A Song of Rings, Tears, and Wrath chapter 6: Meetings, Marriages, New Beginnings, and the Queen in the east.

53 AC

Jaehaerys read over the missive several times. "Beren Hightower? Who is this man?"

Lord Massey tilted his head. "The fourth son of Lord Hightower. It was said that he was banished over twenty years ago in the wake of Maegor's marriage to the late lady Ceryse Hightower. It was thought that he had died in Essos. Evidently… he lived."

"Indeed," the king said, "and it would seem that all are invited to his wedding to the Lady Luthien."

"It is rather a shock that the King of Doriath would allow an outsider to marry his only daughter," Celeborn said. "Thingol is not known for his trusting nature in regards to anyone outside his kingdom. This Beren… he must have made quite the impression."

Jaehaerys nodded. "Perhaps. So, my Small Council… what are we to do with this?"

Lord Rogar shrugged his brawny shoulders. "Well, I see no reason why we can't attend. I'm all for a good celebration."

"Any reasons beyond that?"

Lord Tuor Tybalt then spoke. "Well, I for one think this to be quite the opportunity politically."

"Go on," Jaehaerys said.

"This is a marriage that will firmly cement the bonds between Westeros and Beleriand. While it would have been more politically fortuitous if the marriage had been between a Targaryen and a child of Fingolfin, but this is still a grand opportunity. If you and High King Fingolfin were to cement at the wedding the grand treaty that we have been brewing here, then all the better."

He leaned back in his seat, carelessly setting his feet upon the table. "Plus, as Lord Rogar mentioned, there is always very little excuse needed for a good and fun celebration."

"Lord Tuor Tybalt's point is sound," Lord Celeborn said. "There is little reason as to High King Fingolfin not attending this wedding. It would be his own way of cementing further the bonds of friendship he shares with Thingol, as well as those he wishes to forge with this kingdom."

"Then it is agreed, my lords," said Jaehaerys. "It will seem that we all have a wedding to attend to."

As the meeting drew to a close, the Lords Massey, Lannister, and Velaryon all left, until only Maglor, Jaehaerys, Celeborn, and Russandol were left.

Jaehaerys turned to his lord of Whispers. "Lord Maglor? You did not say a single word throughout the meeting. Have you anything to report.

The elf looked upon Jae with his sunken, sorrowful eyes, and then nodded. "Indeed, I do, but I thought it best that only trustworthy ears were to hear it."

"Well, what is it?"

The Lord of Whispers steepled his fingers. "My strings have revealed an oddest little melody; your sister has joined herself in matrimony to the second son of the Lord of Far Isle."

That was the last news Jaehaerys had been expecting to hear.

The Queen of the Moon

Alys looked up in surprise at Jaehaery's words from where she lay by Delora on the bed, her head and hair being stroked by her fellow queen. "Androw Farman?" she asked, hands on her great and bulging womb.

The little one within gave her a small kick. Cheeky little thing.

Jaehaerys nodded from where he lay next to Delora, his hand stroking her equally bulging belly. Their bed was quite large. "That is correct. The second son of Lord Marq Farman of Fair Isle. Apparently, they were only married about a day or two ago."

"But aside from being Marq Farman's second son, what do we know about him, this Androw?" Alys inquired.

"Little, though I confess I was so struck by the news that my mind filtered out anything else that was said by Lord Maglor," Jae admitted with a bit of embarrassment.

Delora let loose a little sound from her throat as she continued to stroke Alys' head. "One of my new ladies-in-waiting is from Fair Isle. From what she told me in gossip, Androw is comely enough and fair in temperament, though the rumor is that he can hardly read or write. Rather unusual for a lord's son, let alone for your sister. He is also ten years her junior."

Jaehaerys nodded at that. "I do agree, it is somewhat odd. Though, Rhaena did hide from Maegor on Fair Isle for a long while. It is not inconceivable that she and this Androw may have struck up a connection of sorts. A bit like something out of a storybook, perhaps, but it has happened before, none-the-less."

He then shrugged. "Still, I find that this is wonderful news. She deserves some happiness, after all. We shall have to have some gifts dispatched to her. As long as he treats her kindly, then there is little else to consider, I suppose. Do you not agree, my queens?"

Alys and Delora both gave out hums of agreement, and their talk went on to other things, like the approaching marriage in Oldtown, and prospective due dates of their babes.

In the back of her mind, Alys thought that her and Jaehaerys' mother, as well as Rhaena's daughters, would not be as accepting of this news as they had been.

That thought later disappeared from his mind when, in the middle of the night, the queens awoke from birthing pains…

The Queen of the Uncrowned

Fair Isle

3 days later

There was a moment, right after lovemaking, that left a person feeling content, heady, and happily spent.

It was a moment when it felt as if your body was all aglow with the warmth of the sun itself, and all you wanted to do was just lie and laze about with the one that had helped you to reach that particular peak.

It was a feeling that Rhaena treasured most greatly, truth be told, both receiving it, and bequeathing it.

With a happy sigh, she turned to her companion, whose head rested upon her stomach, as they, in turn, lay naked and sprawled and sweat-soaked upon the bed.

She ran her fingers across a scalp covered by flaxen hair, hair that she could run her fingers through all day, and so Rhaena sighed in contentment.

"Copper for your thoughts, love?" asked her companion.

Rhaena chuckled, as she continued to stroke her head like she would a beloved pet. "Nothing much. Just… feeling happy."

"Well then, that, in turn, makes me happy."

Her lover pulled up from Rhaena's stomach, and the first granddaughter of Aegon locked eyes with a face framed by long, flaxen hair, and one that was tanned from being under the sun.

Elissa Farman smiled a grin of perfect teeth, and Rhaena had never seen anything more beautiful.

As she moved to kiss her lover, it occurred to the Rhaena that there was nowhere else she would rather be.

And she was sure that there was nowhere else that Elissa would rather be.

Right?

A knock at the door interrupted their happy stupor. "Queen Rhaenys?" came Faircastle's Maester.

With quick motions and a groan of exasperation, Elissa and Rhaenys slipped into their robes, and then Rhaenys answered the door.

Faircastle's Maester, a slight and reedy man named Smike, diplomatically kept his face fixed towards Rhaena's eyes, and ignored Elissa's presence in the room.

"Yes?" she asked, a bit irritably. "What is it?"

He swallowed once. "The Queens have given birth. The realm has two new, healthy princesses."

It had been a long three days, and many, many hours of intensive labor.

As a king and a husband, Jaehaerys had felt even less than helpless. The Grandmaester, Lady Aredhel, and the midwives had been the only ones allowed in. So, he had to contend with waiting outside the room, attended by only Celeborn and Russandol.

Each scream was a stab at his heart, and a dagger betwixt his ribs, no matter what words of comfort Celeborn told him.

Jaehaerys had heard too many tales of women dying in childbirth, whether from blood loss or fever or other such complications.

Then, after a few more loud screams, all fell silent… save for two loud wails, infant cries. out had strode Lady Aredhel, proud and tall despite the blood staining her healer's shift. She gave a small bow. "Your Grace. It is my pleasure to have helped welcome your daughters into the world. Would you like to see them?"

He would later admit that he had all but scrambled into the birthing room, kingly presence and dignity be damned.

The room stank of blood and other scents, but that mattered not to him. All that matter was what was in front of him.

In the twin beds lay his queens. Both looked sweaty and spent, and they had never looked so divine to him as at that moment.

His eyes were then drawn to the bundles cradled in their arms.

The two queens both looked up to meet his eyes, and both smiled tired radiant things.

With trembling hands, he reached forward towards his daughters.

His and Delora's daughter had dark skin like her mother. Her eyes were like two lilacs, and her hair was dark, save for a long stripe of silver-gold over her left brow.

Meanwhile, her sister, the union of him and Alysanne, was pale, and her hair was a faint silver. Her eyes were as tiny, shining amethysts.

His hands trembled as he reached out and stroked their heads, and as he held them each. They were so tiny.

"Are they not lovely?" Alysanne said, as she and Delora reached out and clasped hands.

"Our little queens," said Delora.

No, they were more than lovely, in Jae's eyes.

Their daughters, the fruits of their unions.

They were perfect.

They were perfect.

At that moment, the King of the Six Kingdoms of Westeros wept in joy and knelt before his queens.

The joyous news spread through the realm, intermingling with the forthcoming Hightower Marriage.

For at least a day, all celebrated the births of Nymeria and Danaerys Targaryen, the royal hatchlings.

Long live the House of Targaryen.

Long live Jaehaerys, First of His Name, and the Queens of the Moon and the Sun.

Of course, there were some who were not overly fond of this news…

The White Lady

"No! It's not fair!" screamed little Rhaella.

A moment later, a mirror smashed against the wall, making Aerea flinch from where she sat on their bed.

Aredhel remained impassive as the elder twin continued to rant and rave about. "I'm the heir! Me! Not some stupid babies! It's not fair!"

Aredhel looked down at her and put her hands upon the girl's shoulders. "Rhaella. Please, stop this. This anger will not change what has happened."

Rhaella looked up at her, angry tears dripping from her eyes. "But… why does it have to be like this, auntie?"

Aredhel sighed, and drew the girl into a hug, holding her firm. "Oh, my dear. The sad truth is that life is not inherently fair. It is a long, winding thing, comprised of heartbreaks and downfalls and sorrow and other such things."

"Then what's the point, aunt Aredhel?" Rhaella sobbed. "Why can't it be fair!?"

Aredhel pulled back for a moment and looked the little girl square in the eye. "Because, without that sorrow, the unfairness, and such? Then you would not learn to treasure the good things."

"The-the good things?"

Aredhel nodded. "That's right. Think about it; without rain, would we treasure the clear days? Without cold, would the warmth of the sun and fire not be as needed? And, without sorrow, would happiness not be as sought after, or enjoyed?"

"But it's not fair," Rhaella repeated in a small voice.

Aredhel nodded. "Perhaps, but that feeling shall pass, my dear. Your anger will dissipate. Besides, look upon the bright side. You now have to new, beautiful little cousins, cousins who will need help to grow and learn about the world around them.

"Who better to do that, then you, dear heart?" she then said, with a gentle smile.

Rhaella sniffed, wiped at her eyes, and flung her arms around Aredhel's neck.

Once the twins had finally settled down, Aredhel departed their room and into the hallway, where Ulrick stood waiting patiently.

"I marvel at your ability to weather the tantrums of that little wild hellion," her knight said, as she slipped her arm around his, and they started to walk.

"She is not a malicious child, my love," Aredhel said. "Merely upset. Her world has been overturned. She is just adjusting."

"Aye," Ulrick said. "Just as she was no doubt 'adjusting' when she and her little pack of friends set buckets of water over the doors to the quarters of the Royal Guardians."

Russandol had been nonplussed at that.

"She will get better," asserted Aredhel, though she could not help but let a small laugh at the memory of tall, austere Russandol drenched in water.

The pair strode outside to one of the terraces of the Red Keep and were greeted by a blanket of stars.

"It's a wonderful night, isn't it?" Aredhel asked.

"It is," Ulrick agreed. "The stars never lose their luster, I've found, no matter where one might find themselves in the world. Are these stars like those in your old homeland?"

"They are the same, yet different in small ways," replied Aredhel. "Their overall permanence was a comfort to me, in the early, dark days. Though, I could ask the same of you. Are these stars like yours, in Starfall?"

"And my answer would be the same as yours, my lady," Ulrick answered. "Though it may be a personal bias on my part, the stars that shine over Starfall are always bright and radiant beyond compare… and yet are pale and wan things when I gaze upon you."

Aredhel smiled. "And for what purpose do you seek to charm me this night, my knight of stars."

"So that I may ask of you a most important question, great Aredhel," the Sword of the Morning replied.

Aredhel turned from the stars and towards her love with a question dancing behind her grey eyes.

In response, Ulrick took her hands in his. "Since the moment we met, all that time ago upon the docks of Sunspear, my heart was no longer my own. The moment our eyes met; it had become yours. I could think of no one better to whom it could be given ownership, truth be told, and most glad I would be were you to keep it until the end of days."

Ulrick Dayne knelt upon one knee and bowed before his lady love. "That being said, I must now ask of you my question, witnessed by these countless stars; Lady Aredhel, keeper of my heart… will you permit me the honor of marrying you, so that I may one day show you the stars of Starfall?"

In response, all Aredhel could do was pull him to his feet, and then did she kiss him soundly upon the lips. "A thousand times yes, my Knight of Stars," she whispered into his lips, as a tear rand down her face. "As many times as there are stars in the sky."

Up above, those selfsame stars seemed to dance merrily in the sky.

In what seemed like the blink of an eye, the two months after the royal births came and went, and all of Oldtown, indeed, all of the Reach and the realm, prepared for the coming wedding.

From the number of cooks and foodstuffs and smiths and architects and silks and seamstresses and tailors and such that were being brought in, it would be an affair that was sure to be on par with the Royal Wedding of the Sun and The Moon two years past.

Seven days of celebration and feasting and merriment, under the shadow of the Hightower, and throughout all of Oldtown.

The great and powerful of the Reach and the other kingdoms were invited.

Houses Redwyne, Tyrell, Beesbury, Connington, Baratheon, Swann, Darklyn, Velaryon, Arryn, Royce, Westerling, Harroway, Tully, Reyne, Lannister, Marbrand, Dayen, Qorgyle, Blackwood, Bracken, and countless others. The crème de la crème of the Kingdoms would be in attendance at this momentous wedding.

The word even spread beyond the boundaries of Westeros, to the shores of Essos and the Free Cities, for foreign dignitaries had been invited as well… though Volantis and Lys had been, for reasons unknown, left uninvited.

2 months later

Oldtown

Hall of the Hightower

The Elf-Friend

Having only been king for roughly two years, Jaehaerys and his queens had not had the occasion to visit the seat of House Hightower. But, being a learned man, Jae had read plenty of literary descriptions of Oldtown, the Home of the Starry Sept, and the Citadel of the Maesters.

Everything looked exactly as had been described in those books; every winding street was cobbled; every building and bridge and gate was crafted from stone and marble. They cit was a veritable labyrinth of crisscrossing alleyways, narrow crookback streets, and bustling markets, thought today, those markets were quieted.

Then, there was the Hightower itself, a grand and mountainous tower crafted of white and grey and black stone, and it was crowned with a great and fiery beacon.

At the moment, the flames were white.

Jae and Alys and Del had arrived with the attending members of the court several days ago. Measures were in place to keep the kingdom running until their return, but all knew where they would be so that the King could still hold court when needed. They were given quarters and hosted sumptuously by Lord Hightower and his family.

To Jae and Alyssane's happy surprise, Rhaena, her new husband Androw, and her good-sister Elissa had come as well, alongside the Lord of Fair Castle and some of Rhaena's other companions.

