61 Picture

There I stood, deep in the Vale countryside, fresh from my fourteenth name day and victor of my first war.

Without delay, I dispatched raven and rider far and wide.

Every corner of the Vale to bask in the news of our united realm. Singers and mummers who witnessed the battle of Red Ridge eagerly journeyed across the continent, spinning tales for profit.

It was a jubilant time. People poured out into the streets, embracing one another in celebration. Each village we passed welcomed us with open arms, showering us with humble country flowers. Children ran alongside, mesmerized by the rhythmic crunch of cleated boots.

Once more, I embarked on the hazardous climb to the Eyrie astride on donkey-back. A sense of security hung in the air, mingling with the afterglow of glory.

Upon my return, Lady Jayne greeted me with her timeless beauty, her joy at my safe return.

Beneath the surface, I sensed a possessiveness reminiscent of Rhaenyra, albeit focused more on physical appearance.

"My prince," Jayne Arryn said, her embrace conveying her relief. Then she pouted, adding, "Thank the gods you've returned."

'Returned to me,' her tight embrace said.

"If you're so thankful, why the long face?"

In that moment, it dawned on me that Lady Jayne evoked a deep affection I held for women, nurtured through countless hours with my mother, the wisdom of my grandmother Queen Alysanne, and the endearing companionship of my sister. 

It was difficult to articulate, but there was perfection in the female nature — sweet and kind, yet capable of strength when needed, and more oft than not sharper of mind than we men. They knew how to laugh amidst hardship and dream of brighter, more artful days. In this sort of world, I suppose they had to!

Reflecting on it, I realized that my closest confidante was a woman. I longed to see Lady Alicent, inhale the fragrance of the flower she left me that day, and recount the tales I had penned to her in what felt like countless letters.

"I'm sad I won't get my wish," Lady Jayne admitted.

I placed a single delicate finger on her chin and raised her depressed head.

"Don't despair. We have a long life ahead of us, with plenty a wager to be had. And no matter where I am or what I'm doing, all you need do is send word, and I'll be there."

She cried in that mucusy sort of way, spilling tears and snot on my chest. I didn't care. 

From prison squalor of to lavish royalty, to getting amongst the grit of the medieval criminal underworld, and cold camping throughout the realm , witnessing greed, vanity, pride, and love… life was but what it was: a series of shit and sunshine, all at once around you.

Shit and sunshine, shit and sunshine… Both stain your clothes in their own way. When that's the case, what harm are a lady's tears?

With Lady Jayne and I seemingly reconciled (though no true discord had existed, the interaction felt like a reconciliation), celebrations erupted in the Eyrie. Once more, I found myself reveling in the festivities of that lofty keep, nestled high above the clouds atop the mountain known as the Giant's Lance.

While some lords departed in the six moons since my initial arrival, it intrigued me that others had remained. 

Perhaps they anticipated my triumph over the clansmen, or perchance they gambled on winning my favor by staying for my return, whether in success or failure. I briefly pondered the politics.

The celebration took on an intimate air, with Aunt Rhea's sergeants and closest bannermen, Jayne's companions, myself and my people. 

It promised to be a night of moderation, devoid of excessive alcohol or foolishness, without waking up in a sky cell with half your body dangling over the edge.

That shattered when a distinctive shriek pierced the sky, one unmistakable to my ears.

'Caraxes!'

We hurried from the great hall to the sky gardens, where we found Daemon Targaryen dismounting his dragon. 

Clad in his signature black tunic trimmed with red, exuding the aura of a true dragon lord with those pointed shoulders, the valyrian steel blade Darksister — one of our family's prized treasures — sheathed at his side.

"Daemon, what a surprise!"

He greeted me with his signature sly smile. "I should say the same, Rhaenar. To send for me in your time of triumph."

I couldn't help but return his expression. "Who else in my family would I want to celebrate with?"

After six months by my side, Aunt Rhea had learned enough about me to sense when there was more to my actions.

However, the repugnant presence of the man before her pushed any lingering concerns aside.

"Husband," she said curtly, "how you've improved in your absence."

I had to mask my impressed reaction. Her comment was a perfectly veiled insult. Who could fault a wife for implying her husband had improved?

In reality, she was jabbing at Daemon's neglectful behavior as a husband. Once again, I marveled at Aunt Rhea's potential as a cunning politician if she ever ventured to court in King's Landing.

Daemon assessed her with a masculine gaze, reminiscent of a hound dog prowling the streets of silk.

"Thank you, wife. It's remarkable what one can achieve in the right company."

His response had me. I enjoyed their dynamic as a couple. It was like it took all of Daemon's courtesy not to put on a sheep's voice and say, "Well, I'm b-a-a-a-ck now, wife. B-a-a-a-a-a!"

