Dance with her ghosts

"With the death of King Viserys I, War stirred on the horizon, not a physical war, nor a war of crows, but a war of whispers, most of them from Oldtown, Casterly Rock, and Storm's End, all of them, without a doubt, hoping that Aegon Targaryen would ascend to the Iron Throne."

This hope weakened with the coronation of Queen Rhaenyra, but it was never extinguished.

It was at the turn of 128 A.D. to 129 A.D. that Prince Aegon extinguished all hopes of rebellion.

- Daemon Targaryen VIII in "Rhaenyra Targaryen: The First Queen of Westeros" published in 678 AC

Rhaenyra knew there was a certain incompetence among the men who sat on the Small Council, but she had never imagined it would be this much.

Some men, like Lord Beesbury, had been on the Small Council for so long that their childhood memories had their young faces and dark hair as a frame, now, all old, wrinkled, and worn out, couldn't even take a shit without Rhaenyra's approval.

As Rhaenyra liked to think, the King shits and the Hand cleans.

And Rhaenyra constantly felt like she was cleaning up a pile of shit that she herself had made.

When she was small, when she spent hours with her father, simply listening to the stories of Old Valyria and feeling the burning desire to be in the skies on the back of a dragon, wishing she could touch the highest clouds of the sky and reach the top of the world, observing the model her father built daily, Rhaenyra thought her father was the spitting image of the Conqueror.

Everything a King should be, tall, strong, gentle, warm, and approachable.

He was a kind man who ascended to the Iron Throne and had kept it as a constant burden that was not so heavy, the father had never yielded to the pressure of the Throne, always the same cheerful man, content with wines and tournaments in a way that no one else could understand.

Rhaenyra only understood how bad her father was as a King when she became Lady Hand and all the King's responsibilities began to fall on her.

The father was soft and weak, a feeble man who did not understand the value of the Iron Throne.

The Throne was not a soft chair lined with wooden swords that allowed generations of Targaryens to sit on it; the Iron Throne was the Conqueror's way of reminding the Targaryens of the burden they carried.

A thousand swords of a thousand defeated enemies to unify the Realms, made to remind that whoever sat on it had a duty, to stop the unimaginable horrors that Aegon had foreseen, horrors that would be fought with Fire and Blood.

It was their duty, as rulers, to keep the Kingdom unified so that they could combat the Conqueror's vision.

The father seemed to have forgotten about it and softened over time, the man in Rhaenyra's memories was simply a sad and bitter man who had no special gift beyond his Targaryen appearance.

His father had known the happiness of flying, of feeling the connection with the dragons, and of feeling the burning fire of his blood only once; the father had flown once and had never tried again.

He had adapted to the laws of men and had forgotten that before being men, they were gods.

And this was evident in the snakes that roamed the Red Keep.

The men of the Small Council decided things long before informing the father that these matters were under discussion and pushed onto him what they thought was the best answer; the Small Council governed in the King's name and only told him what the King wanted to hear.

Rhaenyra had looked them in the face and said no, she had changed the way the realm was governed, the decisions of the Kingdom were hers, not theirs, none of them liked it much, but Rhaenyra was the heir to the Iron Throne and the King's Hand, more powerful than her, only her father, and her father had left all the duties of governance to her.

That didn't mean she wasn't tired.

If she could, she would have replaced all the Lords of the Small Council with women; Rhaenys, for example, would make things get resolved in minutes instead of the ages that the fools in power made them take.

But that was something to think about another time; she couldn't, and shouldn't, go around offending Lords just because she wanted things to work out.

The support of the men was tenuous, and Rhaenyra realized this now; Boremund had knelt and sworn loyalty, but his son, Borros, would rather see a goat on the Iron Throne than a woman.

Grover Tully, the Lord of Riverrun, firmly believed in Aegon's nonexistent claim, Lord Ormund Hightower would kill Rhaenyra with his own hands if it meant Aegon would have a crown, the Lannisters mobilized their armies in the West to support Aegon, and, she thought grimly, Ser Tyland looks me in the face and swears loyalty.

