gods always speak of free will, but what does it say that humanity constantly sought out signs and thought them to be gods and worship them instead of thinking for themselves?

Truthfully, depending on the religion, it took a certain strength to abide by all the terms and conditions that came with belief in a certain religion. To live faithful to them, to not question things. She'd never had that strength and conviction, not even in her first life. It wasn't as if people like him -her- (who had been badly hurt and abused) didn't believe, because a great many of them did, perhaps it made her weak? No, just indifferent, why care for a god that cared nought for her when she was Harry? No, they'd been an atheist, but now? Oh, now she believed, how could she not when she'd met so many gods, so many religions? Huffing a laugh when she recalled her first thoughts, 'You can't be I'm an atheist!' ah, it was the false gods that demanded such 'restrictions' on their worshippers, gods that had been created by man.

"Gaemond, tend to Prince Baelon, please," Haera requested, as she stepped down into the kitchen, using her hand to instruct them silently to remain seated. "Finish your lunch first." Came the demand, giving a smile to all her people, who were all eating their lunch. "Jace, tend to Prince Daemon," Both young men supported the classic very pale Valyrian features, Gaemond had the purple eyes while Jace had the Velaryon blue. There was no denying who his father was, even if the father hadn't claimed him.

"At once, My Lady," Jace answered, giving a respectful bow as he set his plate in the sink, before leaving the kitchen to begin his duties.

"Bring their clothes to the kitchen, I'll see to them and return them to the rooms before they're done bathing." Haera called out before Jace could leave entirely. She received an affirmative nod before he was gone. They were all very well aware that the constant bowing and scraping was not only annoying but unwelcome.

Jace knew he had it very lucky, with Lady Haera's magic, life here in the keep was a peaceful one, easier life also. Not something he'd known growing up, until his mother had been employed as a Castellan of all things, and with that employment came a property not just on the grounds but in the keep. Not only was he being offered up an education along with the rest of his friends who were employed here. It wasn't normal, they knew, for people of their station to be given the chance of such an education. At least not in Westeros, but they weren't there anymore. He'd been born in Westeros, raised in Spice town, before his mother moved them here, his father had demanded they move, his…parentage was unmistakable. He resembled his father too greatly.

Jace passed an open doorway, hearing Helaerys crying tugged at his heart. She wasn't alone though, so he didn't pause to console her. His mother was there, helping her through the loss of her husband. Those that had lost a relative in the attack had been given fourteen days respite to grieve, and they'd been given leave to visit the fourteen temple and were well compensated with more money than they'd ever seen. His mother was still in disbelief over how much Lady Haera had handed over with sincere condolences over what happened and taking care of the funeral herself. He was honestly surprised not more people had died in the attack. The time of day it happened, there should have been more people there, and for some odd reason, nobody had been able to remember the attack until Lady Haera returned. Days later.

None mourned the former…occupants, everyone had detested them for the way they'd treated Lady Haera. The less said about the half-breed Andal the better. Oh, they were picking up Lady Haera's bad habits. She called Daeleys a half-breed Andal and nothing else when in their company. He may have been an adult age-wise but truth was, he acted like a spoiled three name day old babe. He wasn't sure how many times Lady Haera had taken their ire onto herself, to protect them.

Jace knocked on the doors as he entered the room, moving through to the water closet, after giving a bow of deference to the Westerosi Prince.

Daemon watched him go through to what he presumed was the wash room befuddled, even more so when he heard the distinctive sound of water running. He hadn't had a container of water with him, where was the water coming from? He wasn't going to have to bathe in cold water, was he?

Daemon didn't even think to contain his curiosity, he swaggered through like he owed the place. Truth be told, he'd take a cold bath if need be. The smell of days old smoke and sweat wasn't very pleasant, and he wasn't used to the stink remaining on his body.

He found a copper tub being filled up, extremely fast, water coming out of two spouts, like in the water fountains. However, this wasn't just for cold water, the steam gave away that it was hot water. Just then he got a good look at the boy helping, and straightened utterly as if someone had rammed a hot poker up is backside.

His purple gaze narrowing in on Velaryon blue. He looked so familiar that it was like looking at someone he knew, it took a few seconds for it to click in his mind. Mostly because he was looking at a younger version of someone, he knew only older. A younger version of Corlys Velaryon. This boy was older than his marriage to his cousin, which was the only reason he didn't consider informing her that he had bastards right away. Rhaenys deserved the best, certainly deserved better than someone that would cheat on her. She was a Targaryen Princess, not some lady of a lesser house.

Couldn't blame Corlys for actions he'd taken before he and Rhaenys married. He'd keep an eye on him though. He stepped into the tub; these were like the natural pools in Dragonstone. The smell of pine suffused the room after Jace added the herbs it into the tub.

"I'll return at once, your grace," Jace said perfectly respectful as he picked up the Princes attire, including his small clothes and leaving the room. Lady Haera had requested he bring the clothes of both Princes to her to be cleaned immediately. He set them in the basket before returning to his duties. They didn't need to bow to them, but they did so out of respect, the Princes were in Essos and they were not their subjects, but they could see the way the wind was blowing.

Lady Haera had returned with a dragon, only Targaryens could claim dragons. They needed to be on their best behaviour, not only was Daemon Targaryen said to be impulsive and easily angered, he was also the only male Targaryen left for Haera to marry if it came to that. If so, they were all hoping that he wasn't at all like he was rumoured to be, Haera deserved better than that, especially after all she'd had to endure at the hands of her family. He only knew this because his mother was the Castellan, chosen by Lady Haera herself. She would never let someone hurt her without fighting back, with anyone other than a Prince it would be fine, but a Prince of Targaryen blood? He had images of her dying through dragon fire. Not something anyone wished, all here at the Peverell keep were loyal to her.

Reinforced with magic, of course, not that anyone minded.

Three dragons in their usually peaceful keep were enough to give everyone a sense of foreboding. They'd been told that the dragons wouldn't be able to hurt them, not that they couldn't but wouldn't be able. They were all hoping and praying that they wouldn't be the one that needed to feed them. They were all a terrifying – but also awe-inspiring – sight to behold, none more so than the Black dragon with the eery green eyes.

True to Jace's words despite his thoughts becoming rather overwhelming, he did his duty well and ensured there was no possible way for anyone not even a royal Prince to complain about his conduct. He'd even given the prince a scalp massage while his hair was cleaned with a concoction of Lady Haera's own making. He had so much hair that it was very impractical. He was honestly amazed he could put up with it being a warrior that he was. He had no clue how to braid though.

"Elaenor, ask Gaerra to have three Dornish Sheep killed and brought here as soon as he can," Haera called out to Elaenor who was just finishing tying up her hair and putting a headscarf around her hair to keep it clean. She specifically asked Elaenor because her duties would see her passing Gaerra along the way.

"Yes, My Lady," Elaenor answered, gathering everything up, and slipping out the back door.

Just as the cook and a housemaid and scullery maid begun to collect the food for brunch and take it through to the table. It wasn't every day they had royalty in the keep, and it had them all abuzz and flustered. They were all trying to help each other out to take the stress of it all down a notch.

Haera nodded, pleased with how things were going, she was looking forward to getting answers out those two Targaryens about why they'd followed her – although she had her suspicions – she just didn't understand why they'd risk it, only a fool would send someone – especially the heir of the iron throne – after someone with unknown magical abilities that clearly, they knew about to some extent, the look on Jaehaerys face had been hilarious. She almost, almost wished she'd stuck around to see it properly.

"My Lady, I've put your wardrobe in your room, the seamstress has finished her work, shall I ask Leala to have it put away?" Jaella enquired, the castellan was the one responsible for keeping the running of the keep and seeing to the day-to-day things, such as gifts, parcels, mail and any instructions that Lady Haera would give her. Leala was her Lady Haera's lady-in-waiting, she was fifteen-years-old a little too young, but Lady Haera rarely needed help in that regard, she just took her in when her mother died and she saw the girl on the street. Her Lady Haera knew she couldn't save everyone, but she did her best which was more than most could ever conceive.

Haera's eyes lit up, delighted to hear the news, she'd missed the second fitting due to being kidnapped and all. "Not a fitting?"

Jaella stiffened, a pang of worry shooting through her, not at Haera specifically but just how people would have treated her for any perceived failing in the past. She knew Haera wasn't like that, and it was no trick question or anything of the sort, but her mind and heart couldn't quite catch up with her new reality. "No, should I call…"

"No, not at all, I'm pleased I'll get to wear them today," Haera said, almost hopping on the spot, she had zero decorum and didn't pretend it either. She was still young, her people believed she'd calm with age. "I'll go re-dress now, is there anything that needs my attention this afternoon?" they'd learn the hard way that there was no calming Haera Peverell, she was naturally chaotic in nature.

"No, my Lady," Jaella answered right away, getting used to saying My Lady properly. The elocution lessons she had received were…eye openers to say the least. As well as the lessons they were taught, as if they were high born, but Lady Haera insisted that everyone – who was interested – learn. Jaella had been beyond shocked, apparently it wasn't common but also not rare for staff to be educated in Essos. In Westeros they would never do such a thing. She and her son were getting a high-born education. There was only one thing this afternoon, and she would see to it, time to restock the pantry with the cook. They always liked to keep at least a month or two supplies (three in winter just to be safe). Her education had seen her elevated to Castellan. Which was more than she'd ever considered for herself.

"Very well, thank you, Jaella," Haera called out, as she made her way to her bedroom, she had on a plane grey day dress. It was the material and colours they usually gave to orphans or donned by Septas. Honestly, it was a bit too much, this ruse, she tired of it already, but needs a must. She didn't want to spend too much time with them though. Baelon and Daemon seemed alright. Narrowing her eyes thoughtfully as she dressed, she needed a way to find out more about the conspiracy surrounding the Citadel, the Hightower's and the faith. That would definitely keep her busy, she was going to look forward to it if she was honest. Maybe Daemon would like to join her, he wasn't one for courtly life. She knew nothing would give him a greater thrill than getting rid of his families enemies. It would also help keep him out of trouble.

She had ordered a lot of clothes; they took up room on her entire four poster bed. The seamstress had been completely befuddled when she asked for certain items. More so when she began asking for clothes that men wore. The poor woman knew better than to say anything though, and had hunkered down, between the two of them they'd come up with designs she'd roughly sketched. The underwear design had the poor woman completely flustered to the point of wishing to deny a Lady her wishes because of the impropriety. Haera had just laughed and told her she wouldn't say anything about her designing the underwear. However, seeing how pleased Haera had been with her initial design and how unhindered she walked she'd actually been tempted to create some of her own, with Haera's blessing to use any fabric she pleased if she desired to. Haera could easily create more fabric, the only thing she couldn't create would be food, although, she believed the gods could create food, it just didn't have the same taste as the real thing.

The gods themselves had created something that humans would desire above all else.

Red and gold had been her first colour of choice, it's the Peverell family colours, and she had stayed true to that. The Potters when the name changed, did the same, kept the family colours. It had nothing to do with his placement in Gryffindor, but it did cause a pang of nostalgia for his younger years, naïve as they had been back then. Most of it was leather, but she had a lot of other different materials.

Her underwear was made with the finest Myrish silk, it was a little difficult to get into the medieval sports bra she'd designed on, but it would give in time making it easier. As someone not used to such finery, even a boy, it was…a little out there but it was nice, anything not full of holes was great in her estimation. Next, she tried on her red leather leggings, which fitted to perfection, she'd chosen her seamstress' well. It was a mahogany red though, not the bright blood red her house was known for. Leather faded in the sun, it would look bright red for a few weeks before fading, at least this mahogany colour wouldn't fade quite so easily or notably. Her top was yellow/gold leather, which acted as a bodice with zero sleeves, but two straps that went around her neck and looped through the back of the material, then zig zagged through the back and tightened up, which she was able to do with magic on her own.

"Thank Merlin for that," she exclaimed quite pleased, anything was better than those constricting dresses she'd seen in movies of medieval times or worse, the dress she'd been given by the Queen. Honestly how did these women breathe? Let alone dance or any of the shit they had to do? Whether they were royal or not? She couldn't imagine actually wearing those things, let alone actually doing so. Shaking off her thoughts, she put her leather jacket on, it was black, and down to her ankles, and most definitely not something a women would wear in Westeros. Which brought her great delight, she must confess.

The urge to go down into her trunk was massive, but she decided to nix the idea. These were Targaryens, to see their symbol used as a pair of boots might be a step too far for them. Even if the dragon parts were only used upon their deaths. Mostly sold off in an attempt to ensure the future of the dragon sanctuary and thus their protection.

Shrugging, she just put her new black boots on, all the material had come from her own keep (sheep, goat, cows) she'd only paid for the usual, tanning, design, seamstress, they got paid well for their work compared to mass produced stuff in his original time which you could buy for the next of nothing… It was why things were always sent out to be mended, never just thrown out. She threw the slippers on the bed; she needed them when she didn't have her boots on shoes on. They didn't have carpets here, so it was bloody freezing, and not to mention the odds and ends that you ended up stepping on. Rugs helped, there was no doubt about that, but only just.

Moving to the drawer, she removed two Valyrian daggers, and slid them into her boots. The boot itself acted as a sheath; the actual sheaths were kept in the drawer. She was pleased the handle of the blade wasn't too big, but had a good grip to it. Now, it was time to find out why they were here and deal with it.

Haera nodded firmly after glancing in the looking glass (mirror she mentally thought) her hair was down but she couldn't be arsed trying to do anything with it if she was honest with herself. Her stomach grumbled loudly, right, breakfast, then finding out.

Entering the dining hall, she moved towards the seat at the head of the table, the candles were all alight, and only the top of the table was filled with food. A mixture of breakfast and lunch foods as Haera had asked them to make after letting the royals sleep in.

Luckily, she didn't have long to wait until they joined her, an air of amusement surrounded her as she watched them walk further into the room behind Lia. Lia bobbed a curtsey before leaving the room, to see to her duties. They both claimed a seat at either side of her.

"Eat up, we can talk once we're done." she told the men, who were looking at her completely unabashed, their eyes broadcasting vastly different feelings. Oh, they were good at concealing their true feelings on their faces, but there was a reason they said the eyes were the windows to the soul.

Baelon felt like his heart was going to beat out of his chest, he'd never been more vividly reminded of his wife in all his years. Twelve years he'd had to live on without her, and that ache had dulled over time, but this girl? Oh, she brought all the sharp edges roaring back, cutting him all over again. That reckless confidence, the immediate proficiency of dragon riding, oh, he missed her so much, his heart positively ached. He often prayed to go back in time, to put a stop to her third pregnancy, he'd be forever content with Viserys and Daemon as long as he had her in his life. He had been quite happy with just the two of them to be perfectly honest. His wife had wanted a whole army of children she'd said. She'd wanted to give him that. One day he'd rejoin her in the halls of his ancestors, one day he'd see her again, and he would be able to do that with naught but pride on his side that he'd done everything for their sons.

Daemon watched her with utter fascination, there weren't many women in his life that were this confident and secure in themselves. The only one he could truly say who was would be his grandmother, she had every right to be though, she was the queen consort, nobody other than her own husband was above her. Then again, even she bowed to the whims of her husband. Even Rhaenys was the same bowed to the command of her husband. Rhaenys nor the queen would have been able to endure that injury silent. This woman in front of him, she seemed ethereal, untouchable, truly confident in herself. Everything seemed to amuse her, he could not help but desire her, she was everything he wanted in a wife. A dragon-rider, Valyrian, the fact she had her own keep or fortune truly didn't factor in although it certainly didn't hurt.

Anyone was better than that Bronze Bitch his grandparents were forcing him to marry.

Breakfast was quiet, the quiet hum of people going about their tasks behind the closed door and the cutlery the only sounds made. If one strained to hear better, they'd make out the sounds of children playing outdoors the orphanage Haera had opened up for all children. Helped along by actually using magic, giving children their own space, their own room, and an actual education as well as apprenticeship to aid them in life. She couldn't help everyone but she was determined to help those she could.

"Does anyone in your family still practice magic?" Haera asked, after they were done, and sitting in the sitting room the fire was going making it quite cosy.

Daemon's eyes lit up with fascination while Baelon winced, "It's best not to bring up magic in Westeros," naturally trying to protect her.

Haera's eyebrows shot up, "I'm going to take that as a, no?" sighing in disappointment, "You've even abandoned your magic?" tragic, they were Andal's with white hair and purple eyes, the shame of it, the Targaryens were rolling in their Obsidian urns in Dragonstone.

"Why do you want to know?" Daemon desired desperately to know how she thought, what she thought and oh, the idea of learning more about magic…he'd do anything to know more.

"Queen Visenya Targaryen liked visiting my great-grandsire," Haera answered wryly, "It's the only time she knew peace, clarity, oh, she pretended to convert to the faith of the seven but remained true to herself. By the end of her visits its said she wished she had never left Valyria and had gone with the rest of her family in the doom. That coming to Westeros had doomed them all, she was right of course, sad to say." a sad and sombre look gracing her features. "Her books on magic were left with us, her journals as well, she knew her son would die without issue, and there would be nobody to carry on her legacy." There was no branch of family for her, it stopped with Meagor.

Daemons breathing hitched, journals? Actual journals written by his ancestors? Yes, they had books on the conquering but those were written by Maesters, not his family themselves. It's said Aegon had written journals but none had been found. "Can I see them?"

"You may have them." Haera replied, she would keep a copy of them though. "Now, why are you both here?" not even pretending stupidity, she gazed Baelon a shrewd knowing look.

"The Queen has ordered your return to Westeros," Baelon told her.

Haera laughed, it was a cruel mocking laugh filled with derision, "She must hate your guts," crossing her legs, her gaze never wavered from the older man.

Baelon flinched, he had considered that possibility very frequently as of late.

"History isn't the Queens strong suit; she doesn't know what the Peverell's are capable off." Daemon informed her, almost salivating over actually knowing more himself. Was it possible that he had magic running through his veins? Could he do magic himself? the very idea of it excited him thoroughly, he wished to see the journals immediately.

"Do you?" Haera asked, eyes twinkling deviously.

"We've got a rough idea," Baelon replied, Daemon was too busy just staring at her delighting in her conniving teasing nature. Then again, Daemon did delight in gathering a terrifying reputation outside of the family. He wasn't blind to all he heard about his son but he could feel nothing but proud, especially since his firstborn was too soft, he would need someone fierce at his side.

"You really don't," Haera replied, "You've NO idea."

Baelon swallowed, "What did you mean by what you said about the king taking down the Targaryen dynasty?" his purple eyes unconsciously pleading for the lady to take pity on them and tell him. The king might not take her serious but he would, even if it was only the possibility of something happening to his family. Naturally doubt crept up, who was she to know what would happen to his family?

"It starts with him, but it doesn't end with him." Haera corrected, "You doubt my word, perfectly understandable."

Baelon opened his mouth to deny her words, not wishing to antagonise and find out just how powerful this Lady actually was. He needed to get her onside and take her back to the Red Keep.

"You really are the perfect little heir, aren't you?" Haera couldn't help but comment, a sad little grimace on her face. "I mean the very idea of going against anything your parents say is intolerable to you. Where is the man coined Baelon the Brave? Where is the man who slaughtered hundreds of pirates in defence of his brother? Who was determined to have his sister as his wife? Instead, what have we got? A man who would stand in three months' time as his youngest child was brought to the alter at sword point by three Kingsguard still drunk and do nothing as he's forced to marry Rhea Royce, even then your son refused to say the words, your mother in the end said then and that's it, chained to an Andal for sixteen years, until she dies, the marriage unconsummated."

Daemon swallowed thickly, the very idea of being married to Rhea Royce was disgusting, let alone for sixteen years.

Haera leaned over, whispering into Baelon's ear, "If you think your wife is going to greet you with open arms…think again. She is furious with you. You'll spent an entire century sleeping on the floor begging for her forgiveness and still not receive it in the halls of your ancestors. Your sister though, she forgives you, she wishes for me to tell you that she didn't mean anything by it, certainly never intended to disrespect Alyssa. Oh, don't get me started on your brother, he's furious with you, silver springer."

Baelon paled drastically, jerking away from her, suddenly having zero doubt about her abilities. Nobody, absolutely nobody knew about what his sister attempted except their parents. They certainly wouldn't have spread that information around. Nobody knew of his brothers nickname for him, it was only used when they were on their own. He was the spring prince, and before he became Baelon the Brave, his brother had called him springer, silver springer, he'd followed his brother everywhere, springing up when Aemon was training. It became silver springer; he'd never thought he'd hear it again. He felt sick to his stomach though.

"So, the journals?" Haera questioned Daemon innocently, not acting as if she'd literally destroyed a man with a dozen or so words. Standing up facing Daemon so he didn't quite notice just how devastated his father was.

Naturally the idea of seeing more magic, of getting his hands on his favourite ancestors own written words was too enticing. Daemon was up and moving out the room immediately.

Baelon's hands rose to his head, hiding his face, his shame, his tears, a sense of crushing defeat suffusing him.

A/N I'm learning more about the good old days by writing this lol my google searches are becoming more amusing to say the least! I keep getting different results though, when I try to find out what words you'd use to greet a Prince of royal blood, but I'm not having much luck, like 'Your grace' I thought it was only applied to the king or queen…but as I said I'm getting a whole load of different results, which is irksome I prefer to know these things and them be accurate, but oh well? What can I do if I'm getting a load of different stuff if you know the answer (and really know it) let know, and if you have any good links to site that would help would be amazing too history might not be my strong suit, actually it was one of my favourite subjects at school, but when I go down rabbit holes, I end up knowing it well – here's looking at the world war two for my story Lord of Time LOL) even knew what kind of food they'd eat LOL

And okay, I didn't mean to bully Baelon LOL but I've already got a means of apologising to him in future *grins* gosh I have scenes in my head for this story I just want to rush and write! GAHHH but I'm probably a dozen chapters away from those ones, but one I might be able to fit in next chapter *rubs hands together gleefully mawwhaha* I guess I'm just pissed that he didn't fight for Daemon or Aemma, he was the last bloody male son, potential heir, I reckon he could have got Jaehaerys to bloody listen to him or threaten to leave and destroy what was left of the Targ dynasty. I know, I know it's not that simple *scowls* still, at least I'll get to stick up for them hehe

I wonder do you guys want to see Vis still marry Alicent and the civil war that comes with it? or would you actually enjoy a story where the Hightowers don't get anywhere near the throne? I've read so many time-travel stories where they know what's going to happen but they don't even attempt to stop their births (with each birth bringing a dragon rider into the frame) but still they're all born *shrugs* never really understood that myself, don't get me wrong I love the stories it's just something that I'm noticing a lot there's one though where Rhaenyra literally goes and kills Allicent and then Otto the moment she gets back and it's the only one of a kind (if you know others left me know) the title is called Rhaenyra comes back feral or something close to that! R&R

HAPPY NEW YEAR WHEN THE TIME COMES GUYS!! WISHING YOU ALL THE BEST FOR 2025 ALL MY LOVE <3 <3 

Chapter Text

All Hail The King

Chapter 7

Haera moved with practiced ease, never once checking to see if Daemon was following her. Her destination had them passing by her bedroom, and further into the family wing. There were a few empty rooms, well, not technically empty, they were fully furnished, covered with sheets to stop any dust from gathering everywhere. They were however, unused. Down at the very bottom of the wing, Haera opened the door, revealing a large library, taking up what was originally two bedrooms with bathrooms and sitting rooms. That is to say, the library was positively massive even by Daemon's standards and the library in the Red Keep was not to be sniffed at. The room was completely shrouded in darkness, that was until the interior wood shutters were opened with a flick of her hand. Enveloping the room in daylight, there were iron candle holders affixed to the table, but that was the only source of other possible light. The wick was still white indicating it hadn't been used and the dust he idly noticed, attached firmly, clearly not used. Not that one would need to, in daylight, there was enough light to read to your hearts content.