"Enough of that," I wiped away a tear of laughter. "Come, Uncle. There's much I have to tell you."

That evening, against all sound judgment, we indulged to excess.

Wine flowed endlessly, and Brien found himself dispensing remedies to those suffering the consequences.

We occupied one of the spires in the Eyrie, our proximity to each other's apartments ensuring that the revelry extended all about the spire.

The following morning, I discovered I was the second to rise.

In the lobby of our spire, seated by the fire and nursing a mug of hot water, was Sari Sicai.

"You're up early."

Sari scoffed, "Drink a cup of water for each glass of wine, and with some sleep, you're fresh as a daisy."

I must admit that some variation of this tactic had kept me awake.

"Fuck yeah!"

"What has you all uppity?" Sari said, observing my positive demeanor 

"You and I deal in death and life, sometimes I get high on my own supply."

Sari nodded knowingly. "Fair enough, I won't prod any further."

"Anyway, are you hungry?"

The two of us proceeded to cook sausages over the firepit. As the aroma of spiced meat filled the air, doors throughout the spire began to open, and bleary-eyed individuals made their way to the lobby.

"Look who it is!" I exclaimed. "You all look chirpy this morning!"

The collective groans in response were undeniably amusing.

Sari Sicai enjoyed himself as Ser Lorent and Ser Steffon joined him at the table.

"If it isn't the white knights," Sari remarked, his tone more respectful after witnessing their prowess in battle. "You look terrible. How about some ale?"

The 'white knights' appeared paler than usual, but not due to their cloaks. They both gagged and struggled to hold back their nausea. "Water is fine," Ser Lorent finally managed to say.

"Where's Brien?" I inquired, passing half a sausage to Theodore.

"Taking a shit," Theodore replied.

"And Zane?"

Asher groaned as if in pain. He'd heard more than enough from his childhood friend Zane the night before. "Same as Brien."

"Still?" Sari exclaimed, bewildered. "That bastard's had his backside dangling out a sky hole for hours now!"

Theodore grimaced as he sipped his hot warer, "And woe to he who walk below."

Our recovery brunch extended well into the afternoon, with each of us gradually emerging from our respective apartments.

And who should come scurrying out of Aunt Rhea's room?

"Daemon!" I exclaimed, greeting my half-naked uncle. He reeked of wine and cradled his head as though it weighed a ton.

Upon closer inspection, it was evident that Daemon was in shock regarding his whereabouts upon awakening. Considering the extent of his drinking the night before, I began to wonder if he even remembered what happened.

But my companions certainly hadn't forgotten. They erupted in cheers and hollers, banging their mugs on tables and wolf-whistling at Daemon.

"There he is!"

"That scoundrel!"

"I barely got any sleep; they were fucking so loud!"

"Bahahahaha!" The raucous laughter filled the air, reminiscent of our war camps. For a moment, I swore I saw Uncle Daemon blush.

The commotion ceased abruptly when Aunt Rhea appeared. 

Leaning against the doorway into the lobby, her brown hair disheveled, a duvet from her bed wrapped around her bodice.

That tousled appearance, the sight of her bare shoulder combined with her blushed cheeks. I'll admit I felt a rush of blood at my downstairs.

My Aunt Rhea had seamlessly integrated into our squad by then. She knew us and our ways as if an extension of myself. There was no hint of shyness or embarrassment in her demeanor.

Rhea simply rolled her eyes and quipped, "Good. I'm glad you heard. I hope the whole damned realm could hear me!"

"Bahahahaha!"

The room erupted with laughter once again. Some choked on their drinks or sausages, while others rolled on the ground, gasping for air.

But my uncle wasn't amused. The noise assaulted his throbbing head like war drums. 

He scanned the room and wrongly concluded he was the subject of the jest. 

When he looked at his half-naked wife, leaning in all her beauty, the passion they supposedly shared the night before was absent. 

Daemon glanced down at his crotch and gave it a scratch, as if confirming some aftermath of human bodily fluid that had crustified.

Appalled and seemingly convinced of his involvement in the night's antics despite lacking recollection, Daemon remained silent, focusing on finding his clothes. 

Once dressed and having purged himself of wine, he left our spire, cradling his aching head, and mounted Caraxes, who circled the Eyrie as if sensing his master's distress, anticipating a quick getaway.

Aunt Rhea and I watched Daemon fly away from a window.

"Well," I said, amused, "That went better than expected."

She chuckled, "I dare say my husband may never be seen again."

"He'll turn up once word reaches you are with child. How was it, by the way?"

She pinched my cheek with soft, cold fingers, "Aren't you one to pry?"

I shrugged, "Curiosity never killed the dragon."

