The Return
Chapter 12: The Return
The Red Keep was alight with activity as Rhaenyra’s arrival sent waves of anticipation through the court. Her procession entered the gates with a grandeur befitting the heir to the Iron Throne, their banners snapping in the wind. Among the Targaryen party were not only her sons but also the young wards of noble houses. Their presence was a testament to Rhaenyra’s growing influence.
As they dismounted in the courtyard, the subtle changes in the princes became apparent to those gathered. Jacaerys, now taller and with a more commanding presence, had hair that gleamed with darker silver, the faintest hint of blue shimmering under the sunlight. Lucerys, more vibrant and youthful, carried an undeniable air of intrigue. His eyes, a mesmerizing blend of violet and sea-green, caught the light like jewels, leaving many in the courtyard murmuring in astonishment.
Viserys, who stood waiting at the top of the steps, broke into a wide smile as his daughter approached. Despite the ravages of illness and time, his delight at seeing his family was evident.
“Rhaenyra!” he called out, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the gathered court.
“Father,” she replied, her voice warm but steady. She climbed the steps to embrace him, her sons following close behind.
As Jacaerys bowed before his grandsire, Viserys rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder, his eyes scanning him with approval. “The spitting image of my father,” he said, his voice thick with nostalgia. “You honor our house, Jacaerys.”
Jace straightened, his chest swelling with pride. “Thank you, Grandsire. It is my greatest wish to make our family proud.”
Viserys then turned to Lucerys, whose eyes gleamed with their unique hue. He studied the boy closely, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.
“Rhaenys,” he said, almost to himself. “In her youth, she looked just like you, Lucerys. The same spark in her eyes.”
Lucerys beamed, his smile wide and bright. “Thank you, Grandsire,” he said, bowing low.
The warmth of the reunion was palpable, though not everyone shared in the joy. From her place beside the king, Alicent Hightower watched in silence, her expression carefully neutral. But her sharp green eyes betrayed her unease.
Her gaze lingered on Jace and Luke, their Targaryen and Velaryon features undeniable. The whispers of courtiers behind her made her grip tighten on the folds of her gown.
“Trueborn, certainly?” one courtier murmured to another.
“Their lineage is clear now,” came the quiet reply.
Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line. She glanced at her father, Otto Hightower, who stood nearby. Their eyes met briefly, his brow furrowing in shared displeasure.
Later, in the throne room, Viserys took great pride in presenting his family to the court.
“My daughter and heir, Rhaenyra, has returned with her sons,” he announced, his voice filled with regal authority. “And I must say, my grandsons have grown into fine young men.”
As the feast began, Alicent remained silent, her smile tight as she sipped from her goblet. The sight of Viserys doting on Rhaenyra’s sons only deepened her resentment. She turned to Otto, whose face was unreadable, though his fingers tapped lightly against the table.
“The court may be convinced,” Alicent said softly, her tone clipped, “but we are not fools.”
“No,” Otto replied, his voice equally low. “We are not.”
Their shared discontent hung between them like a shadow as the revelry continued, unnoticed by those basking in the king’s affection. But the game of thrones, they both knew, was far from over.
***************************************
Rhaenyra sat with Daemon, Laenor, and Lucerys in her private quarters, their conversation hushed but intense. The flickering light from the candles cast shifting shadows over their faces, mirroring the sense of urgency filling the room. The arrival in King’s Landing had stirred the political waters, and each of them sensed the significance of this moment.
Rhaenyra leaned forward, addressing Lucerys. “Your insights have been… unexpectedly keen, Luke,” she said, her tone one of genuine admiration. “I’ve found myself thinking over much of what you’ve said recently.”
Lucerys, though young, kept his expression measured. He glanced at his mother and nodded, a quiet acknowledgment of her praise. “Thank you, Mother. But there’s still more we could do. Our focus has been largely on noble alliances, which are, of course, important. But…”
He paused, choosing his words carefully, and then continued, “It’s easy to forget that the nobles are only a fraction of the realm. The people of King’s Landing and the Crownlands—the merchants, the smallfolk—they rarely see the royal family beyond their rumors and hearsay.”
Laenor nodded thoughtfully, catching on to Lucerys’s line of thinking. “How do you suggest we foster goodwill among the smallfolk?”
Lucerys’s eyes brightened, encouraged by hi kid s father’s understanding. “Precisely. The Greens are weaving their influence through alliances and promises to powerful houses, but if we gain the loyalty of the people… they become an undeniable force of support.”
Rhaenyra’s expression softened, pride flickering in her eyes. “And how do you propose we go about this?” she asked, her gaze steady on her son. “We can’t simply walk into the streets without a plan.”
Daemon chuckled softly, crossing his arms. “Perhaps we should, though. Might shock the whole city if their future queen appeared among them.”