Oddly enough, Jae and his queens had yet to meet Hightower's youngest son Beren, or his bride-to-be.

Still, Jae and his queens were not idle and toured the city nearly every day. And every day, Jae had felt awed at everything.

Here was the seat of the Faith of the Seven; here was the center of learning in all the Six Kingdoms.

Here was a city of history, where more was yet to be made.

Every day, more and more banners and lords and their retinues arrived, whether by sea or land.

Then, on the fifth day, the bells rang out through the city.

From the balcony of their apartments in the Hightower, Jaehaerys and Alyssane and Delora watched as a small fleet of grey ships sailed towards the docks of Oldtown.

Beleriand had arrived.

All the assembled lord and ladies waited in the open courtyard of the Hightower as the Grey ships of Beleriand docked at Oldtown for the second time in recorded history.

At the front stood Jae, his queens, Russandol with Blackfyre at his waist, several Royal Guardians, several septons and septas, maesters, and the majority of House Hightower, including the bride and groom of the coming wedding.

Luthien, the bride, was indeed as beautiful as described. Jae was secure enough to admit that, as were Alysanne and Delora.

Beren was a tall man, with his most distinguished features being the strange tattoos upon the left side of his face, as well as his missing right arm.

He seemed polite, but also a bit cold, by Jae's reckoning.

As the gates to the courtyard were opened, an atani herald was the first to walk through them. He was a tall figure with a bald head, a bare face, and a large, barrel-like chest. The rest of him seemed equally muscled. Upon his tabard were two symbols; on the right was the star of Fingolfin, and upon the left was what Jae recognized as the white star and sun of the kingdom of Doriath.

The Herald looked over the assembled Lord and Ladies of the Six Kingdoms. Then, he took a deep breath, and spoke, in the accented voice that all the atani of Beleriand held.

"Presenting, King Elu Thingol, father of the bride, husband of the Lady Melian, and known also as Greycloak and Queen Melian, Sovereigns of Forests, King Greymantle, Lord of Beleriand, and King of the Teleri, Atani, Norsa, and Sindar of the Kingdom of Doriath and its many settlements!"

Then, from behind him emerged such a figure that all felt awed and slightly afraid at the sight of him, and all the sounds of the city faded away suddenly.

He was mighty and towering in height, such, that his head would nearly brush the head of any great hall, and he looked comfortably above many buildings of Oldtown. He was dressed in dazzling finery and silks tailored to his size, and his fingers were adorned with flittering rings, each as large as a large man's fist. Upon his brow was a silver crown, as silver as his hair and eyes.

Jae felt slightly overwhelmed by the size of the King of Doriath, the father of the bride. He dwarfed even Russandol by a great many feet! Though he walked with a mighty grace, he made but little sound and tremor as he walked.

The king of Doriath looked upon them all with ageless silver eyes, eyes that softened when he looked upon his daughter and her chosen groom.

As the Sovereign of Doriath and his retinue of elves and atani stood in the courtyard of the Hightower, the herald then spoke a second time. "Presenting to all the Lady Galadriel! Lady of Lórien, Lady of Light, Lady of the Wood, and Lady of the Galadhrim!"

The lady was a familiar figure to Alyssane and Jaehaerys, and she was exactly as they remembered; she was taller than most men of Westeros. Her hair was of deep gold, and her gown, though holding little adornments, was wholly of white and make. All who looked upon her felt awed and humbled. A majesty and kindness seemed to radiate from her, and it lifted the spirits.

All watched as she sent a smile full of love to her husband, Celeborn. It was a love that all could feel, deep and profound.

Then, the herald spoke for the third time.

"Presenting to all assembled, High King Fingolfin! Son of Finwë and Indis; Lord of The Grey Fleet, King of the North, High King of the Noldor, Sindar, Nandor, Laiquendi, Silvan, and Atani, and King and Sovereign of All the Nation of Beleriand!"

At that, the silence seemed to deafen and deepen, as Fingolfin emerged into the courtyard, alongside a small and veritable battalion of guards and courtiers.

Though he was much shorter than the king of Doriath, the High King of Beleriand was still taller than all the humans present, and his presence was no less mighty and grand, if not more so.

His clothes were also fine beyond measure, and his adornments, though simpler, were grand and glittering. Upon his brow was a silver circlet, though it was not like the one that Jaehaerys and Alyssane had seen during their time in the nation of the Elves.

Accompanying him was an equally impressive retinue of atani and elves, including many that Jae recognized.

The High King strode forward and stopped a mere few feet from the assembly of the Westerosi lords.

All remained silent.

Privately, Jae wondered if any of the Lords and Ladies had fainted faint, if only from the sheer presence that the elven Sovereigns and their fellows and ladies radiated.

Later, he would discover that some had.

Then, Jaehaerys and his queens stepped forward, alongside Lord Celeborn, and the Lord of the Hightower and his youngest son and his elven bride.

All watching seemed to hold their breath as the two groups shortened their distance.

"High King Fingolfin," Jae said in a clear voice, as he extended his hand towards the elf who had kept him and his family safe. "I bid you welcome to the Six Kingdoms."

"I am most touched by your welcome, King Jaehaerys," came Fingolfin's reply, as their hands clasped tightly.

When the royal greetings were given, Lord Hightower gave a respectful bow. "Sovereigns of Beleriand. It gladdens me that you have chosen to grace the wedding of my son with your august presence. Welcome to Oldtown."

"And we accept your welcome as well, as future family to my fellow monarch, Thingol," said Fingolfin.

"Indeed," said Thingol, and his voice was mighty as his frame. "I too am gladdened to be here, so that this union may be held with all its ceremonies and joys, and so that I may see the home of my future good son. Now I have, and this is indeed a grand and mighty place.

"But most importantly, my heart is brimming with joy that my beloved daughter is happy and that her love's family has accepted her with open arms," the towering figure concluded

At that, the tension vanished, and all the parties converged to greet and make polite conversation.

Fingolfin set a gentle hand upon Jae's shoulder, while Lady Galadriel embraced first her husband, and then Alysanne, and even Delora, who seemed blushing before her presence.

"It is good to see you again, Jaehaerys," said Fingolfin.

"As it is to see you, my friend," said Jae.

"Indeed. We have much to celebrate, and much to discuss," Fingolfin stated. "Of course, there is one other here to see you and Queen Alyssane as well."

"Who?"

"That would be me, young Jaehaerys," came an aged voice that Jae had not heard in a great while.

Jae and Alys turned, and beheld a familiar grey figure, leaning upon his staff, and cloaked and garbed with grey.

Jae felt another grin spread across his face, though Alys beat him to the punch in hugging the familiar figure. "Gandalf!" Jae exclaimed, kingly.

The old man laughed as he embraced the king and queen. "Ah, my little dragons. It does my heart good to see you again, and so grown and royal, no less."

"And it does our hearts good in turn to see you well," Alys said.

"Indeed," Jae said, as they all headed into the hall of the Hightower…

The Lord of Cats

Tuor Tybalt had met many lords and great figures over the course of his thirty-odd years of life, including the Sealord of Braavos, the Prince of Dorne, the Magisters of Lys, and Volantis, and many others.

All paled when compared to these elf sovereigns and lords and ladies.

Then, as he looked and canned about the crowds…That was when Tuor saw her.

She was tall, and beautiful, with long, golden blonde hair. Everything about her gave weight to the idea of graceful, from the points of her lovely ears to the soles of his feet.

For a moment, he could have sworn that their eyes met, green to grey, and he felt as if all time had stopped.

Then, she was lost in the polite crowd, and time began again.

"Roy… I am entranced," said he to his ever-present protector.

"You're entranced?" asked Roy.

"I am entranced," replied Ty.

Even when the king and ruler of Beleriand drew him into their discussions about trade between nations, the sight of that elfin maid could not be expunged from the mind of the Lord of Cats….

The Next Day

The city of Oldtown was abuzz at the arrival of the elves, and it remained abuzz through the taverns and inns and, of course, even the brothels.

It remained abuzz all through the night, and then until the following morning.

The morning of the wedding.

The Returned Son

As per what was planned, all the important guests were set into open carriages, fancy things of leather, and silk.

There was a small issue with Thingol walking, but the King of Doriath bore it in good stride.

They all rode in a procession throughout the city and disembarked at the gates to the Starry Sept.

The pathway to the Sept was strewn with flowers, and flanked on either side by curious and cheering multitudes. She was dressed in a grand, yet simple, gown of blue and grey and white, whilst he was dressed in a smart uniform of both his House's colors, and green.

Luthien waved to the crowds graciously, and each smile she flashed to the multitudes only made the cheering grow further.

Beren felt overwhelmed.

Truly, he had never been one for large crowds. It made him feel uneasy, restless. Yet, Luthien's presence kept him settled, secure.

They walked, flanked by crowds and guards, and their families, up the steps towards the Sept, with its black marble walls and arched windows. The doors were tall, though Thingol and Melian had to duck slightly to get inside.

Inside, the rest of the guests made their way to their seats, while Beren and Luthien ascended the steps to the top of the dais, upon which there stood an aged septon and an austere elf with a kindly face.

At the foot of the dais, on either side stood two persons. On Beren's side stood Beleg, resplendent in his shining male and uniform, and Varrio, dressed in an equally smart uniform of red and green that made his grey skin and flame tattoos stand out. Emblazoned on his tabard was the chosen heraldry that he and Bella had picked out; a red ax beneath a gold star, on a field of blue.

On Luthien's side stood Bella, dressed in leathers and tabard (she refused to wear a dress), and Jorelle, who was garbed in a uniform that seemed a seamless combination of armor and gown.

All watched as King Thingol knelt slightly, and set upon Beren's shoulders a necklace of gleaming emeralds, and as Luthien and Beren then exchanged simple rings of shining silver upon the other's fingers

The kindly elf then raised her hands for silence. As silence fell upon the room, she then spoke, with a voice smoothed worn by experience.

"Friends, family, and other lords and ladies and acquaintances… Today, we are gathered here to witness a momentous and wonderful event; the conjoining of two souls into a single, beautiful thing, molded and bound by love, devotion, and happiness, with a small dosage of contentment for good measure…."

The Elf-Friend

As the elf spoke, her words seemed to invoke a warm feeling in Jae's breast, and he found his hands reaching out to grab those of his two queens.

They all held each other's hands, tightly.

"In our lives, whether we be elf or man, it is easy, so very easy, to forget or downplay the importance that love holds. To dismiss it as a fanciful thing, fit only for tales and pretty songs. And yet, without that love, life can seem… unfulfilled…."

Queen of the Uncrowned

As the knife-ear spoke, Rhaena could not help but let her eyes be drawn her younger siblings and their shared whore.

More specifically, to how tightly Alyssane gripped the dornish woman's hand.

Meanwhile, Androw had to be seated between her and Elissa, who was listening attentively.

As the elf droned on, Rhaena glanced about to the rest of Jaehaerys' attending court. She saw the female one, Aredhel, with her two daughters. The little things seemed to hang about her like she was their mother, not her.

She clenched her fist tightly but remained seated.

"… It is through love that we can grasp at a deeper meaning of all that lies about us. It is through love that we can grow, that we can become… complete."

The Returned Son

"… And that feeling of completeness is what we are here today to celebrate, embodied here in Beren and Luthien."

She reached out, and gently grasped Luthien and Beren's hands. "May this love, may your love, be an example for all to know and follow, and may it ever shine brightly."

The elf gave a final smile and then stepped back.

Then, the aged septon cleared his aged throat and took a step forward. "Beren of House Hightower, do you take this woman to be your wife, in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live?"

Beren nodded, his eyes not straying from Luthien's own. "I do. Now and forever."

The septon turned to Luthien. "And do you, Lady Luthien of the house of Thingol, take this man to be your husband, in sickness and in health, so long as you both shall live?"

Luthien nodded. "From here until evermore," she said, her voice as lovely as she was.

The septon nodded. "Then, by the power invested in me, by the laws of gods and men, you are now bound together as husband and wife. One body, one soul, and one love!"

Beren looked at Luthien, he looked into her eyes, and, as always, the world seemed to slow to the most minute of crawls. "I am not worthy of you, Tinuviel," he whispered as they leaned towards one another.

She looked upon him and then cupped an elegant hand against his bearded face. "We are worthy enough for each other, my love."

He held her hand to his face, and she leaned towards him, and their lips met.

When they kissed, the entirety of the Sept burst into cheers and applause, as the bells of Oldtown rang throughout the streets.

Man, and elf, now forever bound in marital union.

It was said that the cheers echoed throughout all of the Reach.

After that, they head back down out of the Sept, and the wedded couple was promptly showered in flower petals and more cheers and happy tears.

The Avenger

As the bells continued to ring, there were a few that were not celebrating.

It was a small group of rough, cloaked and hooded men, all dressed in boiled leathers studded with metal. They were all spread throughout different positions in the city.

Their leader's garb and armor and armaments were of finer make than most, especially the crossbow he carried hidden beneath the cloak in an oiled canvas.

The weapon was a beauty, created with Yi Ti and valyrian methods. It was crafted from goldenheart wood.

He had practiced with it for a long time, enough to knock an apple off a slave's head at over 300 paces, at least. The same applied to burying it between the slave's eyes.

That would not change today.

Today, he would get revenge.

Silently, he took his position on the rooftop as the bells rang.

Oredo gripped the stock of his crossbow tightly and peered down along the sight of his weapon.

As the carriage drew closer, he cranked back the bow's mechanism, and the bolt nocked into place.

He sighted down along the bolt once again and took a short series of long, calming breaths.

Revenge, for his family, for the insult he perpetuated by living.

A footstep echoed behind him.

As he turned, he saw a club smash into his-

As the assailants went about their work, the wedding procession went about unencumbered, and the bell and cheers continued to ring out….

The Sorrowful

They departed for the outskirts of the town in silence, being noticed by no one.

The strings that Maglor had chosen for this little mission, seven trusted and true men and women, deposited the unconscious volantene onto the ground in a heap.

The assassin's hired mercenaries had already been dealt with. They would not be found. Not now, and not ever.

Maglor nodded to the would-be assassin. "Wake him up, Torena."

"Yes, my lord,"

Torena, the one who answered, then hefted a bucket of water, drawn fresh from one of Oldtown's many wells.

A moment later, that Oldtown water splashed upon its target, and the volantene sputtered awake, soaked through.

As he spat out a mouthful of water, and was about to dash to his feet, Orrin aimed an arrow straight between his purple eyes.

That set the volantene back on his heels.

As those purple eyes widened in shock and took in their surroundings, Maglor spoke. "I would advise you to shut up and listen to what I have to say, child of Lys and Volantis," Maglor said in diplomatic tones. "Just as I would also advise you to not attempt anything stupid."