All they were waiting for to act was the death of the King.

This didn't mean she would let it happen, that's why Aegon was here, in the Hand's Tower, breaking the fast with Rhaenyra, just the two of them, a bond between siblings she always said, when asked why Aegon was in the Hand's Tower.

"Anything else, Aegon?" Rhaenyra asks, and Aegon smiles. It's not a Small Council meeting; Aegon never wanted to take the place of the Master of Whisperers, it was too much like being eaten alive, he always said.

That's why Rhaenyra always meets with Aegon before meeting with the men of the Small Council. Aegon had been a shy and somewhat awkward boy, but now, older and in a serious position, he had a way of getting information that no one else could.

Aegon told her things that the men of the Small Council couldn't even imagine she knew; to be honest, Rhaenyra wasn't sure if she really wanted to know that Bess was Lord Jason Lannister's favorite prostitute, but still, it was useful information to have.

— We have a… — Aegon hesitates, seeming to choose his words. — I honestly don't know what it is, they seem like preachers, they are causing disturbances with the smallfolk, speeches about faith, duty, and holiness, some of the Flea Bottom residents have been throwing rotten food at them, it's more of a nuisance than a rebellion but…

Yes, Rhaenyra understands your concern, a part of her, a part, the part that was arrogant, foolish, and spoiled, that part that died a long time ago, never considered common people as a threat.

But then Lady Ali was looking at her, with eyes so hard and challenging, and what if they enter the Red Keep? What are you going to do? Shouting Dracarys and praying to the gods to save you? The common people are not insignificant, Rhaenyra, they are half a million, we have Seven Kingsguard and a Daemon, and not even he could stop them.

They wouldn't have the courage, Rhaenyra remembers responding, she also remembers the laugh Alicent let out.

Hungry and cold people would do anything, Rhaenyra, the common folk would eat the flesh off a dragon's bones if it meant they were warm and their hunger was satisfied. She also remembered the look in Alicent's eyes when she said that, her eyes were cold, distant, and fearful, as if she had seen something similar before.

Since then, Rhaenyra has done what she could to keep Queen Alysanne's projects running, the people adored her for it, and all Rhaenyra had done was clean the streets, feed them, and implement a new sewage system.

— Investigate. — she asks, and Aegon nods, the common people against the dragons is something Rhaenyra never wants to see if she can avoid it. — Find out what you can, then we'll see.

— There's something strange going on in Pyke. — Aegon says, taking a sip of orange juice, after Lady Ali forbade Rhaenyra from consuming any kind of alcohol during her pregnancy, out of solidarity, her relatives also drank juice when eating with her in private.

— Another one? — Rhaenyra asks, running her hands over her slightly rounded belly and making a face. Pyke isn't very involved in the Seven Kingdoms, but every now and then, they would raid a coastal city, almost as if to say, "we're here”.

— Lord Theon Greyjoy is dead. — Aegon says solemnly, putting a piece of pie in his mouth. — Which is very, very bad, your son, Dalton, the Red Kraken is not a… prudent man. — Aegon seems to hesitate, unsure if that is really an appropriate word for Dalton.

Rhaenyra had heard the reports about Dalton, first from Alicent, and more recently, from Aegon. Dalton Greyjoy was everything—a spendthrift, a pirate, and a raider—but sensible and prudent were not among his characteristics.

Dalton wasn't someone to worry about until he took over the lordship of Pyke, but after that, well... the man wasn't called the Red Kraken for noble reasons.

— We can't blame a man for crimes he hasn't committed yet. — Rhaenyra hesitates, she would like to be able to deal with Lord Greyjoy long before he becomes a problem, but at the same time, Maegor had done that and had been one of the worst Kings in history.

"But we can keep an eye on it," Aegon replies, his eyes shining with happiness. Aegon had always been a bored boy; he didn't like lessons, swords, or even tournaments, but he loved gossip. He adored knowing things that weren't his business, and he was also a bit annoying. Aegon seemed like a dog hunting when he found something he wanted to know.

He had an annoying torment in knowing about Rhaenyra's pregnancies even before she thought of telling.

