Part One - Outside, Looking In
Living in Stepstones was different from what Daemon had initially thought.
Last time he was there, the barren isle was full of corpses and crabs, destined to be abandoned after the long, bloody warfare.
And yet, he flew across the islands on Caraxes (with Mysaria strapped behind him), he could see colorful buildings and various fields covering the land, its people cheering as Syrax flew past for their ruling princess and her companions.
Landing on island that was once known as Bloodstone, Daemon was surprised to see the huge wild dragon sprawling in front of the castle and the two Valyrian elders waiting by the said dragon. “Uncle Vaegon? Grandaunt Rhaella?” He said bewilderedly as he dismounted from Caraxes.
“Daemon.” Vaegon said sourly, ignoring Grey Ghost, who was nosing against him. “Nice to see you finally come to support your niece.” He sneered then winced as Rhaella pinched him.
“Daemon, it has been a long time since I last saw you. Would you partake in bread and salt?” A young woman came forward with a tray of bread, salt and a porcelain cup with a clear liquid in it.
Still confused, Daemon partaken in the ritual and absentmindedly took a swig of the drink before sputtering at the sensation of burning in his throat.
Ignoring his nephew (and the wild dragon who was now tugging at his robes, what the fuck), Vaegon spoke. “Rhaenyra offered you a home here but we still need to figure out what position and lordship to give you.”
“Surely I would be my niece’s commander of her army?” Daemon frowned, washing his mouth with a cup of water.
“Rhaenyra does not have an army, she has Dragon Guards, her peace keeping force and they are being led by Commander Largent, who is currently the Lord of Dragonwatch.” He coughs again from a hard nudge from Rhaella. “I meant commander consort to the Lord of Dragonwatch.” He rolled his eyes, having never paid attention to the social relationships going on in Stepstones.
Daemon choked on that as Vaegon rambled on. “Pryr is also not an option for you as I heard of your terrible stint as Master of Coin and Rhaenyra doesn’t need the extra headache trying to untangle your mistakes. The Veiled Island might be an option.”
“Yes, Maester Vaegon, we have been talking about making a second outpost there to guard the westerosi side of the Narrow Seas.” The man who looked oddly like that Beesbury coot his brother kept in his Small Council. “The cliffs would make a proper weyr for the Prince’s dragon.”
“Hmph, tell Rhaenyra to write a proposal plan and present it to me tomorrow.” Vaegon stalked off after swatting the wild dragon on the nose. Surprisingly the dragon was not furious but purred as it stalked after the old man. The young man and the rest of people that were there immediately scattered, Grandaunt Rhaella absconding with Mysaria into the castle, leaving Daemon alone in the courtyard.
“What just happened?” He muttered to himself, feeling so confused.
Despite being the newly appointed Lord of the Veiled Island, Daemon was currently staying in Rhaenyra’s castle, waiting for them to build a proper mansion and settlements for the island before moving there.
(Daemon had wanted a grand castle with Valyrian influences but Vaegon had sneered and told him that he can build one with his own damned money and not with Rhaenyra’s hard earned funds.)
He watched as his niece expertly worked her way as the ruling lady, working with her people in the ways his brother, Viserys or his grandsire, Jaehaerys, never did.
(He had toyed at first to make a play for Rhaenyra’s regent because surely she cannot rule the Stepstones in such a tender age but was surprised to see her impressive network of support. Well that and the fact Uncle Vaegon might actually feed him to Grey Ghost no matter how vehemently he denied being the dragon’s rider.)
Mysaria meanwhile flourished especially as that Massey woman told her about the project about helping the courtesans Rhaenyra had apparently bought and liberated, and his paramour had open a network of teahouses that were not unlike in Yi Ti where elegant culture and intelligent conversation are its main product, pleasures of the flesh are to be offer only if the ladies (and men) were willing to give to them.
(He was tossed out once for making an overt sexual suggestion to one of the Valyrian descent ladies and was banned from entering the tea houses ever again much to his disgust, one reinforced by the Dragon Guards.)
He, on the other hand, floundered, as Rhaenyra refused to hand over the position of the Commander for the Dragon Guard to him (despite him clearly being the more superior fighter and Valyrian to boot) and told him to help him by teaching the new recruits.
Him, teaching?!!
(He was shocked to see the Lord of Dragonwatch and his former subordinate’s husband was not a weak, effeminate man he had first thought but a much larger and bulkier man with cornflower blue eyes who had took down 5 unsullied during a training session and then proceeded to dote on Ser Largent with lunch that they shared with everyone participated in the brutal training session.
When asked, his former officers said that Lord Tevan Largent was an officer from Claw Isles who had caught Commander Largent’s eyes after he had defeated him during a training session and then yelled at him for his shoddy paperwork.
(Apparently it was an impressive whirlwind courtship that ended up with Ser Largent offering him the seat of Dragonwatch and adopting two orphans as their children as part of their wedding dowry. It was said Princess Rhaenyra had laughed herself sick before officiating the first of the many same-sex marriages in the island.)
Even his offer to teach Rhaenyra the intricate Valyrian culture and Targaryen rich (albeit bloody) history was rejected, thanks to Uncle Vaegon, who took education very serious and the cadre of religious figures including Valyrian priests (and to his disgust, a lone Septon Rhaenyra brought with her to the island) that taught her an impressively balanced religious education.