"The room over there is a reading nook," Haera explained, gesturing towards the doorway Daemon could just make out. "It has a small fireplace, it's really rather cosy." For someone who had grown up in a cupboard, it was a surprise she really did like small enclosed spaces, and that she liked reading, given that she'd been discouraged from learning in both world's growing up.

Daemon was lost in wonder as he looked around, his fingers delicately tracing the spines of the books within touching distance. "Are they all on magic?" the very idea was heaven; most people likely would never know this but he loved reading. Loved reading almost as much as he loved fighting. Most people would never hazard a guess that he liked anything other than participating in tourneys, fucking or fighting.

"Roughly fifty percent of the books here are, yes," Haera informed him, this world didn't have an abundance of storybooks, only vital information was really written down and bound. It was understandable, the majority of the population did not know how to read, and the majority of the population happened to be the common folk.

"Here?" Daemon caught onto her wording.

Haera smirked, "Here," she confirmed her wording, if he was amazed by what he could see here? He'd love her library in her trunk, which would have given Hermione an orgasm at seeing. It was the biggest library in the world, and nobody would ever know it. It contained a lot of books he'd brought from the magical world (all the books that had been saved up in his vaults) considering his family could be traced all the way to the dark ages admittedly in a different name. Potter/Peverell and not to mention the Black vaults, oh, the magical books in there, they were something else, so much magic just forgotten in a vault, ludicrous really, that's not to mention all the books that had been salvaged after being thrown out by the Weasley's – thank you Kreacher – so he had more than enough books to read for a century to say the least.

Haera moved through the shelves until she came to an area that was teeming with trunks all set nicely in ten different rows. All of them identical, Haera had copied them, to put the numerous scrolls in to keep them safe. Too delicate to withstand the humid air, so they remained safely ensconced within the trunks with a few spells to keep them as secure as possible. With a wave of her hand, she moved four trunks before letting one drift forward, it was obvious right away that this particular trunk was different, the wood was polar opposite. "Tis a wood you'd only find in Valyria, beautiful is it not?" it was pure white, the closest comparison in her world would be Himalayan Birch tree.

"This is Visenya's trunk?" Daemon's voice was filled with awe and wonder, nobody had heard such reverence in his tone.

"She strapped it to the back of Vhagar and came with it the last time she came," Haera explained, "Feel it, it's weightless." Watching as Daemon hoisted it up expecting it to be really heavy and her mocking him. Only for one push to have the entire thing dangling in his hand, something that shouldn't be possible, not even as strong as he was but for the magic coursing through it. Vhagar would have been able to take it even without the spell on it though, for she was a mighty dragon.

"How is that possible?" Daemon murmured; it was lighter than his own sword Dark Sister.

"Some magic lasts forever, you felt the same thing when you entered the Temple, did you not?" Haera questioned bluntly.

"Does that mean something?" Daemon enquired, staring at the girl in wonder. Visenya had always been his favourite of the conquerors, most of his male relatives likely aspired to be like Aegon, but not him. He'd never confess as such, at least not while the King and Queen were alive, their expression always sours whenever Visenya was mentioned.

"You're awfully sensitive to magic," Haera said, cocking her head to the side, "Makes me wonder if the magic is as gone from your line as is believed."

Daemon straightened up, which made him take up more room, "You believe that I could use magic?" the idea was unfathomable, he'd always been proud to be a Targaryen, but the possibility of being able to use magic? Being able to ride a dragon had been the only thing he'd desired above all else. The very idea of actively using magic had never occurred to him despite it being known that Visenya was a magic user.

"It's a possibility," Haera said slowly, he could ride a dragon, the magic had to be alive in his blood to some extent, whether that would allow him to actively use magic, who knew? "If I had to guess, I would say yes," to be magic sensitive you had to be able to harness magic to a point. Not even squibs could sense magic, not even ones who had remained in the magical world like Filch.

"How do I perform magic?" Daemon wasted no time in wishing to find out.

"I have no idea!" Haera said in amusement, wasn't that wonderful?

"What?" Daemon asked, frowning in annoyance now but then again, sometimes it never took much to have annoyance surging within him.

"I don't know how Visenya conducted her magic, or how," Haera explained, she had been too busy attempting to memorise everything she'd need to survive in this world. "It may be the case where they're similar, but families were protective of their abilities and hoarded such knowledge." Her people used wands to conduct their magic, she no longer required such a thing, she could use magic as freely as breathing. She had no idea how the Valyrians conducted their magical abilities. She was more familiar with First Men magic if she was honest.

Daemon just stared.

"My magic is not the same as Valyrian magic, not sure if it's Glyphs, blood magic or more," Haera declared, enthused at the idea of finding out. "It's said to have created Dragonstone itself, to think I was so close to it and didn't get to see the ancestral seat of power." She pouted a little, dismayed, to see the building created entirely by magic? There were so few examples to be had, Hogwarts was one beautiful example, it had taken four of the most powerful wizards to accomplish it. Was it just rumours though? Or had they truly built Dragonstone through magic alone?

"But you are Valyrian are you not?" Daemon enquired suspiciously, why would her magic be different?

"I'm a Peverell, my family's magic has always been different," Haera said smugly, there was nothing she couldn't do, and pondered whether the Valyrians had come up with spells similar to his own, to torture, to kill, to compel. Perhaps she should have studied Valyrian magical abilities and Visenya's capabilities before now but honestly, she'd spent six months having information shoved into her mind while she learnt how to fight. Information she'd need to survive in Westeros according to the gods. She was still going to kill Balerion for his actions though, just when he'd least expect it.

"Magic is magic," Daemon stated firmly, eyeing the chest with all the books and scrolls, touched and read by Visenya Targaryen herself. They felt so delicate that he almost didn't want to touch them in fear of them crumbling to dust.

"Well, at its core, perhaps," Haera said thoughtfully, "However, there's much variation when it comes to magic and what people are capable of. Such as First Men, they mostly have Warging abilities, they can transform their conscience into an animal, some people can actually transform from human into animal. Seers, pyromancers, Terramancers, Hydromancers, air benders, not to mention what the Rhoynar capabilities, at least the ones intelligent enough to marry into the First Men…those that married into Andals likely lost their magical abilities and knowledge of it too." They'd been nothing compared to the dragon riders they liked to fight though, and thus had fled with their tail between their legs eventually and settled down in Dorne. She couldn't help but hate Andals, and it showed so very clearly in her voice, despite her best efforts.

"You really dislike Andals," Daemon mused, he knew the feeling immensely, he didn't trust the Andals as much as he could throw them, or the Maesters. "I never thought I'd meet anyone that hated them more than I."

"Muggles," Haera muttered under her breathe, grimacing, "You'll likely feel it more once you read the journals. I've just finished reading a journal of one of my ancestors regarding the consequences of a half breed Andal claiming a dragon and the devastation it triggered. It caused damage to thirty percent of Valyria, the idiot couldn't control his dragon, Andals only connect with them, they cannot bond with them. Their blood dilutes too much, they spoke of the horror at having to kill a dragon because it was uncontrollable. To do such a thing was an anathema… I'm not sure those that were forced to participate recovered from that horror. It's what caused the Andals to flee to Westeros the Valyrians did not trust Andals after that. It was then it was forbidden to lay with an Andal and it's punishment was death. It's really a fascinating read for anyone who has a love of Valyria." They loved to discuss the buildings, architecture and everything in-between, it was no surprise he had gone on to be a builder and built some of the most beautiful buildings in Valyria.

Daemon's eyes were wide, as he swallowed thickly, "Who's journals? And may I have them also? The King will need to be informed about this…" this could be the very thing that could see that the king stops the betrothal to the Bronzed Bitch.

"And the fact it will get you out of the marriage he's enforcing has nothing to do with it? Hmm…" Haera smirked, as she moved through the bookcases, seeking the journals she had actually read it was a fascinating read despite all the destruction written within the confines of its pages. It was something else reading something someone had observed, the devastation that can be written in words.

Finally, she found it after ten minutes of searching, and with a flick of her finger, the journal flew off the shelf and smacked into her hand. She opened it up and made sure it was the correct one, before copying it, and moving up the ladders to set it back into its position. The copy would be going to Daemon, but the first copy would stay here, all real articles were in her trunk, where everything she held most dear remained. Maybe one day she would show her trunk to any children she may have. Should she be so lucky.

"Do you always refer to him as 'the king'?" Haera asked, as she approached the Targaryen Prince who had moved to keep her in his line of sight. Watching her silently, so utterly overwhelmed by the happenings of these past days. He'd never met anyone like her, and it threw him off his game.

"What else would I call him?" Daemon stared blankly at Haera silently confused by the question.

"Grandsire?" Haera retorted with a shrug, "It speaks volumes that you actually felt confused regarding that statement." A commiserating smile on her face, they had everything they could possibly want except the love of a family. A man that was a half decent king, but dreadful father and abhorrent grandsire.

Daemon just shrugged indifferently, he loved his family, he did, even if he was very angry with them at present. Their wiliness to marry him off to an Andal – a Royce – of all things was infuriating. Did he not deserve a Valyrian bride? Why did everyone including his brother get to choose their wives – even Rhaenys had chosen her own husband – but he was being forced to the Vale? Oh, no, he'd always been determined never to go quietly – or at all if he had his way – but the first true piece of hope he'd had was when the King said the betrothal would be set aside for Haera, even if it was only because she had a dragon. Even not knowing anything much about her, he'd have taken that deal in a second even without the dragon. She was Valyrian, beautiful, intelligent, yes, he desired her immensely.

Haera supposed you can't miss what you never had to begin with. Not that she was one to talk, she'd never been fortunate enough to have a family in any of the lives she'd lived. She did want a family, desperately, to experience it just once, that sort of unconditional love for a child and to be adored in turn from any child and partner. Was it so wrong to want to be desired? Loved? To have an equal? Clenching her fist as she thought of her past.

Occluding her mind with vicious efficiency, she came back to herself, such ruminations only taking a few moments of time, "You may read these anywhere you please." Since it was a copy, there was no book leaving the library, so it didn't need written down for the castellan to make a notation off and ensure it was returned. With that Haera left the library, wondering if she was supposed to entertain them while they were here? Likely supposed to have huge extravagant parties and such.

Should she plan an elaborate celebration to celebrate the Princes being present? She honestly couldn't give a shit about it all to be honest, the very idea of having to host a party was nauseating. She'd never been big on socialising. She had once been the most known public figure in the world, everyone knowing more about her than she did. Haera would have honestly preferred to be left well enough alone, and helped from the background. Given who she was dealing with, it seemed she was needed for direct intervention. Which, she fully agreed with having met King Jaehaerys Targaryen. Now, he was going to be difficult to deal with, she had a feeling even being told the truth wouldn't break through that stubborn mind. He'd likely want proof, irrefutable proof before he'd do anything. Like people keep words of treason lying around, foolish idiot, he would endanger his family before believing everything she said. Given what she did know though…perhaps it wasn't a surprise that he'd rather be ignorant to the truth of what he had helped perpetrate.

It was going to be so much fun breaking him though, she thought with a very wicked grin, rubbing her hands together, and the fact she could freely – Ish – use her magic as she pleased even better. It was time the Targaryen's were brought down to level, and realized there was more to power than that blasted sword chair that was a mere copy of the actual one in Valyria, and far superior too. Not just cheap iron but a Valyrian steel throne that once sat the gods who had asked for her assistance in ensuring the Targaryen's survival so that the world could be saved.

She could scarcely believe that the Queen had ordered her son and grandson to bring her back. Utter foolishness, although the Kings reaction to her revelation had been glorious. She wished she'd stuck around to see more, but she'd left as quickly as possible. Oh, she knew she'd end up back there, couldn't make it too easy for them now, could she? It wasn't who she was, even if she was in a different world and in a different form.

Hmm, she did have a pensive in her trunk though, perhaps Daemon would be obliging in giving her the memory of what happened after she absconded out the window on dragon back. It had been the most thrilling experience she'd had in ages, being able to fly once more on dragon back. Oh, to be a fly on the wall when Jaehaerys finds out what his wife had done…she wondered how they'd react when she returned, there was no if, she'd never intended to leave for good, just had to make them believe she would. If she had to manipulate a few Targaryen's to save the world then she would.

Tempted to let the Andals pay for their crimes, they had come En Masse and slaughtered the children of the night and cut down their Weirwood trees. Unfortunately, there were innocent people – and magic users – caught between them. Push comes to shove; she could just ensure they were saved and leave the rest of the Andals to pay for their crimes. Playing with bloody powers beyond their understanding, trying to cull it as if it was something so easily smothered. She needed to create somewhere where magical people can openly use magic freely, make a home for them. They deserved it really, instead of seeing magic declining entirely. As the gods said, they needed magic for the world to survive, well, she'd make sure they did.

And the rest of this blasted world let them away with it, allowed them to gain more power instead of dealing with them and stamping out their disgusting practices. The worst of all, those from Rhoynar mating with them, sullying their bloodline with the likes of them. Luckily for all concerned, he had the perfect way to ensure their diminished numbers.

"Is all well?" Haera asked Jaella when she rounded the corner and into the kitchen.

"Everything is sorted, the pantry is now fully stocked," Jaella explained, as they folded away the paper the meats, cheese and everything had come in from all around the keep. "They've found out royalty is here; the markets are just teeming with lovely items and fabrics. They have some in the loveliest purple-coloured fabrics, I think you'll love it."

Haera blinked, arching a brow, "Then we simply must go by and have a look around the stalls," they'd need to go in the evening, he wanted to show them around the estate. "Speaking of royalty, do you know where Prince Baelon has gone?"

"He retired to his rooms with a bottle of Dornish Wine." Jaella explained, they'd been told to see to their every need while they were there.

Haera arched a brow, sighing in irritation, she should have expected that, after what she'd said and done. However, she was aware that nobody really drank water here unless they had to. Drinking water in this day and age was dangerous, so it's not like he could have asked for it. Truth was, all water on the estate was safe, magic was a wonderful thing after all. Hopefully he wouldn't get too drunk, none of the alcohol she got was watered down. No matter, she would whip them all into shape, fucking fools caring more about Andals than their own family.

Sometimes people made no sense to her, she'd gave given everything for a family.

"Word has already gotten around that you're here," Haera informed the royals, over their lunch. "Your dragons are rather unmistakable I'm afraid, markets have popped up in the area, would you like to visit them?" the lunch differed vastly from the ones in the Red Keep, the food was far lighter, not as heavy on the stomach or as rich for that matter.

"I assume you have house Peverell guards that will come with us?" Baelon enquired, they wouldn't be able to risk it otherwise. He would need to make sure they were well trained also, he would never risk his sons life, or his own for that matter. He knew how quickly they could be overrun by the common people, and it would be all too easy for an assassin to do away with them.

"You can even pick them yourself," Haera replied amused, not that they'd be noticed. "Have you finished the journal?" it could be done if one was a fast reader.

"I'm not even half way there yet, but it's amazing, he speaks frequently about the building work, I always thought it would be dragon designs that would be prominently displayed…to hear otherwise was both fascinating and disappointing." Daemon spoke enthusiastically, but this was regarding Valyria, something Daemon would give anything to see, to hear more about.

"Sphinxes," Haera said with a genuine smile, "They likely kept buildings secure, so that only those that were allowed inside gained entrance."

She received an odd look from the pair of royals, clearly not believing what she was saying, but that's okay. One day she was going to visit Valyria, perhaps even figure out if she could restore it to its former glory. The gods oddly enough had refused to answer a single question regarding the doom of Valyria. Which she did find rather perplexing, they were hiding something from her. Just another one of their little riddles for their own amusement? Or was it something else? It did get boring knowing everything she must admit, so she was rather excited about visiting and finding out the truth.

"What is it you're reading, son?" Baelon enquired, genuinely curious to what held his sons attention.

"A journal by Lucerys Targaryen, he married Aerion Targaryen, he was born Lucerys Velaryon." Daemon told his father, before revealing a lot of what he'd already read, which wasn't as easy as one believed, but he found it easier than anyone else in the family did, since he studied Valyria extensively, which included Valyrian glyphs.

"Why would you have Velaryon and Targaryen journals?" Baelon queried in genuine curiosity, finding himself baffled as to why she'd have his families journals.

"The journals are from the first two hundred years of the Valyrian empire, the very beginning," Haera explained, "Lucerys and Aerion married, they had a child, a daughter, who became Aerella Peverell once she married."

"They took in a child to ward?" Baelon asked, finding the conversations he had here very fascinating indeed, it was far better than the bland meals with people sucking up in hopes of gaining power from him now that he was the heir.

"No…" she stared at both of them perplexed, had the Velaryon's forgotten their magical history too? "Do you not know why the seahorse is the Velaryon's sigils?"

"The Velaryon family belongs to the sea, they're the best seafarers in the known world." Baelon informed her.

"This is true, but there's also another reason for this, men in the Velaryon family can give birth, just like male Seahorses can give birth. They also tend to be terrible swimmers. It's also likely the Targaryen family has that ability too; you frequently marry into the Velaryon family." Haera pointed out in amusement.

Baelon blanched, looking ready to regurgitate a very pleasant meal, "How can that be possible," gesturing blindly to his legs and manly parts, they couldn't possibly give birth, they didn't have the correct equipment. How did they get the baby's out? She had to be lying, there was just no way it was possible.

"Same way women do, as Seahorses do, an opening appears and aids the way, seriously this information has been lost to the Velaryon's?" Haera's brow furrowed, how could they have lost such information? It was vital information that should have been kept in the families the Velaryon's copulated with! "Perhaps the magic has been lost for them as well." A tired sigh left Haera's lips, so much magic just lost or forgotten, the Andals were already winning before the conquerors had taken over Westeros. "Did all of you give up on your way of life?" what was Aegon thinking? Conquering Westeros to save the Andals from their own mistakes destroying his own family in the process? A dramatic sigh leaving her lips, she couldn't imagine giving up her magic or way of life for no apparent reason.

Before Prince Baelon or Prince Daemon could say anything, Jaella gave a signal, indicating she needed her Lady's help, a stressed out look on her features.

"Do excuse me," Haera said standing up before the men could, waving off the need for propriety, it was a private meal, there was no need for all the faff. "Please, continue to enjoy your meal," politeness didn't cost anything though.

Haera made her way towards Jaella, "What's wrong?" Jaella had never needed to interrupt her meal times, so something must have happened, had people attempted to get onto the estate? Her stress indicated something closer to home, "What's wrong with Jace?"

Jaella would have praised the fourteen flames for having such an amazing Lady, under any other circumstances. Unfortunately, she was more worried about her son, who had been badly injured. "The bone is protruding out of his leg, he's bleeding profusely, they've said they've seen something like it and the leg had to be amputated!" she was shaken badly, but trying to keep herself together, she couldn't fall apart, if her son was injured, they'd need this job more than ever. She couldn't risk them being put out on the street.

Haera shook her head, "Have no worries, I'll have him up and walking before you know it." She told Jaella squeezing her arm in reassurance before giving her a quick hug, "Wasn't Jace in class?" she added absently, recalling it was roughly that time for their lessons.

"Jace finished his classes, I had asked him to pick up the rest of the rent from the three families," Jaella explained, she didn't need to go into further detail, Lady Haera herself had given them the extended time to get the funds they needed for their rent, and had kindly given them a care package so they had food to eat since they were struggling. She truly was one of the kindest people she'd ever met, most people learnt very quickly though, to never take advantage of that kindness, because it can disappear as quickly as it came.

They still didn't know what had happened to those two actually, now that Jaella thought about it.

"Where is he?" Haera asked, as she swifty moved towards her bedchambers, gathering her bag she was quick to leave the room afterward, Jaella moved with her like a shadow, able to predict her moves and step aside as to not get in her way.

"He's out in the courtyard, they made a makeshift stretcher to bring him home," Jaella told her once they were on the move again, her heart pounding erratically in her ribcage. She didn't want to have to go back to Corlys and beg for whatever scraps he'd be willing to provide for their son. She hated him, so much, but wasn't above begging for the betterment of their child. She'd loved him once, he'd convinced her the world would be theirs, such a foolish woman she'd been. As if Corlys would leave a princess for her. The Queen-who-never-was. She'd believed everything he'd promised her. Worse still, she'd seen him starting again with someone else after they were no longer together, and after he'd ordered her to leave with a not-so-subtle threat of killing them both if they were still here when he returned from his next voyage.

She wished she could have warned Marilda but she knew that look, it was the same one she had once upon a time. One that meant no matter what she said, Marilda was too far gone for Corlys. She wouldn't listen, she couldn't risk endangering Jace by daring to approach her. What would happen to her son if she was killed because she'd gained Corlys anger? Now here she was, her son grievously injured, she prayed that Haera's magic could fix things, perform some sort of miracle, anything to save her son.

By the time Haera had stepped out into the courtyard, it seemed like dozens of people had circled around. So often attracted to tragedy, they were an incredibly nosy species. That and Jace was very popular, very kind, it wouldn't be a surprise if they were all there in concern for him.

Daemon and Baelon moved to join them, but attempting to remain out of sight, but it was laughable at the idea of a Targaryen managing to remain unobtrusive. Baelon was unmistakable, his blonde hair, his bulk and tall stature, he took up entire doorways. Daemon was set to be going the same way by the look of things.

"Step back, all of you." Haera declared, as she moved towards Jace, getting a good look at the injury, grimacing a bit at the severity of it. "What happened, Jace?"

"The horse got spooked," Jace winced, rubbing his chest at the pain, "Got smacked in the chest by a tree branch, and got my foot caught in the stirrup."

"Did you lose consciousness at all?" Haera asked him checking his chest to see the damage, pleased to feel that every rib was in its correct position.

Daemon watched eyes narrowing into slits, displeasure at seeing her so easily tend to another man as if it was nothing. Touching them as if it was allowed. Then again, Daemon though, as he looked around, only two people out of everyone there seemed uncomfortable. Jace and the woman they knew to be named Jaella, but it might just be worry, the mother perhaps? Haera knew healing? At such a young age? How and why?

"I…I'm not sure," Jace confessed, shoving his clothes back down, face utterly red in mortification, he had grown up in Westeros, thus he wasn't used to women healers. They only had Maesters and they were only men, and men were the only ones allowed to learn and gain their links. "I don't think so."

"You didn't hit your head then?" Haera asked, eyeing the wounded leg the next part would be painful, no matter how much she numbed the area.

Jace made a sound of agony as he answered "Noooo," panting at the feel of agony that had coursed through him, it hurt so much, he didn't want to lose his leg, he prayed to the Merlin King that it wouldn't be so.

"Is he going to lose his leg, then?" came the sound of a seven-name day old boy, who was chided for his words, nobody wanted to see Jace lose his leg.

Haera snorted, finding his words amusing, "No, Vaellan, he won't lose his leg,"

Baelon stared intently at Haera, he'd seen such injuries, they couldn't be healed, not really, the injury truly was that bad he'd likely lose his leg. Why would she lie? It served no purpose whatsoever to deceive the child, unless she wished for him to leave? But he wasn't the only child there, Baelon observed.

"Jace, I'm going to use my magic to set your bone back into place, then wrap it up, I'm going to numb your leg but you'll still feel it, it won't hurt for long, alright?" Haera stated firmly, shifting to get into a comfortable position.

Daemon suddenly became far more interested in the proceedings, and his misplaced jealousy disappeared. His gaze going between Haera and the boy's leg. Was it possible? Could she heal such a grievous injury? He was rather impressed she didn't seem even remotely disturbed by the blood that had been pooling at either side of the boys leg. Most girls he had been introduced to over the years would have fainted dead away, and he did not include whores in that estimation.

You could tell the exact moment that the leg had been numbed, as the pain practically melted off Jace's face. He was staring at the leg as if he was afraid it would disappear on him. Then Jace screamed out in surprised agony as the bone rightened itself inside of his leg, then to everyone's astonishment the wound begun to heal seamlessly, leaving naught but the dried blood coating his leg. Then as if that wasn't miraculous enough, the blood and grime disappeared then bandages begun to furl around his leg, binding it tightly.