Maglor walked until his shadow all but enveloped the would-be assassin.

"I know who you are," Maglor then said. "Your name is Oredo Maegyr Rogare, and you were born of Lys and Volantis. You are a member of the conjoined families of Rogare and Maegyr, and you are one of the grandchildren of the late Lorgan Maegyr, former Triach of the Tiger Party."

It was amazing how loose a human's lips became when those lips were plied with copious amounts of alcohol.

Especially when he thought that no one of import or ability was listening in.

"I also know your purpose here; to kill Beren Hightower and his bride," Maglor. "You bribed a few sentries and others about the route the procession would take. And so, you and your little band of killers lay in wait among various points. If you, the first, failed, then the others would pick up the attempt as well. Now, has anything I said been incorrect?"

The now-named Oredo swallowed and then spoke. "Then I suppose you know why I have to do this, to kill that escaped slave, sunsetlander," he said, in the smooth accent of Volantis, tinged as it was by the lyrical tones of Lys.

Maglor's eyes narrowed. "I have a good idea as to why you think you have to. In all honesty, I am not sympathetic in the slightest."

Oredo's eyes bulged grotesquely. "Not sympathetic!? He murdered my grandfather and two of my uncles! Freed countless other slaves while bearing my grandfather's mark! Burnt down one of our manses! Stole our conjoined family's sword, Truth! Lot 791's actions nearly brought all of us to complete ruin!"

"You enslaved him. He just wanted his freedom. Thus, he did what any would do when given the opportunity; he escaped. But I am not here to debate morality with you, Oredo. I am here to ask you to leave and go home. Put this foolishness behind you."

Oredo's face grew indignant. "Are you fucking insane!? Why would I do that?"

"Because then you would live," Maglor replied.

His answer was punctuated by Orrin drawing back on his bowstring.

Oredo's face grew pale, but he seemed to swallow down his fear. "Fuck you, sunsetlander! I swore an oath and I will see it through!"

Upon uttering those words, Maglor felt his being grew cold.

"An oath?" he whispered.

The wind began to pick up, and Maglor's men all backed up warily.

"Y-yes," Oredo stuttered. "I swore upon my grandfather's grave to not rest until that errant slave was brought to justice, and that I would stop for nothing! I swore to my sister and her children, and to my mother, and to the gods themselves, Bakkalon and Saagael that I would let nothing stand in my way, and that I would drench myself in the blood of hundreds if that was what it took, and that I would take everything from Lot 971! And I intend to keep it!"

Maglor was barely listening, his mind far away, receding back through the mists of time, to another place.

His hand throbbed with phantom ache, as a phantom edge slashed into it, and phantom blood dripped onto the ground.

In his mind's eye, he and seven others raised their bloody hands high by firelight.

Be he foe or friend, be he foul or clean,
brood of Morgoth or bright Vala,
Elda or Maia or Aftercomer,
Man yet unborn upon Middle-earth,
neither law, nor love, nor league of swords,
dread nor danger, not Doom itself,
shall defend him from Fëanor, and Fëanor's kin,
whoso hideth or hoardeth, or in hand taketh,
finding keepeth or afar casteth
a Silmaril. This swear we all:
death we will deal him ere Day's ending,
woe unto world's end! Our word hear thou,
Eru Allfather! To the everlasting
Darkness doom us if our deed faileth.
On the holy mountain hear in witness
and our vow remember, Manwë and Varda!

He remembered how noble that vow had seemed, and he remembered the screams, and the burning ships…

He remembered the pleading of those who had not come to Aman, and of the secondborn, whilst his face and hands were drenched in the blood of children…

Maglor was quiet for a moment as the screams continued to echo in his ears.

Then, a moment later, Oredo was dangling high off the ground, Maglor's hand tight around his throat. If asked, any of Maglor's attending strings would have testified that he had moved more swiftly than the wind itself. "You swore such an oath, did you? You swore it before your gods and kin? Do you feel proud, to have bound yourself in such a manner?"

Oredo's legs kicked and he futilely dug at Maglor's grip. "Do you think your oath will protect you, if I were to snap your neck, here and now?" Maglor hissed, as he brought their faces closer. "It would take but a bit more pressure from my hand, and this will all be over. Were that to happen, then would your oath bring you back to life, armor you against my men as they riddled you with arrows, and left your corpse for the crows and vultures? Well?"

As the volantene gasped for air, his face turning as purple as his eyes, Maglor glared at him, and noted that despite the approaching asphyxiation, Oredo's eyes remained… defiant.

But another part was scared.

Maglor then dropped Oredo to the ground, and the volantene coughed and gasped for breath. "There is part of me still hopes that you could be dissuaded from this bloody course," said Maglor. "I've inflicted enough death and destruction to last several human lifetimes, under the burden of such an oath that the one you swore is but as pale and ephemeral dust before it. But, as I learned, vengeance and dread oaths are hollow, pitiable things. They will leave you empty, hollow, and pitiable. It will create within you such an abyss that it will never be filled, and you will be an empty, hollow, and pitiable thing for the rest of your days. And that is a fate that I would wish upon no one. I know, because I have endured such a fate, and I will continue to endure it until my final day.

For a long moment, it seemed as if the volantene would do something stupid, rage, and defiance dancing in his Valyrian eyes.

Maglor sighed. "Before you make your next move, then consider this; say you do escape me, or even kill me, and escape my fellows here. Perhaps you actually can, fate and luck are strange things. Then, somehow, without support from any of your hired mercenaries, you manage to carry out your task of making Beren Hightower suffer, somehow killing Lady Luthien, and then you manage to somehow escape Oldtown. Then, you would plunge Westeros into a war. Think only of the people. Thousands upon thousands would die. Men, women, and children, and they would not die quietly. Some would die by the blade, and the other by starvation and disease and famine.

"But more than that, Beren Hightower would become a man with nothing left to lose. He would find out who it was that tore his happiness from him, and so he would devote the rest of his life towards eradicating every last trace of your family, the family that kept him as a slave. In one night, he burned down a portion of the Black Walls and freed over a hundred slaves, and that was with little-to-no help. Imagine what he could do with the wrath of a nation behind him. The deaths of your family would then be on your head, Oredo Maegyr Rogare.

"So, here is my question, at the end of all of that; say that you succeed in your self-appointed mission. Would you be able to shoulder that burden, all that death, Oredo Maegyr Lorgare? Could you?"

The only sound was that of the wind, and then came a second sound; weeping.

Oredo Maegyr Rogare had tears falling from his purple eyes.

"So now, I will ask you, one more time, Oredo Maegyr Rogare, son of Volantis and Lys… Forswear your vengeance, your foolish oath. Forswear it, leave it here, in the mud and grass, and go home. Go home, back across the narrow sea, back to your manses and your broken slaves. Go back, and live. Live your life for today, and embrace tomorrow. Do not let hatred and the weight of the past burden you to the point of yesterday's immobility. Please. I would prefer not to taint this happy day with blood.

"I will not ask you again. So please… make the right choice."

For a while, the only sound was of Oredo's weeping. Maglor simply waited. Orrin, Oera, Corag, Aerra, Torrhen, Gwynesse, and Orako all tensed, waiting.

Then, the blade of a drawn knife glinted in the afternoon sun.

Orrin raised his arrow, but there was no need.

All watched in shock as the volantene drew the knife across his own throat.

Maglor and his seven watched as the would-be assassin choked and gurgled and died, blood billowing from the new red mouth.

Maglor then rose and sighed tiredly. He was so very tired. "Strip him anything of value he has," he commanded of his strings. "Bury him somewhere hidden, and give his coin and goods to the poor and needy."

"Aye, my lord," said Oera of Honeyholt, her teak skin lightly sweating from the sun.

"What of his crossbow and weapons?" Orrin asked, as he put away his arrow and bow, and held up the finely crafted weapon to examine it.

"Have the crossbow given as a gift to the happy couple," The Master of Whispers said, as he rubbed at his face. "A little bit of irony makes things taste less bitter, perhaps."

No one save for those present would ever know what had been done here, this day.

No one would ever know the tale of the end of Oredo Maegyr Rogare, grandson of Lorgan Maegyr, who was also known as Lorgan the Easterling…

The Uncrowned queen.

Rhaena did not like these elves. She distrusted them, even if they had kept her siblings and mother safe. They were too… inhuman, too… perfect.

It was infuriating.

She also was not overly fond of Oldtown, truth be told. She still suffered a few terrors here and there of the Faith Uprising.

As such, it was also why she distrusted the Order of the Dragon. You could put scales and wings and fangs and claws and a tail on seven stars and call them dragons, but seven stars are still seven fucking stars.

Suffice to say, Rhaena found little to none enjoyment so far in the Reach.

"Are you all right?" Androw asked, as their carriage wheeled in the procession.

"It's nothing," she said, with a dismissive. "I will just be glad once all this is over, and we are away from this place."

"Back to Fair Isle and Faircastle?" her love asked, cheek cradled against her palm as she sat opposite Rhaena.

"Perhaps," mused Rhaena, though privately, she wondered for how long that would be.

Despite Lord Marq's amiability, Rhaena would have been a fool to ignore Franklyn's vitriol towards her, Elissa, Alayne, and Samantha.

But that was not too great a concern. She was a dragon, after all, and dragons feard nothing.

As their carriage rolled on, the passed an opening in the city that revealed the ocean, with the afternoon sun dancing ever closer to the endless edge.

Rhanea watched as Elissa looked out over that sea, and sighed.

Rhaena smiled. No doubt her love was thinking of the view from the room that she and Rhaena shared.

What else was there for her to think about?

The Elf-Friend

The grand party made their way to the feasting and dancing area. Located in the open courtyard of the Hightower. It was a grand and wide-open space, filled with tables and pavilions and such. The newly-weds were sat at the raised head, alongside the royal family. There was even room for the bride's parents to sit comfortably on the ground, though great layers of cushions were provided for them.

Once all were seated, with the bride and groom at the head of the high table, countless servants in dazzling livery filtered out from inside the Hightower carrying trays of food.

The first course was a rich chestnut-and-mushroom soup, composed of cream and chestnuts and a thick chicken broth served in gilded bowls. They looked almost comically small in the hands of Thingol.

The second course was a salad of edible flowers, lettuce, carrots, roasted onions, tomatoes, and topped with a sauce of vinegar, salt, and bacon drippings. Wine and lemon-water kept flowing, and the first of the singers began their performance.

As the sky turned orange and red from the setting sun, the guests were then given sweetcorn fritters, smoked crab, and queer little pastries filled with almonds, pork, eggs, and dornish snakes cooked with eastern spices. The later was surprisingly tasty, truth be told. Jae enjoyed it, and he noted Alys and Del enjoying it as well. Lord Maglor reappeared from wherever he had been and played upon his harp a wonderous and sonorous melody that seemed to leave all present breathless.

The fourth course consisted of roasted peacock stuffed with onions and dates and oranges, alongside trenchers of roasted venison cooked in a savory sauce comprised of carrots, raisins, onions, and garlic. This was served alongside oatcakes crafted with apples and oranges. A troupe of tumblers and mummers began performing and entertaining. Jae could not remember laughing so hard, especially at the songs.

Many elves smiled politely, but none actually laughed.

As the fifth course was placed before all, whole trouts cooked and seasoned with dornish peppers, salt, and other things, whole slabs of beef and boar seared with rosemary and thyme and garlic, Lord Manfred Hightower, strong and firm despite his seventy-plus years of age, stood from his seat and raised his hands for silence.

Countless pairs of eyes turned towards the aged Voice of Oldtown as he cleared his throat."

"My fellow lords and ladies of the Kingdoms,' he then looked to Thingol and Jae and Fingolfin, "and to our visiting sovereigns, I bid you all welcome. I am touched and honored by your presence here, on one of the most joyous occasions that a father can experience; the marriage of one of his children."

He took a shaky breath, the corners of his eyes growing a bit wet. "In the past years, I have not known much cause for joy. Indeed, it seems that I was inundated on all sides by great and crushing waves of sorrow. I was blessed with four children, but, one by one, I could do naught but watch as two of those children died, whilst a third remained all but dead to me for over twenty years. Though the deaths of Ceryse and Morgan will haunt me and my family for years to come, I am still gladdened beyond all things that my youngest, Beren, could return to us, to me."

He turned to the bride and groom. "My boy… my son. When I bid you leave… no, when I banished you, all those years ago, my heart broke the moment it was done. Every day, I wished that the words spoken that night had never been said, and I could take it back, that you would return home safe and sound. After ten years, I laid that hope to rest alongside my sorrows.

"But now, that hope has been restored, for you are returned, older and wiser, just as I am as well. But, beyond that, it gladdens me that you will not be alone in life, and that you have found for yourself a love that shines brighter than the sun. Such a love, that even a blind man could see it."

He then raised his chalice of Arbor gold high into the air towards the bride and groom. "To my son Beren, and to my new good-daughter, Luthien… may the poets sing of your love for at least a thousand years!"

All raised their cups in cheer. "TO BEREN AND LUTHIEN!"

The Lord of Cats

As the dishes were cleared away, the floor was then cleared away for a dance, and the minstrels began to play in earnest.

Ty wanted to stand up and ask her and join the dance but remained rooted to the spot, and his eyes remained sighted on her.

Next to him, Roy looked up. "Are you alright, Ty? I know you said that you were entranced, but you have been surreptitiously staring at that elvish maid nearly the entire ceremony," he said.

"I cannot help it, Roy," Ty said wistfully. "She is the most beautiful person I have ever seen in my life."

"Is she?"

"She is. I want to speak to her, but, alas… I am struck dumb, and my legs become immobile when I try to move forward. And that never happens to me, as well you know, Roy."

Instead of replying, Roy leaned back in his chair, and a strange expression came onto his bearded face.

"What is wrong with your face, cousin?" Ty asked.

"I am smiling."

"That's a smile? It looks like something found on a dead animal."

"And yet, I am smiling."

"Why?"

"Because I am enjoying this moment."

"What moment?"

Roy interlaced his fingers across his flat stomach. "The moment when you, Tybalt Lannister, Tybalt Silver-Tongue, have been struck dumb and witless by good and true infatuation. This is a sight that I want to savor, before…"

Ty crossed his arms, stood from his seat, and then took another look at the radiant elf maiden. "Before what, oh jackanapes?"

"Before I do this."

A moment later, Ty felt himself being kicked forward…

Silver Foot

It had been a lovely ceremony and a lovely feast.

Yet, throughout all of this, Idril could not help but keep looking at the human she had caught sight of yesterday, and who she saw now.