Then she gave me a coy smirk, and my heart fluttered, "As for my curiosity, it is well sated. After riding a dragon for but one night, I'll need a moon's time before I can walk again. You Targaryens…"

"Please," I said dismissively, "Our stock has nothing to do with it."

I felt justified in saying it. Believe it or not, arranging this 'entanglement' between my uncle and Aunt Rhea was no easy affair.

Everything had to be perfect, even down to Rhea's menstrual cycle. I made arrangements with the Eyrie's castellan to ensure there would be fermented crab upon our return, a natural aphrodisiac used in the brothels.

According to Arland, my de facto casanova handling some of my affairs back in King's Landing, fermented crab is essential in maximizing the profits of his whorehouses.

From the music to the incense, all was done to set my uncle Daemon in the mood for some loving. 

I had Evelyn, my legion's camp master and lead steward, clean herself up and accompany us. Evelyn was something of a beauty herself when she cleaned up, with long blond hair and slender yet firm limbs. 

I dare say she could impersonate the fairest of maidens. It was a bonus that Evelyn had that look. The tastes of my uncle were known to all of us who had ears to listen in the capital; how he loved to deflower blond maidens.

By the time we retired to our apartments, uncle Daemon's loins would have been tingling.

Part of me felt terrible for orchestrating such a scheme. Though I suspect someday my uncle would thank me.

Besides, far be it for me to ignore one of the oldest and quaint of human sayings:

'All's fair in love and war!'

We left the Eyrie the next day. I kissed Lady Jayne Arryn on the hand and left without looking back.

If things hadn't changed, my tour would have commenced once again, and I would have marched my procession throughout the Vale for a series of tournaments and feasts.

But something in the air stopped me from doing so. After traveling through half the realm and being engaged in war for the past 6 months, it seemed to me that my tour should come to an end.

I had not the heart to march my men all the way north, through the neck and into the vast, cold expanse. So large that you could fit all six of the Seven Kingdoms inside and still have room left over.

And so, when we marched out of the Gates of the Moon, we found ourselves at the Crossroads Inn again. We turned south.

I was content with my decision. We had thousands of recruits who still followed our camp. It was time to send them to Dragonstone and complete their training.

Thus I sent word back home, and the smallfolk of the Crownlands eagerly anticipated my return.

We marched south in merry celebration, taking our time to stop at villages and let our friends reunite with their families.

It was so joyous that I invited all the families of my original 501 to follow us back to King's Landing. They all deserved it, they who became my comrades. Those families who sacrificed.

Their families deserved to see the Red Keep from the inside at least once, to feast in the great hall of the Red Keep together in merriment. I had Theodore make the arrangements.

When we came upon the road that veered off the King's Road and into the heart of Crackclaw Point, I bid Phoenix farewell.

My Unsullied friend and the 2000 recruits from all over the realm would make their way to Manmaker Beach where Dillan would await them with our fleet to ferry them to Dragonstone.

"This is where we part ways," I said. "Best of luck in your research, Eldric. I expect quick results. Have you memorized the cipher?"

The tall, bald ex-Archmaester of the Citadel regarded me with his snakish, breathy manner of speaking.

"Of course, Prince Rhaenar. I look forward to getting back in the lab."

"Very good. Only you and I know the key to that cipher, take care not to leak it. Speak to Ser Broome when you arrive. He should see you settled. As for needing any 'supplies', code all your correspondence. And keep your head down, damn it. My influence only goes so far. I won't be able to save you if shit hits the saddle."

"You can rely on my discretion," said Eldric.

The old man looked even more youthful (if that were even possible). The prospect of returning to his research, now with a patron who will fund all his endeavors, had Eldric exuded a childlike giddiness I never thought possible for the man.

A days march from King's Landing, I summoned Theodore to my tent for a final review of our tour's itinerary. 

He provided an estimation of our journey, which began from the capital, down to Storm's End, west through the Reach, north the Ocean Road and along the Sunset Sea into the Westerlands, continued east through the Riverlands, then east again to the Vale, and finally south back home to King's Landing. This extensive trip covered roughly 3500 miles.

Considering a pace of 20 miles per session, our total travel time in terms of marching time amounted to ~180 days, give or take. 

However, this calculation did not encompass the leisure spent at various stops along the way – at keeps, towns, or villages.

Those days spent indulged in pleasure boat rides at Highgarden, engaged with the merchant guilds of Lannisport, delved into the archives of the Citadel.

 Exploring hidden caves and coveted secrets of nature. Those wierwood groves and sacred places. 

Time spent for war games, beach swims, and sports contests. Stopping to build a makeshift stage for mummers to perform, only to disassemble it and continue on our way.

Even with these diversions, the entire tour lasted 306 days. Reflecting on our pace, and our efforts to savor the experience, I couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in the ground we covered within that time. 