Most of these people had seen magic before, Baelon realised, there was amazement yes, but not the overwhelming awe that was on the mother and sons faces. On their faces. The mother and sons accents revealed they were from Spicetown, which really wasn't needed since Baelon and Daemon had eyes, and could see which family the boy belonged. He resembled Corlys enormously.

"This is going to taste disgusting, but it's going to mend the broken bone," Haera explained, uncorking the vial, she handed it over. "Drink all of it."

"Isn't it mended?" Jace enquired, glancing down at the sight of the seemingly mended bone.

"The bones back in the correct positioning, yes, but it's not mended, it won't be until you drink that, by the time tomorrow morning comes around, it will be fully healed." Haera explained with her usual bluntness, raising the vial to his lips, a silent order to drink it.

Jaella gasped, "By tomorrow?" astonishment spreading across her face, "Truly?" here she had been worried he'd be laid up for at least six to seven moons, she truly had been fearful of how much it would cost to ensure her son didn't remain in agony. She'd been prepared to return to Spicetown and plead with Corlys. Prepared to do anything to help her son live a full life.

"Truly," Haera confirmed, giving her elbow a squeeze, "Gaelon, Raelon, Gaemond help Jace to his quarters, ensure he doesn't move that leg too much. I'll give your Muna a salve to rub into your chest, I don't have it with me, so you'll have to wait. Try and sleep the worst of it off, alright?" making a sturdier stretcher than they'd made to get him home. It was well done, especially since it was made in haste. The potion would make him feel like his entire leg was a mass of pins and needles, he was lucky he didn't need Skele-gro though. Now that would have been painful. They were roughly the same age too, when Haera had endured the painful process of having his entire arm regrown.

Haera sighed as she stood back up, waving her hand and the blood disappeared, making it seem as if nothing had happened at all. "Let's get back inside, I'll give you a proper tour this afternoon." She promised, "And hopefully it's drama free. Now you lot, go eat your lunch!" she said with a laugh, tensions immediately eased, all was well.

"How did you do that?" Daemon enquired, he was tempted to believe that he'd seem a mere illusion, but he'd felt the boy as he passed and the stretcher. If you could touch it, see it, it was real, but he'd never seen healing done like that, there were healers out there that said they did it with magic, but again, not like this.

Haera blinked at him before smirking, "Magic,"

"Why isn't there people coming to you day and night to be healed?" Daemon asked, he was very suspicious about that.

"Everyone here is loyal; they willingly signed a document that literally prevents them from discussing magic or much of what goes on here." Haera replied, "It keeps us all safe, can you imagine what would happen if the Faith Militant got word that there are many practicing magic here every day?" bloody muggles, there were always those willing to kill people who were different.

They needed a safe space, somewhere they could freely learn magic, teachers, safety, she could provide it, while she was alive, but to do it properly, to know they'd be safe after, they needed something else. somewhere like Hogwarts specifically for learning magic.

"Viserys is going to love this," Daemon declared.

"Who?" Haera asked, distractedly, not having heard the name correctly, just the end of it 'rys'.

"Viserys, my brother," Daemon spoke slowly like she was daft, which to be fair, it was understandable, he was the next in line after his father for the iron throne.

"Oh, the child fucker," Haera said with a grimace, disgusted at the mere mention of him.

Daemon grasped Haera by the throat, enraged by her mere words, "How dare you say such foul words against a prince of the blood…" he broke off with a grunt, as pain exploded on the left side of his face, causing him to stagger back.

Daemon didn't even think, he reacted, and punched her in the stomach.

"Low blow," she rasped out, clutching her chest, he'd managed to punch her right where she'd been stabbed. Haera would never take that sitting down, so with the full force of her, she raised her leg and kicked him where she knew it was guaranteed to hurt.

Daemon gave a pitiful moan, clutching his stones in agony, grateful at least they were still there and hadn't crawled back up inside his body. Giving her a look that spoke volumes, 'right back at you' it screamed. He couldn't believe she'd kicked him in the stones. He thought he knew pain, but now knew that it wasn't true, this was agony unlike anything he'd ever experienced before.

A/N – Will we have Netty in this story as Daemon's daughter? Raised by Haera and Daemon? Or in their lives but living with the mother who they make sure can make a decent living? Hmm just an idle thought that struck me while reading another story, either way it's not something that would be vital to the story but Haera does have a bleeding heart when it comes to kids, and I doubt I'll change that ;) and she is going to be all knowing because I find that very amusing and fun to write sniggers gosh I've been waiting to write that scene for ages (where the hit each other :D I've also got another scene in mind for after the next chapter. I've missed writing so much this month it's good to be able to get writing again! would you like to see the various different magic being performed before we return to Westeros again? Or will it happen as we delve deeper into the story later on?

Will Daemon have the ability to use magic? Or will it be something only Haera and any children (if they have any) will have? Or will he just have a specific ability like a Pyromancer or something similar? Read And Review Please! 

Chapter Text

All l Hail The King

Chapter 8

Baelon heard rather than saw the commotion, he turned to see both of them doubled over and his heart sank. He prayed it was some misunderstanding and he wasn't seeing what he thought he was seeing. There was no way his son would be stupid enough to attack a Lady, never mind a Lady in her own keep, and most importantly, a woman capable of an unknown amount of magic and could do absolutely anything to him in retaliation. His hand clenched on the pommel of his sword, eyes glancing around expecting guards to ambush them in protection of their Lady but nothing came. He felt an immense amount of gratitude and a mild sense of alarm.

"Daemon…what have you done?" Baelon whispered, completely horrified, he had taught them better than that, what had he done? He would never have thought his son could hit a Lady. If the king heard about this, he feared his reaction, truly, what could have provoked his son to such an extent that he'd lay a hand on someone? Yes, Daemon was very easy to anger, impulsive, oh, this was a nightmare, truly.

Daemon straightened, his hand still cupping his privates, which was beyond uncouth, and downright unseemly. However, he was too enraged over what she had said – implied – about his brother! His brother who was the heir of the iron throne, the future King of Westeros! People had had their tongues cut out for less slanderous gossip. "She called Viserys a child fucker!" Daemon spat out, if he expected his father to be enraged, he was very much disappointed.

Baelon froze, his gaze shifted from his youngest son, unable to meet his eyes, accidentally meeting Haera's instead.

Haera scoffed, "He doesn't know, does he?" it wasn't surprising really, it was likely around the time he was going through puberty, and everything became about the opposite sex. He likely hadn't even paid much attention to his brother during those times. He also likely wouldn't have paid any attention to his brother's wife, or her problems. Most teenagers were inherently selfish for a time, and didn't notice much beyond what catches their attention. "Go on, tell him what age your niece was when you first saw her trembling as she made her way to HIS bedchambers." Emphasising her relation to him, not because of the incest aspect but family, she was family and they had let her suffer horrendously. If you could do that to family…well, it was so unfair on people who would do anything for family.

Daemon's jaw dropped, staring incredulously at Haera before staring expectantly at his father, it couldn't be too bad, fifteen was an acceptable age really. There was only five years age difference between them after all.

Haera's laugh was cold and harsh, her words filled with vitriol, "Eleven, he was fucking her before she had a single per...moonblood. She was a child, not even a month after their marriage he was calling upon her to perform adult duties. Two moons passed four and ten she had her first miscarriage a child's body and a womb not ready…it shredded her womb; the fact she managed to have a child is a god given miracle. No other child will live past it's birth if it even gets that far as she gives birth to dead babe after babe and gets the blame for it when it was a disgusting motherfucking…" she trailed off, nostrils flaring, she couldn't think of a name that would describe how she felt about Viserys Targaryen. She was going to make his life a living hell, and she would enjoy it. She was also sure the gods would get a kick out of it also.

"No, you're wrong, the King told him to wait," Daemon denied it, but his father's silence spoke volumes and he felt sickness crawling up his throat. His father wouldn't have allowed Aemma to be…it just wasn't possible; his brother would never disobey the king. Other than their father, Viserys venerated the king. The very idea of his prim and proper brother disobeying orders was laughable. It was him who defied expectation, got a kick out of doing the opposite of what was expected of him. He'd never been truly angry with them until now, until his family sold him off to the Vale. His betrothed was neither Valyrian or from a Paramount house, she was beneath him, this betrothal was insulting, on every possible level.

"You saw and what did you do? Looked away, if you didn't see it happen then it wasn't," Haera said, revulsion clear as day on her face, as she stared at Baelon Targaryen, and the man – the heir of the iron throne – could not meet her gaze, guilt getting the better of him.

"Just because she was going to his rooms, it doesn't mean anything happened," Baelon attempted to explain, he couldn't just interfere with his sons marriage on a single incident.

"Sure, because Viserys just wanted to talk at midnight," Haera said, with so much sarcasm there was no missing it. "Enjoy the rest of your meal, you'll have to excuse me, I must take care of Jace and provide his Muna with a salve to help the bruise on his chest." Inclining her head just a tad, she stalked away from the pair of them before she said anything else, she was meant to be helping save them, "See Balerion, this is why I never plan anything!" she complained to her ceiling, knowing it's very likely he'd hear, he was likely watching everything happening, watching her screw everything up. No, that won't happen, even if it requires killing Viserys Targaryen she'd do it. Although, it would be a last resort, he was much to her disgust, he was a father. Wait, he was a father now, he'd done his part, she could kill him and the gods surely wouldn't care.

The two Targaryens were silent, as Baelon groaned, rubbing his temples, he needed another drink. Unable to meet his sons searching gaze, he turned and all but barrelled towards the guest rooms he'd been given. He knew he shouldn't be drinking; he needed all his wits around him, and truthfully? He had to get out of the habit of drinking to cope, Alyssa would have kicked his ass if she could see him now. Yet he couldn't help but drink it nonetheless, it was the only way to make himself feel better, his family…by the fourteen…they weren't really a family anymore, the number of people sat down for dinner had diminished to the point that they didn't exactly need a big table for get togethers anymore. He missed how it used to be, he missed his wife, he missed his brother, missed his sisters, he missed his niece. Yet one by one they all seemed to leave.

Daemon's mind was overwhelmed with the new information he'd just received; did it make him heartless that he still loved his brother knowing what he did? It happened all too frequently, they loved each other, they'd had sex way too soon, they shouldn't have but they did. It's not like his brother was a rapist. Vehemently shaking off his thoughts, refusing to dwell on them, he returned to the library, having every intention of losing himself in the journal…although, Visenya's books did call to him.

He didn't even wonder how she could know such information – especially if he didn't know – there were spies all over the Red Keep. By all different fractions, even his cousin had her own spies, well, more accurately, her husband. He would have been slightly disappointed if Haera had been naïve. He did ponder on how long she had known that information, if it had come to her after she got home (if so, that was very fast!). He mingled with both common folk in Kings Landing and nobility with staggering ease, both loved and hated in equal measures, but those who liked him loved to regale him with all information and rumours they heard. He paid them handsomely for it too.

Nothing regarding his brother's actions regarding his cousin had ever reached his ears. Although, perhaps, they didn't wish to reveal that rumour, they likely knew how he would react, and the messenger definitely would pay a heavy price indeed. Recalling his earlier actions, a very rare coil of guilt suffused him, he rarely regretted any actions he took. There was no point to regretting things, things happened and that was the end of it. She'd given as good as she got. Fierce and feisty, his desire for her was multiplying daily. Closing his eyes, recalling with startling clarity her abilities earlier, her magic had the ability to heal broken bones, skin, leaving the area completely free of any scar of note. His longing to see Valyria had reached new heights, as he pondered whether they had such wonderous magic and if so wondered where it had gone…although, Haera had implied he was sensitive to magic and might have magical capabilities.

The sounds of noise from outside startled him an undetermined amount of time later, focused as he was on the Targaryen Journal, his mind lost to the beginning of the glorious Valyrian empire. The architecture, the plans, the dragons, there was even references to kinds of dragons here, only two, but was more than Daemon knew, they had lost nearly everything when it came to Dragons. The family had to relearn everything, and even then, it clearly wasn't working, so few dragons had hatched since the doom. None were anywhere near close to the sizes of the conquerors dragons. It was true they weren't as old, but the ones that had hatched here were lacking. Something was missing, perhaps he could find answers to that elusive question.

Haera knocked at the door firmly, waiting on an answer from Baelon Targaryen, he didn't need anyone to confirm what he already knew. Just like he knew Daemon had retreated back to the library, it seemed his favourite place to be. No, it was the material he was reading that did it, any mention of Valyria and magic his eyes just lit up, going from dark violet to bright purple. This was someone proud of his ancestry, which just added to the insult of a Andal God-fearing bride.

Haera had many wards up, only on the Keep though, only a single one lay around the entirety of the estate. Nothing that would stop physical attacks, wizards had no need of such a thing. At least not now, perhaps there were a few in ancient times before modern magic made it easy to avoid muggles. Simple wards instead of active magical shields that stopped physical attacks? Who knew? She might be a supreme god, but she didn't know everything, there was always something to discover. However, what she did know, she never forgot. Unlike when she was human, her mind was eternal and she had vivid clarity.

"Enter," Baelon called out, hiding his annoyance at being interrupted in his solitude.

Haera opened the door, standing there with two coffees in her hand, staring at Baelon who had abruptly stood at her entrance. Sure, he was the heir of the iron throne, but kindness and decency had been drummed into him since childhood. He wasn't even meant to be the heir, his brother was, he'd been the spare, and he'd been satisfied with his lot in life. "Here, this will make you feel a little better." Handing over the cup, as she sat down on the seat, her own cup being gently lowered onto the table.

Baelon took it, staring down at the murky liquid, "What is this?" it looked like dirty water, but he somehow did not think she was impolite enough to give him such a thing. It was warm though, whatever it was.

"It's coffee," Haera explained lightly, "Coffee is something brewed from roasted, ground coffee beans. It's very invigorating, its properties give you energy, it stimulates you. It also warms you on colder days, I usually have one first thing in the morning before I start my day." Essos was warm, very warm, warmer than she was used to, Westeros was likely closer to her weather in the UK before she came here.

Baelon stared speculatively at the brew, how was it she could go from detesting him utterly to being completely impassive the next? He was getting whiplash with her moods. Only because most people he knew wouldn't treat him thusly, like it or not, he was the heir of the iron throne. She was so very unique and he wasn't even including her magic in his estimation. He moved to sit down opposite her, "Can you really communicate with the dead?" not daring to look at her, hope felt so very foolish, his logical mind vehemently protested the idea, his wife was gone, there was nobody who could really communicate with her, it was a fools hope and it was a con.

"Yes," came the immediate reply, "But I won't. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."

Her tone softening in sympathy, this was not something she could possibly understand. She was too young; she had never loved let alone lost someone she loved fully. He would never wish such pain on her either, he'd give anything for his Alyssa to live. He presumed she was lying to him to get out of whatever con she had running. Not many people remembered Alyssa to successfully lie to him and make him believe she was communicating with her. His mind did turn to the words she used…words nobody alive should know about the nickname his brother gave him in secrecy.

If only he knew.

The taste of the coffee surprised him, it was rather nice, creamy, warmed his belly, he understood why she'd drink it first thing in the morning. The weather here though was very warm, vastly different from Westeros, but Essos was always warm, it's said Valyria was too. He couldn't help but drink more of it delighting in the taste and warmth. The only warm drinks he usually had were honey and lemon when one felt sick to soothe the throat.

"I promised you a look around the estate, is that something you'd like still?" Haera asked softly, she felt bad, but she wasn't becoming a medium for Baelon Targaryen to communicate with his wife…or argue as the case may be, she was furious. He hadn't lied about that; she was just so grateful she could block the dead otherwise she'd have been driven insane. It was a gift she'd had before she became a god, the moment she had all the hallows it had doomed her.

"We will be leaving first thing tomorrow morning," Baelon stated, in other words what was the point? Although, if they did head to the market he could get a few things for his mother, and his granddaughter, and Aemma.

"Along the way I'd like to show you the magical classes that the children attend," Haera added, eyes gleaming wickedly, knowing she had him exactly where she wanted him. She would make a magical world for those who have the gift if it was the last thing she did, somewhere they were safe for the next century or two. "They attend for a few hours before their evening meal."

"How many children do you have practicing magic?" Baelon perked up, all else forgotten with this new information, for the moment at least. Setting aside the mostly finished drink, expecting the servants to deal with it.

"I have twenty students, with five teachers teaching them their magic," Haera explained, inelegantly shrugging her shoulders, there really should be more, but not a lot of people actively used magic or advertised it. The faith of the seven and the Andals were too widespread, the muggles detested magic, so it was a family secret of sorts. There were dozens upon dozens more different types of magic, given time she'd collect enough people to teach magic to all those with the capabilities. She couldn't do it, she'd give them the teachers, the books, the safe harbour to practice, but she had other tasks and so she would likely not be back here for a while. It's why she'd employed someone to run the keep who would be loyal to her. if she hadn't fully been hers, she was now, having healed her son and prevented calamity upon them.

In this world, loyalty and steadfast dedication was worth their weight in gold and rarer than the damn metal itself.

Haera stood, "Shall we go retrieve Daemon? Or should I be saying Prince Daemon? You'll need to forgive me, I've never been around royalty, had no desire to be, so this is all new to me." not even in his original life had there been much mention of the royal family except for whenever it was mentioned in the newspapers and the news channels.

"It's actually Your Royal Highness Prince Daemon Targaryen," Baelon told her, not surprised she didn't know anything about royalty, it was evident in everything she did. He rather liked it, she put on no airs and graces, was open and honest with them and frankly despite the conversations, it was nice. He would much rather be here than anywhere else in Westeros except perhaps the Red Keep. It seemed like she was the only maiden in the world that had not flirted with him in order to become the future Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. "Prince is always put first before my sons name unless you are family and only in the company of family." Married or otherwise. If anyone attempted to be informal with the royal family, his father would likely see them whipped or worse have their tongue cut out. Which didn't include any title his son might gain later in life, such as the title of Lord Hand when his eldest took the throne.

Haera snorted, "That's what you think." She muttered under her breathe as she left the rooms, Baelon thankfully didn't hear her, otherwise he would have demanded answers. It was instatement to both Baelon's words and thoughts.

Haera offered her guests horses, as she began showing them around the estate, her primary focus was to show them things they'd like. Such as the magical classes that got offered here. She did make a mental note to ask just how badly magic was perceived by Westeros. More specifically what they would do with someone who used active magic, she'd need to know how bad it was before she could act. Although, if the Faith Militant came after her, none would survive, she'd never let any filthy muggles put their hands on her again. She was not a scared little child anymore. One could argue she never had been really.

"You have an orphanage?" Daemon questioned staring at the building, as they trotted past, it was so immensely different from the orphanages in Kings Landing. This made even the best orphanage there look like it was decrepit and falling to pieces. There were a few types of metal contraptions dotted around, along with a few toys that had clearly been left behind by a child. Other than that, it was completely void of any life.

"I do," Haera agreed, easily jumping off the horse, and tying its reigns to the gate, giving the horse's flanks a reassuring pat. With that the three of them were off, leaving the horses at the gate, children were still her one weakness, regardless of how long she'd lived, or what she survived. Well, children and animals of course, they were innocent in a way no adult could ever hope to be unless they'd been shielded astronomically.

"Where are the children? And caretakers?" anywhere with children shouldn't be this quiet.

"In their classes," Haera explained, as she moved through the property, showing them the sitting rooms, games rooms, and a few bedrooms never venturing into any that were in use. Each small room had a bed, a wardrobe, a chest at the bottom of the bed and a set of drawers beside the bed and a lamp without any oil in it. Bright coloured blankets folded up lovingly at the bottom of the bed with a few dolls set there, perhaps for a girl? The Privy was also the cleanest thing they'd ever seen, Haera had literally been sick in the very first privy she'd ever entered after walking into it, the stench had been unbelievably awful. Thank fuck for magic, as far as she was concerned, she wasn't sure how anyone could put up with such stenches.

"Classes?" that caught Baelon's attention, "They all have magic?" he thought she said only twenty people here had magic? She hadn't mentioned they were all living at an orphanage.

"Oh, no, they're learning numbers, reading, writing, geography, cooking and baking, sewing, basic swordsmanship," Haera explained, "When they reach thirteen, they get a choice of an apprenticeship, which will continue until they turn sixteen. By then they will have a job, and they get to choose if they wish to stay here or spread their wings and venture out of the safety of the keep and gain full independence." Naturally without magic she wouldn't have been able to do this.

Baelon frowned, "And how long has it been open?" eyeing the library they'd been brought into, amazed there were a lot of books, he took one and opened it up, and noticed that it was a child's book on animals with a brief description of what they were and lovely illustrated pictures, painted he presumed. Someone had gone into great detail with them all, it's something he would have bought for his own children if they were younger. His youngest child, Aegon who he had lost too soon caused a pang of pain in his heart, forever young, waiting with his wife in Balerions realm, and he'd see them again one day.

"Not long," Haera confessed, a faraway look on her face, she did detest lying, obfuscating technically wasn't lying though. "My aunt and uncle closed anything down that cost money after my parents died. When I got older, I hid who I could in here and gave them what I could. It was still better than what awaited them out there." Gesturing towards the outside world. He would never be able to explain how he had so many people in such a short amount of time otherwise. No matter what she said, it would never be believed, and she wanted to avoid suspicion, at least a certain type of suspicion. She presumed the Targaryen's would be like dogs with a bone and continue relentlessly if something didn't make sense to them.

"You give orphans a highborn education," Baelon uttered, he wasn't sure what to think about that, and this was coming from a man who was used to seeing the Queen give to the poor and make their lives better relentlessly. Yet she'd never conceive doing such a thing as educate them like a highborn Lord or Lady. "Is that a normal thing here?" bewildered, he'd assumed that the King and Queen were unique, but perhaps they were only unique in Westeros.

"It depends on the person, educating everyone is not unique here, except the magical aspect, now that is most likely unique to me." Haera answered, as far as she knew anyway. Ushering them out, before closing the door to the library and seeing them out, they had a lot to see before their evening meal then it was off to the market. "Essos families prefer their servants educated; it reflects better on themselves and it's also a good way to reward loyalty. It also gives them the ability to take care of themselves if they are dismissed for whatever reason." Essos and Dorne were the only two known places that were ahead of their time, their regard for women made it even more so in Haera's view.

Daemon was surprisingly silent as he followed along, he unlike his father, Daemon wasn't surprised, but he was pleased. The common folk got the short end of the stick constantly. Struggled to feed their families, it wasn't right, but it was what it was, Daemon knew he wouldn't save them, but he could help sometimes when possible. Yet, here people gained an education, they were already in better hands than in Westeros. The Lords were greedy, supercilious cravens. They'd never conceive what Haera was doing, what Essos was doing and how advanced they were in nearly all regards. The bath was most definitely his favourite thing about being here, next to finding out more information about Haera. It was far better than remaining in the Red Keep having to spending time with the Bronze Bitch he might actually still be forced to marry. He hoped not, he hoped that the king would change his mind as he promised, and betroth him to Haera.

The Peverell land was…really something else, she had a lot of it, it made King's Landing look insignificant in comparison. Just how well off were the Peverell family that they had retained all their land, and kept the land and the buildings impeccable? With all the money the royal family got in taxes they couldn't even help their own people. Although, it was doubtful that this land housed approximately five hundred thousand people. Judging by the tallness of the buildings, he didn't think that figure would be that far off, Baelon thought, staring at the sights as he trotted on by.

He was beginning to understand why her aunt and uncle had wanted it so badly, but wanting something so badly as to kill your family and become a Kinslayer? Repugnant people, he thought to himself, as he watched people go about their daily lives, nobody seemed to really care who they were, that royalty was amongst them. She seemed to be a very kind and compassionate person, when required, but also very…vocal and blunt, regardless of whether it hurt, one would work well within the royal family but the other? Definitely wouldn't work, the politics alone would make it so.