Idril had never before seen such a flamboyant-looking figure, or one with such red hair, and such red and gold clothes. The atani typically had hair in hues of black or gold or brown.

The skin she was not surprised at, as some of the plains-dwelling atani had skin weathered and browned by the sun.

But this man's hair… it was like the color of living flame.

It was arresting to see, truth be told, as was his beard, which she had only seen upon atani as well.

After he recovered from the push from his companion, as well as giving the aforementioned companion something that was probably a rude gesture, he straightened up, and strode forward towards where she stood with a stride that spoke not of arrogance… but of simple confidence.

He stood silently before her for a moment as the dance continued behind him, and then he bowed comically low before her, deep at the waist. "I bid you greetings, oh fairest lady. Please, pardon my forwardness, but may I have the honor of being allowed to speak with you, or perchance at least have this dance?" he said, his voice deep and smooth.

An odd thing to ask, but she saw no harm in it, and extended her hand. "You may, good man."

He smiled at her answer, and bowed again, and then took her hand, and led her into the dance, as a new one began. "That gladdens me, to hear your acquiescence, my lady. Truth be told, were it not for the actions of my cousin and companion Roy, as you no doubt saw, I would have remained too bashful to even approach you, let alone speaking to you as I do now."

"Well, may I ask you your name, bashful man?"

The music began, and they took a step back.

"My name is Tuor Tybalt Lannister, Lord of Cats and all things feline. I have other titles, but I don't think you would be interested in hearing about them. If you wish, you can call me Tuor, or Tybalt. Also, since you are no doubt wondering, my name is as it is because my parents liked both too much to decide on just one."

Three steps to the left, and she smiled and laughed.

"A pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am Idril, granddaughter of Fingolfin."

Two steps forward and turn to the right.

He raised an eyebrow. "Then I am doubly honored to be speaking to you, my lady. Truly, a humble cat such as I am unworthy of basking in your most radiant and royal presence."

Idril tilted her head. "Are you always so glib with your tongue, Lord Tuor Tybalt?"

"Yes. It is one of my many shortcomings, I am afraid."

She could not tell whether it was a humble admittance or a boast.

Yet, she found that she did not want to dismiss him. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Two steps to the left.

"You call yourself 'Lord of Cats?"

He nodded. "I do, for I am a most feline sovereign. I play with yarn, lounge lazily in sunlight, and chase mice when the fancy takes me. In addition, I am very fond of drinking from a nice saucer of fresh milk. But, unlike my feline subjects, I am very fond of a bath. As a plus, I do wear clothes."

She could not resist the small chuckle that left her lips at that, and then she glanced down at the symbol on his doublet. "But why style yourself after just cat? Are your family not styled after regal lions, Lord Tuor Tybalt?"

He shrugged as he gently spun her. "Ah, but lions are so… overused, in one's face, so contrite and cliché. For goodness sake, the Reynes, Osgreys, Grandisons, Jasts, and Parrens all use lions. Lions, they are always so focused on strength and war and all such nonsense, something of which there has been a bit too much in the past few years. But cats… they are the true nobility of the animal kingdom. They let themselves be pampered, and are always a cut above the rest. Yet, like a lion, they are always willing to defend their young to death. As well as those that they adore."

"Interesting."

Three steps backward.

"I should certainly hope so, my lady. But, enough about myself. What about you? It is rather rude to not let great ladies speak. They always have much better things to say than men, would you not agree?"

Two steps forward and to the left.

"I would not disagree, though, you seem rather enlightened for a man of Westeros. Not many of your fellows appear to hold such views though. Most of the men I've met tonight seem to enjoy only espousing about themselves. All they seemed to expect me to do was simply nod and smile."

"But that is the thing about cats and lions… they are quite matriarchal. My mother was the same. Alas, my fellows seem to think themselves peacocks… they hope that by strutting about, some peahen will notice them, and be distracted by their bright and meaningless plumage."

"So, I am a peahen then, Lord Tuor Tybalt?"

He laughed at that. "Nay, Lady Idril. I would not be so crass as to compare you to a mere animal."

Not once did they change partners during the dance, though there were many offers from lords and ladies alike.

Indeed, it seemed as if not even hammers could separate the two…

The White Lady

Aredhel could not resist the smile on her face as she watched her niece dance with the Lannister lord.

"Any particular reason as to why you are smiling, my love?" Ulrick asked as he gently spun her about.

"Marveling at love, my dear," she replied as she pirouetted. "Marveling at love."

Silver Foot

As the night meandered on, most of the guests departed from the feast hall, as did the musicians. Idril and her new companion soon found themselves walking on the outskirts of the city, in one of the surrounding grassy fields.

As they laughed and talked about everything and nothing, Idril could put it off no longer.

As Tuor Tybalt watched in bemusement, Idril removed her shoes and continued to walk upon the ground barefoot.

Such a wonderful feeling, though she wondered if he would mock her for it. "Do not mind me," said she. "I find that keeping one's feet bare is much more agreeable. Shoes are just too stifling. My father and friends call me Celebrindal, Silverfoot, in your tongue, due to my habit of this."

He nodded at that as if she had just given him very sage advice. "A most wonderful title, my lady."

Idril then watched in amusement as, a moment later, Tuor too removed his shoes and socks, and casually threw the footwear over his shoulder. As such, both stood barefoot upon the grassy ground. He idly wiggled his toes into the dirt and grass and then nodded. "You're right. This is much better. Freer. I am shocked that I did not think of this before. Shame upon me!"

For a countless time, she laughed at what he said, and it made him grin wide in return.

They continued to walk, barefoot on the ground, and she felt the urge to slip her arm around his. So, she indulged that urge.

It was a pleasant sensation, their arms entwined as such.

Eventually, they came upon a cliff overlooking the ocean. Above them was a great blanket of stars adorning the night sky.

"Such a lovely sight," she said, as she gazed upon those endless stars in the sky.

"Most assuredly," Tybalt said, as she noted him gazing upon her out of the corner of her eye.

She chuckled. "I meant the stars, Lord Tuor Tybalt."

He chuckled at the usage of both his names. "Aye, I know. But I stand by what I say, good lady. You are a most lovely and wonderous sight, such as I have never seen before in my feline life."

He then looked up at the stars as well. "But you are correct. This is a wonderful sight as well."

In the distance, the ocean waves crashed rhythmically against the shore.

Idril watched as Tuor tilted his head, closed his eyes, and began to bob his head, up and down, as if to a silent rhythm that only he could hear.

"What are you doing?" she asked of him.

His head continued to bob up and down for a moment, and then he paused and looked at her. "You may find this to be odd, but, when I was a young kitten, I was sailing with my Lannisport cousins. We were caught in a freak squall and… I fell off a boat. As I sank, beneath those roiling waves, I felt… no fear, oddly enough. Instead, I felt at peace. Then, I heard… a sound. It filled me, that sound, that melody, with the strength to kick and swim to the surface, and I was soon fished out."

He shook his head. "After that fateful day, whenever I am near the sea, I find myself hearing that lovely melody which saved me so long ago. Not… music, as such, but something… purer. Deeper."

He lifted up his hands, closed his eyes, and waved about his hands as if he were pulling about the sounds of music itself. "When I close my eyes, I can hear it. I can hear that melody in the crashing of the waves, the far off cries and calls of the sea birds, and the flow of the ocean in the distance. And when I am standing on the deck of a ship… ah, good lady but I am but lost to it, heart and soul. A most wonderful thing, that melody."

He chuckled. "I sometimes think that it's what has fueled my restless nature, especially when I was younger. It has ever propelled me forward, ever onwards. Gods know that if Roy thought it the source, he would have done his best to deafen me until I could hear it no more."

He did not sound mad, and Idril was not one to judge. The way he talked about it… it sounded like the histories she had been told as a child.

Perhaps Their reach extended further than believed?

"Could I hear it, as well, do you think, this melody of yours?" she asked softly, after a moment.

He nodded. "I do believe so. Close your eyes, and listen only to the sea. Reach out with your senses. Smell the salt, feel the breeze, listen to the waves, taste the wind. Let everything else… fade away."

He stepped back a respectful distance, and she closed her eyes.

Everything was silent for a moment, and then…

It started small, like a single, twinkling star in the far-off distance, beckoning you ever further onwards.

It rose in crescendo greater and greater, and it felt like she was floating in the center of a great and endless ocean.

But she was not being crushed by its depths. Instead, it settled about her, like a kindly embrace, or a warm blanket on a cold night.

It was an all-encompassing feeling, soothing, and kindly.

After what felt like an eternity, she opened her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and smiled towards Tybalt. "You are right, Lord Tybalt. It is the most wonderful melody."

"Indeed, it is,' he said, as his eyes studied her face.

They stood there, for a long moment, unmoving, as the sea sang about them.

Then, he took a step forward, bowed, and held out his hand in invitation. "Well then, lady Silverfoot, would you do me the honor of dancing with me, to that strange and soundless melody?"

She smiled, and, for the second time that night, Idril held out her hand. "I would be delighted, Lord of Cats."

All through the night did the Cat and the Princess of the silver feet dance, barefoot upon the ground, and all through the night did they laugh most merrily.

When the sun began to creep up through the horizon, they were still dancing and felt not a bit tired, and only retired when the sun crested the edge of the ocean.

For the rest of the celebrations, they remained neigh-on inseparable….

For seven days, the city of Oldtown celebrated festivities and joy.

There were jousts, melees, archery contests, and tilts, where men won and lost gold and glory and prestige. There were also mummers, plays, puppet shows, minstrels, and feasting. So very much feasting! Even the poor-folk ate well for those seven days and nights, and even beyond, from all the leftovers.

For at least three days, King Jaehaerys and High king Fingolfin bartered and talked and ironed out last details, with the negotiations helped by Lord Tuor Tybalt Lannister.

For seven days, the Silver Foot and the Lord of Cats were ever in the other's company when they could be, when Tybalt was not assisting his king in trade negotiations. This was noticed by Lady Aredhel, and High King Fingolfin, Idril's grandfather.

At the height of these celebrations, the treaty of friendship and trade between the nations of Beleriand and Westeros was finalized.

All watched as Fingolfin and Jaehaerys affixed their names to the grand document and then shook hands, cementing bonds of friendship that would hopefully last for a long age to come…

The White Lady

The evening of the Sixth day of celebrations

Now was her chance.

Despite the closeness, Aredhel had not yet truly had an opportunity to introduce Ulrick to her father.

As the dinner wound down and the dance began, with great attention layered upon watching Lord Tybalt and Idril dance, she found her window, while little Aerea and Rhaella had been sent to bed.

As the rest of the attendees rose to dance, or left for their lodgings in Oldtown, Aredhel set a hand on Ulrick's shoulder, and they walked over to her father.

"Father," she said.

Fingolfin looked up from the remnants of his wine and smiled. "Aredhel."

She gestured to her love, who stood beside her quietly. "This is Ulrick Dayne… the man I love."

Aredhel then said nothing else and watched as her father scrutinized Ulrick.

His eyes looked over her knight of stars until he then spoke. "So, you are the one who holds my daughter's heart, are you?" the High King of Fingolfin inquired. "Ser Ulrick Dayne."

Ulrick shook his head. "I am. But, with all due respect, your majesty, it is quite the opposite; it is your daughter who holds my heart."

"Is that so?"

"It is, Your Majesty. She holds my heart, and I can think of nowhere better for it to be."

The High King of Beleriand looked upon Ulrick for a long moment and then stood from his seat, towering. "It has been a pleasure to meet you, good Ser. However, I wish to speak with my daughter for a moment."

"Of course, your grace," Ulrick said.

As Ulrick walked away, her father then turned to her and sighed.

"It is not my place to dictate to you your life, dear heart," her father said, as he set his hands upon her shoulders. "I will not lecture or dissuade you. If you are satisfied…"

"I am not simply satisfied, father," Aredhel said. "I am happy. He is a good and kind man, and he makes me happy, just as Lord Tuor makes Idril happy," she said, as she gestured to where her niece and the Lannister lord danced and twirled to an upbeat tune being played by some of the minstrels.

Fingolfin was silent for a moment, and then he bent down and kissed Aredhel's forehead. "Then far be it from me to stand in the way of that happiness. It is something of which there is precious little in this world."

He then pulled back. "As for Idril and the 'Lord of Cats', I will speak to her father, but, the same should apply to her as well."

Aredhel nodded and embraced her sire. "Thank you, father."

Her father returned her embrace. "Be well my daughter, and treasure this love. Always."

"I shall."

She nodded, and then walked away, towards her knight of stars.

For Seven days, Oldtown feasted and celebrated, and then, as do all things, the seven days ended, and all the guests departed back to their homes, Lords, and ladies to their castles, and Kings and Queens to their thrones.

The last to leave were the elves, and Lord Tybalt of House Lannister…

The Silver Foot

As the elves and their atani set out to their boats on the docks, many Lords and Ladies of Westeros followed to bid their new friends and acquaintances farewell.

All watched as King Jaehaerys and her grandfather bid each other fond farewells. Idril did the same for Alysanne, who had only grown more beautiful over the years.

Then, she turned to her Lord of Cats.

For seven days, Idril had felt pure and happy bliss. Rarely had she ever laughed so hard before, but her Lord of Cats?

Many had tried to impress her with endless recitations of their wealth and feat of arms… but he had simply made her laugh, as they had danced in the night.

She hoped that they would be able to meet once again so that they could dance barefoot and dance together once again.

As if sensing her thoughts, Tuor gave her a soft smile, and then bowed and kissed Idril's hand. "It was an absolute pleasure to have met you, great lady Silver Foot. A pleasure beyond all else."

"I could say the same, Lord of Cats," Idril replied.

They gave each other another smile. "If we don't meet again, oh lady of the Silver feet, then may we meet again as cats in another life," Tybalt said, as his smile grew wistful and sad.

"Indeed," she replied. "For they are the true nobility of the animal kingdom. They let themselves be pampered, and are always a cut above the rest. Yet, like a lion, they are always willing to defend their young to death. As well as those that they adore… and love."

He was still holding on to her hand. She did not want him to let go.

When she finally had to pull away, his hand was still outstretched.

She kept watching the docks as the boat sailed away until he was naught but a speck….

The Lord of Cats

Tybalt did not know for how long he stood upon the docks of Oldtown, watching her ship sail away until it was naught but a speck upon the horizon. All he knew was that he was one of two left standing upon the empty dock and that the sun had set.

That was indeed true, for the sun had left, sailed back to its faraway home.

Behind him, Roy set a hand upon his shoulder. "It is past time that we left, Cous," he said, kindly but firmly.

"Indeed," said the Lord of Cats. "We must be off. The realm's finances are crying out for their counter-king, after all, are they not?"

He felt a trickle water slide down his cheek.