The mischief of the younger brothers, Rhaenyra thinks, smiling, and for a moment, she can't help but want Baelon here, with her, her first brother, who lived just a few hours, but who was still hers.

And again, Rhaenyra can't help but wish her mother Aemma were here.

Lady Ali became her mother over time, and yet, there is no woman in the world who could replace Aemma Arryn. Lady Ali is an incredible ally and she is her mother where it matters, but she wasn't there in the early years of her life, she didn't see Syrax as a little one, she didn't comb her hair and put her to sleep.

Lady Ali is your mother, but not like Aemma was, and that hurts in a way that nothing else does.

Your mother would have been so painfully happy with Lady Ali around, they were so happy when they were young, surrounded by sunshine, strawberries, and laughter with a taste of summer, mom would have loved Lady Ali as fiercely as Lady Ali loved her.

But the world was a cruel place, her mother had died like a pig, cut open by a male heir, Lady Ali had taken her mother's crown with such simple grace that belied how broken she had been, piecing together the shards her mother had left with nothing but stubbornness and hope.

Rhaenyra didn't know if she could have done what Alicent had done without going insane, marrying the man who had split the woman they loved in two, lying in that man's bed and expelling her babies like a breeding mare and not being able to say anything about it.

Rhaenyra had adored the news that Alicent would be her new good mother, a part of her, the majority, in fact, loved that Lady Ali was important enough to be noticed by her father.

Another part, the one that was born when Rhaenyra understood the ugly things of the world, knew that Lady Ali had given up many things when she married her father, Lady Ali was a second daughter born of a second son, a daughter without lands, without armies, without vassals, a woman who would be very lucky to marry a lesser Lord of a vassal fortress.

She could, if she wanted to, remain unmarried and become a name in the stories, one of those defiant and cheeky ones that she seemed to like so much.

But no, Lady Ali had married his father to avoid a succession war for the Iron Throne.

Not a single day, since Rhaenyra was named heir, has Alicent said anything about Aegon being King. Aegon Targaryen was a Prince of the Realm, and if it were up to Alicent, that was all he would be, a Targaryen Prince low in the line of succession who could not inherit the Throne.

Never once did Lady Ali protest her right to the Throne.

Never once did Lady Ali speak against her.

Never once did Lady Ali rub her stupid and juvenile decisions in his face.

Not a single time.

Lady Ali had kept Rhaenyra's secrets as if they were her own.

If Alicent were any other woman in the Kingdom, Rhaenyra would be suspicious of her motivations, but not her second mother. Alicent had done the possible and the impossible for Rhaenyra to ascend to the Iron Throne; she had stained her hands with blood and done much more than Rhaenyra deserved.

But mainly, Alicent had believed in Rhaenyra when she didn't believe in herself.

— Prince Daemon. — Sir Willis's voice comes from the door and interrupts her thoughts, she and her brother lift their eyes to Daemon, he looks… Rhaenyra doesn't quite know what her husband looks like, breathless, disheveled, a bit desperate, his face as thunderous as stone.

— Rhaenyra. — Daemon says, before Rhaenyra can say anything, he seems breathless, his eyes are cloudy, dull, from pain or anger, Rhaenyra still doesn't know. — The King died in his sleep.

Rhaenyra's world stops for a moment before tilting again, in a much less gentle manner,

A part of her, the majority, knew that to become Queen, the former King had to die, it had always been this way, it was this way with Jaehaerys and his father, Jaehaerys died and Viserys became King, it is this way throughout the Kingdom, when a Lord dies his son takes over.

It's the natural order of things.

That's how it is.

The father is dead and his daughter is Queen.

The King is dead, there is a new Queen.

Rhaenyra is the new Queen.

Rhaenyra is only Queen because her father, the King, is dead.

Rhaenyra prepared for this moment her entire life, she had lesson after lesson after lesson and was a cupbearer on the Small Council, then became Lady Hand on that same Small Council, she played the countless games of the Court with everything she had and then played a little more, and all of this was for the Throne.

She knew it was for the Throne.

