Queen Alicent's chambers were heavy with the mingled scents of crushed herbs and fresh blood.
King Viserys I sat at the edge of the bed, his breath shallow. Half his face was hidden behind the golden mask that clung to his ruined flesh.
The newborn girl had been named Ysilla, in honor of the queen's mother.
Hearing footsteps, Viserys turned his head. His gaze fell first upon his eldest son, Prince Aegon.
Only days earlier, a raven had arrived from Driftmark:
Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey had formally relinquished all claim to the Iron Throne and were to be recognized as heirs of House Velaryon.
Princess Rhaenyra had proclaimed Aegon the Younger her successor.
At the Hand's suggestion, the news had been withheld from the queen, lest it trouble her confinement.
"Mother."
Prince Aemond stepped forward first. He knelt beside the bed and took Alicent's hand in his own.
"You have endured much."
Alicent's eyes filled at once. For two years, her second son had existed only in ink and memory—his letters read until the parchment grew soft, his face seen only in dreams.
Then Rhaenyra entered, with Prince Daemon beside her.
Outside the chamber doors, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey waited.
The Princess of Dragonstone wore a flawless smile as she approached.
"Alicent," she said softly. "My congratulations. I have seen the children. They are beautiful."
"Prince Baelon's hair is very like his father's," she continued, "and little Ysilla's eyes are unmistakably yours."
Alicent met her gaze.
Years of unspoken grievances, shared girlhood, and buried resentment passed silently between them.
"Thank you for coming, Rhaenyra," Alicent said at last.
"I heard you gave birth not long ago… Are you well?"
"Very well," Rhaenyra replied, her smile never wavering.
"Little Viserys thrives. Like his brother Aegon, he bears the purest marks of Old Valyria—silver hair, purple eyes, and the blood of the dragon."
Alicent said nothing.
Leaning against the doorway, Daemon laughed softly, shattering the fragile calm.
"What a tender family gathering," he drawled.
"When was the last time the House of the Dragon stood so… complete? Ah—yes. Before that night on Driftmark."
The words fell like ice into boiling oil.
"Daemon," Viserys warned, his voice strained.
"This is not the time. The queen must rest."
"What have I said amiss?" Daemon spread his hands, amused.
"Only that time is relentless. The children of Driftmark are nearly grown now."
"That is enough," Rhaenyra said coolly.
She turned back to Alicent, her expression gentle once more.
"Rest well. We shall visit again."
Alicent inclined her head.
By then, she no longer harbored any illusions of reconciliation.
The Family Banquet
By custom, the birth of a royal heir was followed by a family supper in the smaller hall of Maegor's Holdfast.
That night, the long table was rigidly divided.
The king sat alone at its head.
Queen Alicent was absent, weakened by childbirth.
To Viserys's left sat Aegon, Ser Criston Cole, Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron.
To his right: Rhaenyra, Daemon, Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey.
The silence was oppressive.
Viserys cleared his throat, his gaze settling on Prince Daeron, ever mild, ever distant from strife.
"Daeron," the king said, his voice dry,
"How fares your study in Oldtown? Maester Mernard writes that you are fluent in High Valyrian, and have begun reading ancient texts."
Daeron set down his spoon and straightened.
"Yes, Father. I am reading The Doom of Valyria.
Maester Mernard says that to understand the present of House Targaryen, one must first understand its past."
He hesitated, then added,
"I am also studying Valyrian poetry."
Ser Criston dabbed his mouth delicately.
Before Viserys could reply, Daemon's voice cut in lightly:
"A poet, a scholar… How fortunate. While others master swords, he learns dead tongues."
The air froze.
Aegon bristled but held his tongue.
Daemon said nothing more, though his eye lingered on Aemond, who continued eating in silence.
At last, Viserys spoke again.
"Rhaenyra."
All sound ceased.
She set down her knife and met her father's gaze.
"Yes, Father. This decision was made in agreement with Lord Corlys."
"Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey shall inherit Driftmark, with all its rights and titles."
"My heirs will be Aegon the Younger and Viserys the Younger—true Targaryens, of unquestioned blood."
Her eyes passed briefly over the table before returning to the king.
"In this way, the question of succession is ended.
The realm may know peace again."
"Peace?" Aemond said calmly.
"But that is not tonight's true matter."
He turned to Rhaenyra and offered a courteous smile.
"Since Jacaerys is now a Velaryon, does the marriage pact arranged by his father still stand?"
All eyes went to Helaena.
Rhaenyra glanced at her, then to Viserys.
"That is precisely my question, Father.
The betrothal was made by you, when Jacaerys was still a Targaryen."
"It would strengthen the bond between our houses."
Viserys was silent for a long while.
At last, he said,
"The pact was mine. Let it stand as I decreed."
"My mother will never agree."
Aemond's voice cut through the hall.
Dead silence followed.
"I am the king," Viserys said hoarsely.
"Helaena's future is mine to decide."
Aemond rose.
"I have no objection, Your Grace."
He pushed back his chair and left the hall without another word.