Hm. How odd. It was a clear day, was it not.

Roy looked at him, and then, he did something that Ty never knew Roy to do before.

Red Royland Reyne drew his cousin into a swift hug, and by all the gods, Ty hugged him back and wept.

"You will see her again cous," whispered Roy.

"I know. In another life, as cats," Ty said softly.

They remained embraced for a moment and then drew apart. "We shall depart when you are ready, cousin. Just do not tarry."

"Thank you. I shall be along shortly."

"Of course."

As his cousin walked away, Ty remained on the docks, looking at the horizon, the melody crooning in his ears. It gave him soft comfort at that moment.

"Tommen?"

The voice was ragged and hoarse.

Tuor spun around.

The figure was slightly hunched and cloaked, and walked towards him with a limp, leaning on a staff. Clutched in his free, scarred hand was a long, cloth-wrapped object.

Of course, Roy was not here. "Hello… ser. May I help you?"

The figure was trembling, as he gripped the object in his free hand tightly. "You look like him… like Tommen."

Tommen? It was a rather generic name in the Westerlands. "Uh… Thank you, I suppose."

The figure then nestled his staff in the crook of his arm, and he drew back his hood. Ty recoiled in fright at the visage before him.

To his surprise, there were tears, trailing down the burns and scars and even onto the exposed bone of his jaw and teeth, and dripping from even his ruined eye.

Then, the scarred man shoved the cloth wrapped object into Ty's hands. "I can tell that you prefer axes, descendant of Tommen, but none-the-less, I fulfill my promise to him, to my friend. Take this, please. But do not worry, I will have something more suitable for you for when we next meet."

Before Ty could say anything else, the figure shuffled away.

After a moment, Ty gathered his wits, and looked down at the long objects in his hands, and slowly unwrapped it.

A lion-headed pommel stared back at him…

Hmmm.

Two months later

King's Landing

The Elf-Friend

Jae was beginning to suspect that, when one was king, days tended to mesh together in an endless blur of legislation, bartering, commanding, council meetings, and road building.

The few bright spots were the private moments that he spent with his queens and his daughters.

Little Dany and Nym, though only four months of age, were already such lively little things. He was not ashamed to say that they were the apples of his eye, as were his queens. Many happy evenings were spent enjoying their company.

As he and his Small Council poured over the latest figures for his roads and dragon pit, and the pipes and sewers and libraries that Alysanne and Delora had proposed, as well as a request for refurbishings for several chapterhouses of Order of the Dragon, there came a commotion from outside, as well as mighty wingbeats.

As Russandol and the attending Royal Guardians stood protectively in front of the council when the wingbeats ceased, the doors to the throne room were opened many moments later.

"Presenting her Royal Highness, Queen Rhaena," announced the herald, as Rhanea strode into the throne room.

"Sister," he said, as he rose and gave her a brotherly embrace. "This is unexpected, but not unwelcome. I had heard of Lord Marq's passing some months ago, but I thought you and your friends and husband were staying at Casterly Rock. As I recall, Lord Tybalt kept an invitation open for you at all times."

"Yes, we were," came her curt reply. "But Lyman, Lord Tybalt's castellan, is a fool, and a greedy one at that."

"It is true," Lord Tuor Tybalt chimed in from where he sat at the council table. "He would sell his own mother for a boat of gold dragons… or even just silver stags."

Rhaena sent the Lord of Cats a withering glare and then turned back to Jae. "Indeed. The man kept making suggestions that I meet his bastard son, Tyler. The resident septa even asked if my marriage with Androw had even been consummated, for Seven's sake! So, we left, and now, my companions, husband, and I have been traveling about around the West and Riverlands. But there is nowhere that we can stay for too long."

"What is wrong?" Jae asked. "Do they offer no warmth, no kindness?"

"They are all warm at first. But that warmth is a temporary thing. Either I am unwelcome, or I am too welcome. They mumble and murmur of the cost of keeping me and mine, but it is all a farce. I know perfectly well that it is Dreamfyre that excites them. Some of them fear her, more want her, and it is the latter that trouble me the most. They all lust for dragons of their own. That is something which I will not allow, and neither will you, I suspect. But where am I to go? Where can I live unmolested by these leeches?"

"You could live here," Jae suggested, as the rest of the Small Council watched the two siblings speak. "You could return to court. There would be a place of high standing and honor waiting here for you and your husband and friends."

Rhaena simply scoffed at that. "So that I can live forever in your shadow, baby brother? No, that will not do at all. I need a seat of my own. I need a place where no lord or lady may threaten me, banish me, or trouble that which I have taken under my protection. I need lands, men, a castle."

"Well, if that is the case, then it should be no trouble for us to find you lands, nor would it be too much trouble finding the funds to build you a strong castle."

"Fie on that, baby brother. All the good lands are taken, and all the castles and keeps are occupied or in ruins. However, there is one that should suit me."

"Name it," said Jae.

"It is a castle that our family knows well, and one that I have a claim to… a better, stronger claim than your own, baby brother. I am the blood of the dragon. As such, I want my father's seat, the place where I was born, and the place where our grandfather looked upon me for the first time and wept for joy. I want Dragonstone."

The council room suddenly went silent.

Jae swallowed, and collected his thoughts. "That… is a heady request. My council and I must deliberate about this. In the meantime, would you and your companions be willing to stay here for the time being? Perhaps you would like to see your daughters?"

Rhaena stared at him with narrowed eyes. "Fine. I await your decision, Your Majesty."

She then walked away.

The moment she left; Jae turned back to his council. "Well, my lords? Your thoughts?"

Daemon Velaryon was the first to speak. "Your Majesty, with all due respect, but you cannot give her the isle of Dragonstone! The very thought is utterly ludicrous!"

"And why not? It is the only available castle. It is strong, defendable, everything that she requires."

"Because bequeathing that island to her would undermine your own authority as king and sovereign. Every Heir to the Lord and King of House Targaryen has always been awarded Dragonstone as their holding prior to their ascension. By allowing her that island and its incomes and peoples and territories, then she would be all but declaring herself your heir, ahead of your children and their descendants. She would be all but declaring that she is the true ruler, the true head of the proverbial dragon, and not yourself," Celeborn explained calmly.

Jae nodded since that had long been common knowledge to him and his family. "A fair point, but then, have you any other suggestions, my lords? Harrenhal, perhaps?"

"That place has been left abandoned since your grandfather torched it to ash and slag," said Albin Massey. "No one has ever been willing to hold it or rule it. Even Maegor, with all his threats and fear, could not make anyone be willing to take it. Giving it to your sister? She would regard that as an insult, I'm afraid."

They talked and discussed it, and other needed items of discussion, all through the rest of the day, but nothing was brought up as an alternative. Eventually, Jae had to table the discussion for the following day.

Dinner that night was a warm and pleasant thing, though Rhaena hardly said a word to her daughters at all.

Indeed, she barely even acknowledged them at all, truth be told, though she did glance towards their direction every so often where they and Lady Aredhel sat.

Delora and Alysanne tried to engage Rhaena in polite conversation, but that continually petered out.

Still, at least the dinner was good.

The fried fish and lobster were rather delicious, especially when paired with the cream sauce.

Nymeria and Daenerys were lively, though they did manage to eat their mashed carrots and turnips without too much difficulty or mess.

After dinner, he deliberated over the Dragonstone issue with his queens in their solar.

By the grace of the seven, his queens thought up a solution that seemed, if not perfect, then at least feasible and acceptable.

He then ran through it with Celeborn, who admitted that it was perhaps the best option available, out of a host of bad options.

The next day, he summoned Rhaena to his solar.

She entered, dressed in a dress of red, black, gold, and purple, the colors of Targaryen and Farman. "Well, baby brother?" she asked. "Have you made a decision?"

Jae nodded as he looked up from where he sat at his desk. "I have. After much deliberation, I have decided that I will grant you Dragonstone as your seat."

"How gracious of you," she said.

"However," Jae continued, as he rose from his seat, "you shall hold that island and the castle by my gift, not by any right that you may or may not hold. Our vaunted grandsire made six kingdoms into one with fire and blood, and I cannot and will not split it into two by carving you off a separate kingdom of your own. You are a queen by courtesy, but I am king, and my writ runs from Lemonwood to the Twins…. And on Dragonstone as well. Are we of one mind on this, sister?"

Rhaena's purple eyes narrowed, and she stepped forward until they were but face to face.

Then, she smirked a rather dark expression. "Are you truly so uncertain of that uncomfortable iron seat of yours that you must have needs have your own blood bend the knee to you, baby brother?"

"Stability of the realm comes first, sister. Before even blood," Jae stated, without even blinking.

Rhaena crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. "Very well. So be it. Give me Dragonstone and one other thing, and then I shall trouble you no further."

"One more thing?" Jae asked. "What else is there that you desire?"

"Rhaella and Aerea. They are my daughters, and I want them restored to me."

"Done," Jae said.

Rhaena nodded, gave him a tight smile, and then turned on her heel. "Thank you. Now, I shall inform my friends, husband, and daughters, and then make way to the island."

Jaehaerys watched her leave, and then let out a slow breath.

She had changed, his sister. Gone was the warmth he remembered from his childhood, the loving sister who had cared for him and Alys, who had put dragon eggs in their cradles.

All that seemed now was a cold, imperious figure.

But, perhaps having a true home of her own would be good for her, and the presence of her daughters.

Besides, he had more important things to focus on at the moment, mainly the realm's roads, and the trade expedition to Beleriand…

One Month later

The Lord of Cats

As their boat sailed closer to the mists of Beleriand, Tuor Tybalt felt a pang of nervous excitement, a feeling no doubt felt ball the other Westerosi aboard the ship. Around him, atani and elves scurried about, working the ropes and masts and rigging and other such boat things.

The king and Queen Alysanne had revealed very little about what to expect, save that it would be 'wonderous.'

The past few months had been wonderous indeed.

Ty's thoughts wandered back to the sword that now hung in his study, under lock and key, and even a guard.

Brightroar, the family's ancestral sword that was lost along with king Tommen of the Rock nearly 300 years ago. It had just been handed to him by a hunched-over scarred man, reforged and brilliant.

The look on Lyman's face though, when he had brought the sword back… the little shit's pure, naked jealousy had been amusing.

But mostly… he thought of bare feet, golden hair, a lovely smile, and dancing beneath endless stars.

Ty's thoughts then wandered about some more as he sighted grandfather Balaq's three swan ships that he had allotted for the escort to Beleriand.

Roy cleared his throat as he stood beside Ty. "Are you alright, cousin?" he asked.

Ty returned his thoughts to the present. "I am fine, Roy. The approaching history of what is to happen… it is just a very great deal to take in, is all."

"Indeed, it is. So… don't fuck this up," Roy said in his blunt manner, with a clap on his shoulder.

Then, the lookout called out that they were about to penetrate the mists.

As they drew closer, the melody in Ty's ears rose in a crescendo.

He blinked, and then they were through the mists. He looked up.

The captain of the vessel, a dour-looking elf named Rinlan, then spoke out. "Behold, for there lies our destination; The port city of Edhellond."

It was a beautiful sight and a beautiful city. Sweeping white-and-grey towers adorned with lights, and majestic sea walls welcomed them as the boats drew closer to the harbor.

A small party awaited them as the boats docked and dropped anchor. The group was headed by two elves, garbed in silver and blue, and both possessed of ethereal grace and mein. Both wore simple circlets upon their brows.

Tuor, Roy and the others strode down the gangplank to the docks, and towards the welcoming party.

Tybalt then bowed before the pair in a respectful manner.

The male nodded his head at the gesture. "I welcome you to the city of Edhellond, Lord Lannister. I am Amroth, ruler, and the king of this city and these lands, and this is my betrothed, the lady Nimrodel. May these next several days help to strengthen the bonds of trade and friendship between our nations for years to come."

"It is a great honor to be here, King Amroth, Lady Nimrodel," Tuor Tybalt said, as he kissed the lady's hand. "I can only hope to do my best to cement those bonds of friendship. When shall the negotiations begin?"

"Very soon," the King assured. "Apartments and quarters have been set up for you and your guards and servants. The High King shall meet with you on the morrow."

"Thank you," Tybalt replied. "I look forward to his arrival. There is much for us to discuss."

The elven king nodded; his face impassive. "Indeed, there will be. May your time in Beleriand be fruitful and wonderous, Lord Lannister. My men shall guide you and yours to your quarters when you are ready to rest."

With that, having apparently decided that Tybalt and his fellows were no longer worth the honor of his presence, Amroth and Nimrodel departed, alongside a few guards. The rest waited silently.

As Tybalt turned to oversee his men and the supplies, as well as take a look at a few of the papers sheathed at his side next to his ax, papers which were full of figures and sums and speculations and ideas for transactions and investments and services…

"It would seem that we are now cats, oh Lord of Cats," came a familiar voice from behind him.

He nearly dropped the papers full of figures and sums and speculations and ideas for transactions and investments and services, and, his breath caught up in his throat, Tybalt slowly looked up and turned.

There she stood, feet bare upon the docks, and her golden hair gently dancing in the gentle breeze.

"…Indeed," said Tuor Tybalt, after finding his voice. "For it is only cats that have all the luck in the world."

Almost as one, they smiled at each other.

Truly wonderous. Truly, truly wonderous.

The melody danced and crooned in his ears.

For one month, Tuor Tybalt Lannister stayed in Beleriand, and when he returned, not only did he return with plenty of charters, trade agreements, and samples of goods, it was also with a betrothal, and to the granddaughter of Fingolfin, no less.

Suffice to say, the whole of the realm was amazed at the news.

The marriage of Beren Hightower, and Luthien, daughter of King Thingol. It is said that all stood in awe of this couple. It was a marriage that would have far-reaching repercussions, good and ill, throughout the history of Westeros, as did the marriages of Idril to Tuor Tybalt Lannister, and Aredhel to Ulrick Dayne. In all the days of celebrations for these three weddings, a thousand deals were struck, a thousand grudges were laid to rest and given new life, a thousand friendships were forged and broken, and a thousand betrothals were made and reversed. Also, obscenely, a thousand bastards were bred and born.

Though love is, in truth, a thing that factors very little into the lives and marriages of the highborn, it is written that the love which emanated from these couples was so palpable, so true and pure… that none could find the words to describe it.

The poets oft say that love is a thing that we maesters will never truly understand. Perhaps that is for the best.

Each of the elven brides became much beloved in their adopted homes, just as they too loved their new homes.

Aredhel fell in love with sands and stones and winds of Dorne, Idril enjoyed the hills and plains of the West, while Luthien became beloved in the city of Oldtown, and in much of the Reach itself…

A few months later, it was announced to the realm that each of the elven brides was with child, and, in the waning days of the 54th year after Aegon's conquest, the first half-elves of Westeros were born.