Lucerys grinned, a rare display of mischief. “Not quite that direct, Uncle,” he said. “But small gestures would mean more than we think. Events, gatherings… even a festival in honor of House Targaryen’s legacy. Something where the people can see and meet their future rulers.”
Laenor nodded approvingly. “A show of unity, strength… but also humility. It could turn the tides in our favor.”
Rhaenyra’s gaze turned inward for a moment, considering the weight of Lucerys’s words. “If we do this, it must be genuine,” she said. “The people will know if we’re simply putting on a performance.”
Daemon leaned forward, his voice low but filled with conviction. “We were raised to rule, but too many of our kin forget who they rule. The people’s loyalty is won by presence and consistency. If we don’t give them reason to love us, they’ll have every reason to love those who oppose us.”
Lucerys spoke again, his voice thoughtful. “We could start small, perhaps with visits to the markets, the harbor, or even the temples. Places that are less guarded by the nobility and more reflective of the people’s lives. From there, we can build up to larger events.”
Rhaenyra nodded slowly, a newfound determination in her gaze. “Then it’s settled. We’ll begin making ourselves known. If the Greens want the court, let them have it. We’ll have the loyalty of the realm.”
Daemon gave a sly smile. “And perhaps, when the time comes, the people’s loyalty will be what turns the scales in our favor.”
Lucerys placed a hand on Rhaenyra’s shoulder. “This isn’t just about securing the throne—it’s about being worthy of it.”
Laenor looked around at his family, his resolve strengthened. “Then let’s begin.”
**************************
The King’s chambers were heavy with the scent of incense and aged parchment, the sunlight filtering through the stained glass windows casting muted colors across the room. Viserys sat at a long table laden with a modest spread—roast duck, fresh bread, and a carafe of Dornish wine. His face, pale and drawn with age and illness, lit up faintly as Daemon entered the room, his stride unhurried and deliberate.
“You’re late, brother,” Viserys remarked with a faint smile, gesturing to the empty seat across from him.
Daemon smirked, shrugging as he took his seat. “I thought kings were supposed to enjoy being kept waiting. Builds their mystique.”
Viserys chuckled weakly, a sound that ended in a rasping cough. Daemon’s smirk faded slightly as he leaned forward, his sharp eyes scanning his brother’s face. “How are you feeling, Viserys?”
The King waved a hand dismissively. “The maesters have things well in hand.”
Daemon’s brow furrowed. “The maesters,” he repeated, his tone edged with skepticism. “Laena brought healers from Essos to Dragonstone. They’re unlike any maesters you’ve met. Perhaps they should take a look at you.”
Viserys sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Daemon, I don’t need—”
“Indulge me,” Daemon interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. “You’re the King. You deserve the best care.”
Viserys huffed, his exasperation tinged with affection. “Fine. If it will stop your nagging, I’ll allow it.”
Daemon gave a satisfied nod and reached for the wine, pouring himself a generous glass. “Good. Now, what is this meeting really about? I doubt you called me here to discuss your health.”
Viserys straightened, his expression becoming more serious. “The Gold Cloaks,” he began. “With Harwin Strong’s death, they need new leadership. It’s been suggested that I bring back their former Commander.”
Daemon raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a faint smile. “Ah, so I’m not here just as a brother. I’m here as a convenient solution.”
“You were effective in the role,” Viserys admitted. “But you can’t just—”
“I’ll accept,” Daemon interrupted, swirling his wine casually. “But only if I have full autonomy. No interference.”
Viserys balked, his brows knitting together. “Full autonomy? Daemon, you’ve always had a penchant for—”
“For power?” Daemon interjected, his tone sharp. “It’s not power for the sake of power, Viserys. It’s what power allows me to do. I can protect our family.”
Viserys stared at him, his skepticism softening as Daemon’s voice grew earnest.
“Father to father,” Daemon continued, his eyes locking with Viserys. “You know what it is to worry. Even though Baela and Rhaena have dragons, they can’t always be with them. I’d like to think I can make this city safer—not just for my daughters, but for all daughters. For all families.”
Viserys exhaled slowly, his fingers tracing the rim of his goblet. “Fatherhood has changed you,” he said quietly, a note of wonder in his voice.
Daemon inclined his head slightly, his smirk tempered by sincerity. “Rhaena claimed Grey Ghost recently,” he added. “She stayed behind on Dragonstone with Laena to settle the bond.”
Viserys blinked in surprise. “Grey Ghost? I thought only Baela had bonded with a dragon.”
Daemon’s pride was evident in his expression. “Rhaena’s bond came later, but it’s just as strong.”
The King nodded, a faint smile playing at his lips. “It’s good to see them thriving. They are a credit to you and Laena.”