And she knew that her father had to die for the Throne to be hers.

Even so, it doesn't seem real.

She had prepared for this moment for years and years, and yet, now, when it happens, Rhaenyra feels like a girl of eight days' name again, motherless and with a father so distant that even surrounded by people, Rhaenyra was alone, entirely alone, and even Lady Ali could not dispel the darkness that surrounded them.

— … nyra, Rhaenyra. — Daemon is in front of her, holding her face with firm fingers, his violet eyes are understanding and gentle, he understands her more than anyone.

For a moment, a brief moment, Rhaenyra closes her eyes and rests her forehead against his.

None of them mourn the rotten, torn, and blind man who died, but they mourn the man their father was, the brother Daemon had, long before the father cut the mother in two; he was a very different man, much happier, much more aware.

Losing his mother destroyed him in a way that nothing could fix, not women, wine, tournaments, or a new wife.

It is this man that Rhaenyra mourns.

The man who read to her stories from books so old and so fragile that each line seemed a new adventure, the man who made her an heir against everyone who wanted a male heir, the man who did everything he could to see Rhaenyra happy, even if her standards of happiness did not align.

The man her father had become, however, was a man Rhaenyra did not like very much; he was blind, easily dominated by the will of anyone more stubborn than him, he did not know the names of his own children and made a point of reminding them at all times that he forgot the children he had with Alicent.

She steps away from Daemon and takes a deep breath.

Your father is dead and the dead do not speak, do not feel, and do not think; whatever your father was, it died with him.

Rhaenyra takes a deep breath, once more, and straightens her shoulders.

The King is dead and Rhaenyra is Queen, and Queens do not mourn.

There will be a moment, in particular, when Rhaenyra will mourn for Viserys, her only remaining father.

"I'm sorry," Aegon says, his violet eyes shining, but he doesn't seem sad, and Rhaenyra knows he isn't. "He was my father, but..." Aegon tilts his head, and Rhaenyra knows what he means but won't say it. He was my father, but he wasn't. We know who my father is, and Rhaenyra knows that Aegon is not Daemon's son, but he is, in every way that matters.

It seems that all her brothers, and she herself, if Rhaenyra is honest, found other parents who were not the ones who gave birth to them.

"We should go," Daemon says, his tone affectionate as he ruffles Aegon's hair. It's ironic, Rhaenyra thinks, with a hint of amusement, for a man who wasn't sure if he wanted children, Daemon has a lot of them. "The Small Council will be meeting in a few minutes."

Without me, Rhaenyra thinks, ironically.

She knows she doesn't have the support of all the Lords of the Small Council, she knows that some of them would rip the crown from her head and place it on Aegon's head long before she could blink.

Gerardys was his man, Rhaenyra knew, Beesbury believed in every word of the father so faithfully that if the father said men should shit gold, Lord Beesbury would start eating coins. Ser Rickard Thorne was Alicent's man, if Alicent ordered Ser Rickard to lie down and roll, he would do it without hesitation. What Alicent did to gain such loyalty, Rhaenyra did not want to know.

Ser Tyland Lannister would do whatever was convenient for the Lannister name, and at the moment, it would be convenient if Aegon were the King; he could secure a marriage with Helaena and could further embed himself in the court. It was what the Lannisters wanted, the Iron Throne, it seemed like it was all anyone wanted lately.

But Tyland was a man of weak will, he bowed to his brother and would bend without the slightest effort if Rhaenyra pressed hard enough, his brother, Jason, on the other hand, was a proud and reckless man, it mattered little whether Tyland was with Rhaenyra or not.

The enigma was Sir Jasper Wylde, the Master of Laws. Lord Wylde defended the law with tooth and nail, not caring if the laws needed to be broken; the Law was the definitive point, and Lord Wylde would defend it to the death, which earned him the nickname Ironrod.

There were no clear terms for the Succession Law of the Seven Kingdoms; the Lords, prior to the Conquest, passed the Throne to the eldest male son.

Unified under the Targaryen banner, there was no clear Law, the first King was Aegon, after him Aenys, after him, Maegor, who had no children, then Jaehaerys, who was not the heir, nor his father, his father should never have been the heir.