In the Westerlands, Lord Tuor Tybalt and Lady Idril brought in to the world triplets, two sons and a daughter, and their names were Eärandil, Gilmith, and Galdor.

In Oldtown, the Lady Luthien did birth twins, a boy and a girl, to whom were given the names Dior and Aerin.

Finally, in the ancient halls of Starfall, Aredhel gave birth to a beautiful baby daughter whom she and her husband named Elbereth.

1 year later

Dragonstone

Queen of the West

Outside, the wind howled, as a storm and waves raged and crashed off the coast of Dragonstone.

Inside, Rhaena cut a portion from her roast duck, and took a bite of the crispy, pepper-season flesh. It was good, as were the seared vegetables and boiled potatoes.

She chewed, swallowed, and then looked up at the rest of the people sitting at the candle-lit table of Dragonstone's main dining room.

Rhaella picked at her food sullenly, glaring at her all the while; Elissa ate in silence whilst glancing out the room's window every so often, and Androw drank deeply of his wine. It was his third cup.

Aerea hid behind a tome from the library as she ate.

Only Sam and Alayne Royce seemed genial, as they talked with each other, though even they also seemed affected by the feeling in the air.

Rhaella started chewing with her mouth wide open, and loudly.

"Stop chewing like that, girl," Rhaena said.

In lieu of a verbal reply, Rhaella instead chewed one more time and swallowed. Then, without looking away, she calmly picked up her plate, held it out to the side, and then dropped it to the ground, food and all. The clatter was rather loud and made Aerea and Adnrow flinch.

Before Rhaena could reprimand her further, Rhaella stood up and stalked away.

The room went silent, even as the page and servants went about quickly cleaning up the mess.

Rhaena gripped her knife tightly, and slowly cut another piece of duck.

She looked back up as she chewed, and shared a look with Elissa.

Elissa blinked.

Later

She sat waiting by her vanity, her feet bare upon her room's floor.

Her door opened, and Elissa walked in, closing the door behind her as she did.

Before anything could be said, Rhaena was up and embracing Elissa. She kissed Elissa with a passion bordering on fury, her hands roaming and all but tearing the dress from Elissa's skin as she practically dragged her to the bed. Her one hand groped at Elissa's now bare breasts, and the other drifted down towards her mound and sex.

Rhaena ran her hand across her love's pink nipples and started kneading them and twirling them between her fingers until they grew firm.

Elissa groaned into her mouth.

They remained standing, barely, the kisses growing more intense as Elissa's hands unlaced Rhaena's gown so that it could puddle to the floor, and commenced their own exploration of Rhaena's flesh, crawling down like sensual spiders to her sex, causing Rhaena's own groans to become conjoined with Elissa's.

She felt two fingers enter her, and then a third, and they became rapid in motion, until Elissa started to kiss her way down Rhaena's neck and into the space between her breasts, and then lower, to her sex. Rhaena set her hands upon Elissa's head, guiding her down, stroking and taking fistfuls of her hair, as Elissa withdrew her fingers ever so slowly, and began to taste of her. Her tongue…. Oh, but her tongue!

She kept one hand on Elissa's head and set the other against her vanity as Elissa's ministrations continued. Oh, but how it felt!

How it felt, how it felt!

Rhaena let loose a great moan before Elissa rose and kissed her again.

Rhaena could almost taste herself, in a strange way.

They then lowered themselves to the bed, and Rhaena let everything just fade away….

He ripped at her dress. She tried to fight back, but that only either incensed him or aroused him further.

He gripped her by her throat and all but tore at her naked breast. Despite herself, she cried out at his tight grip.

He turned her around and shoved her face down upon the floor, the cold stone against her back and buttocks, while his hand was still around her throat.

She tried to break free, but he was too freakishly strong.

Then, she felt his cock enter her, roughly, like a sword shoved through her cunt.

One thrust, two, three, over and over and over, seemingly without end.

She clenched her teeth, even as tears fell from her eyes.

Even as he spilled into her, he was not yet sated.

He gripped her shoulders, and flipped her over, all but grinding her face into the cold floor.

He entered her from behind, over and over and over again, each one thrust was just as painful as the last.

Over and over, and over and over, he screamed the same thing. "A child! A child! A child! GIVE ME A FUCKING CHILD!"

The only consolation of this was that his screams always echoed out her own cries.

Over, and over and over, and over…

Rhaena's eyes shot open, along with her scream, entangled as she was in sheets and Elissa's limbs.

A moment later, she found herself embraced by Elissa, who whispered calming things in her ear.

Right. Right.

He was dead, dead, and burned.

She was here. She was here and safe.

After a moment, as she calmed down and the terror faded to waking memories, Rhaena. looked at her love, and kissed her passionately, as another warmth spread through her body.

Later

"What are you thinking of, my sailor, my love?" Rhaena asked as she stroked Elissa's hair and breasts, whilst they basked in the afterglow of their second lovemaking.

Elissa looked at her, and then out her bedroom window. Outside the storm had ceased, and the sea had quieted.

Her love sighed. "The sea."

No, not this again. Rhaena frowned and shook her head. "No, you cannot."

"Please, Rhae. One vessel, swift and large enough to sail the Sunset Sea. Think about it. Whole new lands to explore…"

"No."

"New things to discover."

"No."

"Perhaps, I could even find the fabled land that the elves claim to hail from-"

"I said no!" Rhaena declared, as her hand suddenly tightened on Elissa's breast and head.

When Elissa let out a small yelp, Rhaena caught herself, and let go.

She swallowed, and then set a gentler hand on the Trembling Elissa's shoulder. "I'm sorry, but no. Please, understand. I just… I just could not bear for you to leave me. You understand that, right, my love?"

Elissa looked at her for a long moment, her breast's flesh still red from where Rhaena had gripped it.

She then brushed off Rhaena's hand, rose to her feet, dressed, and walked out of the room.

Rhaena let loose a sigh as she rubbed at her face.

It was fine.

She would understand. She had to.

Why would she ever want to leave?

Why would anyone ever want to leave her?

As the years passed, the royal family was graced with four more births; Aemon and Lorezza Targaryen in 55 AC, and then Baelon and Daeron Targaryen in 57 AC, and the realm cheered.

Of course, there was great interest in regards to the half-elven, all of whom were now four years of age.

Overall, the realm continued to prosper, as the trade agreement with Beleriand brought new goods and work and trade to Westeros and the Six Kingdoms, while the roads were built and lengthened and paved. Elven artisans even made their way to King's Landing to aid in its expansion and construction. Looking back, many would consider it the true start of the Targaryen Golden age.

Alas, all within the realm was not well, especially upon the isle of Dragonstone…

57 AC

4 years later

Dragonstone

That bitch! The thieving, lying, conniving whore!

Such thoughts raged and ran through Rhaena's mind as she flew Dreamfyre towards King's Landing. The additions that Jae's precious elves had made to it made the city look like an eyesore in Rhaena's opinion.

Soon enough, she landed in the courtyard of the Red Keep and strode through the Red Keep towards her brother's solar.

As she slammed open the door to his solar, he rose from his desk. "Sister?"

"That lying whore stole three dragon eggs," Rhaena said.

Despite the circumstances, it was almost amusing to see the shock on her little brother's face. "Who are you talking about? Who stole three eggs?"

"Elissa, my… good-sister. She fled from Dragonstone, and then three grooms discovered that she had fled with three dragon eggs."

Her little brother's brows then furrowed. "Why? Why would she take them? To hatch? Does she hope to style herself a dragonlord?"

Rhaena shook her head. "Elissa has never held any love for dragons. "It was gold that she wants, gold to build a ship. That whore will sell the eggs, the damned things are -"

"-worth a fleet of ships," Jaehaerys finished.

His crossed his arms. "If those eggs should hatch, then there will be another dragonlord in the world and one not of our house."

"That's fucking ridiculous, there's little chance they would hatch," Rhaena counted. "The maesters say that without the heat of Dragonstone, they won't hatch, they may just turn to stone."

"Then we best hope that some spice monger in Pentos will find himself possessed of nothing more than three very costly stones. Else wise… the birth of three young dragons is not a thing that can easily be kept secret. Whoever has them will want to crow. We must set our eyes and ears in Pentos, Tyrosh, Myrs, all the Free Cities. We shall offer rewards for any word of dragons, no matter where that word will come from."

"So, what exactly do you intend to do?" Rhaena asked.

To her surprise, he glared at her and walked forward until they were face to face. For what seemed like the first time, she realized how taller than her he was. "I will do what I must, and you will do what you must. Do not think that you will be able to wash your hands of this, sweet sister. You are the one who asked for Dragonstone, and I gave it to you. I gave it to you, and you brought this woman there. This thief."

He turned back to his desk and started to write out something on a parchment. "Should those dragons turn up, anywhere from here to Yi Ti, then we will demand their return. They were stolen from us, and they are ours by right and blood. If that demand should be denied, then we must needs to go and retrieve them, by force if necessary. We take them back if we can, and we will kill them if we cannot. If it should come to that, then three hatchlings have not a chance in any of the Seven Hells of standing against Vermithor and Dreamfyre."

"You neglected to mention Silverwing," Rhaena interjected. "Our sister-"

"Alys had no part in this," Jaehaerys said. "I will not put her at risk.

This little shit. Rhaena still quashed down her rage and kept a tight smile on her face. "Of course. I understand. She is Rhaenys, and I am but Visenya. I have never thought otherwise."

"Do not fucking jape about this, sister," Jae hissed. "All of this is on your head. Thanks to you, we may yet end up in a war with the Free Cities, and all as a result of your shortsightedness. Whatever may happen from this, it will be on your head. Do you understand?"

They stared at each other for a long moment, brother and sister, king and former queen.

"…Perfectly," Rhaena finally said.

There was nothing more to be said at that moment, and so she left, back to Dreamfyre, and back to Dragonstone.

Since the flight of Lady Elissa from Dragonstone with the three dragon eggs, there had come upon the island a strange and unhappy air, full of tension. None seemed more affected than her Ladyship's husband, Androw. He had become something of an object of derision upon the island, not respected by any upon the island, especially his own wife. One argument even culminated in her screaming at him that "the wrong Farman ran away!"

It was even said by Lady Alayne Royce that the marriage, never passionate to begin with, had become as a mummer's farce, and not even an entertaining one at that.

The Queen on Dragonstone

Rhaena stared up at the ceiling from where she lay upon the bed, thinking about nothing in particular.

Thankfully, there had been little in the way of night terrors, though, like always, she heard those words, over and over again.

"A child. A CHILD!"

Her musings and the echoes of the monster's yells were then interrupted and dissipated by a soft kiss upon her neck, and a hand tracing up and down her stomach.

She turned and looked into the pretty face of Cassella Staunton.

"Is everything alright, my lady?" the pretty fourteen-year-old asked, concern in her pretty blue eyes.

Rhaena stared into those pretty eyes, and then kissed her distractedly and petted her head. "Yes, everything is. Worry not, my sweet"

Cassella smiled sweetly and then proceeded to trail a line of kisses down Rhanea's neck, while Rhaena massaged the girl's pert breasts, eliciting from the girl a moan.

Tomorrow, she would perhaps call upon Alayne or Lianne…

After five years of marriage, Androw Farman was no longer the comely stripling that the Queen in the East had married. His shoulders had become small and rounded, and his face had become puffy and fleshy. Among the court of Dragonstone, he was, at best, forgotten and ignored, as he had been during Rhaena's impromptu travels through the West following her expulsion from Fair Isle.

As per Culiper writes, Androw spent most of his days either drinking, or riding his horse about the Dragonstone courtyard, but never beyond into the island itself. Other times

The only one upon the island who treated him with any kindness was princess Aerea. They were often observed walking about the castle together or sitting about the Chamber of the Painted Table, where many liked to jape that the two were planning another Conquest of Westeros. The little princess had even taken it upon herself to teach her illiterate step-father how to read, though Androw was mocked incessantly and cruelly for it by Rhaena and her favorites when this was discovered.

But the brother of Elissa was not the only one to feel neglected or angry. Wild Rhaella was often clashing with her mother and had become the terror of the castle. She was angry and upset at having had to leave King's landing, as well as the elf maiden Aredhel, to whom she and her sister regarded as their mother in all but name. Upon one occasion, after one of the countless arguments with Queen Rhaena, she had proceeded to dump upon Androw's head the contents of an entire chamber pot. This behavior only increased after Rhaena forbade her and her sister from writing to Ardehel in far-off Dorne.

And it would only grow more sorrowful for all who lived upon that island, most specifically for Rhaena, in the year of 57 AC….

There was sickness on Dragonstone.

It was not the sweating sickness, that much was known. It started with a bloody stool, then cramping of the gut, and finally death.

There was sickness on Dragonstone, and Rhaena was frightened.

Culiper was the first to die. Culiper, with his bent back, jangling chain, and wispy long beard.

He died spitting up blood and choking.

A new master was sent for from the citadel, but before he arrived, the sickness continued its dread trail.

The next to die was pretty Casella. A few days later, gorgeous Septa Maryam died as well, followed by plump Alayne, and big and boisterous Sam Stokeworth. They died on the same day, on the same night, within hours of each other.

Casella had died weeping with a mouth full of blood and telling Rhaena that she loved her between her cries of pain, holding onto Rhaena's hand tightly.

Rhaena had said nothing, and she could say nothing.

After the third death, Rhaena ordered the gates barred and closed. The smallfolk were not yet affected, and she was determined to keep it that way.

Days went by, while all within the castle walls waited and wondered who would be struck down next.

Though nothing more seemed to occur, she sent word to Jaehaerys, and he responded by saying that he had dispatched the Velaryon fleets to make sure that no one, highborn or smallfolk, could escape the island.

Then, beautiful Lianna complained of a pain in her gut.

Swiftly, she was bled, purged, covered with ice. The new Maester, Anselm tried everything, but it was to no avail.

Lianna died convulsing in Rhaena's arms, weeping and crying out for her uncle as she expired.

As she wept over her cousin's body where it lay on her bed, she heard soft footsteps, and Rhaena looked up to behold Androw, with his puffy face and fleshy form, and his tunic with hits ever-present wine stains.

He looked upon her tear-stained face and Lianna's twisted form for a long moment. "You weep most bitterly for her," he then said. "You wept for all of them. But would you weep for your daughters? Would you weep for me?"

As he uttered those words, Rhaena felt welling inside her a rage deep and black and terrible, such as she had rarely felt before.

With that anger, she rose and raked him across his face with her nails, and he cried out in pain and fell to the floor.

"Get out," she cried, his blood dripping from her fingers. "Get out, you pathetic lump of a man. Get out, and leave me alone!"