“They are Targaryens,” Daemon replied with a hint of pride. “As is Rhaenyra. She will make a better ruler than any of us, Viserys. You know this.”
Viserys’s gaze lingered on his brother for a moment before he nodded, his expression softening. “I do. And it’s good to see you standing by her.”
“I always will,” Daemon said firmly, rising from his seat. “And I’ll ensure that the Gold Cloaks are more than just your enforcers. They’ll make this city a place where your daughters and mine can walk without fear.”
Viserys smiled, his weariness briefly giving way to warmth. “Then we are in agreement.”
They parted on good terms, the bond between brothers mended, if only for a moment.
*****************************
The grand solar of the Red Keep was warm with the light of late afternoon, yet an air of quiet tension lingered. Rhaenyra sat beside her father, King Viserys, her hands folded demurely in her lap. Viserys leaned back in his chair, weary but attentive, his gaze fixed on his daughter as she spoke.
“Father,” Rhaenyra began, her tone carefully measured, “I have been thinking about the future of the realm, particularly the ties between our house and the North.”
Viserys raised a brow, intrigued. “The North? I don’t recall hearing of any discord with Lord Stark.”
“None,” she said quickly, “but that is precisely why we must act now. The bonds between our houses have been… distant. The North is vast and vital to the stability of the realm. If we are to heed the words of Aegon’s prophecy, we must ensure that the North stands strong with us when the time comes.”
Viserys sighed, rubbing at his temple. His health had been declining steadily, and the weight of his duties often felt heavier than ever. “And what do you suggest? A marriage alliance? The Starks are not eager to wed their daughters south.”
Rhaenyra smiled faintly. “Not a marriage, Father. A fostering.”
Viserys leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. “Fostering?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice soft yet insistent. “We send one of the royal children to Winterfell. It would forge a bond of trust and loyalty that no alliance of words could match.”
Viserys frowned. “And who would we send? Jacaerys must remain here to learn the ways of ruling, and Lucerys must go to Driftmark to prepare for his inheritance.”
Rhaenyra nodded, as though agreeing entirely. “Precisely. Aemond is the natural choice.”
Viserys stilled, his frown deepening. “Aemond? The boy has endured enough.”
“Which is exactly why this is the perfect opportunity for him,” Rhaenyra pressed gently. “He has no great inheritance to prepare for, no specific role that requires his presence here. In Winterfell, he could grow stronger, find purpose. The North values resilience, and Aemond has that in spades.”
Viserys glanced away, conflicted. He could still hear the sharp words exchanged between Aegon and Aemond weeks before, the biting cruelty of elder brother toward younger. Aemond, though stoic, had betrayed his hurt with the slump of his shoulders and the tight line of his mouth.
“He is not expendable,” Viserys murmured.
“No,” Rhaenyra said, placing a hand over his. “But he is a second son, one who deserves the chance to thrive on his own terms. The North could be good for him, Father. He would have some distance from Aegon’s influence there.”
Viserys sighed heavily, closing his eyes as he considered her words. “Alicent will protest.”
“We will inform her, of course,” Rhaenyra said smoothly, “but not until everything is arranged. It will be easier for her to accept when there is no time to argue.”
Viserys chuckled bitterly. “You are more like your mother than you realize. She, too, always knew how to maneuver me.”
Rhaenyra smiled, her expression softening. “I only want what is best for the realm, Father. For all of us.”
******************
The plan was swiftly put into motion. Letters were dispatched to Lord Stark, who had only recently left Dragonstone to return to Winterfell. Arrangement were made to secure a royal escort for Aemond’s journey. The boy himself remained unaware, wandering the training yard with Criston Cole as his shadow, oblivious to the storm brewing around him.
Viserys found himself wavering as the departure date loomed. His guilt gnawed at him, but Rhaenyra’s assurances and Aegon’s behavior steadied his resolve.
The day before Aemond’s departure, Alicent was summoned to Viserys’s chambers. She arrived with a curious frown, her skirts whispering against the stone floors.
“Viserys,” she greeted, dipping into a shallow curtsy before straightening. “You sent for me?”
He gestured for her to sit, his tone warm but firm. “Yes, my love. There is something we must discuss.”
The hesitation in his voice set her on edge immediately. “What is it?”
“Aemond is to leave for Winterfell tomorrow,” he said plainly, cutting through her mounting anxiety with a single blow.
“What?” Alicent’s voice rose, her composure cracking. “You decided this without me?”
“It is what’s best for him,” Viserys said, his tone brooking no argument. “Rhaenyra and I have discussed it at length. He will thrive in the North.”
“Rhaenyra?” Alicent spat the name as though it were poison. “And what role did she play in this manipulation?”