[A general overview of route taken]

We were truly fortunate; many spend their entire lives within the confines of their villages, never venturing beyond a 5-mile radius.

In contrast, we belonged to a rare demographic privileged to explore the realm, shielded from harm's way and always well-supplied.

Before the scent of the city reached us, before King's Landing emerged as a distant silhouette on the horizon, the toll of the bells greeted our homecoming.

To respond, we offered our own anthem, the synchronized cadence of footsteps reverberating through the streets. Our voices joining in harmony:

"Make way for Prince Rhaenar. Make way for the Rhaenari!"

Guiding Sundance through the air, I descended towards the bustling streets, his wings stirring up clouds of dust and dislodging loose tiles from rooftops.

Darting between the towers of the Red Keep and back again, we reveled in the nostalgia.

Amidst the soaring heights, a chorus of joyful shrieks accompanied by the beating of wings heralded the arrival of Seasmoke and Syrax.

Their excitement at reuniting with Sundance was palpable, mirrored by the grins on the faces of their riders, Rhaenyra and Laenor. The three of us embarked on a aerial joy ride around King's Landing. 

Sundance seized the opportunity and nipped at the ankles of his companions in mid-air, careful not to connect or cause harm.

Seasmoke and Syrax, (laughing, it seemed), gracefully maneuvered to evade his antics. 

For a while, the three dragons pranced across the sky, claiming that azure expanse as their exclusive dance floor.

As the days of confinement were over for the both of us, I ignored the Dragonpit and instead swooped Sundance to the Red Keep.

By the time I had dismounted, the legion had just completed their march to the castle. 

Taking inspiration from my rebellious landing, Rhaenyra and Laenor did the same. 

I hadn't seen my sister since the ball at High Garden. 

It was strange to had spent our birthday apart.

Fourteen now, Rhaenyra radiated, even in the tight fitting leathers that were her riding gear. "Brother!" she said as she gripped me tight with a grip that portrayed a sense of never letting go. 

'I've gotten taller,' I thought, resting my chin on Rhaenyra's head. The musk of dragon permeated from her slender, sweat-glistened neck as I separated our embrace. 

She clung to me so tightly that the release felt like prying open an oyster.

"Someone's missed me."

Rhaenyra squinted her violet eyes in defiance, "Don't play dumb. I heard about your 'bet' with Jayne Arryn. How could you be so… ugh!"

I regarded that perfectly symmetrical face of hers, the way she puckered those lips to that cute nose. Raising that porcelain chin ever so slightly in a way that begged for tenderly touch.

I accepted the invitation, "Worried I would lose on purpose?"

For some inexplicable reason, my body seemed compelled to raise a thumb and brush against her bottom lip, like some kind of sneeze reaction. 

Thankfully, she turned away, diverted by our usual sibling banter. "No. As if you'd ever lose—"

"Rhaenar!"

Next to embrace me was Laenor Valerian. As we clasped hands in a manner befitting soldiers, I gazed at the friend with whom I had shared the experience of our first kill.

"Hey, coz! Been practicing your swordplay?"

Laenor fist bumped my chest, always ready to meet my challenge, never to be outdone.

"You know it. Don't think just because you've had your first campaign before me that I'll fall behind!"

The thought never occurred to me. I had no doubt that Laenor had spent the past year aboard ship, sailing the Blackwater and the nearby waters of the Narrow Sea, assisting with overseeing his father's merchant fleets.

Hell, I could tell by the way he walked, those sea legs of his!

(Either that, or Laenor has taken his first lover, his ass yet to recover. I knew the walk well from my days in prison. How the odd soul unfortunate enough to get gang raped would roam the yard afterward. The bleeding would last weeks. It was not uncommon for inmates to stuff balls of toilet paper up there in a sort of 'go-go gadget tampon!' to avoid the embarrassment, walking around with blood-stained breeches…)

When we reached the head of the formation where my captains were assembled, Brien greeted Rhaenyra warmly. The memory of how she had helped him in his time of darkness upon seeing his father in the Reach still warmed his heart.

"Princess!" he said, and they began catching up in hushed tones.

I turned to Captain Asher. "Are we all here?"

He nodded and responded with a word I had taught them all back in boot camp, a word that made them sound distinguished and important in their ranks.

"Affirmative."

"Well then," I addressed all the troops. My voice had evolved over the years from singing, the stress of making my orders heard during countless war games, and the past half-year of barking orders on campaign.

"Since no one of note has come to greet us in the courtyard, I can only assume my Father and Mother await us in the Throne Room. A grand welcome! What do you say, lads? Shall we go see the King?"

Spears raised, "A'oo!"

Sure enough, when the massive doors opened to the grand echo chamber that was the throne room, there were so many lords, ladies, minor nobles, and dignitaries standing on either side, forming a column toward the throne. I wondered if it would fit my regiment of 501 minus 40.