"And alone you will be," he said, as he held a hand to his bleeding face, "that little one there was the last of them."

The Elf-Friend

It had been over several days now, and Jae felt at a loss for what to do.

None of his lords knew what to make of what was happening on Dragonstone, not even Celeborn, and Jae was at his wit's end.

Then, one evening, Jae was approached by Lord Maglor. "Your Grace, I have plucked some strings, and they bring back worrying news about what is occurring on Dragonstone."

"What is it then?"

His lord of whispers sighed. "It is a poison that is running rampant, not sickness."

"Poison?"

The sorrowful elf nodded. "Indeed. A most insidious thing known as the tears of Lys. It is why the maester was struck down first. A man of learning such as he would have been able to discern what it was."

"…Only women have been struck down," Jae slowly said.

"Indeed, because it is only women that have been poisoned. Most curious."

Jae wasted no time in rushing towards Grand Maester Benifer, and the rookery…

The Queen in the West

"Find him!" Rhaena screamed. "Find me that fucking bastard!" she declared as she angrily strode through Dragonstone, followed by her men-at-arms and captain of the guard.

When given the notion that maybe he had escaped via a dragon, she had shot down the notion immediately. "He is nothing but a cowardly worm. He has not even a tenth of the courage needed for such an escape."

As they searched through the castle, they had found Maester Anselm dead, his head removed from his shoulders.

Eventually, they found Androw, sat at the Painted Table… and he was not alone.

Standing before was a fearful-looking Aerea, dried tears on her cheeks, and his hand firmly on her small shoulder. Androw also clutched a sword tightly in his other hand, the edge covered in dried blood.

"Mama!" she cried out as Rhaena and her guards slowly filtered into the room.

Androw looked up, disdain in his small eyes. "Wife. So glad you have come. Aerea and I have been waiting her for you for a good while now."

Rhaena clenched her fists tightly. "So, the worm things to fight a dragon, does he? Even as he hides behind a useless little whelp? Tell me truthfully, worm; was it you?"

Androw's eyes narrowed on his fleshy face. "I hold your own daughter hostage, and you still think so little of her? You offer her no words of comfort, only disdain? Fuck this. Aye. It was me. I brought them cups of wine, and deeply did they all drink of that wine. They thanked me, and they drank that sweet, sweet wine. And why would they not thank me? Who have I ever been to them but a cupbearer, a servant? That was how they all saw me, how you saw me. Androw the sweet. Androw the small. Androw the jape. What could I do, but fall off the dragon? What could I do, but be laughed at, mocked, and scorned?"

He started to tremble. "Well, I could have done a great deal of things. I could have been a great lord. I could have made great laws and been wise and given you good counsel. I could have killed your enemies, as easily as I killed your friends. I could have given you children!"

Rhaena's hands tightened like as claws, but did not answer him. "Take this pathetic worm, and then geld him, but staunch the wound. I want his cock and balls fried up and fed to him. Do not let the bastard die until he has eaten every last bite."

"But, your grace, what about your daughter?"

"Who gives a shit about the whelp? He can slit her throat for all I care, so long as he dies! Just do what I fucking say and kill this monster!" she screamed.

As little Aerea began to cry and the guards slowly moved around the painted table, Androw shook his head. "No. One monster can fly, and thus so can I."

In an oddly smooth motion, he pushed little Aerea away, slashed ineffectively at the man nearest him, and then leaped straight out the window behind him.

Even as he fell, he did not once scream.

Rhaena looked at that empty window for a long moment, and then down at Aerea, who still lay weeping on the floor.

Her daughter looked up, and then scrambled away.

Rhaena made no move to follow her.

All she could hear was his voice, over and over.

"A child! A child! A CHILD!"

After Androw Farman's spree-killing of Rhaena's favorites and friends, the isle and residents of Dragonstone seemed to grow wearier and more morose.

Little Aerea, already a demure and quiet child, grew more and more withdrawn and sorrowful, often going whole days without saying a single word, and when she did speak, it would only be in elvish, a language that she and her sister were raised to speak during their time in Beleriand, and thus she only really spoke to Rhaella. This only infuriated Rhaena further, for she bore great hatred for all things elvish, though Aerea never spoke to her. Wild and angry Rhaella, wroth at the state of her sister, blamed Queen Rhaena for it, giving the girl impunity to direct all her vitriol upon her distant and angry mother. Loud and long and wrathful were the arguments that echoed between the two throughout Dragonstone.

The only bright spot was when she and her more sedate sister each claimed for themselves a newborn dragon hatchling from the hatcheries of Dragonstone. For Rhaella, a majestic-looking and powerful creature of purple and gold that she named Sunchaser, while for quiet Aerea, a demure and lithe beast of blue and purple and turquoise to whom she gave the elvish name Telumendil, after the elvish name for one of the constellations of the night sky.

But, aside from that happy moment, there was little else that could give joy on the island. Rhaella grew angrier and wilder, Aerea more withdrawn and quieter, and Rhaena became more distant and angrier, with the children finding solace only in the company of their dragons and each other.

As for Androw, whose corpse Rhaena had fed to the island's dragons, all on the island learned quickly to never even mention his name, lest Rhaena fly into a great wroth.

And, like the volcano upon which Dragonstone had been built, the anger only kept growing and growing….

The White Lady

One month after the events of Dragonstone

Starfall

The warm breeze snuck in through the open bedroom window and caressed her face like a kindly touch of a lover.

Slowly, Aredhel opened her eyes and peered through the tangled curtain of her hair, the sheets of the bed tangled against her bare skin.

Her eyes took in the room that she and her husband shared, and sighed in contentment.

Warm breath tickled the back of her neck. "Good morning," said her knight and Lord of Stars.

Aredhel chuckled as she shifted and turned over to face her love, grey eyes meeting purple.

"It is a good morning, isn't it?" she replied.

Little more was then said, and Ulrick and she kissed deeply, as her husband's hand caressed her womb, greatly swelled with child.

"How I wish we could stay like this, forevermore," he said between kisses.

"We could, but then everyone would wonder where we had gone," Aredhel said, as she playfully nipped at his lip a bit. "Besides, that is how we ended up Elbereth, and this one as well."

As if to punctuate that, the one within gave a small kick. Ulrick chuckled, gave her another kiss, and then they slowly rose from the bed.

After they had bathed and dressed, a scampering of feet and the door being flung open announced the third member of their family, and soon Aredhel found her arms full as they wrapped around her and Ulrick's daughter, laughter echoing about the room as she briefly lifted up their daughter.

She then set her down, and Aredhel had a good look at their little one.

At only four years of age, Elbereth Anairë Nymeria Dayne was already a very tall child for her age, with a great shock of silver-black hair, olive skin, and eyes that were a peculiar mixture of purple and grey that always seemed to gleam with joy and happiness, along with her happy smile.

Aredhel brushed back her daughter's unruly tresses, revealing one of her pointed ears, and kissed her daughter's forehead. "Good morning, little star queen. Are you ready for breakfast?"

Elbereth nodded rapidly, and then pulled both her parents by their hands. "Yes, yes! We're having honeycomb this morning, mama!"

"Are we now?" Ulrick said. "Then we best hurry up, should we not?"

Laughing, the Lord and lady of Starfall allowed themselves to be led by their four-year-old daughter by their hands to the dining room, which opened up to a terrace that overlooked Starfall's harbor.

The morning's breakfast consisted of oat cereals, fruits fresh and candied, baked fish, and several jugs of milk, alongside the honeycomb whose presence Elbereth had proudly declared.

It was all delicious. Indeed, the little one in her womb seemed to agree.

While Elbereth babbled about everything she would be learning today with the master and the master-at-arms, the ambiance of the room was broken by the approaching footsteps of Starfall's maester, a rather portly and genial man named Ralk.

"My lady," the maester said as he shuffled towards her. "A message has arrived for you from Queen Alyssane."

With a raised brow, she took the message, and then unfurled and read it, her grey eyes scanning the page.

"What is it?" Ulrick asked.

"Alysanne has summoned me to meet her on Dragonstone. She requires my help. It seems things on that island have grown worse. This is an urgent matter. She says that Aerea and Rhaella need her and me. I need to go."

Ulrick rose from his seat. "I'll have an escort of ships ready for you within a few hours then." He then called out for the servants to ready Aredhel's things.

"Mama?" Elbereth asked, as concern danced on her little face. "What's going on? Why do you have to leave?"

Aredhel gave a small smile to her daughter as she gingerly knelt by her side. "You remember my friend, queen Alyssane? Well, right now, she needs my help. So, I have to go, because that is what good friends do; they help one another. But worry not… I will be back before you know it. I promise."

She kissed her daughter's forehead, and then rose, and graced her husband with a kiss.

A few hours later, Aredhel was sailing down the Torentine and into the Summer Sea, and then up towards Dragonstone

Queen of the Moon and the West

The moment she had sent off the letter to Dorne, Alyssane had then promptly saddled Silverwing, and flown to Dragonstone.

She had arrived hoping to comfort her sister but had been continuously rebuffed. Alyssane had also learned that even the mere mention of Androw or Elissa was enough to send Rhaena into a terrible rage.

When she had arrived, Rhaean had actually screamed at her, in front of witnesses to leave.

But Alys stood firm against her rage.

Eventually, Rhaena simply retreated to her rooms and kept the door barred, only venturing out for meals, and that became less and less frequent.

With little from her sister, Alyssane went about restoring a modicum of order to the castle. She sent word to the citadel for a new master, the garrison restructured and revitalized, for Rhaena had sent many guards and the old captain away in a black rage. Alys even sent for her good friend, Septa Edyth, to replace the dead Septa Maryam.

More than that, the Queen of the Moon turned to her two nieces and their new hatchlings, though Rhaella would hardly speak, and only in fragments of elvish, which Alyssane regrettably did not know all that well.

As for Rhaella, when she was not translating her sister's words… there was only rage.

When Alys had tried to comfort her and console her about the deaths, Rhaella had been dismissive. "Why should we care if they're all dead? The bitch will just find new ones; that's what she always does! She just gets new toys, new dolls! Why is this any different?"

Though, Rhaella and Aerea seemed… hopeful when they were told that Aredhel would be coming to the island as well.

Aside from that, neither her sister nor her nieces spoke much to Alys, and so the days passed.

Then came word from the lookouts and watchers.

At the sight of Dayne and Swann ships sighted off the coast of Dragonstone, Alyssane went down to the docks to await her friend's arrival, alongside Rhaella and Aerea.

Soon enough, the lead ship docked, and Aredhel disembarked upon the docks of Dragonstone, accompanied by a contingent of guards dressed in the livery of Dayne. Aredhel herself was dressed in a gown of purple, silver, and white, and her black hair was unbound.

Though her friend's belly was greatly swelled with child, Alyssane could not help but still be transfixed by Aredhel's beauty.

"Hello, dear Alyssane," the elven lady said as they held the other's hands.

"Hello, Aredhel. It is good that you came."

A moment later, Aerea and Rhaella ran up and hugged Aredhel tightly, the two princesses bursting into tears, while their dragons flitted about fretfully. "Please! You must take us, take me back with you! We'll even go with you to Dorne! Anywhere but here! Please don't leave us here! You don't know what it's like, with her! Please!" Rhaella cried out.

Aerea simply spoke in soft elvish, tears streaming down her face.

Aredhel softly returned the girls embraces and stroked their heads, though her grey eyes rose to meet Alyssane's blue ones, an unspoken message passing between them. "Not to worry, dear hearts. All will be well. I promise you."

She then stood up.

"We shall talk with my sister," said Alyssane.

Later

"What is she doing here, sister?" Rhaena hissed.

When she had ventured for her room for a meal, Alyssane and Aredhel had been waiting for her in the dining room.

"Lady Aredhel is here at my request, sister. She is here to help," Alyssane answered. "Your daughters know and love her, just as she knows and loves them."

"Oh, is that so? Does she think herself their mother then? Did you whelp them into this world, knife-ear?" Rhaena hissed.

Before Alyssane could reprimand her for the insult, Aredhel spoke. "They are not happy here," Aredhel stated. "What possible reason would you have to deny them their happiness? Surely, you must realize this?"

"I don't give a shit what they think! They are my daughters, mine! I carried the fucking things in my belly for nine months. I pushed the little creatures out as they screamed and cried! But you do not care do you," Rhaena screamed at her, her purple eyes wide and angry. "You have everything, sister. You and Jae and that dornish slut of yours have the throne, the throne that should have been mine! You should content yourself with that, but my daughters are mine! Not yours! Will you not let me have at least this?"

Alyssane sighed. She did not want it to have to come to this. "Then it is no longer a request, sister. My authority supersedes yours. Aerea and Rhaella will be returning to the mainland with us on the morrow."

To her dying day, Alyssane still would never truly believe what had happened next.

Rhaena's eyes went wide and had then lunged towards her, hands outstretched like claws.

But, just as like at Jonquil's Pool, Aredhel protected her. Despite her state of pregnancy, it seemed as if she hardly moved, and seamlessly held Rhaena back.

"You don't know your daughters, for you were not there for them when they were growing up. You never made the chance to know them, even after Maegor's death, and Jaehaerys' ascension," Aredhel said calmly, even as she held back Rhaena from scratching out her eyes. "You only see them as objects to possess, not as the wonderful children that they are. Aerea told me what you said of her when your husband held her as his hostage. At that moment, you lost all claim as their mother, Rhaena Targaryen."

With that, she calmly and gently sent Rhaena staggering back.

Never before had Alyssane seen her sister look so enraged, so full of hatred.

As she regained her footing, her hands clenched like claws, she then screamed. "Fine then! Take the fucking little ungrateful creatures! Take them, and if you had any sense, drown them in the Narrow Sea! Take them, and then go fuck yourselves! You, and all the others who have kept me from what is mine! Take them, and then leave!"

Alyssane sighed sadly. "I am sorry for this, dear sister. Truly I am."

"JUST LEAVE! LEAVE, AND NEVER DARKEN MY SIGHT AGAIN!"

With that, Rhaena stormed away.

Alyssane let loose another sigh and turned to Aredhel, who looked upon her with kindly pity. "We shall leave first thing on the morrow," Alyssane said.

"Aye. The sooner they are away from this place and her, the happier all will be, I believe," Aredhel said.

After that, there was little more to be said.

The Queen of the East

As she watched the boat sail away from Dragonstone, Rhaena's hand clenched at her side.

Damn them. Damn them!

First Elissa, and now those wretched little spawnlings!

Damn them all!

Indeed.

The voice, and the sound of soft footsteps, made the first grandchild of Aegon turn.

It was a strange figure, covered in a strange radiance, and it seemed neither male or female.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "How did you get here? Answer me, or I shall scream for the guards."