"They're getting ready to head to the market to set up their stalls to sell their wares," Haera told them before either could think to ask why the sudden rush of activity, especially with all of them carrying or moving carts and stacks of items wrapped carefully by the looks of it. "They spend the mornings creating and crafting watching the kids, the evening is focused on sales, sometimes the husband and children go with but mostly they attend with Peverell guards. If they're getting ready, we're really going to be late…we're nearly there." With that she urged the horse to move quicker, and they took off, Daemon and Baelon's horse following closely behind.

Haera glanced back, catching Baelon and Daemon's reaction to the miniature castle she'd just guided them to, it was a smaller version of Hogwarts. Built with her magic alone, just as Hogwarts had been built by the founders. She'd been tempted to call it Potters school of magic, but it made no sense to do that, so she just used Peverell school of magic. The awe on their faces made her feel inordinately proud and not to mention a whole load of smugness. She'd just wanted a little bit of home brought with her.

She'd make a bigger castle when she found an area perfect for cover and seclusion one day. She would give this world it's own, real, Hogwarts. She would protect magic and its people from the Andals, and ensure they could protect themselves. It would regretfully have to be on the backdrop, her first mission was to attempt to save the Targaryens from themselves. If all else fails, she'd just take a few dragons, make a sanctuary, keep the dragons alive, it was more important than anything else. Although, truthfully, it couldn't hurt to do both, she was helping them after all…and she was sure Hogwarts didn't become an overnight sensation. It will have taken time, years even decades before a quarter of the school were in use.

"Welcome to Peverell's school of magic," Haera said, smiling proudly, wrapping the reins of the horse around the tree.

"It feels like Dragonstone…" Daemon murmured, overwhelmed by the sight and feel of the castle, it wasn't by any stretch of the imagination the biggest building he'd ever seen, but it was the most beautiful.

"Like Dragonstone, Peverell school was made with pure magic," Haera explained, as the gates opened, as they approached, "Do you feel anything, Prince Baelon?" she asked Baelon curiously, wondering if he too could feel the magic or if Daemon was truly one of the rare Targaryen's since Visenya and perhaps Meagor to have magic.

Baelon startled at her use of his title and name, had she actually ever used it before? There was naught but curiosity in her voice, none of her distain for him and his actions. "I cannot say I do," his own curiosity being roused, "My brother used to say Dragonstone had a presence of its own…" had he been able to feel the magic of their ancestors? Did Aemon believe that everyone could? It was a beautiful building but Baelon couldn't feel anything.

That was until he stepped through the gates and into the school, immediately he felt as though a million spiders were crawling all over him as he tingled. A shudder wracked his frame, and glowing purple eyes stared at him knowingly.

"You have some sensitivity to magic," Haera stated as fact, even as Baelon blinked blankly at her. "Not as well as your son, you have to actively be on the magic to feel it. Prince Daemon however, is highly sensitive, if not actually magical, I look forward to finding out." Her purple eyes were gleaming in excitement, for the first time they both noticed she looked and acted her age.

"How do you find out?" not at all happy about the prospect of his son having magic, concerned was just about his biggest emotion at the moment. If the faith found out…by the fourteen flames, he didn't want to think on their reaction. He didn't delude himself that his son would be even remotely subtle about it either. To have magic…to be gifted with such abilities by the gods…the fourteen had to have a reason, right? A purpose for his son beyond being a second son of a second son?

"I have no idea!" Haera grinned, giving Prince Baelon the very same answer that he'd given his son, it was true enough, he didn't actually know how the magic of Valyria within the Targaryens. "Prince Daemon has Queen Visenya's journals, which will likely be filled with her thoughts and dreams, as well as any and all magic she created. I have no doubt he will learn quickly." Daemon was the most intelligent and street smart compared to the rest of his family, even more so than Jaehaerys the wise, fucking fool that he is, she'd make sure he was titled King Jaehaerys the fool when he died if it was the last thing she did, unless he actually changed his tune.

"If you have no idea how to find out, what can you teach the children here how to harness their magic?" Baelon asked utterly befuddled by this tiny slip of a girl.

"Because it's not Valyrian magic," Haera said amused, "The people here have certain abilities, they're gifted with one kind of magic, they don't have the ability to learn different branches, to create their own spells, Valyrians have that ability. Or had as the case may be for likely most of you." The incest didn't just destroy the mind and body, but it destroyed the magic as well, but there was a safety measure for the Targaryen's which had been negated at least in one line.

Daemon snorted, it's the exact same thing she told him, but it did make him want to read Visenya's journals more. Most fortunate, was that he had finished the book he was most definitely taking with him back to Kings Landing. He had to give it to The King, he had to know the dangers mating with Andals posed to them, to the world. Thank the fourteen Aemma had never been given a dragon or a choice despite the fact she was married to the heir. The idea of something happening like it did in Valyria was terrifying, especially if it blew back on them, on the Red Keep.

Haera just smirked at him then winked before moving on, the smell of the sea was nearby, the hustle and bustle of a busy port and the faint calling of merchants selling their produce near the Summer Sea. Before long the thought of the Summer Sea was forgotten as Haera guided them towards the students. They varied in ages, gender and abilities. First Men and Rhoynar and not a care in the world, happy to learn of their abilities and by the look of it, all of them highborn by their clothes.

"Do they have families?" Daemon watched, jaw dropping in awe as he watched a six Nameday old boy manipulate water with expertise. Swallowing thickly as he watched, agog, as the water began to solidify before his eyes, and in the shape of Haera.

"Well done, Bastian! You're amazing!" Haera said crowing in delight, messing with his hair kissing his forehead, giving him a side hug delighting in the attention to detail the six-year-old boy could manage. "You are truly remarkably talented." Eyeing the ice sculpture of her current form curiously, wondering how long it would last this time, he was still young, and he didn't put enough magic…yep, there we go, it melted very swiftly, before the water sloshed back into the pool the boy used for practice.

Bastian stared up at Haera a look of worship on his face, one Haera was very familiar with and was effortlessly able to ignore.

"Keira, go ahead, show them what you can do, you can trust them, they're Valyrian themselves," Haera reassured the nine Nameday old child, who was hiding behind Larra, her more outgoing sister who despite their very similar looks was nearly two years older than her.

Keira raised her hand up into the air and out, expanding into a shape of her own hand and arm, as it zoomed off. Nothing seemed to happen for a few moments before the air manipulation current moved towards Baelon and Daemon. The very air itself held out two pieces of fruit for the Targaryens, pomegranates.

"They're delicious and in season," Haera said, "Very well done, Keira, have you begun your defensive training?"

"Defensive training?" Daemon parroted the words, fascination sweeping through him, how could such a thing be done through air?

"Air manipulation, she'll be able to create and control gusts of winds, which will swipe any army off its feet. Manipulate air density and create shockwaves. She'll be able to create literal barriers and walls of air that nobody will be able to bypass. She'll even be able to create storms and once she's learned all this…she'll be able to travel through the very air itself once she's mastered her gift." Giving her a pointed look, it was not something she would let the girl do until she was absolutely sure she wouldn't get harmed.

"And I'll be able to travel by water! Or drown people who want to hurt me on dry land!" Bastian proclaimed proudly.

"Well, they didn't really need to know that," Haera muttered quietly to herself, but only Daemon heard her. "Wendel here has plant based Elemental abilities. Thanks to Wendel all the plants and trees you see before you flourish. He can also cause plants or trees to appear from nothing. Which includes a very lovely Weirwood tree I'll have to show you sometime."

Wendel gave a respectful bow but the look on Daemon and Baelon's faces screamed that it was a let down from previous abilities they'd seen.

"Make no mistake, his abilities are just as defensive as the other magical capabilities, he could have you rooted on the spot, wrapped up in thorns, constricted to the point of death." Haera said with a smirk on her face, "Even pick you up and throw you miles away, which naturally would lead to your death anyway, nobody could survive such a tremendous throw."

"And I could make it even longer still!" Keira chirped eager to boast about her abilities, she so rarely got the chance to do it.

"That you could," Haera agreed, she demanded the teachers to do exercises that would see the children having to work together to complete. It was important that they didn't become competitive, while a healthy dose of competition never hurt anyone, it was more important that they work together, to bond, to protect each other, to want the best for each other. Toxic environments didn't help anyone, there was so few magical people that those with the gift needed to be careful. Antagonising and pitting people against each other might just create a Tom situation and well, they'd be dead and she could hardly help them if that happened now, could she? There was so few of them, no, they were all brothers in arms, and she'd protect them for as long as she was able. Perhaps one day, they could help the next generation, perhaps she'd have somewhere for them to go to practice magic and hone their craft.

"And this is Professor Bryan Waters, he's teaching his students everything they need to know magical wise." Haera introduced Bryan, "I'm sure my guests need no introduction." He had very rare abilities, he could use both First Men magic as well as Rhoynar magic, he could Warg as well as astral project, his elemental magic had come out in the most unexpected of ways. Byran was much like Keira, and had Air Elemental magic only he was fully trained. His apprentices were also gifted.

"Your Graces," Byran said giving a respectful bow.

"Do you have links?" Baelon enquired respectfully, despite the fact he was talking to a bastard. Whoever he was, his parents had ensured he was well educated if he'd gone to the citadel and earned their likes.

Haera snorted, loudly, and very-un-lady-like, "Do you know anything about the Citadel?" gawking at them as if they were idiots.

"Meaning?" Baelon asked, barely refraining from gritting his teeth, feeling as if he was missing something very obvious.

"The Citadel hates magic, they're full of Andal, faith-of-the-seven bullshitters," Haera stated darkly, "You automatically become an outcast if you even say you wish to learn more about magic. The last person to do was Maester Gerardys who I believe was fobbed off to Dragonstone to be the Maester there, it was meant to be a punishment but from my understanding he's thriving there."

The children all smothered their laughter into their hands, well used to Haera having zero filter and telling you how it was.

Bryan grimaced, a pained look on his face, while she was right, she really shouldn't be talking to bluntly to Royalty that way. "I have no links from the Citadel, but Lady Haera was very kind to indulge my desire to teach and it just so happens that it's something I am capable of teaching."

"Waters, you say? You do look familiar, who is your father?" Daemon asked, staring at him intently, he knew that face he just couldn't figure out why. His features were more Rhoynar, his skin tone gave away that much at least, olive skin giving him a tanned look. Yet his features were known to him.

Haera glanced at Bryan who gave a nod, before calling for the children to go back to class and he followed them after giving the royal duo another bow.

"His mother Ravenna was granted safety here, having been disowned after falling pregnant with him, Lord Strong and she had a very…short-lived relationship. My parents found her while she was trying to get to Westeros, to Lord Strong hoping he'd take the boy and protect him. She had nothing to offer him, no home, no money, no means to feed herself let alone him." Haera explained quietly, "My parents took her in, got her to work, the rest she did on her own, this was oh, eighteen years ago. I mean, eight and ten years." That was something she still couldn't get her head around the aging system here was odd to say the least. She had to stop and think to remember how they spoke here. It didn't come easily or naturally, it would do, in time.

"Strong, of course," Daemon murmured, he wondered if this boy was Lyonel Strongs brother or son, it really could be either way. "I thought Dorne was accepting of bastards?"

"Men's bastards, yes, but a woman giving birth to a bastard? It was too much for her family, who would want her now that she'd given birth to a child out of wedlock." Haera muttered in faux outrage rolling her eyes, "The shame of not having the ability to get a lot of money for their daughter, instead they just washed their hands of her." it was admittedly rare for it to happen, for a family to disinherit their children because of bastards, they were normally welcomed, Dorne was advanced compared to Westeros.

Daemon's gazed narrowed in on Haera's face, noticing the glimmer of satisfaction in her gaze, oh, what had she done? He thought with devious delight; he looked forward to learning what it was. He cared naught for propriety, decency hadn't been attractive to him. Given everyone's reactions – including Byran – it was clear her attitude was definitely not something new. She was unique, vindictive, powerful, and seemed to care nothing for their titles, all those children, if she had their loyalty…she would be unstoppable. A forced to be reckoned with, perhaps even powerful than the Targaryen dynasty.

That power could also be his. Passed on to his own descendants. Their descendants.

The only thing stopping his body from reacting to such heady thoughts was his aching balls, yes, they still hurt. He hadn't considered how badly he'd screwed up earlier. It would need to be something she wanted, whatever power she let them have over her was what she willingly surrendered to them.

Truthfully, she held all the power, and it had just been made abundantly clear to them.

It should have been beyond terrifying but Daemon couldn't help but admire her, desire her, shaking off his cunt struck thoughts, he attempted to think of something else, anything really, he failed abysmally as he watched her easily mount her horse, there was nothing ladylike about it. It just made Daemon grin at her as his father wacked the back of his head in retaliation before he mounted his own borrowed horse. It didn't take long for all three of them to take off. Haera took them through the bustling port, where dozens upon dozens of ships, War Gallery's, Dromonds, Longships and dozens of sailing Vessels each and every single one of them had a Peverell flag proudly displayed.

It was becoming increasingly clear to Baelon if she'd lived in Westeros, it would not be the crown, Lannister's or Velaryon's that would be the richest in the realm.

He didn't even know the half of it.

A/N - I wanted to keep writing until at least the market scene but that might take at least another day or two, I'm not sure if I'll bother adding it in, I guess it will depend on a few things, whether you actually want to see it or not or if you want them back in Westeros but I do wish to set the scene so to speak for the future, although, to be honest, they're not going to spend a whole load of time (or chapters) here (spoilers) I won't be saying any more :D but you'll likely know where they're going to be spending most of their time ;) considering we're having a King Daemon *sniggers* although where King Daemon will be King remains to be seen LOL where would you prefer? I've never seen Dorne conquered by the Targs before that's definitely a thought...but technically it's still a part of the seven kingdoms isn't it or am I mistaken? so perhaps its the most useless place to conquer and that's why it's never been done in a story LOL is there anything else you want to learn or see in Essos (Peverell Estate) before we head back to Westeros and Haera keeps taking everyone by storm? *grins* R&R please

Chapter Text

All Hail The King

Chapter 9

Haera watched Baelon and Daemon's reactions with amusement. You'd think they hadn't already been introduced to magic before now. Smothering his amusement, watching them reel over the fact they had been followed all along when they were out earlier. They hadn't heard any of the horses or Peverell guards; to think they'd been everywhere with them was astounding. Her magic was truly something else, perhaps Haera had a point when she asked if they'd given up part of themselves to appease the Andals.

"Just point to the guards you wish to accompany us, they will prepare to leave with us," Haera informed them, "The number doesn't matter, whatever would make you both feel more comfortable." They'd be back before their shift would be ended for them to go back to their families for the evening. She didn't require them often, not herself, but they took care of everyone on the Peverell estate, even took the servants to ensure their safety. Haera didn't distinguish between her servants, estate workers or tenants.

"You have a lot of household guards," Daemon commented, pleased with the colours, they were his favourite, also his own families house colours as well.

"That's only half my workforce," Haera replied, "The rest have accompanied my tenants or estate workers to the markets, or enjoying their night off." She gave them one day off a week, such a thing wasn't done often, you were expected to work every day, taking a day off was a luxury that most people could ill-afford.

The first thing Daemon truly noticed about all of them was that they were very well equipped with everything they could possibly need, weaponry to armour. Not ill made or ill-suited like the City Watch, which sad to say was contemptable. What does it say about the Targaryens if they couldn't even equip their men properly? They made the City Watch look like a murmurs farce. The City Watchmen were unfortunately not true soldiers. They hadn't been since Meagor's commander had been arrested, and Flea Bottom paid a very heavy price for it. He knew from talking to the commoners while Meagor's reign had been horrendous it had brought a peace to Kings Landing they had never known. Whether you were a Lord or Commoner you were treated the same, given the same punishment under Meagor. He didn't even want to mention how deplorable it is now.

It was the exact opposite of the Kingsguard, now they were well-equipped, best a man can get, and they knew how to fight, how to defend themselves. They gave him decent fights overall, even if he ultimately succeeded in winning every match he fought in. The combatants weren't good enough to beat him. Hadn't been for the past few years.

Each guard that was pointed to by Prince Baelon, Haera called out their name, and they went inside of their barracks.

It didn't take long at all until they were ready to go, four of the guards on horseback, going ahead to ensure there wouldn't be a problem. Then there was the four that surrounded Haera and her guests. Normally in such an occasion a carriage would be used, but Haera didn't care for being confined in a carriage. She would rather walk, or fly, or apparate, anything other than that.

"You don't have a maid or companion?" Baelon asked, noticing that she was once again, alone with just them. It was uncivilised to have a woman on her own with men, especially men that weren't family. It didn't matter what she'd been through, the only thing that had him urging his horse on was the company, the guards could act as chaperone to confirm Haera's virtue was whole and intact.

"I have plenty of them, I just don't need them sniffing up my ass all day," Haera replied, before taking off, hearing Daemon choking on his own laughter. She didn't need people hounding her all day, or following her all the time. That sort of thing was for girls that needed or wanted friends, who couldn't be happy on their own, with their own company. She understood why it was done; it wasn't quite as easy to make friends, and go to school then head to a friend after dinner then head home. The distances between places were too much, especially for nobility.

They could hear the hustle and bustle of a market before they saw anything. There was more than one language being shouted, High Valyrian, Low Valyrian, they even heard Qartheen being called out. Daemon wanted to close his eyes and just enjoy the moment; it was as close to being home as he'd ever get. He never considered the Westeros his home, never would. His family was the only ones that really spoke High Valyrian, except for the Celtigers and Velaryon's naturally, but the Celtigers were so rarely at the Red Keep, and when they were, it was easy to forget they were Valyrian, they'd lost their distinctive looks, white hair and purple eyes, they'd sullied their lines with Andals long before Aegon conquered Westeros.

There was even the occasional Dothraki being shouted out into the crowd, not that most knew it, it wasn't exactly the most common language.

The sounds and smells were plentiful as the horses were left with two Peverell guards, who were close enough should something happen they'd be able to get there as soon as possible. Then to Baelon and Daemon's surprise, they disappeared in front of them, as in they weren't there anymore.

"Ready to go?" Haera asked, amused.

Nobody seemed shocked by the display of magic…could it be that nobody had noticed? Or was the use of magic so open that nobody so much as blinked? They were standing in the front of the marketplace, where guards from various families were bountiful, along with customers, Vendors and Merchants all watching. Yet as they watched everyone, they realized nobody had noticed, it was as if it hadn't happened. If they hadn't seen such magic happening consistently since their dismount on Peverell estate they would have been left to wonder if they'd really seen it or if it was a figment of their imagination.

"Foods like meats and diary to seafood and spices, baked goods are first. Further away stalls have fabrics, candles and lightening, textiles and clothing, handmade goods and other miscellaneous items that way." Haera showed them using her hand, "This way hosts jewellery, gems, and just as many books on sale. I've found a great many of them here, the Merchants buy and sell books oftentimes not aware of the treasure they truly have. Then again, most books on magic as dismissed, with it never being practiced so openly anymore. At the very end, there's a wish fountain, if you wish to go ahead and purchase anything and investigate alone, we can meet there as soon as it begins to get dark." Luckily though, that wouldn't happen until late at night, most people actually shut up shop so to speak before it got dark, mostly because the taverns and brothels would cause chaos for them. Drunks stealing merchandise, it just wasn't worth the trouble.

Baelon was tense to begin with, but slowly began to relax, white hair was dime a dozen here, nobody seemed to realise who they were. That freedom and anonymity was…liberating to say the least. It certainly gave his son a jolt of excitement as he roved around the marketplace curious about everything on display, buying more than a fair share of food items he'd never seen before and was eager to try.

Haera encouraged their curiosities, laughing along with them when they tried sour items, or saying she told them so when they ate something that was undeniably delicious. Dornish pears were much better than Westerosi pears that were slightly sour. Essos pomegranates were the best pomegranates on earth. The basket she'd brought with her filling quickly (and abnormally! There wasn't enough room for everything that had been packed inside of it of that they were sure).

"Now I understand why you decided to go to the market after our evening meal," Daemon declared, otherwise their evening meal would have been spoiled. Spoiled as in not eaten, since Daemon was stuffed full to the brim with delicious fruits and cakes. He could have gone for seconds.

"Poor Caraxes is going to be lugging your extra weight around," Haera teased him, Daemon was tall and lanky at the moment, but she knew that he had a lot of growing to do.

Daemon just winked at her, "He won't mind," he felt a little tongue tied around her, not his usual flirtatious self, then again, this was wife material, he'd need to be the perfect Prince in hopes of gaining her hand. Emphatically a sight better than Rhea Royce, he hoped sincerely that he got to see the looks on their faces.

"I'll be the one telling you that," Haera teased right back, "After all who is the one that can talk to them?"

Daemon grinned, a lovely boyish beam that made him look years younger, "Speaking off that particular ability, why is it you sound like you're conversing with a snake and do you truly hear hissing in turn?" he'd seen her one-sided (presumably) conversation with Cannibal, or rather Balerion as he'd been renamed.

Baelon paused just a bit ahead of them, he too was eager to hear her reply.

"They are hissing though, and they like to complain, like a lot." Haera revealed, "Honestly, they hate the hoofs on the animals, they'd prefer them chopped off. Balerion prefers Dornish sheep, Caraxes prefers human remains…has done since Tarth. He loves the thrill of the hunt, but horses are his second preference."

Baelon felt sick just thinking about Tarth and how Caraxes had figured out the love of human remains. He had killed thousands of pirates in his fury over the hand that had been dealt his brother. He missed him so much, missed him still, his brother's death had been the beginning of the end. There were so few of his family left that it was painful to watch. How he missed Alyssa, he wanted her here with him. She'd be so proud of their sons.

It should have turned Daemon's stomach but the truth was his purple eyes just gleamed with a glee that would have horrified good people. It was fortunate that Daemon wasn't with someone who could be considered 'good'.

"What about Vhagar?" Baelon couldn't help but utter in his curiosity.

"She's in pain," Haera replied, "Not sure were, has she always been this grouchy or is it a new thing?"

Baelon frowned, a thoughtful look appearing on his face, as he tried to discern whether his dragon had always been a grouchy old thing or if it was something recent. It wasn't as if he neglected her, he made every attempt to ensure her wellbeing, and yes, even if it was through Dragon Keepers – which by the way she didn't let near her now – so perhaps that was an answer all on its own. "Over twenty-four moon turns."

"You know she's in pain and haven't done anything?" Haera asked, no judgement on her face, at least not until she got all the facts.

"I had no notions of her being in pain, even if she is, what can we do to help her? She doesn't allow the Dragon Keepers anywhere near her." Baelon explained, a slither of guilt suffusing him, he hadn't considered her being in pain the reason for her grouchiness, he had put it down to old age. She was one of the oldest dragons left, well, with the exception of Cannibal, he was just as old or older than Vhagar.

"This is why there was a Peverell in every single of the forty-riding families of Valyria," Haera said dryly, "They didn't get married into all of them, we Peverell's were very picky about our spouses. Let's just say we never suffered from a lack of work, we were highly sought, first born, second born, third born, we all gained employment for our ability to talk to Dragons."

"A Targaryen was one, how is it that the ability was lost?" Daemon queried, truly curious, his eyes taking in the sights while his ears listened to hear all he could about the glory of Valyria.

"We'd need to do a family tree to find out if it was the right line, for all we know it could be a cousin branch." Haera answered, "You know you could have a tapestry weaved, although it would be more of a mass squiggle than an actual tree." Utterly amused, sniggering at her own wit, hers would likely be the same. Then again…the Black family tree was still a tree, of sorts, but they didn't marry siblings, usually just cousins pruning the lines so they didn't have too many family members to keep on top of.