Ser Lorent and Ser Steffon were the first to enter, taking point on my front sides, right and left. 

Even now, with Sari at my side and all my men behind, the Kingsguard knights took their job seriously.

They didn't care how much I trusted this man or the other, evident by their forthright entrance before me, like navy seals clearing a room and checking their corners.

The room fell silent as I entered, flanked by Rhaenyra and Laenor. Following behind were the captains, adorned in their gold cloaks and bearing black daggers.

Whispers rippled through the room as Ulfgar Nutbreaker, standing at a towering height of seven feet, absorbed everyone with his imposing presence.

I greeted my father warmly and presented the giant's bone, a trophy from the Mountain King, at his feet.

"For the love I bear the realm, I have brought peace to my mother's homeland. All the Vale is now yours, Your Grace."

I expressed gratitude to the gods as Ulfgar Nutbreaker finally bent the knee. Convincing that stubborn ass to show this gesture of respect had been a challenge throughout the entire march home. There was no guarantee he would comply.

My father accepted the weapon of the conquered foe and welcomed me home as a victor of war, guardian of peace, and champion of the people. I acknowledged the praise with grace, giving credit to the men and women who marched alongside me, enduring blistered feet and countless miles. The victory belonged to them as much as it did to me.

Then, my father playfully remarked on my belated name day gifts, giving a subtle nod to Rhaenyra as she slipped out of the throne room unnoticed.

With a signal from him, the doors swung open, revealing the most majestic white stallion I had ever laid eyes on.

Its hair gleamed silver like the moon, with a golden mane and tail resembling strands of silk.

As my sister rode the stallion towards me, she exuded the epitome of a perfect princess.

"For you, brother. Now you can always ride the wind, be it earth or sky."

'Ride towards *me*' her gaze demanded.

I ran my hands over the sturdy body of the stallion and marveled, "Magnificent," I finally managed to say, "A steed befitting a prince!"

At that moment, my mother smiled and revealed that the gift was from her.

She had been in cahoots with Jayne Arryn and together arranged for the cream of the crop stallion from the greatest breeder in the Vale, knowing the importance of mounted warfare in our Vale culture, as well as my operations - a symbol of our heritage and our bond.

"It's only right you ride on the best in all the kingdoms," she said, kissing my each cheek, "When you take to the open on your silver, I want you to be reminded of me, and never forget where you came from."

A tear threatened to escape me. "As if I could ever forget."

The gift was truly impressive. That silver stallion was undoubtedly the best horse any in the room had ever seen.

Its value would be staggering. I could almost hear Theodore sending me telepathic messages as he considered what we could do with the money from selling it.

After that, a tingling sensation filled the air as everyone gawked in awe, again reminded of royalty's exuberance.

It was as if their prince had returned, bringing with him the magic of life, where surprises could hide behind any corner, and miracles tried to take place each day.

Whether my father was caught up in the energy of the moment or had orchestrated this masterfully, he was not to be outdone.

For the gift he bore was even more priceless.

"And since it's certain to get better use from you than from these hands of mine, I present you with this!"

In his hands was Blackfyre, the famed Valyrian steel sword of Aegon the Conqueror, a treasure of the Targaryen dynasty.

My heart nearly leaped out of my throat as I sensed the gravity of the moment.

"You honor me, father," I said, feigning a pain in my heart so profound it felt as though I carried the weight of the world on my shoulders.

"And you, mother. The love you bear has rendered me breathless… But respectfully, I cannot accept either of these gifts!"

A collective gasp filled the room as everyone stood motionless, so surprised and unmoving that you could hear a feather drop.

Was the prince mad? What kind of fool would deny such treasures?

Reading the room and sensing that I had the people where I wanted them, I continued, "It is not for lack of gratitude that I must do this. Rather, I cannot in good conscience accept. Not when I require something even more precious."

Viserys had such a reaction that he shook his head in a vigorous, unbelieving twitch, to the point where he had to readjust his crown.

For a moment, I could tell he was teetering on the brink between that of father and king.

"More precious than our family blade? Well then, speak, child, and let's hear it! What is it that you covet so that you would deny reward from your king?"

'Bingo,' I thought. All or nothing. After working so hard, I would be damned if I relinquished my spoils. But to keep them would require some political savvy.

"The mountain clans are a proud people, father," I began, "As cunning as they seem vicious and as loyal as they are fierce. For thousands of years, they endured poverty for one simple principle: Freedom. 

"I ask that you let them keep their dignity. To make them swear obeisance to the Vale lords they fought for so long when it was not they who defeated them is a fate too cruel to rest on my conscience. 

"Allow the mountain clans to join our kingdom, yes, but let them do so under the banner of Dragonstone. May we pledge to uphold the sovereignty of those downtrodden people, and let their culture forever be preserved under the protection of the three-headed Dragon!"