“She has the realm’s best interests at heart,” Viserys said firmly. “As do I. Aemond has suffered under Aegon’s cruelty, and this will give him a chance to find his own path.”
“By sending him away?” Alicent’s voice broke, a mother’s anguish bleeding through her anger. “He is my son, Viserys. You had no right—”
“I am his father and his king,” Viserys interrupted, his voice sharp. “This decision is final.”
Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You are a fool if you think this will bring peace.”
Viserys closed his eyes, exhausted by the confrontation. “Perhaps not peace. But it may bring Aemond the future he deserves.”
Alicent turned on her heel and swept from the room, her fury a palpable force in her wake. Viserys remained seated, the weight of his choices pressing heavily upon him.
*****************************************
In the dim light of a hidden chamber far from the prying eyes of the Red Keep, Rhaenyra and Laenor entered cautiously, their hearts heavy with grief yet burning with purpose. Daemon had told them only to follow him, without any word as to what they would find. Now, as they crossed the threshold, they froze in shock.
There, resting on a simple cot, his face pallid but unmistakable, was Harwin Strong. Though weakened, he turned his head toward them, a faint smile breaking the silence.
“Harwin…” Rhaenyra’s voice trembled, torn between disbelief and the relief that was quickly overwhelming her. She moved forward, her steps unsteady as she reached his bedside, taking his hand as though to confirm he was real.
“Rhaenyra,” Harwin said softly, his voice rough but carrying the same warmth she remembered. His gaze softened as he looked between her and Laenor. “I wasn’t certain I’d get the chance to see either of you again.”
Laenor clasped Harwin’s shoulder, his voice breaking with emotion. “Daemon told us… we thought you’d been lost.”
Harwin nodded slightly, his fingers brushing against a fresh scar that ran along his abdomen, a testament to the ordeal he’d endured. “It was close enough to the truth. But Daemon’s allies… they had a plan. Lucerys—he gave me something… something I can’t explain, but it saved me.”
Rhaenyra cast a grateful look toward Daemon, who stood quietly by the door, his eyes unreadable but satisfied. “Thank you,” she whispered to her uncle, understanding how close they had come to losing Harwin forever.
Daemon merely nodded. “We don’t leave our own to suffer under Otto’s games.” His tone was cold, and Rhaenyra could sense the unspoken promise of retribution lingering in his words.
Harwin’s gaze fell on her again, softening as he took in the sight of her, and then his eyes flickered to Laenor with a hint of curiosity. “The child… all is well?”
Rhaenyra smiled, her hand instinctively resting on her stomach. “Yes, Harwin. All is well.” She shared a glance with Laenor, who nodded, his own expression one of pride and relief. “Our family is safe.”
Harwin exhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment as if letting the weight of the news sink in. When he opened them again, there was a fire in his gaze, a resolve that had been tempered by pain but was now unbreakable. “Then it’s time we make sure it stays safe.”
Daemon moved closer, handing Harwin a vial filled with a dark, swirling potion. “Lucerys prepared this for our spies. It’s meant to alter your appearance—just enough for you to move unnoticed within King’s Landing. We can’t risk them recognizing you until it’s time.”
Harwin took the vial, studying it for a moment before nodding and lifting it to his lips. The potion’s effects were swift; his features subtly shifted, his jawline hardening, the curve of his brow changing ever so slightly. He looked up, a stranger’s face staring back at them, but the familiar resolve in his eyes reminded them of who he was.
“This will do,” he murmured, testing the timbre of his altered voice. He rose slowly, his strength not fully returned, but his determination unwavering. “Now, let’s get to work.”
Over the following days, Harwin set to dismantling the network of spies and informants Otto and Alicent had woven throughout the capital. With Daemon’s connections in the shadows and Lucerys’s strategic mind guiding him, Harwin began a quiet but calculated purge. One by one, the spies were found and silenced, their movements traced back to Otto’s circles.
In the hidden corners of King’s Landing, whispers spread, rumors of spies vanishing and informants disappearing without a trace. The Greens’ hold over the city’s underbelly weakened, their channels of information disrupted and their network thrown into disarray.
Daemon, watching the effects of their work, met with Harwin one evening in the secrecy of a back alley. “You’re doing well,” he remarked with a rare nod of approval. “It won’t be long before Otto begins to feel the pressure.”
Harwin’s lips curved into a grim smile, a reminder of the fire that burned within him. “This is only the beginning. They wanted to play their games… but we are rewriting the rules.”
Daemon chuckled, a dark satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. “Then let them see what true loyalty looks like. The time will come for us to reveal everything, and when it does, all will know what it means to against the Targaryen family.”
And with that, Harwin melted back into the shadows, carrying with him the iron determination to protect his loved ones, no matter the cost. The Greens would not realize the power they had underestimated until it was too late.