Baelon leaped forward and got both Daemon and Haera out of the way of the oncoming rushing guards who were chasing someone. Distracting them momentarily, before Haera got back to her original line of thought.

"It's very unlikely that it was your line they married into though," Haera replied, rubbing her chin thoughtfully, "Then again, your magic is all but gone…I say 'all but' because you can still bond with dragons and Daemon had shown promise."

"You believe we could lose that?" Baelon asked, wide eyed.

"You don't need to worry about that, the dragons are going to be gone entirely by 153 AC," Haera asked, stunning both men into shocked silence.

"What does that mean? What happens to cause it?" Daemon demanded answers, his pulse hammering violently, the very idea of losing the dragons was terrifying.

"You were right, dragons made you kings, not dreams." Haera replied in lieu of an answer. "And yes, I know, if she hadn't had that Dragon Dream your line along with the rest of the Targaryens would have died in the doom." The gods had warned them only because one of their descendants would play a part in the fate of the human race. Which at this point in time, was gearing up to failure and the end of man.

"This cannot be possible…there are more dragons now than there has been since the doom." Baelon protested, stopping her from moving, determined to get answers. "There's no way I'd let that happen." He would not let the dragons die out; he prayed to the fourteen that he wouldn't be responsible for that sort of thing in his reign. Perhaps he should just tell his father that he won't be the heir anymore. Gods be good, the idea made him feel sick.

Haera bit her tongue and stopped herself saying 'Bold of you to assume you live to become King'. However, she wasn't that much of a shit, but if anyone did ask the question straightforward, she would answer honestly. Well, for the most part, if she didn't answer honestly, it would be just to screw people around. Which she was going to do with King Jaehaerys the asshole deserved that and so much more. He wanted to make sure he knew exactly what he'd caused, how he'd screwed everyone over, really, he should get called King Jaehaerys the Andal.

"And I'll make sure it never does," Haera reassured them, "There's no point to going over it twice though, so why don't we continue to enjoy our day, for tomorrow is going to be a long one. Not only for us, but for the dragons as well." Absently thumping them both of the back, before she began moving again.

Daemon and Baelon glanced at each other dumbfounded, had she honestly just thumped them on the back? They turned to watch her go, and once again, it dawned on them that she was so un-lady-like to the point it was like dealing with a man in a woman's body. Lady's didn't go around thumping people on the back, it's something exclusively men did during celebrations and such. She also didn't walk like a Lady, there was nothing delicate about her…and both of them loved it. For one it reminded him of his beloved Alyssa, and for the other? She wasn't dull predictable or boring, she was a dragon rider, speaker, Valyrian and by the fourteen, he desired her.

"Hurry up!" she called back, before too long in the more expensive part of the market, with far stricter security measures on display.

"Won't you give me a clue?" Baelon asked, as they walked, his mind bursting with thoughts that he had no way of knowing was true. Gods be good, she was upending their world, making him question how legitimate their reign was, not to mention his own worth. He hated it, but it was also a heartbreaking truth that left him feeling bitterness in his heart. He knew it to be true, Alyssa would never forgive him for allowing the horror that had been done to his niece. His lovely wife would have dragged Viserys by his ear out of his rooms and out the keep to do the walk of atonement if she'd caught wind of what happened. An admission that he'd only allowed himself to think in the privacy of his own rooms. She would use the walk of atonement because public chastisement would work on Viserys more than anything else, not because she respected the religion, she didn't believe in the seven-who-are-one. She like him believed in the fourteen.

"No, it would do you good to be humbled," Haera decided, walking on before adding seriously, "Although, I spoke the truth, there's no way your father is going to believe anything I say." removing a segment of an orange she plopped it into her mouth. Actually, she wasn't sure what he would believe, but someone who believed men were somehow better than woman? What was the chances of him actually taking her seriously? He truly was misogynistic, that shit would have been beaten out of him in Valyria if they truly believed that the two genders were equals.

"His Grace is very wise, His Grace would be smart enough to take your advice and run with it," Baelon explained, "His Grace listens to his Queen more often than any other council." In other words, if his father refused to heed her, she could inform the Queen who would be able to convince the King when nobody else could.

A small sad smile appeared on her face, "You don't have to parrot the royal protocol to me, I couldn't care less for it. My heart aches for you though, you actually started believing it." It was just like when he was all caught up in Dumbledore and the greater good rhetoric he espoused. At least he had an excuse, he hadn't been a grown ass man. It was clear his wife's death had sent cracks reverberating all the way down the foundations of his soul, but the death of his brother? It had shattered him. Baelon was…broken, the shattered pieces weren't even attempting to hold together. Some pieces were holding on by sheer stubbornness, for his sons she presumed.

"Is that Valyrian steel?" Daemon's voice rose at his shocked incredulity, noticing the glimmer in the sunlight, a glimmer that was uniquely Valyrian steel no other metal could produce that short of shimmer. Valyrian Steel was quite rare nowadays, especially pieces that are fully intact without blemishes. Which is difficult to do to Valyrian steel, but those who have braved the shores to claim a piece of Valyria what they'd brought back was ruined pieces of curled up steel.

It was a suitable distraction, that worked well, as both forgot their previous conversation to see everything on display, including the Valyrian Steel on offer.

"Don't any of the Velaryons or Celtigers have any pieces?" Haera queried as she followed Daemon who immediately took a liking to the blade, the sheen being its own authenticity.

"Surprisingly not," Baelon murmured thoughtfully, "Aegon and his sister-wives…"

"Use their names, they're worthy of it, Queen Visenya and her consort king Aegon and Consort wife Rhaenys." Haera rasped out, positively thrumming in annoyance. "Visenya and Rhaenys did more than Aegon did during the battles and wars, they deserve everyone's respect not to be relegated to a term sister-wive as if they don't matter." Wincing at herself, so much for enjoying the rest of the day.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to ruin the day, but I won't take it back, such queer Andal ways you have." Haera replied, watching both of them flinch as if they'd just been given the worst insult she could possibly give. So much so they didn't correct her with the idea that Queen Visenya had been the ruler, not that it would have mattered for Haera already knew. Too aghast at the very idea of being seen as Andal, if it had been anyone else, Daemon would have been tempted to take their tongue for the insult.

He then noticed a second piece, much larger, a Valyrian Steel Axe, Daemon picked it up gripping it tightly, all likelihood he probably wouldn't be able to afford it himself. Not without a good haggle and letting go of a few of his precious items he'd collected over the years. He was a second son, he didn't get anywhere near as much as his elder brother or father, and he was getting sold off to the highest bidder the sneaky thought came up on him a sense of bitterness suffusing him. It lasted only moments, before he was distracted again.

"Are you interested in purchasing the piece?" the Merchant asked, when he noticed he had their attention and they understood he continued, "The Valyrian steel axe is extremely rare, there is only one other rumoured to be in existence."

"Claw Isle." Daemon murmured, having heard from Lord Celtiger about the glory days of Valyria, he liked him well enough even if he had dirtied his blood with Andals. He didn't understand it really, the pride he held in his ancestry, only to sully it the first chance the family got? They no longer had the classical Valyrian looks, Lord Celtigers entire family were so common that they were uninteresting.

"The Celtigers do have pieces of Valyrian Steel then?" Haera asked, picking up an Arakh and removing its sheath only to find Valyrian Steel hidden under it. "Holy shit." She muttered gripping it tightly refraining from testing it out properly, too many people around and the steel is too sharp to risk nicking anyone. "How much?" her High Valyrian was much smoother than her common.

"Three pieces of Valyrian Steel, these are priceless pieces, how did he acquire them?" Baelon whispered suspiciously. For the price they were worth, the vendor wouldn't have a need to be haggling at a market stall. Yes, it was the richer part of the market place, but still, this merchant didn't look like he had the money to buy one priceless piece let alone one.

Haera spoke quietly, "Stole them from a manse, the family is dead, leaving the estate in disrepair, nobody else to be named in the will, the property has been languishing in its state for the past five years. He wants to get rid of them before they find the pieces missing, which is likely any time soon." He was right to be suspicious, and his instincts were right and rather good.

"I'll give you forty thousand gold dragons for the three pieces," Haera spoke confidently, yet quietly so not to be overheard.

Daemon hissed between his teeth as he inhaled sharply at the shock of such a small offer for three pieces of Valyrian Steel. Three priceless pieces at that, individually.

"You get a relative fortune and safety for your entire family, and I don't tell anyone you stole them." Haera added, "So, what will it be?" she had no qualms about blackmailing the merchant, he stole them and was getting to ammas quite a fortune for them, and its likely soon enough they wouldn't be able to be sold. That fortune would see him and his entire family living comfortably for their entire lives, and off of stolen proceeds.

The merchants eyes became shifty, likely realizing just who was standing in front of him for the first time. Royalty. Of the only remaining Valyrian riding families of Valyria.

"How do you know?" Baelon asked with a sense of awe, she had to be jesting, surely, she couldn't know something like that unless she knew this man?

"We have a deal," the merchant was very quick to give his agreement, too quickly, allowing Baelon to realize she was not jesting. It was really the only possible answer as to why a merchant would have three fully intact pieces of Valyrian Steel weaponry. Then they watched her spent a fortune on three items without a single ounce of doubt or worry. Even Baelon would think twice, and he was the heir to the throne. Oh, who was he kidding, he would not, he'd quite gleefully buy them, even if it left his coffers nearly empty for the next month. He would do anything to claim more Valyrian Steel.

"Nicely done." Daemon said his dark eyes gleaming with glee as the transaction was completed, and three Valyrian weapons were added to the never-ending room in that basket Haera was carrying around. He was rather envious if he was honest, and it was a new feeling Haera was able to so freely elicit in him. He was a Prince of the blood, a Targaryen, a pureblood Valyrian, rider of Caraxes, Knighted at sixteen, and gifted Dark Sister upon receiving his knighthood. There had seldom been a reason for him to be jealous of anyone, except his family that seemed to be able to pick their own husbands or wives, Valyrian ones while the King and Queen were attempting to shackle him to a sheep woman from the Vale. It hurt.

Haera smirked at him, "If you like these, there are many books in Valyrian available three stalls down, they're delicate, worth a fortune, if you find any that mention magic let me know."

That was how the spent the hours until the sun went down, and the street began to darken. Once that occurred, the vendors and merchants began to ask their customers that they were closing for the evening. Then they began to pack up their merchandise, their own household guards beginning to help them achieve their goals quicker. The end of the day would be the best time to target anyone who was in want of money or items to sell.

Neither Baelon or Daemon carried enough coin for all their purchases, but Haera gave them what they needed to make up the price. They promised to repay her once they were back at the Red Keep in Westeros, Haera waved off their promises of repayment. She had more than enough money than she'd ever need in her life, considering she was immortal was an immense amount.

They watched her chat to numerous people, all of them seem to be her tenants and perhaps friends as well. Each of them had at least two Peverell guards, and most of them hard coaches to return them to the Keep. They did wonder if they were the richer tenants, and owned the coaches, they considered it unlikely, otherwise they'd have their own crests adorned the carriage. It's like the possibility of everyone in Lannisport using the Lannister coaches with permission, which wouldn't happen. She seemed too good to be true, and they knew it too, she had just blackmailed someone out of their stolen loot albeit for a deft price. Yet she took care of her people, far better than anyone they'd ever seen, including the King and Queen.

By the time they returned to Peverell Keep they were so tired that they ate a small evening meal, a quiet conversation before bed. The heat in Essos didn't help matters, they were used to far cooler weather, yes, in the summer it was hot, and they dealt with it, but Essos was hotter than their summer in Westeros. The Targaryen men weren't sure how the people in Essos dealt with it if they were honest.

The Next Day

"Will the dragon be able to take all this?" Caela asked, holding up the bag filled with everything her Lady Haera had asked for late last evening. They had prepared it first thing in the morning, as directed, something they were grateful for, it had been a long day yesterday. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer your trunk to be escorted to…" before she could finish uttering the word Westeros the bag shrunk down to the side of a finger.

Daemon stalked up to the finger sized bag, and picked it up, astonished. He couldn't get enough of seeing magic performed so easily and simply. She was amazing, and couldn't wait to return to Westeros and share his tale with Gail, his brother and Aemma.

"Have you heard anything from Westeros?" Baelon enquired, "The King took a turn for the worst after hearing your name."

Haera glanced down at him, as she set the small bag aside before Daemon could lose it. Grasping the coats she flung one at Baelon and one at Daemon, before putting hers on. It would keep them warm (magically) while they flew, they really should have goggles on as well, to protect their eyes given the speed their dragons flew at. "No, I can't say I have, and nothing would reach us that swiftly, only other dragons could reach us so soon."

"And you promise to explain what you meant about the dragons?" Baelon enquired, as he put on the coat, it was warm, a bit too warm right now but it would keep them warm when they flew.

"I guess you don't care to know the family then, so long as the dragons survive?" Haera asked sardonically, shuddering anew at the very idea that Viserys Targaryen was going to sully his bloodline with Andals. "I mean I know I said that but I'm not family…but to each their own." She added, putting the bag into her pocket before setting off with the two Targaryen men, one protesting that it hadn't been what he meant at all.

Haera just laughed loud and freely as she flew, FLEW! Up to Balerion and perched herself lightly on him.

Both men were stunned, and it took a few moments before their brain kicked in again, this coming from men who had been raised to deal with all possible scenarios as members of the Royal Family.

Daemon swiftly made his way to Caraxes grateful that the coat hid a very prominent problem. Upside, at least his stones were no longer in pain. Hopefully he wouldn't piss her off enough to kick him again. By the fourteen, was there any end to her power? Part of him was sad to be leaving Essos to be honest, everywhere he went people spoke High Valyrian, it made him feel at home more than he ever had felt in the Red Keep and the fakeness that surrounded the King and Queen. He'd never give up his status as a Prince for it though, he knew how lucky he had it.

Its why he'd grudgingly gone along with his family's insanity, hoping against all hope that he could get his family to help him.

With one word, Caraxes took off into the air, and the three dragons began to make their way back to Westeros.

The three dragons flew all morning and afternoon, only stopping later in the evening, before it begun to darken on the horizon. They spread out their landing, ensuring both their dragon and their own safety. Vhagar and Balerion were far larger than Caraxes, older as well. They didn't need to hunt for themselves, since Haera with a flick of her wand had three animals getting steadily bigger at their feet, the Dornish sheep and the horses minus all their hooves per the dragons likes. Talking to them quietly, successfully petting them on their faces, unafraid of the smoke that they blew out their nose at her. She just seemed amused by it. And a little awe if they could read her right.

Baelon watched her with a quiet intensity, expecting complaints of aches, hunger, utterances of disgust, whines and moans at having to sleep on the grass. Nothing came forth, she made up a fire and sat herself down, before passing around the food she'd brought for them to eat. It was all cold of course, precooked, at least until a plate was handed to him where it got warmed up.

There was no way she could possibly be a highborn Lady; nobody would be able to endure this. Alyssa would be complaining, at least he liked to think so, such an occurrence hadn't happened to know for sure. Even quiet placatory Gael would not be enduring this without her displeasure known. People with money never had to endure a day of discomfort, even he rarely had to endure nights like this. By rarely he meant not at all until now.

"Are they talking now?" Daemon asked, as always eager to know more, especially about Dragons, he couldn't help but wonder what it was like being able to understand them.

"No, they're sleeping," Haera answered, "At least Balerion and Caraxes is, Vhagar is a little more vigilant and only lightly resting. You should know that she is in pain, actually a lot of pain, where her harness is. I'll have a look at it when we get to Westeros and see what can be done to help her."

Baelon blinked, stupefied for a few moments before uttering a quiet thank you.

"I unpacked this, want to find out about magic?" Haera asked Daemon wagging the book back and forth grinning widely.

"Is it Visenya's journal?" Daemon asked, sliding closer to try and see the spine in an attempt to figure out if it was the case.

"Oh, no, this is a rudimentary level of introduction into Valyrian magic," Haera said in glee, finally she'd have an answer to her questions. Raising her hand, her fingers sprang out as if she was attempting to find something but instead a globe of light lit up the night just above their heads, allowing them to see the Glyphs. "Well, a certain form of magic, there's a Glyph missing, see." Showing him where the glyph was missing, on the otherwise perfectly aged book. The fact it had barely been touched was also a factor in how beautifully preserved but well used book.

Baelon made a loud coughing sound, "You need to get some sleep, why don't you both rest up for a bit. Daemon, come over here, you can rest there." Folding up his coat so that his son had something to at least lay his head on.

Daemon glanced at his father in utter bafflement at his abrupt change in demeanour.

"What do you think we're going to get up to at the dead of the night and in the middle of nowhere?" Haera asked ruefully. "Oh, goodness. Your brother and aunt? Really?" she cackled in amusement.

Baelon blanched purple eyes wide gaping at the slip of a girl that knew something nobody except his aunt (who was the only one alive) knew about.

"Night," and the light that had been above their heads fizzled out with a soundless pop.

Daemon just stared at his father feeling naught but amused shock, he knew it to be true, it was written all over his fathers' face. It was so much fun seeing and hearing her turn the tables on everyone. The crackling of the flames, and shuffling of the dragons, were the last thing Daemon heard as he fell asleep. The exhaustion of riding all day finally catching up with him.

Neither Daemon or Baelon woke Haera up for her to take a turn, although, the longer she slept on the harsh unforgiving ground, the more aches and pains she'd likely have. Sleep they decided came first, and if Daemon spent most of his waking moments watching Haera and every sniffle and shift well, nobody would know. Valyrians were beautiful, there was no denying that, some prettier than others, Haera was without a doubt the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. She was strong, magical, and unlike anyone he had ever met. She walked around like a man, he observed, almost stomping, she unlike the Ladies of Westeros she wasn't graceful and didn't constantly keep her hands in front of her in a bid to appear demure and prim and proper.

Then there was the way she dressed, definitely for her own comfort in mind and definitely like a man also.

"Oh, that fucking stinks," Haera gagged, turning away, "Damn! If I didn't already know what you eat, I'd be asking!" glancing at the dragons wondering which one had done it. Waving her hand, she dispersed the damn dump the dragon had just taken.

"Is there something you can do for the harness?" Baelon asked, he didn't like the idea of going on Vhagar if she was in pain, he wasn't exactly the lightest of men in his family.

"I've already made it lightweight for her, don't worry," Haera said, smiling at him, a real smile, clearly happy that he was taking his dragons health seriously.

Unfortunately, it would only last until they landed near the Dragon Pit.

"Why here?" Haera asked, "There's enough room for Vhagar or even Balerion to land nearer the keep…"

"That is the Dragon Pit," Baelon not noticing Haera narrowing her eyes at the structure and the massive dome that was its roof.

Haera hummed, dissatisfied, as they made their way into the pit a while later, hearing Caraxes whistles, she could hear people outside and horses also. Obviously, their presence had been noticed, hard to miss dragons after all. Then she froze, gasping softly, grasping her chest shaking over the overwhelming loneliness she felt in that moment. loneliness that most assuredly wasn't hers.

The realisation that these motherfuckers had kept a dragon chained up in a pit for…merlin for decades made her sick and furious.

The ground under the pit began to shake violently, as Haera turned back to face them, a look of revulsion gracing her features, and then the pit exploded violently. An outburst that was noticed by the people in the Red Keep, and in the lands surrounding it, felt by them too.

A/N - Yep as dramatic as ever! I'm having so much fun writing these stories for HOD/HP and worse still getting muses for more a Leanor/Harry story of all things LOL but I'm determined not to write any more new stories until I've finished at least another story (other than walking dead that is) which will be finished next and it will be longer than even this chapter LOL If you can't stand overpowered Harry of any kind then this story is definitely not for you cos I'm planning on Haera (and Harry in my other HOD/HP A New Player In The Game being way overpowered *winks*) now to think of a way to make a king feel like he's making the decisions and funny attempt to get Haera to fall in line *rubbs hands together gleefully* yeah its 1 o'clock in the morning before I got this finished and I definitely need some sleep so goodnight everyone please remember to review xx

Chapter Text

All Hail The King

Chapter 10

Prince Baelon and Prince Daemon were still staring in utter disbelief at the sight of the destroyed dragon pit when the Kingsguard rode up on their horses. They didn't hesitate for a second in securing Haera as per their Queen's commands. Until the king woke up, the Queen was the ones who instructions they adhered to. Especially since there was no Hand available at the moment, as he was currently at the Citadel retrieving a few books for the King, since he trusted nobody else but him to retrieve them. Haera made no effort to escape, merely just allowed them to do as they pleased, as long as they didn't hurt her, if they did then she'd show them her full displeasure.

"Let her go! Now!" Daemon snarled, unsheathing his sword, Dark Sister, prepared to defend her, if need be, even against the Kingsguards. How dare they treat a Lady with such disregard? Another part of him wondered how they were not afraid of her, her magical capabilities should have them running for the hills. Presuming that they knew she'd done anything magical of course, but those of the faith of the seven likely were very vocally anti-wizardry. If they did anything to her, he had a feeling that thousands of people would march on the capitol in her defence. Recalling the way everyone had looked at her as they were shown around the estate.

"Daemon, stop," Prince Baelon yanked his sons arm down, so his sword was pointed towards the ground. The horses barely moved or neighed over the commotion, used to such things, having been well trained for it all. Including being used to the smell and presence of dragons, now that was a definite must otherwise it was sold on. None of them would touch a Prince of the blood, under normal circumstances, but if things got heated, he didn't want to risk it, accidents happened in the training yard all the time, but this wasn't the training yard, it was a real tense situation. They would always follow the King – or the Queens orders – above all else.

"He's right," Haera told Daemon, utterly unperturbed at being detained.

"Kepa!" Daemon protested, yanking his arm back, furious with him for not helping her.

"You seriously expect him to help?" Haera asked craning her head to look back at them with incredulous look, as she was frogmarched towards the horses and the carriage, she'd been handled far rougher by Vernon in all honesty. "He isn't even helping his own son get out of a marriage that you don't want, you honestly think he'd help someone he's only just recently met?" Prince Baelon was broken, well, some part of him was she could see it, like Sirius had been. He was basically existing only.

You'd never think Prince Baelon felt anything, his face impassive, but he felt that retort immensely, it twisted his heart viciously.

However, Haera was pressed further down, by one of the guards, pressing on her shoulder as it trying to contain her. "You take that fucking gauntlet out of my shoulder or I swear to the fourteen flames I'll break your ankles and legs so you can never work again." Haera snarled, grimacing at pain, apparently Baelon was well liked by the Kingsguards then, good to know. Sighing softly, when the gauntlet was immediately removed, and his hand repositioned so it didn't happen again. Haera rolled her shoulder, pleased to feel the pain abating.

The next fifteen minutes were the most uncomfortable experience that she'd experienced in a few days. Practically squashed between two Kingsguard who were sitting at each side of her in the carriage, which Haera was impressed fitted them. The lucky gits Prince Baelon and Prince Daemon were ahead of them riding horses, with the rest of the Kingsguard. Although Daemon had been rather inventive in his threats to them should she be 'hurt' unduly in their care. How the hell did they actually do anything in that armour? It was heavy against her, never mind actually feeling the full gear. Her own people had their armour but it was naught like this, to be fair if they were forced into tin can's they'd have been dead by the end of the day, the heat in Essos would have ensured that much.

Shifting just a little, using her fingers to press her nose closed, the smell was so unbearable that she was gagging. "What the fuck is causing that smell?" she asked through blurry eyes, gagging once more. She would have laughed at the swiftness that they moved to the other side of the carriage if she didn't feel quite so sick.

The Kingsguard remained silent, sentry in their duty to keep the prisoner detained.

Haera gagged she could practically taste it at the back of her throat, oh, hell, she'd never smelt anything so disgusting in her life. Her regurgitating reflexes were activated and she yanked the carriage window open and regurgitated the entire contents of her meal on ground. Or at least most of it, because that once triggered another, and another. Eventually she had nothing left to be sick, she leaned against the carriage door, practically wheezing, even if she could use a bubble head charm it wouldn't have worked, it didn't create new air, she'd just be trapping herself with more shitty air.