The only precedent they had was that a Targaryen should sit on the Throne.

Besides that, the Law was never clear, a son had more right than a brother, but Jaehaerys went over Rhaenys when he named Baelon heir, and when Baelon died, Jaehaerys further messed up the inheritance laws when he announced the Great Council.

If there was a precedent that a brother could be preferred over a son, who would be the heir?

Jaehaerys made an even greater mistake when he allowed inferior men to choose the heirs; it was a dangerous precedent to let sheep command dragons, another dangerous precedent, men should govern before women, and still, Rhaenyra was her father's heir and not even the gods could change that.

— Let's go. — she says, standing up as tall as she can. — We have men to kill.

Rhaenyra is not going to kill any man today, at least not physically; there are many ways to kill a man, and not all of them require knives.

Her steps seem light, as if her feet never touched the ground, Aegon and Daemon follow a step behind her, always a constant support, a House united against whispers, against betrayal, and against anyone who stands against House Targaryen.

Rhaenyra steps through the door of the Hand's Tower to find a sea of white and golden hair, purple eyes looking at her in a sea of black mourning clothes, her children and her brothers are here for her, Lady Ali's eyes are not Targaryen violet but shine with the promise of Fire and Blood.

They are waiting, she realizes, with a painful pang warming her heart, they are waiting for her to give the orders, they are her children and her good mother, but they are waiting for orders, Rhaenyra is no longer just their mother, she is the Queen and her word is law.

What Rhaenyra orders, here and now, will be done.

Without discussions, without repercussions, she is the ultimate power of the Kingdom, an authority that lesser men dream of possessing and that Rhaenyra has just gained simply because her father died.

Immediately, Rhaenyra feels like the six-day-old child who dreamed of flying to the other side of the world and eating only cake; if she ever makes a mistake, there will be no turning back, the entire Kingdom is in her hands, she is responsible for every Lord of the Kingdom, for every smallfolk, for every rat and every dragon that exists in the Seven Kingdoms.

She swallows the thick knot that rises in her throat and straightens her back, as straight as she can, as rigid as a board and as strong as she can be.

— Are you ready? — Daemon asks, a low whisper in her ear, just for her to hear.

Rhaenyra doesn't feel prepared, she doesn't think there will ever be a day when she will be ready to sit on the Iron Throne, but there's no one in this world who needs to know that except for her.

She doesn't respond, but starts walking through the corridors to the Small Council chamber; if these men think she is like her father, weak and without will, they are so mistaken, so, so mistaken.

Rhaenyra will rule the Seven Kingdoms as no man before her has seen, she will do everything better, stronger, smarter. She will be better than any of the men who preceded her and will be remembered in history as none of them were.

She knows she will change the world as they know it, and she can hardly wait for it.

Now, if the men were a little less... men, Rhaenyra could govern as expected and show that the power of the Targaryens was much more than just Viserys.

She doesn't even see the path she walks, she doesn't hear the murmurs of my Queen or see the servants bowing or the admiring looks at her upright posture.

Rhaenyra has only one goal, the Small Council chamber and the treacherous and manipulative men hidden there, she will replace them one by one if they dare to challenge her claim.

And they would dare, men always dared, they were foolish creatures who didn't think much about their actions and had an uncontrollable tendency to go against extremely dangerous women.

And the men of the Small Council were, right now, behind the door, planning the future of the Kingdom without their Queen.

She waits a moment, just a moment, to compose herself.

— There are battles… — Lady Alicent says, her voice a distant whisper, and Rhaenyra can't help but look at her, her good mother doesn't seem sad, nor tearful, it doesn't seem like her husband just died, it seems like Lady Alicent was expecting this. — … that must be fought alone, be the dragon, Rhaenyra.

The doors of the Small Council open, and Rhaenyra Targaryen, the first of her name, enters the room alone, armed with nothing but the burning fire of her blood.

— Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of her name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm. — the herald's voice is loud and proud and for a moment, a very brief moment, Rhaenyra feels her eyes fill with tears before being consumed by fire.