So boring.
He ended up spending time flying with Caraxes when he was not trouncing the trainees and nagging the builders.
It was then he noticed the suspicious group of ships anchored just outside Stepstone’s water territories.
Finally, he thought joyful, something interesting!!
Rhaenyra was enjoying a rare quiet afternoon (Martyn had kicked her out of her office, citing she had, for once, caught up with her work and Uncle Vaegon was too busy dodging Grey Ghost to nag about her studies) and had decided to go on a picnic and pearl harvesting on one of the beaches in Pearl’s Cove with her ladies and some orphans.
Listening to the pearl harvesters explaining how they inseminate and harvest pearls, Rhaenyra can feel herself nodding off, lulled by the warm afternoon sun and sea breeze.
Yes, maybe just a short nap…
The sudden loud blast of sound startled her from her nap, children screaming as Aemon (her scarlet shadow for the day) scrambled up, his sword unsheathed. “Your Highness, the alarm!”
(One of the first thing Daemion Velaryon did when he joined her council of advisors was to improve their alarm system in case of invasion or major incidents. One such idea was to set a chain of outposts in each island and ships in strategic places that boost both pyres or lanterns that can be lighted at a split second and drums that can be heard loud enough that can reach the next posts or ship, thus creating a line of first warning for the islanders.)
So to hear the sound for the first time was alarming for all.
Rhaenyra, accompanied by Aemon, mounted Syrax and flew straight to Moonstone, wondering what had happened.
Did the Tyroshis didn’t like the new trading terms and decided to attack Pryr? Did the Dornish decide that they wanted to invade Dustspear for its coal and silver deposits? Did the Pirates decide they wanted the islands back?
The moment Syrax landed, Rhaenyra and her scarlet shadow immediately slid off, running toward Martyn, who was looking worriedly at them. “What happened?” She asked.
“All we know is that our outpost in Veiled Island sounded the alarm first. Judging from the cadence of the drums, a ship was attacked just outside our waters.”
“Pirates?” Aemon asked in confusion, as his counterpart, Mylessa, joined him to guard the princess.
Martyn hesitated but Vaegon, who just appeared from his tower along with his apprentices, commented loudly.
“No, dragon. More specifically, my stupid nephew.”
“Uncle Daemon?!”
Daemon laughed maniacally as he flew past the carnage, ignoring the dying throes of men and the burning debris in the water, Caraxes gearing for another fireblast.
“DAEMON!!” He turned to see Rhaenyra on Syrax and to his surprise, Vaegon on Grey Ghost bearing down on him. In the horizon, he could see a fleet of ships approaching them. “WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?!” Vaegon bellowed, behind him, Mylessa Darke held onto him in case he tipped off mid-bellow.
“Why, pirates are invading our islands, dear uncle.” He replied joyfully. “I’m merely doing my duty to defend us.”
“Are we sure they’re pirates?” Rhaenyra asked on top of Syrax just before the dragon swerved off, avoiding the volley of arrows. “Nevermind!”
Vaegon, despite being his maiden flight with the wild dragon, immediately adjusted to it to the point Daemon was watching in envy at how smooth he was making the turns and commanding the dragon to attack the ships.
Rhaenyra meanwhile was struggling. She was used to pleasure flights with Syrax, and had never seen battle. Even with Aemon on her back keeping her safe with his crossbow, Rhaenyra was trying her best to not get hit by one of the stray arrows.
One such attack came while she was flying between two of the ships, one oddly attacking the other. One of the arrows almost struck her till it was deflected by another arrow that came from the ship that was attacked.
She turned and saw a woman dressed in leather and silks nodding at her before notching another arrow aimed at the other ship.
The young princess signaled to the other two dragon riders to not attack the ship, hoping whoever was manning the ship was an ally and not another enemy they would have to vanquish that day.
After the battle was over, Rhaenyra and her guard lightly landed on the only ship that was still standing. “I believe you are the one I should thank for the assistance.” The woman in leather and silks said, her cutlass sheathed on her right hip. Around them, her crew were trying their best to put out the fire and help their wounded mates. “Thank you for not lighting my ship on fire, Princess.”
“You know who I am?” Rhaenyra asked curiously.
“Everyone knows the princess who controlled the Narrow Sea, who freed slaves, who turned a barren island into a paradise.” She smiled bloodily. “That’s why I’m here, to look for you and why they,” she pointed at the massacre in the water, “were here, to avenge their pride and capture the slave you took from them. House Qazzaz still remembers the insult you gave them.”
Rhaenyra frowned. “There are no slaves here, but freedmen. If House Qazzaz thinks they can come here and steal my people, I will destroy their entire House with fire and blood.”
The redheaded woman smiled. “Then the rumors are true, Kaerīnio.” She nodded her head to the princess. “There are people, former slaves I have rescued, on this ship that would like to claim sanctuary on your island. I also would ask for permission to seek shelter here while we repair my ship before my crew and I can return home.”
“I give you my permission to repair your ship here at our port. Tell me, who are you?”
“I am Sayiddah fa Toren of Faros, the Nakhuda of Great Maroq.” She smiled ferociously.