How did people live like this? Why did they live like this? Plumbing existed! Admittedly medieval compared to modern plumbing but still it existed. This was the fucking capitol, where everyone converged, to celebrate all the shit royalty liked to celebrate. Births, birthdays, stuff like that, tournaments and the like for entertainment. Did all their lands smell the same? It couldn't be, surely, her own estate didn't smell like that, and she'd only added a few additions on top of the plumbing already there. They clearly didn't help their own people, and allowed their town to stink horrendously.

Haera wiped her tears, grimacing at the taste lingering in her mouth, and cast a charm to refresh her breathe, there that was better. She needed to learn a few new spells to survive this, it stank, but as they trod further along the smell began to fade until it was just a tiny linger upon the air. Almost indecipherable really, which truly was a relief to Haera's stomach. Thank Merlin she'd been asleep the first time, the idea of enduring a sword injury and trying not to breath whilst being sick…yeah, that would have guaranteed her death in this body for sure. How dreadful and utterly embarrassing at the idea of this incarnation dying puking whilst upon a dragon.

Once they reached the Red Keep, they didn't let her out right away, the smell wasn't so bad now thank goodness. She did watch from the carriage as two of the Kingsguard spoke to the Queen. Prince Baelon and Prince Daemon were standing nearby, neither looked very impressed with what they heard, and Baelon grasped a hold of his sons neck tightly, he wasn't going to let his son get himself into hot water with the Queen. He was still reeling over what Haera had said, and worried about The King, his Grace had been bedbound after what happened, the shock had rendered him catatonic. He wasn't ready to be king, his Grace couldn't die, he wasn't ready.

Only once one of the Kingsguards nodded and gestured for them to come, did the two vacate the carriage and help her down. They didn't let her go, and Haera reckoned she'd have been shackled if she'd been a man, but because she was a woman they didn't see her as a threat. Foolish of them really, since she'd already proven she could call her dragon to her, or did they just think it was a coincidence that Balerion was right at the door? Honestly, given what she knew she wouldn't actually be surprised if that was the case.

Haera was moved towards the Queen, who stood majestically at the front of the doors, staring down at her. Haera had to purse her lips to stop herself laughing, did she think she was scary? If The Queen wanted to scare her, she'd need to try a lot harder than that. She did notice the unimpressed up and down the Queen did, inspecting her.

"Put her in the Black Cells," The Good Queen Alysanne declared, her tone of voice utterly at odds compared to her words. "You should pray to the seven that His Grace survives, should The King die…you will die a traitors death."

Her announcement had absolutely everyone breaking out in dramatic gasps, as they broke out in the most absurd version of Chinese whispers, as they all tried to beat each other in telling the tale the most times. Even the servants that had been 'lingering' found their work ethic renewed as they did it as fast as humanly possible. Low born or noble, everyone loved to gossip. Haera wouldn't be surprised if the entire keep was under the impression she'd actually killed The King and was going to be executed.

Haera had nothing to say to the Queen, but did glance at Daemon, "Which is what by the way?"

Purple eyes glanced into her own, Haera was very surprised to find worry hidden within their depths, "Death by dragon fire." It was the only thing the King hadn't changed in his long reign since Meagor. Say what you like about King Jaehaerys Targaryen, but he was no weakling, and while he tried to pacify everyone, he was no feeble king, he would meet any threat with fire and blood. Look at what happened to Saera's suitors as evidence that he'd do whatever it took.

Haera's eyes gleamed as a slow lazy smirk spread across her face, and Daemon shouldn't have found that as attractive as he did, but the fourteen help him, it was arousing. She winked at him before her face became impassive as she turned her face towards the Queen and the Kingsguard once more.

It was as if they were waiting on her saying something, anything, perhaps begging for the Good Queen's pity? However, they didn't know her well if they thought she'd ever beg her for anything. It wasn't in her character to give in, and it didn't matter whether she had a male or female form, that didn't change anything. She was still reckless and impulsive, more so really, since she couldn't die, knowing this, it made her even more reckless sometimes, and willing to do anything for fun. She'd refused to bow before Voldemort at fourteen, she wasn't going to bow before the Queen now.

Now she was here, in this time, with her godly magical powers and a dragon to boot. Only a fool would think they could force her to do something against her will.

She was having so. much. Fun.

That was until she actually got a look at the inside of the Black cells, as the door slammed behind her.

"Lumos!" she cocked her head to the side, wondering if the shit she'd passed was worse than this disgusting smell. Stagnant water, which by the way she was sure there was something moving within it. Damp, dreary, no natural light, well, there was light, this seemed like a cruel and unusual punishment for most people. Flicking her hand, she removed the water and grasped a hold of her coat and got comfortable. The leather didn't stop the bite of the castle foundation biting into her backside. She was glad to have it nonetheless; it was freezing down here. Thank fuck she had magic otherwise she'd already be cold right to her very bones. "I'd like to hear what human rights activists thought of this." She huffed out in amusement, there was no toilet, not even a bucket to take a dump in, or a pot to piss in.

It was a good thing she wasn't too tall or big, otherwise her time in the cell would have truly been uncomfortable. She didn't really have anywhere to lie down properly to rest. So, she remained crouched against the wall in the niche, and let her magic to its thing, watching the light dance around the ceiling. It was like one of those projectors only so much more fun, since she didn't need to see the same thing over and over again.

She only ever stopped and cancelled all magic once, as a bowl of stew and bread was shoved inside for her evening meal. The stew was actually quite good, a bit too salty for her taste, but very tasty, the bread was hard as a rock so she used it for dipping. After that, she could hear very muffled banging and screaming, nothing too loud, just faint, sighing in annoyance, perhaps she should give the old fart a potion or something, it would be rather annoying if she was arrested for killing the King, and would make her tasks rather difficult.

Honestly, some people, to think he could die from shock, she hadn't done anything THAT shocking! Just how feeble was the old man that he couldn't hack a girl kicking a window in? Unless…of course, he had a very good idea of who she was and what she could do. Even then it was still a bit dramatic to go into shock.

Haera grew so completely bored, and tired, that she sought out Daemon with her magic, and apparated (well, technically it was teleporting since it was silent and god magic) using Daemon as a guide. "Ouch! Fuck!" she grumbled in complaint, before freezing completely, eew! Chamber pot! Stinky! The blade against her neck just added to her stillness. "It's just me, I'd really rather you don't slice my throat." slowly and deliberately moving the blade from her neck, alright, she definitely hadn't thought that through.

"How did you get in here?" Daemon retorted sharply, purple eyes roving around his room, but the door was still locked, and the secret passageway was undisturbed, he had his armour pressed up against it, so that if anyone did somehow manage to find the passageway they wouldn't get into his rooms unannounced. She'd managed to get into his room without using the door, of that he was certain. "How did you get out of the Black cells?" he'd tried to go down but no surprises, the Queen had made sure nobody would get down there to see her.

"I Apparated," Haera commented, watching him sheath his sword again, all without getting out of bed. "Budge over, I need to get some sleep." She needed some proper sleep and rest.

Daemon just gaped at her, as she shoved the bottom of his bed covers up, removed the warming pan and before making herself comfortable to remove her shoes and stealing one of his pillows and snuggling in. His mind exploded into a dozen different thoughts, as he stared at the outline of Haera, the one candle that was lit able to make her shadow but not much else. She couldn't be serious? Could she? Why was she still here? If she could 'apparate', why hadn't she gone home? Why not just go to her dragon and leave whilst she could? What about her reputation? If she was found in his bed, everyone would think she was a whore, her image would never recover.

"How did you know where I was?" Daemon asked instead of telling her to leave, to preserve her modesty, to get to safety as he ought. He really ought to tell her to go, if they found her here…the Queen would be furious. Could even have her executed on the spot. It's not like she knew the Keep well, or at all really, her brief time within it wasn't enough to know where he slept.

"I know where everyone in this castle is," Haera murmured, body relaxing for the first time in near enough twelve hours. The cell was tiny, smaller than her reading nook, and she was pretty sure she'd had more room in her cupboard at eleven than she had in that blasting cell. There was only so much time she could use up making the lights dance around to amuse herself. "I focused on you, and the magic did the rest." Almost mumbling now exhaustion having gotten the better of her. She'd grown used to her comforts and this bed was definitely comfortable and warm. She didn't dare take her jacket off though, she'd spelled the hallway so she'd know if anyone was coming and it would be simple to slid her feet into her shoes and apparate back into the cell. She was tempted not to, in order to amuse herself.

"Do you think I could really do something like that?" Daemon enquired, his voice a rumbly purr.

"I've said before, you've definitely got some form of magic," Haera murmured, smiling a little at the excitement he could hear even in his attempt to keep it hidden. "Whether you'll be able to Apparate or not is unknown, I mean Visenya used her dragon to get around, from Dragonstone to Peverell Keep." She pointed out not wishing for him to get his hopes up. She honestly didn't know what they were capable of, all magical capabilities were different as she'd told him in Essos. It was a lengthily flight, but the dragons absolutely bloody loved it. Longer the better in their book. The heat of the sun as they travelled further from Westeros even better. She wondered if Baelon even noticed that Vhagar had begun to descend before they knew where to go. Unlikely, he hadn't mentioned it.

"No magic is going to beat Dragon riding," Daemon declared smug and proud, to him there was nothing better than being able to ride a dragon, except battle now that was a very different kind of high.

Haera smirked, wondering if he would be saying that once he realizes the full scope of abilities that would open up to him. She did wish to visit Dragonstone though, maybe one day Daemon would take her.

All was quiet for a few minutes before Daemon asked, "Are you hungry?" she likely hadn't had much to eat, they only gave prisoners enough to survive. He still had some food from earlier that hadn't been taken away yet, having demanded a platter earlier when he grew hungry having petulantly refused to eat with his family – primarily the Queen and his father – for their actions and his father's inactions. He still couldn't believe the Queen had put a lady in the Black cells, it just did not happen, they were imprisoned in the castle, yes, but never the dungeons, merely locked in the guest rooms of their choice. Too much of a chance of starting a war, they merely became hostages.

"No, too tired," Haera murmured, waving off any concern, and she really was, if he asked her anything else, she had no clue, as the fuzziness of sleep enveloped her, and soon sleep came in its entirety.

Sleep didn't come quite so easily for Daemon who was still in shock at tonight's happenings. Never in a million years could he have imagined such a thing would occur. Maidens didn't just come into men's bedrooms, okay, they did, but for a specific reason, and usually they already had a ruined reputation. Even at that, it was nigh on improper for someone to just walk in demand to share their bed and fall asleep! That and every whore he'd ever been with, he didn't sleep beside them! He paid and then left for his own rooms, he'd never had a whore come to the castle, the Queen would have a heart attack if he did. To make matters worse, the audacity didn't offend him, it amused him to no end. It was extremely odd to have someone here; he hadn't shared a room with anyone (when he was sleeping) since he left the nursery for his own quarters in his childhood.

He must have watched her until the candle wore down entirely, and the room was encompassed utterly in darkness. Even then he could feel her, stretching out, the small near soundless snores, and sleepy murmurs. He was a fool to trust her, he didn't know her, she could do anything, but Daemon couldn't bring himself to feel any his normal suspicion with her, swept away as he was with her. His desire for her, his fascination with magic, she was truly unlike any other maiden he'd ever met.

Daemon woke as dawn began to break across the horizon, as was his usual time to wake, something of a habit since he his tenth name day. He became a squire, which required very early mornings, and slowly begun to build quite a fearsome reputation, amongst the common folk, the nights and nobility. There was a reason he had been knighted, and it wasn't because he was a Prince of the blood. His gaze roved over his sword, the famed Dark Sister, one of the few remaining Valyrian blades since the doom. Along with Caraxes this was his greatest achievement. He couldn't believe they'd found pieces of Valyrian steel at the market, in really good shape too.

He was in awe that someone so powerful could look so innocent.

Suddenly Haera grumbled, "Seriously? You don't even let your prisoners sleep in?" yanking off the covers, and shoving her feet into her shoes before standing up, "Bye!" and literal blink and she was gone. Zero evidence that she'd been there, except his own mind and his dishevelled covers and a discarded gold heating pan on the floor.

Daemon wasted no time in getting up, instead of heading straight for the training grounds, he decided to try and find out more information. Missing one day of training wasn't going to hurt him.

Haera barely just managed to get herself situated before the cell door opened, the guard on the other side of the door was panting outrageously. It was clear that he had ran all the way here from wherever he'd been stationed before the order had been given. He was the one she'd warned to get his armour off her, she recalled. She still didn't know his name though. Arms crossed, she stared impassively at the Kingsguard, arching a brow silently asking well, what do you want? And she was pretty sure such question was written across her face.

"Lady Haera, His Grace, the King begs your forgiveness for the unfortunate…misunderstanding and seeks to right grievous wrongs. Please, follow me, a bath is being prepared for you, and a set of clothes will be set aside for you." The Kingsguard explained, his tone filled with anxiety, in these times, 'don't kill the messenger' was pretty accurate. Although, she doubted the King would kill them…maybe. They did have a healthy fear for the King, she acknowledged, it was in their tone and mind.

Haera stood up properly, smoothing over her leather jacket, before stepping out, hmm he the potion must have worked at last. Which was good, really, the last thing she needed was to be seen as a traitor and wanted across the seven kingdoms. She smothered her own amusement as he held his breath as if expecting her to stink. Fair play, she probably would if she'd actually spent all night in there, not to mention the lack of…toileting facilities.

She expected to end up in the rooms she'd been given before, but it was a foolish thing to think, she realized when she was escorted into a far, far bigger and nicer quarters. Three times the size of the original, lovely bed, actually, they were similar to Daemons room's, she realized, just missing the few personal touches. The guard informed her that he would escort Haera to 'His Grace' once she was done.

"Thank you," Haera replied, out of sheer politeness and to acknowledge his words, stepping aside so that the two girls could leave with their empty buckets. With that she wandered through to the bathing facilities, the tub was massive, you'd be able to fit four people inside of it very comfortably, six at a push and uncomfortably. It was next to the lit fireplace, the water already opaque, and on the other side of the bath was bottles of oil to fragrance the water.

She might have been a little distracted by the size of the bath but she wasn't too distracted to notice a hand reaching for her shoulder.

Haera's hand quickly moved and seized the hand coming towards her, she felt guilty immediately, seeing the immense fear on her face, "I require no aid this day, please go and have a break, enjoy a moments respite." She grabbed two of her gold coins from her pocket and handed them over, wrapping her hand around them, giving it a squeeze, hoping she understood her silent apology. The idea of someone helping her bath was beyond ludicrous, how the hell the world actually survived was a miracle all on its own. Seriously, royalty and noble born alike, its perhaps why it was so rare that any left the trappings of their caged lives.

"I…I still have to get you some clothes, My Lady," she said, breathless, this would feed her family for two months.

"Retrieve them and put them at the bottom of the bed," Haera answered, she likely wouldn't wear them, not that she needed to, a few spells would have her clothes laundered. "Then have your break."

"At once, My Lady," bowing so low that her muscles protested, before scurrying out, holding tightly to the two gold coins, the last thing she wanted was anyone else to see them.

Haera closed and locked the door behind her, relaxing a little that she was on her own, the very idea of someone watching her bath was gross. She knew and understood that it was the done thing here, but she'd be damned if she did that sort of thing. Curiously, she opened and sniffed the bottles of oils that had been laid out for her, they definitely were laying it on thick. Smirking in amusement, dipping her hand into the water, hmm very warm, warmer than she'd expected given they didn't have modern plumbing.

She was glad they hadn't used rose oils, which were the most frequently used ones, even by royalty apparently, she detested that scent. Lavender they'd gone with, the scent was pleasant enough. "Ugh, I need to invent hooks earlier, this is ridiculous!" she complained in annoyance as she undressed, especially the sports bra she had created for herself. She sure as hell wasn't going to go around wearing a corset, women were mad for doing so. Bra hooks would make it so she could remove it without due difficulty, but using buttons at the front would do the same thing, why hadn't she thought of it earlier? Definitely something for her seamstress.

Slipping in, not surprised that the king had made a 'miraculous recovery' her calming draught will have cured the 'shock' he'd experienced. Honestly, the king was acting like a Drama Queen. She couldn't help but snigger just imagining his face if she said it to him. He was likely not used to anyone being completely open and honest with him. Who would be? He was the king, the ultimate power to these people, but the Targaryen's of old would have disowned Aegon and the rest without a seconds hesitation, to be a female Targaryen these days was one of death. Clenching her hands into fists, she made a vow to those who had died and who were still alive that he would make sure they survived and thrived, even if he had to build somewhere for them to be so.

The time of the male Targaryens that thought they could use women as the Andals did was over, they would rue the day they thought they could do so.

They had nobody to defend them, so she would.

Smirking ruefully and huffing, which was likely what Balerion had hoped, bloody annoying gods. Hopefully his reputation would prevent a reoccurrence on what happened to him the first time. The gods, his gods, from his planet Earth had begged him for aid, declaring that he was prophesied to bring about the strongest and most magically gifted mage in the known world into being. That without it the world wouldn't survive the calamities that would come, more specifically his family wouldn't survive it. Naturally at the time he hadn't realized what he was agreeing to, of course, his family wouldn't survive if he didn't start his own bloody line.

He had found love with Hunith, it was a young tentative love, the first time Harry had felt it, not the forced potion-induced during his first life. She fell pregnant with their child, he'd been so bloody excited, to get to be a father not this potion-induced version. A real father, one he'd get to name, to watch grow up, to teach magic to…he had then been called up, to the Otherworld, which was where the gods resided, their version of Olympus which was the most known version. A heavenly land beyond sea and an underground world. It was the biggest mistake he'd made, and theirs as well, Morrigan (goddess of Death, prophecy and war) had cloaked them from him, declaring that he'd 'done his part' and waved him off as if he was some insignificant fly buzzing in her ear.

His fury had been felt by everyone in the Otherworld, he'd destroyed everything walls, homes, ceilings, thrones, and reduced the Goddess Morrigan to dust particles, there had been naught left of her, or her powers. Their most powerful gods and goddesses couldn't stop his rage upon their pantheon. The entire pantheon had been weakened as a result, he never did find Hunith or their son, he knew would become the legend, Merlin himself. He had found him when he was an adult, still couldn't actually approach him, god magic worked even after their death. He'd given him everything he could to make his life easier, it was all he could do.

Now everywhere he went, he was met with trepidation, his reputation precedes him. The Valyrian gods had been different right from the offset. Vhagar had to be his favourite of them all, then Balerion. Speaking of Balerion had better hope he knew what would happen to him if he pulled anything. Well, more than he already had, stabbing him had been a minor annoyance. This was another chance of a decent life down here, to cause some chaos, to save some lives, to save an entire planet actually if she did things right, and her thoughts drifted to Daemon, perhaps she'd even get to build a relationship for more than a few months before it was torn from them.

If anyone attempted to take advantage of him the way Morrigan did? He would lay waste to all of them, leaving naught but destruction in his wake. She didn't want to think this way or be that way, but after everything they'd been through it was impossible not to be. He'd lost the last of his naivety before his first human death (and she didn't mean the first killing curse or the second killing curse hitting them) he meant when he'd died when his body just became too overwhelmed with the constant drugging of his system to keep him in love and pliant to their wishes. His time under those potions were murky, very much like being under the Imperius curse, an observer in his own life, all he felt was naught but betrayal, rage, anger, and a lot of pain, as his body begun to fall apart within (the dangers of the potions becoming all too apparent) how could someone remain whole and moral after all that?

Haera's body froze when she heard the door open, relaxing only marginally when the door closed again. The water had become tepid, grabbing a hold of the bath sheet, which was warm due to its closeness to the fire still crackling merrily in the fireplace. Hmm, they might have had the right idea about having a fireplace in the bathroom, it was cosy. She would have used her own but the heat was immense in Essos, so different from the cold weather here. Quickly redressing, not bothering to button her jacket, using her wand, she tapped her scalp, and her hair was brushed out, and began to rapidly twist into knotless braids, designs that had been favoured in Valyria before the doom. With all the dragon riding, and their pride in their hair, they preferred keeping it up and out of their faces, usually using braids. There were hundreds of different designs for all occasions, she had a book about the designs on their own, she hadn't had a chance to read it though.

The braids could be compared to Viking braids, actually, some of them were close enough to be identical to them. What better way to remind those Valyrian Andals what they were missing?

Opening the bathroom door, leaving the key where it was, she rolled her eyes so hard that she felt she'd temporary blinded herself. Seriously? Another bloody constricting corset dress? Do these women ever wear anything else? Well, they lived a caged life, why not have a physical cage wrapped around their ribs reminding them.

She left the items that had been laid out for her, and opened the door to the rooms she'd been given and found the guards stationed outside. The look of relief on his face would have been comical under any other circumstances.

"The King awaits, Lady Haera," the Kingsguard patiently and kindly uttered, but his gaze travelled down her body, with a hint of judgement. Women weren't supposed to wear men's clothes, it just wasn't the done thing, unless you were Alyssa Targaryen. They just weren't used to such a sight anymore, but it must be painful for Prince Baelon. They didn't look similar enough for him to be seeing her whilst looking at Lady Haera, but it was a close thing.

"Lead the way," Haera answered absently, as she adjusted the strap of her bag which had mostly been hidden inside of her coat (likely the only reason they didn't take it when they shoved her in that cell. It wasn't anything big and fancy, but it did the trick. She was beginning to feel peckish, so the food she'd stashed away would be very welcoming right now.

Haera attempted to familiarise herself with the layout, but she knew from experience it would take weeks upon weeks to become familiar with the layout, and longer still to get used to it enough to take shortcuts and the like comfortably. They did go from clean and lovely to positively dripping in money, they must be close to the King and Queens rooms.

"The Lady Haera Peverell, Your Grace," another Kingsguard proclaimed, as the door was opened, allowing her entrance.

She'd been granted entrance into the Queens ballroom, lovely Valyrian tapestries, vases filled with the freshest flowers, portraits lining the walls, presumably family, judging by the looks of them, all white haired (except for two) and purple eyed. Couches and chairs with stools flush with the walls, a massive fireplace that was lit, emitting enough heat to keep this grand room warm. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, unlit candles cradled in position just waiting to be used, old wax hardened against the wood.

Annoyance stole over her features when she noticed the King, it wasn't the King per se, it was his company. Giving a short perfunctory bow that men performed and not the curtsy that women perform.

An Andal.

A Septon at that.

A man of faith. A man of a faith that did not exist.

Haera sighed before sitting down and crossing her legs, staring at both men, her hands tapping idly on each armrest. "I am not speaking with him here, and not without your family also present." She informed him bluntly in Valyrian, being kind enough to ensure nobody knew she was being…hmm…impolite. Absently adding, "Your Grace," at the end, she really, really did try to stop herself sounding sarcastic.

Do you want to see the conversation between a recently woken King and his Queen or shall we get to the next bit quickly? Or both? I'm really trying to show just how much Haera doesn't realise she's overstepping here in this world and everyone's reactions to it! I hope it's coming across as it's meant to. Also this is going to be an overpowered Haera and she's just not going to give two hoots about most people, so sorry if that's what you were looking for you won't find it here :) this is going to be BAMF Haera and Daemon and likely a few others as well *smirks* What would you think of seeing/reading Aemma with a backbone? anyways R&R please! 