The men sitting at the council table look like rabbits in the sights of a hunter, frightened, wide-eyed, so guilty that their confession doesn't need to be spoken in words, it's funny to note that Lord Beesbury is the only one not here.

— Well. — Rhaenyra asks, sitting in her rightful place. — What is the reason for the meeting? And why wasn't I properly invited?

None of them, none of these men, none of these weak, treacherous, and usurping men have the courage to confess their betrayal, none of them have the courage to show what they were doing to your face.

— We are here. — Lord Wylde takes the risk, of course it would be him, because the master of law thought he had some kind of right to anything that concerned the succession. — Because we are going to discuss the succession of the Iron Throne.

Rhaenyra has a moment, just a moment to think about what to do, her response to this betrayal will dictate the rest of her reign, she can be cruel, or she can be kind, or she can walk the line between cruelty and kindness.

The thin line between cruelty and kindness has always been blurred for the Targaryens.

— The succession is divided between a male heir and a woman… it is…— Lord Lannister speaks slowly, almost as if he senses the danger but is stupid enough not to see it.

— What male heir? — Rhaenyra cuts in, her words silencing him, Lord Lannister is stupid, but not foolish, he knows, like any good frightened kitten, when to stay quiet. — Jaehaerys? I must remind you, gentlemen, that I am still alive and that the crown still rests upon my head, from today until the day of my death.

— A son takes precedence over a daughter, Princess. — Lord Wylde says, his words resounding like a hoarse cry of betrayal, he is betraying her, on his face, without even thinking of hiding it.

"My father died today, Lord Wylde, but before that, he had nineteen years to change his mind and never did. Rhaenyra says, she doesn't stand up, but she clenches her fingers under the table in nervousness, Lord Wylde's face contorts in a grimace of disgust, he will protest, she knows he will, they always protest. I must also remind you that anyone from the Royal Family has more power than a vassal Lord." Sir Rickard, cut off Lord Wylde's hand.

The order comes out in a loud and clear tone, his words barely registered as Lord Wylde's hand comes down on the table and his arm is pulled back, Ser Rickard is Alicent's man but even so, he knows he must obey her orders immediately.

Her screams are loud and shocked, very much like an animal lamenting, Maester Gerardys is working on the bloody stump and the other members of the Small Council are looking at her with wide eyes.

— Lord Wylde. — she calls the man, but it is not for him, it never will be, it is for the others, those who watch and conspire. — Your betrayal against the Crown was treated lightly, be glad that your head is still on your shoulders.

It's a warning, she knows, even when her hands are so sweaty that Rhaenyra wouldn't be able to hold a glass of wine, her heart beats so hard in her chest that she is surprised her face isn't flushed.

— My coronation will be in a moon's turn, if any of you dare to think of not attending or not bringing your banners without a good reason, we will have a declaration of treason against the Crown that will be met with Fire and Blood.

— My Queen. — Tyland Lannister says, then bows in a grand arc, followed by Ser Thorne and Maester Gerardys.

She knows it isn't over, it never ends with men greedy for a Throne that isn't theirs.

Betrayal will forever be with them, always lurking, always seeking an imminent weakness and trying to justify their greedy acts with a version of kindness and pity that doesn't fit at all with what they wish to do with the Throne.

But for now, when Lord Wylde's blood spills on the floor and fills the air with its metallic scent, for now, for this brief moment, they are as placated as conspirators can be.

— My Queen. — Ser Rickard seems dazed, his eyes are bloodshot and wild, his white armor is stained with blood, it is a strange interruption for the day of your coronation. — The Queen Mother was attacked in her chambers.

"My sister had received many nicknames over the years, but among all the nicknames she had, the one I liked the most was Steel Queen."

Rhaenyra sat on the Iron Throne for fifty-four years, one year less than King Jaehaerys, which in itself was remarkable, but what made my sister known as the Steel Queen was that, in the fifty-four years she sat on the Iron Throne, the Throne never once cut her.

- Page from the diary of Aemond "The Night Fury" Targaryen, found in 1789 AD