The optics may not have been ideal, but this was my best opportunity.

A horse? Damn the horse. No amount of sentimental value could outweigh the importance of the foothills, their resources, their strategic location.

Blackfyre? Damn the sword. I'd end up getting it eventually.

No, I needed the clansmen. Though Jayne Arryn was an ally, I needed a stronger foundation to keep the Crown from sticking their nose in my business.

Otherwise, they would squander the region with poor decisions, mismanagement of funds, and an overall disdain for its people.

Rejecting the stallion and priceless heirloom seemed the best theatrical gesture to put my father on the spot, disarm him with kindness, and secure his agreement in the heat of the moment.

It worked.

Even better, my Father declared it such a minor request that he bade me accept his and Mother's gifts anyway.

I accepted Blackfyre with stoic grace and immediately felt the difference in weight compared to a long sword of similar size.

I'd heard tales of Valyrian Steel and had the chance to hold such a sword during my youth, but never had I grasped one with the strength I currently possessed.

As I unsheathed the blade, a resonant 'zing' of the Valyrian steel sang through the great hall.

Holding it up to the light, I observed its blackened color, the result of being shaded after the sword was placed in the funeral pyre of Aegon the Conqueror, and later taken from the ashes by his son, Maegor the Cruel.

"A fine blade," I remarked with a hint of humor, breaking the suspense.

"Perhaps I'll pick my teeth with it?"

That night, we held a feast in the throne room. Only my men and their families were invited, with my family and the small council sharing my place at the main table.

Before the feast, I held a ceremony for the troops, where those who had distinguished themselves this past year and beyond were rewarded for their hard work. Promotions, medals, titles, the whole nine yards.

Many had distinguished themselves. The rivalry between Zane and Asher continued as they were awarded the same honors for their contributions on the battlefield.

Hayden Cuckright, Pete, and Dick Mason were recognized for their diligent efforts toward technological advancement. Always seeking to innovate, they were commended for their outstanding work and for passing on their knowledge and expertise to their respective divisions.

Leon Strongarm was honored for single-handedly securing a victory for us against the Sons of the Mist when he threw his spear and miraculously impaled the clan leader before the battle even started. Fletch received recognition for being the first through the breach at Red Ridge.

Evelyn was lauded for her unparalleled stewardship in our war camp. Gorgous George and Chit Chattington received medals for undying loyalty. And, of course, I acknowledged fat Garvy's efforts in ensuring that all the troops had their nutrition in order.

With the awards distributed and everyone settled into the feast, their bellies full of wine, I rose to address the gathering.

Expressing my heartfelt gratitude for their service, I acknowledged that I would be nowhere without their support. 

Then, in a display of oratory finesse, I introduced each member of the small council to the troops, ensuring to convey my personal gratitude to each of them. For it was 'through their dedication and guidance' that none of our achievements would have been possible. 

There I was, fourteen years of age and wielder of Blackfyre.

Victorious, surrounded by loved ones, with what seemed like the whole world in the palm of my hand. 

Yet, something inside me prevented any true savoring of the moment. 

All I could think about was what came next. Pondering my next big task; the next challenge.

Like a fire that refused to shrink, the bigger it blazed, the more it consumed. No longer content to remain confined within the fireplace.

When I finally retired to my room in the royal apartments, my skin felt like it was on fire. I stripped down to just my trousers in hopes of cooling off, but it didn't seem to help at all.

Nothing could put me at ease. Not the rose Alicent left in the vase on my chamber's table. Not the familiar smell of paints, nor the comfort of quality tapestry.

I lit the candles and propped myself up in bed using the large fluffy pillows. 

Using a board similar to one used for breakfast in bed, I set up the ink, quill, my reading material, and fresh parchment to jot down any plans and scribbles that came to mind. Writing letters, dispatching orders, perusing the numerous reports from my agents all over the continent. 

The prospect of falling asleep seemed a world away, and I feared that I may never rest again.

It must have been the hour of the wolf when I heard a knock at my chambers.

"Who is it?"

Ser Harrold Westerling was posted at my door, relieving Ser Steffon and Lorent for some well-deserved rest. "Princess Rhaenyra, my prince."

"Send her in."

She looked as tired as I should have been. Her eyes heavy after a day of food and revelry. Her petite figure rested underneath a golden silk nightgown, her slightly messy hair untied, portraying an attempt to find sleep but failing as she tossed and turned in bed.

"What's the matter, sis? Can't sleep?"

Judging by how her hair swayed slightly, I could tell there must have been a nice, cool breeze coming into my room, and I cursed my inability to feel it.

"Not a wink," she said, "It was all too much. All your friends. Those at court… Everyone wanted your attention."