Chapter Text

All Hail The King

Chapter 11

Alysanne sat on the chair next to her husbands bed, her head bowed in prayer, as she prayed to the seven to bring her husband back to her. A seven-pointed star pendant etched into her palm, such as her grip upon it. As mad as she felt at her husband for his blatant dismissal of Rhaenys' rightful place upon the iron throne, she loved him. She'd always loved him, he was her everything, and it pained her to be at odds with him. Rhaenys had what it took to be the next ruler of the seven kingdoms. She was smart, so intelligent, kind, devoted, oh, so headstrong, just like the rest of the Targaryens. It was a miracle she and Jaehaerys hadn't gotten into more arguments really. However, Rhaenys had been the one fight she refused to give upon. She would wear her husband down if she must. She deserved to be Queen! It's what Aemon would have wanted, but her husband's stubbornness was destroying the family. Tearing it apart, she very rarely saw Rhaenys, she hardly got any letters either, she had fully distanced herself from the family. She hadn't seen her grandchildren Laenor and Laena in so long. Why was she losing her entire family? Had she not been a devout follower of the seven? Had she not adhered to the rules? If she did everything right why was everything going wrong?

Jaehaerys groaned softly, his mind muddled, confusion was the most prominent emotion he felt at that moment. Staring up at the canopy of his own bed, clearly, he was in his own bedchambers, he couldn't quite recall what happened.

"Oh, you're awake! Thank the seven!" Alysanne said, her voice wobbling slightly, as she clutched at her husband's hand, "How do you feel? Shall I fetch the Maester?" already standing, calling out for the Kingsguard that was currently outside the door protecting them, "Morrigen!"

"My Queen?" the Kingsguard asked, bowing deferentially from the doorway, awaiting orders.

"Inform the Maester that my husband has woken at once," she said, turning back to face her husband once more, expecting compliance and never once looking back to see if her orders were being followed. A turbulent smile crossed Alysanne's face, as she kissed her husband's hand, ever so pleased he was awake and aware.

"What happened?" the King commanded of his wife, before belatedly realizing something and wishing answers for that first, "How long have I been out?" he was absolutely famished, his stomach was grumbling outrageously loud much to his embarrassment. That wasn't a sound that his body made often, he was a king and lived like one. What had the Maesters been giving him? There was a disgusting taste at the back of his throat.

"You've been out for days, we feared the worst, Jae, I thought I was going to lose you," Alysanne whispered, it took everything in her to stop herself sobbing on his chest.

The second the door opened and the Maester was announced a mask descended upon the Queen's face, showcasing absolutely nothing. You wouldn't have known just moments prior she had been close to breaking down as she'd ever been. The crown could demand too much of them, but she bore it with a stiff upper lip, she was a Targaryen, and a queen.

The Maester was never far away when the royal family needed him, especially the King or the Queen.

Alysanne stood and moved to give the Maester room to do his work, barely refraining from twisting her hands together. A nervous tick she'd had when she was young that she'd forced herself to stop. Her husband was clearly displeased by the interruption, as he was curt with the Maester, bordering on rude. He had never been quite so curt before, and the glances he kept giving her made her very nervous. It wasn't a look that had been directed at her before. It was how he looked at his subjects, as if he could see into the very heart of them and found them wanting.

"I am well, in fact, I feel better than I have done in months, now please, I wish to talk to my wife in private." King Jaehaerys informed him curtly, done with the questions and pandering to the Maester. The urge to find out what had happened in the past few days was strong, terrified to hear what may have come of his family, of their legacy should they have truly pissed off the Lady Peverell.

He waited until he was positive nobody was listening, that the Maester had left his rooms before turning back to his wife, "What happened?" his tone more severe than would have liked.

Alysanne cleared her throat, her husband's demeanour making her anxious, wondering what on earth was going on. "She escaped, on the back of the dragon." Refusing to acknowledged that it was hers, the dragons belonged to the Targaryens. She was captured, she would be executed for her treachery of daring to bond with a dragon and almost killing her husband.

The king signed in relief, "That's good, that's very good," he murmured mostly to himself, his mind conjuring up some horrific scenario's.

One look at his wife upended that relief, "What did you do?" his heart beginning to pound erratically, however, for some reason, he couldn't get himself worked up, couldn't panic like he knew he should be. It was as if his body was forcefully remaining calm, and that was not who he was. Swinging his legs out the bed, automatically seeking out his slippers, "Alysanne, what did you do?" he commanded, shouting this time, using her full name, he very rarely did so out of official settings, he was her Jae, and she was his Alys.

"I sent Baelon to get her back," she said defiantly, jutting out her chin, "I am your Queen." refusing to apologise for something she saw as perfectly reasonable. Seeing just how pale her husband got, she glanced at the door as if wishing to call for the Maester again, her husband clearly wasn't well.

Jaehaerys stared at her stunned, any colour in that had been in his face, faded fast. Shaking his head as if something was annoyingly buzzing in his ear. This wasn't happening, this couldn't be happening. He squeezed his eyes closed, praying to the seven to bring his son, his heir back to him safely. Although, he knew the chances were vanishingly small, his son…his son didn't hold a remote chance against Lady Peverell. He felt sick to his stomach; he had no sons left to take on the mantle after him. What had he done to deserve to outlive all his sons? "What have you done?" the horror was written across his features, his purple eyes flashing with a pain so profound that if Alysanne had been looking would have stolen her breathe away.

"I am saving this families reputation," Alysanne declared, stubbornly. She could only imagine the humiliation and public spectacle that could be made out of a woman without a drop of Targaryen blood controlling a dragon. It might give others ideas beyond their station. She was no lady, despite what she said, no lady would be unable to sew, knit, dance or sing, these were basic things ladies were taught at a young age. She likely couldn't read or write or count despite what she said.

The king wanted to spit out that 'you've killed our son' but that wasn't the sort of person he was. They had lost too much together, and if they did the blame game, it would never end. They could only do what was right, or what they thought was right. This was what Alysanne thought was right, but she didn't know any better.

"She's in the Black cells, Baelon got her back yesterday evening," Alysanne said proudly, she might hate the fact her husband picked Baelon to be his heir instead of Rhaenys but her son made her proud. She knew she wasn't being fair on him, she knew that, but she couldn't help it, he knew it was wrong, he had to know. Where was his loyalty to his brother? To Aemon? To his niece? Rhaenys deserved better than what her husband did, he was very cruel to do what he did.

Jaehaerys stared utterly dumbfounded, perhaps the magic had faded from the Peverell line also? It was a lovely thought, perhaps the fall of Valyria had seen to it that they lost their magic. It was the only explanation for Baelon managing to get her to return to King's Landing. Something eased within him, a relief most profoundly suffusing him. He did note how muted these feelings were within her, which was wrong all on its own, perhaps his own exhaustion had muted his responses a little?

"But…"

And Jaehaerys tensed, eyes narrowing in concentration as he stared, but what?

"But the Dragon Pit is gone, completely, it collapsed, but there is no stone, just sand even the Small Folk saw it, Jae, they want answers but we've none to give." The obvious answer was 'magic' but didn't believe in all that.

And there went that hope, he felt the bile coming up his throat, the dragon pit gone? Why had she done it? Had she aimed for Baelon? "GET HER OUT OF THERE!" why hadn't she retaliated? What did she want? What was she planning? Was she truly just there to help?

Williams came rushing in, eyes wide, sword raised in defence, only to flush red when he realized that there was no intruder. He had never heard the king raise his voice thusly, not in all the years he'd been guarding him. "I apologise, Your grace, forgive my intrusion…" already walking backwards to the door, praying he wasn't about to be punished for his mistake.

"Retrieve Lady Haera from the Black Cells and see to it that she is afforded every comfort, allow her to bathe, get her an outfit that will fit her from my wives collection, and have her escorted to the Queens Ballroom, has Septon Barth returned?"

"Yes, your grace, the books are being put in your solar, as requested." Williams offered up, slightly relieved that his screw up wasn't being mentioned, perhaps they wouldn't mention it again? He really didn't want to end up serving at Castle Black in the north, the last idiot that screwed up ended up being sent there.

"Inform the Hand that I request his presence in the Queen's solar right away," the King commanded, "Summon Bryn and the others, I am in need of their services." Normally he wouldn't wish to have Barth summoned after zero sleep in the past day or so on his return to King's Landing, however, this was very important.

Alysanne just sat perched on the chest at the end of their bed, staring at her husband, who refused to even look or acknowledge her as he was dressed by Bryn, the esquire of the body. Her pride in her actions began to fade, as anxiety and fear began to take hold. She did not like the thought of truly displeasing her husband, especially enough to do so publicly. Servants loved gossip more than nobles, and there were enough – three – servants in here who would go directly to the kitchen and gossip like washerwomen. Jae hated gossip just as much as she did, yet he was making no effort to make things seem normal.

The Groom of the Stool, Joffrey aiding Bryn in their combined duties. Meanwhile the Groom of the Chamber was busy putting away the kings clean clothing, which had finally dried and was stain free at last. It took boiling the clothes twice to dislodge the dirt and grease stains. It was the same with the rest of the royal families attires, the celebration for the arrival of the new Princess had gone on days, and was still going on just without the royal family at the moment. They would need to be blind and deaf not to sense the tension that exuded from the king.

Alysanne realized that her husband wasn't just ignoring her, she realized to her disbelief that he was scared. Staring at his gaze through the looking glass. It took everything in her to not drop her jaw at the sheer incredulity she felt at that very moment, and very grateful she was already sat down for she felt her legs turn to jelly. He was unsteady on his feet, which could be chalked up to his earlier collapse, but that expression? She'd seen it only once, when their mother attempted to separate them. Then she recalled the way he's practically screeched for them to get her out of the black cells.

Her silence lasted only until they finally vacated the room once her husband was fully dressed in full kingly regalia.

"Is she yours?" Alysanne asked, looking ever so frightened of the answer. There was only one resolute thing in her life, and that was her life together with her brother/husband. Her belief that they would only be with one another, never anyone else. No matter what. She prayed that this girl wasn't her husband's issue, held her breath as she waited on an answer. "Answer me, Jae, is she your daughter?" why else would he have been so determined to get her out of the Black cells?

The King turned to face his wife, looking every inch the king that he was, a blank façade adorned his face, a king didn't get emotional. A king answered to nobody, however, he was weak to his wife's whims, for the most part. "No." short and to the point, he saw no reason to further provoke a fight. Part of him was enraged by her question, how dare she question his loyalty to her? but there was something far more worrisome for him to contemplate than his wife's belief of his infidelity. How many Peverell's were there? Just how much danger was his family in? Oh, if only he could get her onside, marrying a Peverell into the family? If they were as powerful as he believed them to be, his family would be nigh on indestructible. Between their dragons and Peverell magic.

"Then why are you countermanding my orders?" Alysanne asked, not quite up to demanding anything never mind answers, feeling very small and wounded. "She is a danger to us, Jae, she has a Dragon! An untamed Dragon! One that would have no problem tearing our dragons apart! Only Vhagar stands a chance against that mighty beast." She would say Vhagar was old, but truth was, from all records, cannibal was actually postulated to be older. Yet he looked younger than Vhagar easily.

"We must do something before it's too late," she begged of him to take action, "Please, I cannot lose any one else," pleading with him to understand, to take action, he normally would, so it was odd to see him being so careful. If anyone threatened his family, he would end them without a single qualm she'd seen it. He was getting older, it's true, but not that much older.

"I'm trying to prevent the death of anyone," the King declared firmly, giving her an inscrutable look, but went forward and gave her a kiss on the forehead. She was a woman, easily over emotional, but this was why men should rule, she would have attempted to kill Lady Peverell and doomed them all. Ignoring the echo of the words Lady Peverell had dropped on him, he had done everything well, he couldn't have a kill count higher than Meagor, the woman was exaggerating, women were prone to doing so. She just had to be. Septon Barth would agree wholeheartedly with him.

He was so deep in denial that it would be hilarious if it wasn't so dangerous.

They were going to both be up for a very rude awakening, and a massive wake up call, whether they'd live to see the changes coming or not…remained to be seen.

With his piece said, the King stalked out of his rooms, and the Kingsguard automatically stepped with him, and followed one ahead and the other behind. Allowing the guards to check the Queens Ballroom before he entered, finding Barth, to his immense relief, he needed someone to talk to, even if an Andal was likely the last person he should discuss this with, given it pertained to magic. Barth had never let him down before.

"The Lady Haera Peverell, your grace," was called out before he could even open his mouth and explain the situation to the patient Septon/Hand of the king.

Then in she walked, his eyes narrowed a little, she had supposedly been in the Black Cells overnight. Yet she didn't seem even remotely tired, dirty or flustered. The clothes she came in with were not of his wife's collection, she would never be seen in such a display. If he didn't know any better, he would have suggested it was taken from Alyssa's collection, but neither Daemon or Baelon would have allowed it. It fit her too well Alyssa was just a little bit taller and filled out more (with three children who wouldn't have) a womanly figure so none of this was hers. She was wearing the same clothes she'd been imprisoned in.

He watched as she sat down with a sigh and crossing her legs, staring at both men, her hands tapping idly on each armrest. "I am not speaking with him here, and not without your family also present." She informed him bluntly in Valyrian, and his grandson was quite correct, her speech and accent were from Essos. "Your Grace," at the end, now that was most definitely an afterthought, and very impolite, he was the king! He couldn't help but grind his teeth at her impertinence.

Septon Barth gaped in sheer incredulity at this woman's brass neck not only in how she spoke to the King but also how she was behaving. Sitting on a chair, cross legged, it boggled his mind, he'd never seen such despicable actions. Just as he was opening his mouth to give the woman a piece of his mind when the King commanded that he leave, he gave no explanation and Barth, smart man that he was, could tell that the King wasn't in the mood to indulge him and answer any questions he may have.

"Your Grace," Barth bowed deeply, showing absolute reverence for the king, giving Lady Haera a pointed look, before moving to vacate the Queens Ballroom.

"I want my family here, see to it." Jaehaerys added, not even sparing Barth a look, his gaze locked on Lady Haera's, who unrepentantly stared back completely unbothered.

Until she got bored, and hungry, fishing out a copy of one of Visenya's journal's, it would likely take a lot of time to find the whole family. Fifteen minutes into reading it – utterly fascinated and saddened – she got peckish as the door opened, she didn't need to see who it was, she'd recognize Daemon's voice anywhere. Glancing up briefly, to see him in a black Gambeson, with a scrunched-up coif in his hand, clearly, he'd been interrupted while training. With his sword set in its place, Dark Sister, she believed he'd called it.

When Daemon entered the Queens Ballroom, he'd honestly been expecting the Queen and that he'd have to endure another endless lecture about ignoring his 'betrothed' Rhea Royce. Instead, he was met with the King, and Lady Haera, the sight of her almost had him laughing, it took everything in him not to react. Only she would sit that way in the presence of the king. As he approached the king, he bowed low with a clear and respectful "Your Grace," but he was simply waved away, the King was clearly annoyed.

He didn't need more than one guess as to why. Lady Haera was rather unique and blunt in ways he'd never seen before. In the Red Keep everything was a performance, all of them seeking something, power, money, status. He found that in Flea Bottom it wasn't quite the case there, its why he liked being amongst them. However, even they were a bit closed mouthed with him, unless they were drunk and forgot who they were with. No airs, no graces, but Lady Haera…she was the first Lady he'd ever met that was unique, unafraid and attractively powerful.

"Hungry?" Haera asked Daemon as he approached, glancing up at him, genuinely surprised he had gone to training after likely being awake for hours after she'd snuck into his rooms.

Daemon blinked, giving her an assessing look, she did not have anything to eat so why is asking that? Unless she meant for him to get her something? Her manner of speech was rather perplexing sometimes. Then again, common tongue was clearly her second language, perhaps she was clumsy with the words due to the fact she used it so infrequently?

Haera picked up her bag, shifting her feet as she did so, handing him over a sandwich she'd prepared before they left, spelled to remain fresh until consumed. A roast beef salad sandwich, no food was wasted in her home, what didn't get eaten was given to her staff and their family, and if there was still more left after that (not very often mind) it was sent down to the homeless shelter, but people didn't remain there too long, Haera put everyone to work, working with what she had.

"So, according to this Vis—" Haera went cross eyed staring at Daemon's hand which was rudely pressed against her mouth. She then got a wicked twinkle in her eye, and for a brief moment, Daemon wondered why then she proceeded to lick his hand! Causing him to yank his hand back in disgust.

Haera sniggered, unbothered, as she unwrapped her own, and begun to chew, giving Daemon a silent enquiring look, knowing he likely hadn't done it for nothing.

"She's best not mentioned in front of the King," Daemon explained quietly, "Or the Queen." adding it as an afterthought, truthfully the queen didn't react much to her name but the king did.

"Oh, but now you've dared me," Haera taunted him, "I just have to." Rubbing her hands together, oh, she couldn't wait, she'd just have to pop her name in somewhere in the conversation, which really should be easy.

"Daemon," the King called out, watching the pair of them with a frown wondering what they were talking about, he needed to find out what had happened not only to the dragon pit, but everything. He shouldn't have been so quick to leave his chambers, and gotten answers from his wife. He couldn't have remained there, he feared he might have said something he would regret later should he not have gone when he did.

"I must be excused," Daemon said respectfully, bowing respectfully before turning towards the King and approaching. Praying that the king hadn't noticed him touching Lady Haera, which would likely see him married off even sooner and sent to the Vale. One didn't just go around touching people they didn't know. Especially not Lady's.

Haera just nodded, before setting the book aside, she'd talk about it with him later, there would be plenty of time, she was sure. She was going to have so much fun; it was damn near impossible to stop herself vibrating in her seat in anticipation. Well, she hoped it would be good fun messing with the family, kicking them into gear. Although, considering they were royalty she might end up going too far, she knew her own weaknesses, and it was her sass, her sarcasm. This time probably didn't understand the meaning of the word. If they did it was in its infancy and likely used only by the court fool.

She ignored the King and Daemon's conversation, knowing it was likely about her, which caused her to smirk in amusement. Sighing dramatically, she stood up absently shoving her bag on the seat, sandwich in hand, she moved over to the window, staring down at what appeared to be a fish markets and training grounds, idly noticing girls of all ages whacking rugs with a rug beater, taking care of the dirt that had accumulated on it.

Recalling the smell, she could swear she could taste it at the back of her throat as she thought about it. This was meant to be the capital, yet it smelt like piss and shit and Merlin only knows what else. History always sorts of left that stuff out, she pondered on whether it wasn't worth mentioning or if it wasn't mentioned because it was the norm. Pissing and shitting in corners, in pots, this place was too backwards to be the capital. The capital was meant to be the best, the most advanced, its where all the money, taxes they paid, it was meant to make things better not worse.

She kept her back to them, as she heard them all coming into the Queen's ballroom in ones and twos. Absently eating her sandwich as she worked on what she wanted to say that might have the best possible outcome. She was feeling rather vindictive today, so she decided she would make him work for it. She knew without needing to read minds that she was too valuable not to be married into the family, they would marry her to Daemon, or kill her. Try to anyway, which would just amuse her.

King Jaehaerys sat forward, eager to hear more, not that you'd know, from his passive features as he stared enquiringly at the back of Lady Haera. Just about to open his mouth and demand answers, although, to what he had no idea. Perhaps why she'd destroyed his Dragon Pit! He was anxious to know where the dragons had gone. So little time had passed since he was rendered catatonic, yet there was so much clean-up to do. He was too old for this nonsense.

"Have you ever wondered why Aegon chose the seven kingdoms to conquer?" Haera asked, still staring out the window, radiant and exuding a strength that felt divine. Like nothing could touch her, that not even the royal family could hope to tame her, or reel her in.

The King straightened up, silently alarmed, she couldn't know, could she? No, no, no, it was just a coincidence. His heir looked more resigned than surprised by her question. He needed to talk to Baelon and soon. Gael, Daemon, the queen, Aemma, Viserys just glanced at each other in genuine confusion. It clearly wasn't something that they thought about at all, despite their love of their own history. Gael sat perched alongside her mother, who clutched her close like a lifeline. Aemma sat in the next seat, and next to her was Viserys, who paid her no mind, as he watched and avidly listened to the Lady Haera.

"Daenys had the gift of prophecy, in which she foretold the fall of Valyria, prophecies are tricky little blighters, self-fulfilling. She was a seer, gifted beyond your imagining, such gifts were not always a blessing, imagine knowing how your family was going to die, how the end of the world would occur. It's a curse and a blessing both." Haera spoke, her very voice commanding attention even without looking at them. "Being a seer is vastly different from the visions gifted by the fourteen gods. Aegon was gifted with a single vision, he saw the end, the end of the human race. He saw beings of ice that would threaten all that moved in this world. In that moment he decided to set his eye upon Westeros and unite the seven kingdoms believing that the human race had to be united to face it when it came. That a Targaryen had to be on the iron throne to lead the people into battle for survival."

Baelon shivered, the way she spoke of it as if she'd actually seen it was harrowing.

"He called his prophecy, the song of ice and fire." Haera continued, turning to face them, a grim look upon her features.

"You will cease immediately!" the king commanded, hurting his throat in the process. How dare she?! How bloody dare she utter those words?! They were a secret between him and his heir!

"Accio!" and the Valyrian dagger shot out of the kings sheath and into her waiting hands, deftly and elegantly twisting it around like an expert. "This belonged to Aegon the conqueror, and many other Targaryen's before him, and within the blade Aegon hid his prophecy, only when the blade is heated shall the song of ice and fire be known. One of the last Pyromancers that live in Westeros performed it, she must have been very powerful to etch those words into dragonglass itself." Her admiration obvious.

Baelon removed his sword, and stood in front of the King, defending him from any and all attacks, not that it elicited anything but a brief look of utter amusement.

"She?" Daemon said, riveted by what she was saying, "I like that."

"Her, most definitely, the magic is unmistakable," Haera smirked, "You truly are the Last of the Dragon Lord's, aren't you?" she said wistfully to Daemon causing Jaehaerys' breathing to hitch, as his stomach sank at the inclination those words evoked.

"Aegon told all three of his children the prophecy, I'm not sure what happened between that and now, but someone decided only the king and heir should know." Haera said sarcasm oozing from her very pores at that stupid decision. "And that someone with that decision ultimately caused the end of all life in this world."

"You said it was a single word that caused…" Baelon glanced briefly at the king before continuing, "The downfall of the Targaryen dynasty along with the whole of humanity…" she'd promised to explain, and he hoped she did.

The King made a sound, as if he was about to shout, but he remained silent, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. Naturally, none of his family noticed his predicament.

"Oh, yes," Haera said, glancing at the king and smirking at him, now that was definitely his best look yet. "Recite the words of the prophecy as you were told by your father." Noticing the twitch at her use of 'father' they didn't even use father in their own thoughts, or grandsire, they likely used grace or king, it was a shame really. They made a shitty royal family and an even shitter family.

"From my blood will come the Prince that was promised, and his will be the song of ice and fire," Baelon whispered the words, as if understanding and believing the very words intoned to him.

"What does that even mean?" Gael asked, her voice just as quiet, goosebumps dancing across her skin as she listened to her brother.

Haera removed the spell to keep the King silent, "And you? Why don't you recite it how it was told to you?"

The King sat back, gaze frosty, "From my blood will come the Prince that was promised, and his will be the song of ice and fire." He echoed his sons words.

"Come now, there's no need to lie and obfuscate," Haera declared, giving him a look of utter revulsion, "Oh, oh you've convinced yourself you're right." Laughing incredulously at him, smacking her hand against her face in disbelief. "Misogynistic fucking prick!" her voice was muffled but everyone heard what she said and all but Daemon and Baelon gaped in sheer utter disbelief that she had insulted the king.

Daemon and Baelon shamefully were becoming all too used to her…blunt ways.

Moving with purpose towards the fire, she stuck the blade into the flames, all of them reached out to stop her, only to freeze when her hand remained unburnt. She absently turned the blade around every few moments, crouched down, unafraid of any retaliation judging by the fact she actually turned her back on them.

"Daemon? Your father says you're the best, want to read this out to the room? As accurately as you please," Haera declared, swiftly standing, and approaching him, holding the blade aloft, but not too near to Daemon to risk burning him. Just enough so that he could read the glyphs.