You can do that if they wish, but they will see nothing.

As for who I am? I am someone who sympathizes with you, Queen Rhaena. Truly, you deserve so much more.

"You don't know anything about me?" she said.

The figure tilted their head. Don't I? I know that it should have been you who ruled these lands, not your weak siblings. Just as I know that they are all afraid you, and rightly so.

They have all turned their back upon you. They scoff at all that you have suffered, and all that you have been forced to endure. They laugh at you behind your back and force you to hide what they flaunt openly. They laugh at you, and they leave you behind in the forgotten dust. They make you suffer, and take glee from your suffering. You suffer because they could not bear to see you greater than they.

But that can change. You can change it.

Somehow, Rhaena knew that it spoke the truth. "How can it change? How can any of it ever change? It has been this way for millennia."

It can change through power. A power that is, and has always been, yours by right.

It drew closer to her, and yet… she felt no fear.

When your grandfather held you, it is said that he wept. He did. He wept tears of awe and joy, for he knew that he held in his arms one who would be a true and grand queen. A true heir of the Dragon. He alone knew what you could become.

The others knew too, and so they took every opportunity to stifle you, to suffocate your potential, to stifle you, to keep you small. Your father, your husband… your brother.

They fear true dragons, for that is what you are, and so for that, they have always tried to beat you down, to turn all who you loved against you.

You deserve better. You always have.

The shining figure then bowed before her and held out a hand.

Upon the palm rested a golden ring.

"A ring?" Rhaena said with disdain. "And what is the point of it, of this little trinket that you offer to me?"

This, oh mighty Queen in the East, is no trinket, I assure you. This is something that will help you achieve true and endless power. A power that should have been yours, that has always been yours, despite the protestations of any man.

Take it, and be lesser to none on this continent. Take it, and take that which should have been yours from birth.

For a long moment, Rhaena felt weighed down by hesitation.

Then thoughts unbidden came to her.

Her father, marrying her to her brother.

Aegon's foolishness, and how he never truly heeded her.

Maegor's brutish face as he held her down and defiled her, over and over.

Alyssane and the dornish slut, holding hands so tenderly in public.

Her daughters.

Everyone, standing before her, laughing and sneering.

She then looked over her shoulder towards the narrow sea.

With one last glance towards the departing ships, Rhaena snarled and all but snatched up the ring.

As she held it in her hand, she felt… grand.

Complete.

The figure then knelt before her in grand supplication. Truly, you are a queen. And a queen you shall be.

"When can we bring this change down upon their heads?" She asked as she slipped the ring upon her finger and warmth infused her being. "When can we drown them all in Fire and Blood, and bring forth something better?"

Soon. We promise…

In the closing weeks of the 57th year after Aegon's conquest, Rhaena Targaryen, sister and wife to an uncrowned king, unwilling wife to a second king, and first grandchild of the Aegon the Conqueror vanished from the Isle of Dragonstone without a trace, alongside her dragon, Dreamfyre….

Like Beren Hightower in the Reach, my father Tuor Tybalt Lannister (named becasue his parents, my grandparents, liked both names too much to decide on one) is one of the most beloved figures in the post-conquest era of Westerland history.

One of the grandsons of the Last King of the Westerlands, my father grew up as most heirs of powerful lords did, with the best of everything at his fingertips. Though, it was said that Tybalt oft felt at home about the sea, and even among the docks of Lannisport.

My father was always and ever accompanied by his cousin, Royland Reyne. My siblings and I were often regaled with the tale of how they met; It was in Casterly Rock's training yard, where Roy was training as a squire.

One day, while bother were still very young, my father strode right up to Royland, and declared to his face that Royland would be his protector from then on.

In response, Uncle Roy punched father in the face, and the two soon began scrapping on the ground with fists and punches, and such before they were pulled apart by the master-at-arms.

From that day on, though, Roy and Ty were neigh-on inseparable, with Roy ever my father's guarding shadow.

In their youth, Ty and Roy had many adventures together. My siblings and I grew up with tales of their travels across Westeros and even Essos, from Braavos to even the city of Volantis, and the island of Naath.

Many tales are told of my father's lackadaisical attitude towards life, his accomplishments as Master of Coin under King Jaehaerys I, or his adventures (and misadventures) alongside Uncle Royland. And yes, there are many songs sung about him and my mother, but very few can truly encapsulate the man that he was, great and small parts included.

He was a jokester, and ever eager to laugh. But he was also firm when needed, else he would not have been able to keep his younger half-siblings in check for so long.

None of the tales tell of his teaching us all about finances, or making us laugh with funny and outrageous tales and songs, or how he and mother ever went about barefoot every chance they got.

He loved to laugh, but he was never weak.

But more than that, my father loved, and he loved deeply and fiercely. He loved my mother, and he loved me and my siblings until his final breath…

And I miss him, every day.

Excerpt from Hear Us Roar: A History of House Lannister and the West

Penned by Eärendil Lannister

What I remember the most about my father was his kindness, humble attitude, and his quiet, almost sorrowful demeanor, though he did on occasion laugh.

Many only remember him for his quest to Valyria, which of course won him the hand of my mother, but he was more than just songs and ballads and folk tales.

He was my father. He taught me and my sister how to be kind, how to stand up for what was needed, how to survive, and how to never take our lot in life for granted or to look down upon anyone else, high or small. He was my father, and he loved my mother and his children for all his days.

I sometimes wonder if he would be proud of me, of what I have accomplished, and what I have done, just as I wonder the same about my mother.

I wonder if they would be proud of me, and all I have done and been forced to do.

Perhaps, if we ever meet again, whether in this life or the next, I will ask them, even if I fear what that answer will be...

From Green Hands and High Towers: The Saga of House Hightower and the Kings of the Reach

Penned by Dior, son of Beren and Luthien

There are many houses great and small throughout the history and span of the Six Kingdoms, from the proud Arryns of the Vale to the defiant Martells of Dorne.

But there is a house that has always occupied a rather odd and immovable station in Westeros' history. That house is House Swann.

Unlike the rest of the Six Kingdom's houses, who claim descent from either the First Men, Andals, Rhoynar, or Valyrians (or unknown, in regards to the Hightowers), the Swanns originate from the people of the Summer Isles.

According to the histories of the House, their origins begin in the ancient days when the Stormlands rested under the tempestuous hands of the Durrandon Storm Kings, in the bygone eras of the Dawn Age and the Age of Heroes.

The ancient Summer islanders believed that their islands were the only lands in all the world and that the rest was nothing but endless ocean. As such, any boats that they crafted were only able to travel between islands.

Then, it is said that any of the island's priests and priestesses had a vision of two swans, one black and one white, flying towards the north and settling in a nest of stone under a storm.

At the behest of these priests and soothsayers, a great many of the clans and princes and princesses and their followers pooled together their resources in the construction of a great and massive migratory fleet. Then, they bid their people goodbye and set sail for new horizons.

There are many tales passed down through House Swann of the fleet's trials and tribulations, ranging from leviathans to pirates, with the most memorable of the latter being a great battle with a pirate fleet in the Stepstones, where the goldenheart bows were plied to great effect, and a great deal of the pirate ships were captured, though several of the migratory fleet's ships were in turn sunk.

Eventually, the ships docked off the coast of the Stormlands, and made landfall on Cape Wrath.

It is not entirely known which Storm King eventually met with the representatives of the fleet. The Swanns themselves claim that it was the Godsgrief himself that bid them welcome, but that seems unlikely at best. Nevertheless, the unknown Durrandon soon embraced these strange new travelers with open arms, especially when he saw firsthand the power of their goldenheart bow and powerful ships and spices and animals and gems and seeds brought with them from the islands… including seeds for more goldenheart trees, the cultivation of which only House Swann know and jealously guard.

The travelers were given unclaimed lands in Cape Wrath, and so House Swann of Stonehelm was born. They then sent several ships back to the Summer Islands, brining tales the new lands they had discovered, and the new home they had found. Thus, did the Summer Isle's Age of Exploration begin, and thus did the fortunes of the new House Swann begin to blossom and grow.

The house's coat of arms is per pale argent and sable, two swans combatant countercharged, beaked and membered, all within an orle of red and green and yellow feathers volant sable.

The House occupies an odd place in the political scene of Westeros. Though officially sworn to the rulers of the Stormlands, House Swann's loyalties lie with itself and the Summer Isles, and thus remains in an odd area of neutrality in the political landscape. The House's access to the Summer islands' resources and trading fleets and war fleets and networks has not only made the house one of the wealthiest in Westeros but also a house most are ever so keen to marry into, if only for access to the aforementioned fleets and networks, as well as even partial access to the goldenheart trees. Every generation, the House will hold great and semi-ritualized contests where the contestants, sons and daughters of other houses great and small, participate for the honor of marrying the sons and daughters of the House of Swann.

It is customary for several members of the family to make pilgrimages down to the summer islands and return with brides and husbands and lovers and renewed deals.

Like their ancestors, the members of House Swann are all strong and tall, with skin colors including nut brown, teak, ebony, and polished jet, though many have paler complexions as well, and a wide variety of eye and hair colors are found in the house and its cadet branches. Like their fellows on the Summer Isles, they wear capes of brightly-colored feathers alongside their other finery.

Unlike the rest of the Stormlands, the Swanns as a whole do not worship the Seven, for they instead follow the many gods and goddesses of the Summer Isles, including the gods and goddesses of love, fertility, and beauty. Suffice to say, there are a good deal of brothels in the towns and holdings that House Swann lord over. There are many who snicker in their cups that the Swanns produce more 'storms' and 'sands' then all of Dorne and the Stormlands. It is also one of the only Marcher Lord Houses to have a rather amicable relationship with the Kingdom of Dorne.

The house is possessed of many Cadet branches spread out over Westeros. One of its many cadet branches is House Swann of Scorpion Harbor in Dorne. Another is House Swann of Darkdell in the Reach, who had married into the ancient house Vyrwel, which had died out in the male line centuries ago.

Their family words are 'Strong, Bright, and Graceful.'

From Houses and Histories of Westeros and the World

by Maester Yandel

The atani…

They frighten me.

I had occasion to observe these men (and women) who serve under the rulers of the northern continent, the nation of Beleriand, whilst they accompanied their ageless masters to Oldtown and Dorn and The Westerlands. I even was able to speak with a few.

They are a tall folk, shorter than their lords, but taller than most men of Westeros, and their eyes range from pale to a deep grey. I was almost expecting them to sprout pointed ears as well.

They answered any of my inquiries, at least those they deigned to answer, with short, curt sentences. On the whole, however, they seemed approachable, friendly even.

But that is the part that frightens me.

They bear no hatred, nor vitriol towards any living thing. In a strange way, they are innocent, bound up by discipline and order and loyalty to their lords and masters. But, if their masters were to order them to raze all that stood before them to the ground, I am sure that the atani would obey this order without question. It would be fulfilled without vitriol or anger. It would simply be done.

Woe befall Westeros if ever war with Beleriand becomes a reality, for the atani will be its vanguard, and they will be relentless...

From the writings of Maester Florin

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A/N: Hello everyone. Sorry for the lateness of the chapter. I hope that you enjoy it, though. Many wheels are slowly turning, as you no doubt can see.

I have made some changes to the story. Aerea and Rhaella were also spirited away to Beleriand, where Aredhel basically became as a surrogate mother to them.

As for Rhaena… while you can all no doubt see what she will become, I am not trying to make her two-dimensional. I wanted to give clear, concrete reasons.

Rhaena is a character who has suffered much. She had to give away her daughters to keep them safe, she was basically raped by her own mad uncle for years, she was forced to really hide her sexual orientation from the rest of Westeros, she was betrayed by the woman she loved, she watched as her other lovers were all murdered by her husband/ beard, and, also, she was hated by her daughters in favor of an elf. In addition, she was passed over and spurned from a throne that should have been hers, all the while suffering from PTSD from what she endured under Maegor, and with what happened with Androw.

As for why she hates the elves, it is for a myriad of reasons; she thinks that they are inhuman, and that they helped Jaehaerys steal her daughters and her rightful throne from her. But, more than that, she blames them for most of what she suffered under Maegor, because Fingolfin did not kill him.

All that trauma, and with no one really willing, or caring, to understand or help her, even her own siblings… Rhaena simply broke.

And broken people, when they get angry… worlds can burn.

Also, I hope you find the romance bits palatable.

Read, review, and enjoy.

Also, a little bit more at the end.

A/N: I have changed/ added to Tybalt's name. His name is Tuor Tybalt Lannister.

The Sweet Jape

On the isle of Dragonstone, there are many subterranean caverns and entrances and such.

Many were unknown, and thus were the sort that could only really be discovered by accident.

Such as the one that Androw had discovered.

In hindsight, he figured that it had only been a matter of time before he had found it, wandering through the castle as much as he did. It was not like anyone was bothered enough to look for him or seek him out at any real hour of the day, save for little Aerea, and even she was not always available.

The cavern was wide, vast, and the entrance he had actually found in the painted room.

When he found it, it was there that he had heard them.

Whispers.

Caresses in his ears, whispering of dark things and dark thoughts.

They offered to help him, to make them suffer, to make her suffer to give him the vengeance that he deserved.

At first, he had fled. But every day after, he could not shake the memory of those whispers from his mind… and how right they were.

Every day, they laughed at him, the bitch and her hangers-on, and he knew that the cavern was waiting.

Eventually, he returned to it, to the shadows and the whispers.

He stood there, in that cavern, and all was quiet.

"You say you can help me," he then spoke aloud. "Every night, I hear you, whispering to me. You tell me what she truly is, what she has done, what they all think of me."

The shadows thickened slightly all around him, save for the light of his lantern.

"So then, here I am," he said. "I am sick of them, how they treat me, and mock me. You say you can help me, that with your help, I can achieve vengeance. Then, whatever you are, whatever price must be paid… I will pay it gladly. All I ask is that she suffers."

There must be a price to pay. Are you truly willing to pay it, Androw Farman?

"Gladly," he spat.

The shadows deepened to an almost solid manner. He felt more than saw something grab his hand, and felt and watched as an invisible blade sliced its way through his palm.

In Blood, the bargain is sealed.

The blood dripped on the floor… where it hissed as if the stone were hot.

But Androw felt no pain from the cut.

Through tears shall she be brought low, and through tears shall you reap your vengeance.

The blood and shadows coiled, and before him on the ground rested a corked vial.

Androw bent over and picked it up.

Reap your vengeance, Androw Farman. But remember the price that must be paid…

The voices whispered once more, and the shadows coiled and caressed about him, like the embrace he was so often denied. It felt sweet.

Androw nodded. "When the time comes… I will pay it gladly."