"How foolish," I said, teasing her in that familiar way, "Little did they know, my attention was already occupied."

I meant to imply that she was the one who had my attention, that she was the only one I cared about. There was some truth in it, sure, but it was mostly an automatic response I'd learned after years spent with Rhaenyra constantly at my side. 

It probably would have worked, but I had still yet to divert my gaze from my writings.

She sat at the end of the bed, and I felt her small weight pressing my legs down under the blankets. "What are you doing?"

"Writing to Old Town and Lannisport. There is also the matter of how I should best fund an additional 2000 recruits. Not to mention the number of lords I must reply after hundreds wrote me to congratulate on the victorious campai—"

Before I could finish, Rhaenyra rolled her eyes and, leaning forward with the speed of an attacking snake, snatched the quill from my hands.

"Hey, give that back," I said, attempting to reach it back.

"No!" she barked, holding the quill up high, "This isn't like you! You just got back, and all you've done is work, work, work. It's just as I feared. You don't have time for *me* anymore."

I was so astounded by the nostalgic waves that my sister's childishness hit me withthat I cocked my head back and burst into laughter. 

But when I was done, I found Rhaenyra still sitting there, holding the pen up high as if fearing I would snatch it back and begin a work of which I would never stop forever until I die.

Then I saw the mist in her eyes, and suddenly it was like I was splashed with a bucket of cold water. 

Despite this sobering moment in which I snapped back into reality, it was not as refreshing as, say, a bucket of cold water splashed on you on a hot day. 

Rather, what followed was an overwhelming weight that hit every limb. Suddenly, my eyes struggled to stay open. My arms could barely rise. My shoulders drooped, my back ached. 

All the nicks, cuts, and bruises now made their presence known, and I could feel the pain all over. Everything hurt. Everything was heavy.

I could see in her purple-gemmed eyes a yearning for those childhood days when she occupied my world. How she wanted me to throw aside my tray with all my important work, wrestle her on the bed, and tickle her until she submitted and handed me the quill. 

All of this hit me at once, and I could literally feel like my heart was being torn in two.

I breathed a heavy sigh. As I released it, it was like I was breathing for the first time. Each exhale made me more relaxed. Each breath quelled that glorious momentum, which until that point had been sedating the woes of enormous responsibility.

"You're right," I said sadly.

The thought occurred to me that all of my work was in some part because of a deep inner yearning to finally relax and enjoy the moments with those I cared about. 

The contradiction was not lost on me. The more I worked to achieve that state, the farther it would become.

"I apologize, alright? I'm sorry. Would you find it in your heart to forgive me?"

Rhaenyra liked the sound of that. She knew she had me then.

I think she figured out from an early age that when it came to moments like these where she successfully leveraged our relationship, she could likely request anything of me. 

I'd probably have burned the Great Sept in Old Town at that moment if she requested it. Thank the gods Rhaenyra understood the gravity of such power and never got overzealous. 

Whether she restrained herself out of pure decency, or if she thought she'd not and instead bank my dedication for some far-off important moment, like a get-out-of-jail-free card, I could not tell at the time.

"Only if you tell me about your travels," Rhaenyra said, her smile both cute and triumphant.

"It would be my pleasure."

I set the board with all my notes aside on the bedside table.

As if that were an invitation, Rhaenyra laid her head where the board had been, resting it on my legs, and gazed up at me, eager for story time. I stroked her head.

I told my tale. From start to finish.

With each stroke, I felt her clean strands of hair slip through my fingers, and suddenly my eyes grew heavy with each word — my lips faltered under the weight of each sentence.

My world went black without my even knowing.

The candles were out when I awoke, my body ice cold.

The soft glow in the room and my renewed ability to feel sensations of the air told me it was nigh on twilight, the sun an hour away.

The more pressing matter was the other 'sensations'. Rhaenyra was tight against me, her silver hair enveloping my nose with its tangy scent. Had she been eating oranges?

Unbeknownst to me, we had fallen asleep and, in the course of the night, found ourselves in a spooning position.

To make matters worse, my arm had found its way up Rhaenyra's gown and wrapped around her waist, clutching her against me! 

I realized she was completely naked under the gown, and her entire lower body was exposed and pressed against me, hot like as a searing grill, the gown bunched up at her breast like the rolls of a French bulldog.

'Shit!!'

Just like on the battlefield, a lapse into relaxation put me in an awkward position! 

Considering the moral implications, I thanked the gods for the calming idea that we must have sleep-squirmed our way into this position. I could only guess that now, as our bodies had gone through 'changes', we somehow got here subconsciously. 

After all, we often shared the bed in our youth, particularly during storms, and the ensuing cuddles were always platonic.

Bitching about whether or not this was acceptable was the least of my worries. I had to get out of this situation. 