Daemon glanced at his father, feeling shivers going down his back, knowing there would be no going back after today. There was just something ominous at play, he could feel it, life altering information was being shared. It was almost as if he could feel the gods in the room with them, it was the same feeling he got upon entering the temple at Lady Haera's keep.

"From my blood will come the prince or princess that was promised and theirs will be the song of ice and fire."

"The word for a girl and boy in High Valyrian is gender-neutral, because they didn't give a flying fuck what existed between your legs," Haera all but spat at the King, purple eyes flashing in her irritation. They didn't last as long as they did by believing females were a weaker sex, Merlin, she'd love nothing more than to restore Valyria, to give Valyrian women a fighting chance away from Westeros and their belief that women were naught but broodmares. Moving closer, Baelon pressed his hand against her shoulder, trying to stop her from approaching the King. "Look at Aemma, look at her, she's your first victim," whispering so low that only the king and Baelon who was so close could hear her words.

"Viserys told the prophecy was so desperate to have a male heir, to have his promised prince that he forced pregnancy after pregnancy upon that little girl, never giving her respite or letting her recover from her pregnancies, in eight short years she'll be killed, do you want to know how?" the sheer vindictive spite in her voice said she was going to tell them regardless of any answer.

To Haera Aemma was a little girl, they might be the same age (give or take a year or two) physically, but in this society? Yeah, she was still a little girl compared to her. She should have only just married, she shouldn't have been married so young, it turned her stomach, certainly shouldn't have had a child yet either. Wrenched from her home, her land and shoved into the royal family at such a young age, bearing the brunt of the public scorn. Haera actually just wanted to hug her and tell her she would be okay, and she'd bloody make sure if she said that to her, that she would be. She would never promise something unless she could live up to it.

"I'll paint a lovely, pretty picture for you," she all but cooed at them, "Aemma Arryn in her birthing bed, struggling to bring forth the kings child. While the king declares to all his son and heir would be born, and a tournament held, oh, how that angered the gods. The Maester gave Viserys a choice, and he made that decision. Three Kingsguard entered her rooms when she was so vulnerable, attempting to give birth and in agony. They proceeded to hold her down with such strength that it took only ten minutes for the bruises to appear against her white flesh. Viserys moved to her free hand, held it lovingly, proclaiming that everything would be just fine, everything would be well, he promised. Panicked and terrified, she watched as a Maester came at her with a blade, and cut her from chest to sex, she felt every single moment of agony as she was gutted like a fish for that possible male heir that was oh so important."

Baelon swallowed back the bile in his throat, his eyes closed able to envision every single second of it, horrified.

"She wasn't given the respite of milk of the poppy, they didn't knock her out, she was awake and aware of every last moment of agony until the light faded from her eye, enduring naught but confusion, fear, betrayal from the man that insisted she was the love of his life…all for a boy…who didn't even life for a day. So well done, your first victim, well, when it comes to the prophecy anyway, you've got plenty of victims under your belt and not all of them have the last name Targaryen, do they?"

The rest of the Targaryen family watched avidly not able to hear but knowing whatever it was, it was really bad judging by the look on the King and his heirs faces.

A/N – Oh yeah, I totally envisioned David Tennant when I had Jae roar get her out of there LOL certainly not decrepit old Jae! He may be a fool but he isn't that kind of a fool. That was fun, and woo-hoo finally got a bit of that scene I've been envisioning for months written! Yeah, I know it's unlikely it would have gone this way lol Haera would have already been killed by Jaehaerys already I think he was certainly an Andal loving idiot BUT he was strong, and killed without reservation, I mean look at what happened to Saera's partners he killed them when he was getting on in age so kudos to him for that. Unless…he needs another wake-up call…perhaps the realisation that he wouldn't stand a chance against her in any shape or form. Hmm it's worth a thought, I guess I'd need a straw that breaks the camel's back where it concerns Jae to get him to explode only to have his ass handed to him…what do you think? Hmm…I think perhaps using his daughters against him might be the perfect hit but which one? What do you guys think? What could make Jae break and attempt something foolish when he suspects/knows what she's capable of! I'd love to hear your thoughts :D you have no idea what causes the muses to spring up lol R&R

Chapter Text

All Hail The King

Chapter 12

"You'd think you would have a better opinion of women, given that it was a woman who saved your family for you ungrateful shits to still be here." Haera told them bluntly, walking towards the windows whispering the last part so lowly nobody heard her. "It was Queen consort Rhaenys and Queen Visenya that did most of the work in conquering the seven kingdoms all near enough without a drop of blood being spilled. I mean come on; you had a daughter that could whip your sons asses with any weapon you put in her hand."

Baelon swallowed thickly, still reeling over what she'd said to the king, that sickness at the back of his throat remained there, stubbornly. He couldn't even look at his son, or even Aemma, suddenly finding anywhere in the room utterly fascinating. The mentioning of his wife (as subtle as it was) caused him to flinch.

Daemon and Viserys had the opposite reaction, both of them puffed up proudly, pleased that their Muna was mentioned. Viserys missed her immensely, and Daemon, missed who she could have been. He had been much too young to remember her well, what he did remember was bits and pieces, and he wasn't quite sure what was real and what had been made up by his youthful mind.

"And it's going to be a Princess that saves all of humanity," Haera smirked almost viciously, staring at the bastard who actually thought men were better. "Or would have done." It's not like she was a hypocrite; he'd come into his own knowing that women were just as powerful as men, vicious when provoked. Lily, Molly, Narcissa, Bellatrix in her own right, so many women who were fundamentally just better at things than men.

Jaehaerys stared at the woman in front of him, never in his life had anyone spoken to him thusly. Not since he became king, not even his mother who got off with a lot that others didn't. Part of him wished he was still able bodied enough to slash her down and end her for her audacity. Yet each word that came out of her mouth terrified him endlessly. He didn't want to believe her. Yet he did. Deep down he believed every word, and suddenly he was doubting every single decision he'd made during his reign. It was a terrifying prospect, and he felt numb listening.

"Unfortunately, knowing the real prophecy won't save her," Haera told them, ominously. Much to the confusion of all but Baelon and the King. They heavily suspected that they knew who she was referring to. Aemma.

Baelon's neck moved so quickly that it was heard loud in the silent room. "Why?"

Haera laughed, "How many times do you Targaryens get Dragon Dreams for them to be ignored? Or more accurately, how many times does it have to happen before you actually listen to what the gods are trying to say?" don't get him wrong, he loathed prophecies, seers and everything related to reading the future, but that was only due to his own experience and his entire life being used as a pawn in other people's games. Unfortunately, they should have been dead useful to the Targaryens, but they had not heeded the warnings. Except Meagor.

Aemma swallowed, her gaze zeroing in on her husband, who had confessed his dreams to her. Of putting his son on the throne, that they were destined to have a boy. She'd been terrified when her daughters gender was revealed, expecting him to be furious, but he wasn't, he adored her, and just said they'd try again, that they were destined to have a boy, he knew. She did not wish to continue her duties, it was painful, but do her duty she would and give her husband a son, as was his right. The idea filled her with nausea, especially given the pain she was still in at this very moment. It hurt to move, to walk, yet she knew her husband would command her presence. As the queen said, the birthing bed was their battleground, she was born with a royal womb, and it was her duty to give her husband a son.

Haera just sighed, rolling her eyes at the lot of them, and this was the ruling family? Shoving the chair right at the window, she sat down, pinching a banana from the fruit platter on the table next to her. The breeze coming in would be lovely if not for the constant smell of shit that permeate the air.

She'd barely taken two bites before chokes surrounded her, sighing in exasperation through her nose, she opened them to stare at the Targaryen family. They stared back with a variety of different emotions, horror, amusement, repugnant, sickened, and dramatic grimacing as if they'd never seen a girl eat before. Honestly, she probably wasn't the right person for this, and the gods were so full of shit, she could have remained a male and attempted to court Gael. Rolling her eyes, she huffed before setting the half-eaten banana aside, "Can't a girl eat? Bloody hell."

Bananas were not eaten that way, the royal family and high society cut the banana to pieces on a plate then proceeded to eat it. It was uncouth to eat a banana that particular way, like a commoner. Jaehaerys couldn't help but judge her but he was smart enough to keep that to himself. Suspecting what she was capable off, he wasn't about to antagonise her. How long that lasted, he did not know, he wasn't used to holding his tongue when things irritated him.

"Dragon Dreams?" Baelon was so utterly bewildered that it should have been comical, truly, it should have been but Haera only felt sympathy. He stared at his family one by one as if just staring at them would elicit an answer.

Until he got to Viserys, who was puffed up proudly, feeling a little smug at having his families full attention. Which happened frequently, since his father became the heir. Before then, he'd been…well, frankly put, rather forgettable son of Prince Baelon the brave and Princess Alyssa. The most talked about aspect of his personality was his bonding to Balerion, his dragon, which had died soon afterward. Thought to be so due to the horror the dragon had suffered whilst in Valyria. Old age did not help matters either.

Haera plucked out a sheet of parchment from her bag, and begun to write information down an idea striking her. She ripped the rest of the unused parchment and put it back in her bag. Folding the words she'd just written, as she observed her surroundings, watching realisation dawning and along with it a heavy dose of doubt from all present.

They didn't want to believe Viserys had a Dragon Dream.

"You? But…why have you never said?" Baelon asked so utterly bewildered by his sons silence it would have been comical in any other circumstances.

Viserys flushed, "I told you, I see my son crowned," looking oh so proud but slightly bashful.

"What? but you weren't…" Baelon gaped, "When did you have that dream?" why hadn't he specifically said he'd had a Dragon Dream? Could that dream have saved his brother? Viserys uncle? If he had just spoken up the heartache almost rendered him catatonic. Baelon loved his brother, more than anyone else in this world, except for Alyssa and his sons.

Haera muttered, "This should be good,"

"Whys that?" Daemon moved over to Haera, joining her and watching his family's reactions. She could elicit the most amusing effects from his family. It was the most thrilling entertainment he'd had in a long time.

"Because he had on the night he…slept with his wife," Haera stated, her voice low but hard, she would find a way to protect that girl and Gael, no more children would die because their parents didn't give a flying fuck about them. By the end of this they would understand exactly what they had done. She'd make sure of it. She seriously wanted to use a different term 'rape' was more appropriate, but in this world? At this point in time? This country? It didn't have the disgust attached to it, instead they preferred to victim blame.

Daemon flinched, his nails digging into his palm, misliking what she was saying about his brother. He didn't need to hear the word; he knew by the utter disgust of how she chose to uttered 'slept' what she had actually meant. Recalling exactly what she'd said about Viserys whilst in Peverell Keep. He was learning though, he didn't act impulsively, recalling her reaction to the last time he'd hit her without thought. His stones even twitched in remembered agony, and despite that, he felt deeply amused and impressed by her defence of her own person. She just might be the only person who would act thusly around him. She'd see though, that Viserys' actions weren't too bad, fifteen wasn't a child.

Viserys' answer had Daemon blanching, so Haera (and his father) had been correct after all. He'd stuck his head in the sand and forced himself to forget about it. What kind of brother wanted to live with the knowledge that his brother was…fucking an eleven-name day old child? Five years, he'd been getting those Dragon Dreams for, he'd thought he knew his brother but each day it was becoming glaringly obvious he didn't. Had he been listening though? And if his brother had said anything, would he have listened? He didn't believe…hadn't believed in dragon dreams. His gaze shifted to Haera, but she made him believe. She made him believe in more than just that.

"What did you see?" Jaehaerys commanded, his eyes sharp and intelligent, gazing at Viserys in a way he hadn't before in the past. A heavy dose of speculation and fascination, adorned the kings gaze. He wasn't sure how much he could take, he felt mostly numb, he needed time, time alone to reflect all he'd been told. Shifting his aching body, focusing all his attention on his grandson.

Haera hummed quietly, surprised by his…passion for an answer. She presumed he would be too Andal to tolerate such magic…perhaps there was hope for him yet. He clearly hadn't dismissed every aspect of his blood at any rate. She glanced longingly at the banana, before focusing when she heard Viserys Targaryen beginning to speak.

"I see myself holding my son, he's dressed in the most exquisite black clothes, a subtle dark green hue to them. I set my son on the throne, and I begin crowning him with Aegon's crown. He's seated on the iron throne as if he belongs, the rubies gleaming with fire, and Blackfyre at his knees." Viserys confessed, almost vibrating in excitement, sitting tall and proud, preening over having his entire family focused on him. "Then swords are raised as bellows of victory are heard in the background before I see the dragons who roar as one a sign of the good that's to come."

Stunned silence followed his pronouncement, a sense of awe, a testament to most of their belief in the Fourteen. Despite their parents being faithful followers of the seven, none of their children – despite being born into it – ever actually believed in the seven. Not even Maegelle Targaryen, better known as Septa Maegelle.

"He must be the promised Prince; His Grace is right, it is a boy, the gods deem it so." A reverential tone in his voice. Why else would he be elevated? To be gifted Dragon Dreams? He was meant to be king, he was meant to bring forth the Promised Prince with his beloved wife, Aemma.

"Perhaps," Jaehaerys mused quietly, but his voice was so dubious that nobody believed he thought so. The Peverell family were favoured by Balerion, the god of death in the Fourteen Flame pantheon. They had abilities that made every forty Dragon-lord families look weak in comparison. Visenya revered the ground they walked on, and their magic was said to be like no others. How could he have forgotten that information? His brows furrowing, tightening in a worry he hadn't experienced since having to deal with Meagor.

"It is, my son is the promised one, he'll save the world." Viserys was determined to get his point across. "I wasn't given this dream for no reason." Now he understood why! The dream and the prophecy were interwind, he just knew it. This was going to be his legacy, his and Aemma's legacy. The family that saved the whole of humanity. His heart was pounding just imagining it.

"Why do you believe it's your son? It could be your nephew, or even a daughter or a niece." the Queen pointed out, Gael could have a child that was this so called prophesied one, or even Daemon, with Rhea Royce could be the promised child. The children all looked quite similar, truthfully there couldn't be any way that Viserys could tell if it was a child of his or his nephew. She needed to talk to her husband, and soon.

Haera muffled a snort, now that was irony, but look at them, they were already dismissing her word. Then again, she was a stranger, it was understandable really, they didn't know her. They would trust family before all else, at least she assumed so. Still, here she was warning them and they were turning it into a gift, something worthy. White haired, purple eyed Andals, she thought, gazing at them, a hint of derision in her own purple gaze.

Baelon still couldn't look at his son, his gaze was fixed upon Haera, who had reclaimed her seat, and was watching them with detached amusement. Listening to their speculation with an air of someone who had all the time in the world. Then he saw the derision, but what for? His son? Their words? What could it be?

"I just know it's my son," Viserys said confidently, and it was one thing he was confident about. He had been put in this world to be king, to raise a son, and have him sit on the throne after himself. His son was far more important than he could have fathomed. "I can feel it here." Pointing to his heart, he believed it wholeheartedly.

Haera cocked her head to the side, that zealotry did not bode well for the family. It was the same conviction Dumbledore had that he was right no matter who he sacrificed for the greater good. The belief that he was omnipotent, the most important person in all of creation. He was young, mind full of ideals, likely after his father became the heir of the throne. Could he be changed? Could knowing what he had the potential to do – for nothing – stop him from screwing it up?

"But dragons roaring is never a good sign," Gael shyly pointed out. "They roar when they're angry or in pain." She might never be allowed a dragon but she still knew a lot about them, she'd read a great deal of the books Dragonstone had to offer.

"Or in triumph!" Viserys cheerfully added, frowning when he noticed that his father wasn't taking part in the discussion, although why they needed to have one was beyond his understanding. He'd been given a dream by the gods, he was to have a son, an heir, who would go on to be king and saviour of the world.

They all began to talk over each other, all of them sounding excited by this dragon dream of Viserys. The only ones that seemed a little muted – or not talking at all – were Princess Gael, Prince Daemon and Crown Prince Baelon. Baelon seemed out of sorts since he'd revealed how Aemma died though.

"Don't mind me, keep going, it's lovely to hear the opinion of white haired purple eyed Andals." Haera flicked her hand dismissively, she maintained her composure despite the look of disgust on their faces. Clearly, they did not like being referred to as white haired, purple eyed Andals. If only they knew the next generation was destined to be just that, white haired purple eyed Andals.

Daemon looked ready to strike out at her in all his youthful fury.

"If I suffer once more insult from you this day, it shall be your last," the king declared, glaring at Haera, had it up to his back teeth with her insults. He refused to allow his family to be treated thusly, not even by this unknown magical practitioner. He would see her killed immediately, without the chance of using magic and without her dragon there to aid her.

Sighing in exasperation, "I'm not wrong, do you know nothing of your own people or past anymore?" truly tired of all this, helping people that just would not be helped. What was the point? "He's not a seer like Daenys, he's having a singular Dragon Dream, he's been guided by the fourteen gods…now work with me here…Daenys dreamt of the doom of Valyria primarily. Aegon the conqueror saw the end of the world of man. You Targaryens have been dreaming of things long before the conquest! But you…have been dreaming the same dream...for years?" her gaze zeroing in on Viserys, just realizing how he'd worded his answer earlier.

"Yes," Viserys answered, getting tired of all this now, he'd been up more often as of late, checking up on his daughter, it was a compulsion to ensure her wellbeing, despite having people already employed to take care of her. While he was slightly disappointed, she was a girl, he didn't mind, he was destined to have a boy, the gods had deemed it so.

"The gods send warnings," Gael murmured quietly, but it was loud enough to be heard in the silent room. "Not glad tidings."

Haera smiled, proud of the girl, glad she'd been the one to figure it out. Perhaps she might be able to bring her out of her shell. They needed someone, both Gael and Aemma, it was amazing that they were so meek compared to the rest of the female Targaryens. They didn't really stand a chance, or hadn't, as the case may be, she was going to save them, no matter what. "Well done, she's correct, of course."

Gael positively glowed in pride, so desperate for approval, for attention, that such simple words had a massive effect.

"You're wrong," Viserys said simply, not argumentatively, simple and plain as if it were fact. "I know what I saw."

"Observare!" Harea waved her hand midair, the king automatically clutched his wife close, they got on each other's nerves more often than not, but he never wished to see anything happen to her. The King couldn't help the pang of fascination and awe that suffused him. It had been a long time since he was surprised (if you discount these past days) it was all so boring and predictable.

Then right there, in the middle of the vast carnivorous room, they saw the dream as if it were right in front of them. None of them were dreaming, but they could all see what Viserys' had been shown. It didn't take long for the king to realise Gael was quite correct, those roars were not pleasant. Could the child be special enough that he had two dragons? Them fighting over him? Then again, his own dragon was rather temperamental, he wasn't called the bronze fury for no reason. Or perhaps the child was meant to gain his dragon? A warning, a war to come that required the dragons? The words clashing together, a battle…won? Or warning of a battle lost?

"Does that mean whatever's coming is coming soon?" Gael asked, alarmed, showing her intelligence, which she seldom did, despite reading books almost constantly. "These things, beings of ice as you said?" was that why she'd came to help them?

A small smile spread across Haera's face, pride, they noted. "Do you recall what I said when we first met?"

"That the king would bring the downfall of the Targaryen dynasty and the dragons with it." Daemon spoke, no surprise that he remembered every word she'd spoken, he couldn't help his fascination with her. Quite frankly, her words had given him reoccurring nightmares.

Alysanne clutched at Gael, bringing her daughter closer to her bosom. Not liking the way Haera was looking at her daughter at all. She was the only daughter she had left, she was not going to let anyone take her away, whether it was Jaehaerys or this girl.

"Don't feel bad, Aegon started it, you continued it and your successor ended it, you should never have allowed yourself to be converted, the moment Aegon did that, he doomed the entire Targaryen dynasty and the world with it." Haera commented. A slow traitorous death of what could have been a dynasty of all dynasties. Dragons and magic, they would have been the most powerful force in the world. It made Haera shiver in delight at the idea of such a legacy. She'd left behind two of the greatest legacies in the world, Harry Potter, and his son, Merlin, and now? Oh, she could allow her magic to spring forth in this world and create the world in their own image.

That silenced everyone, all of them reeling over everything they'd heard. What they'd seen which was a fascination all on it's own.

"I confess, I still don't understand how my fathers…'misconstruing' a single word could herald the end of the dragons." Baelon confessed, his tone quiet, filled with a sense of dread and it showed. He didn't believe his father had misconstrued anything, he'd deliberately changed it, he didn't trust women as far as he could throw them. His belief on where women were meant to be, well, that's where he was his most Andal. Even if he would never confess as such. "You said they'd be gone by 153 AC." It was a relief to be able to discuss it again, he'd been dying to asking her for clarification. The idea of the dragons dying off was a terrifying prospect. He'd do anything to save Vhagar.

The king jerked upright, as if he'd just been whipped. It was one thing for her to say he was going to end the Targaryen dynasty, to reveal the prophecy but to have an actual time for (all too soon for his liking!) when the dragons were going to die? Swallowing thickly, his mind drifted to her ability to show his grandsons dream in real time in front of them. A shiver of true terror suffused him, as beads of sweat began to gather. How did the dragons die? Was there a way to save them? It was the might of their power. The very reason the seven kingdoms were at peace.

"Tell me," the King commanded of Haera, taking her more seriously – at least to the eyes of his family – than ever before. They didn't realize that the king had believed it all along, ever since he heard her last name. It's why the shock had rendered him catatonic.

"You'll also remember that I said you were too far gone," Haera declared seriously, "There isn't a woman in your life that you haven't gotten rid of. I think I understand why I was asked to do this now. I'll tell you under one condition." A devious smirk began to spread slowly across her features, eyes gleaming, oh, he knew exactly when the king would fold like a wet paper towel.

The King observed her, a sense of wariness enveloping him, he had a feeling he wouldn't like her answer at all. Greater still, he believed he wouldn't be able to force her to do anything she did not wish to. "Which is?" he would do anything to find out about all the danger his family would end up in.

"Get down on your hands and knees and beg," Haera declared, ignoring the dramatics of the Targaryen family, although, truthfully, the King's reaction was hilarious, it took everything in her not to reply. She knew he wouldn't do it, he was too proud, there was only one thing that would see him doing as she bid.

"Never," he declared, he didn't even attempt to think it through.

"You will," Haera answered, ambling towards the door, done with the Targaryen's for today, idly wondering if they'd even listen to her, or just continue on that very same path of destruction believing they knew better. He believed it of Prince Viserys Targaryen at the moment. He seemed desperate for acknowledgement, to be someone of note…worthy of his birthright. To be remembered. Opening the door, he turned back to face them, "If I hear of you chaining up a single dragon…you can be sure you'll never have to worry about the dragons dying off, I'll take them all and go beyond the known world where I will ensure they thrive." With that promise made, she left a stunned Targaryen family behind.

A/N – I didn't have the King go on the belief right away that it was family fighting family with the dragon scene in the air pensive, he still has his male heir, the succession hasn't been called into question yet. He didn't fear that Rhaenys would fight for her claim the kings word is law. So, it wasn't a concern that the family would fight for the throne, at least not at this point I don't think…ugh just want to explain why his first thought wasn't family fighting each when we know it was a concern of his and why the council was ultimately called in, which by the way was the biggest bloody mistake Jae could have made. He might as well have ended his family right there and then, because that moment spelt the doom of them all, and the rest just piled it on until it was inevitable.

Will Haera make Jaehaerys break? Get him to submit to her will? When in the timeline can you see it happening? Will we get to see Haera spending time and meeting with the rest of the King and Queen's brood? Ugh, can you see the king wanting Haera anywhere near them now (a marriage pact)? part of me believes yes, he'd want her close to know everything but another part of me knows just how ruthless he is and would want her killed…both are pretty level right now. Read and Review please!

also will we save Viserys? can Haera and Daemon knock sense into him or is he so filled with self importance that there is no saving him?