My cock was hard valyrian steel and pulsated with the libido of twilight wood. It poked at the thin material of my trousers, each inhale saw a cotton sausage into the gaps of Rhaenyra's bare cheeks. 

The breathing from my stomach moved her up and down, away and then back to me. My cotton-wrapped member hovered near her pink flower at the end of each cycle.

Not good. I could feel her quiver each time it brushed her parts. I needed to get out of this without waking Rhaenyra to a massive rod.

Easier said than done. I started by shallowing my breath. This stopped my hard parts from touching the soft of hers in sensual intervals. Good. 

Then I attempted to squirm my arm free, but it was ensnared around her waist, her hand tightly clutching mine against her hip bone.

I almost succumbed to the hypnotic rhythm of her soft breathing, the alluring fragrance from her skin.

'Whatever. We were both lost in dreamland just moments ago. Go back to sleep, and tomorrow it will all be— No!'

Regardless of the circumstances, it was far too inappropriate! Think, Rhaenar. Think! You've gotten out of far worse!

I began by shrugging my shoulder in a casual manner. Each movement had to appear as natural as possible, as if I were asleep and my subconscious mind was simply adjusting my body for comfort during slumber.

This subtle motion allowed me to shift my arm from around her petite waist, loosening my grip on her hip.

However, in my slow retreat to another position, my hand inadvertently brushed over her stomach, gliding from east to west like the horizon.

Her body twitched and quivered so suddenly that I promptly withdrew my hand, feigning sleep to avoid any misunderstanding.

But now I found myself in a precarious position, practically straddling her, my fingers nestled in the dip of her hip bones, drawing her closer unintentionally. 

To compound matters, she began to stir and mumble in her sleep, shifting against me.

Her hips rolled in a figure-eight motion and rubbed against my member. I could not help but get intoxicated in her scent and release a soft moan.

No!

I had to make my exit, swift yet casual, ensuring not to disturb her slumber. Summoning all my willpower, I suppressed the primal urges coursing through me. My body was not in control; my mind ruled the roost!

I released my grip on her hip with the subtle movement one might expect from a sleeping person adjusting position. 

I had intended to continue until I turned to face the other side, but she began to stir, prompting me to halt midway.

As she turned around and draped her arms over me, her cheeks finding rest on my chest, I refrained from completing the rotation to avoid any sudden movements that might disturb her sleep. 

This was fine. At least I had made it this far, no longer straddling my sister. It was not long until this crisis would be avoided.

I remained on my back, stiff as a plank, enduring the unexpected closeness as my unconscious sister nestled her face against my chest, her hands tracing paths up and down my bare torso. 

Then her right leg grazed up agan my upper stomach, then down, brushing against my trouser-covered groin, then up again in rhythmic motion.

Back and forth, up and down. Each time more brazen and daring than the last until she caught the drawstring at my waist between her big and index toes. 

Then, with a final sleepy push down of her leg, my trousers were pulled off. My cock was so unbearably erect that when pried free, it slapped so hard against my stomach that I thought the noise might wake her.

My eyes were wide open now; my breathing brought to a halt. My cold skin now warm; even so, its heat was eclipsed by the soft, naked lava draped all over me.

It occurred to me I was on the precipice of that do or die moment. Like that of the battlefield when one decision could change the sway of results.

That sudden occurrence hit with an intense wave, as if all the lives that depended on me were remembered, and were once again all depending on me, I snapped back into reality and knew exactly what to do.

With a sudden surge of sobriety, I snapped back to reality, remembering the weight of responsibility that laid on my shoulders. 

Without hesitation, I gently freed each of Rhaenyra's limbs that clung to me, carefully separating them one by one. 

As her arms lifted from my chest and her legs untangled from mine, her steaming moistness away from my hot knife, I turned away from her, shifting position in bed to face the other way.

She groaned softly, turning sleepily and wrapped her arms around my waist, now the big spoon to my little spoon. 

Her hands roamed freely, tickling my stomach but never daring to venture lower.

A nagging suspicion crept into my mind — could she have been awake this whole time? I prayed that wasn't the case.

Regardless of whether she was awake or not, she pressed her groin against my firm buttocks for a while. Once it became clear that my facade of sleep persisted, her movements ceased, and our breathing synchronized to remscape lullabies.

The events left me in a state of bewilderment for the remainder of the night.

'So much has changed since I've been gone,' I pondered my racing thoughts.

It wasn't until my mind had exhausted all its musings that sleep finally enveloped me. Wrapped in my sister's embrace, nestled as the little spoon, a singular thought resonated, oddly fitting for the moment.

In that fleeting instant, amid the chaos of plans and schemes that defined my life, one truth remained absolute:

"I deal in life and death

High on my own supply

Reborn as Rhaenyra's Twin."