An enemy became a friend.

Ser Criston Cole was not entirely an enemy, but also not entirely someone that Rhysaenya was often pleased by. There was much she blamed him for– the lack of oversight that led to her son's death, the fact he had taken it upon himself to send Ser Arryk to Dragonstone without regard for their plans, even the mere fact he encouraged both Aegon and Aemond's stupidities.

But she and Ser Criston were suddenly bonded in secrecy. The only two who knew now the threat that was posed by Aemond to their King. They both knew what he wanted, what he was willing to do to get it.

Rhysaenya's heart was weighing heavy into her stomach as she watched the men carefully pick Aegon up and place him in a closed litter that would hide his injuries and hopefully– she was terrified of how easily something could go wrong– keep him alive until they were back in King's Landing with maesters that would alleviate his suffering. She wished she could lay him on her lap and fly back now, but all the men agreed that Aegon was too fragile. He was too likely to die at such high altitudes or break further with the slightest bump upon takeoff or landing.

She didn't know what to say to Aemond when he landed, looking at Aegon as if he would very much like to put him out of his misery. She saw the way he picked up the fallen Valyrian steel dagger that was meant to rest at Aegon's hip– the same one King Viserys always had with him. He was too ready to take it for himself, along with everything else that went with it.

He looked to her for words, standing up straight and looking her right in the eyes as he strapped the blade to himself. She wanted to beat at his chest with her fists, she wanted to drive her spear into his good eye, she wanted to kick and punch him and she wanted to fuck him, too, the madness in her driven by lust for the way he'd asserted himself. It was such an Ignividus thing to do, it was what kept her wanting him even when Aegon had been the gentle husband she needed. Aemond always kept stoking the fire in her.

"Fly back, now," was all she could manage to say. "Get back to defending the city. I will go with my husband."

"It is unwise and you know it," he said curtly. "You've a daughter to attend to."

A daughter whose father you tried to kill. Whose brother was killed when assassins could not find you. "I will not leave my husband's side," she hoped to have made it very clear how she felt about the situation. "Get back now. As your Queen, I command it."

She knew she might answer for that one day, but that day was not today. "Very well," said Aemond, his one eye glistening with what could have been anger at her perceived insubordination. "As Her Grace, the Queen, commands." He stalked off without regard for the other men. She and Cole alone followed his departing figure up to when he mounted Vhagar. She didn't feel as though she breathed again until he was gone.

Skyfall waited in the field, the men carefully moving around her in every attempt not to disturb her. Rhysaenya knelt down beside Sunfyre, scared to even touch him, but even the smallest bit of comfort was something. "He is still very much alive," she told Cole as she carefully caressed the scales by his eye. She looked at him and commanded, "Do whatever is most honorable for our men. But gather for me the bodies of all the slain who supported Rhaenyra. Give them all the same choice and put to the sword any others who refuse to renounce her. Gather the bodies of all the traitors– I want them brought here, where Sunfyre can reach them and eat. He cannot be moved and won't be able to fly. I'll not have him starve."

A tear slid down her cheek as she looked at the gashes on his belly, the way his injured wing flapped in the gentle wind. Barely, yet it seemed to pain him immensely. "Iksan sīr vaoreznuni, Sunfyre," she said mournfully, laying her cheek gently against his, the tear seeping between his scales. (T: I am so sorry, Sunfyre.)

He chirped wearily. She continued to cry, hating the way he shivered beneath her, listening to how Skyfall trilled as if begging him not to give up. She didn't know how close the two dragons might have become in the Dragonpit– perhaps they were wed in their own way, given their riders were.

As her tears continued to fall, she started to think. Think again, again, again. Phoenix fire. If such a thing could harm a dragon, perhaps something else of the phoenix might yet have the opposite effect. Arrwyth told her once that phoenix tears could heal anything, for having a phoenix mourn for you was something invaluable. If she could get the phoenix here, it could heal Sunfyre. It could heal Aegon.

She had changed her mind. She had to ask her father. She had to get the phoenix. "Ser Criston." She kissed Sunfyre's cheek and stood quickly. "I must fly ahead to find a way to save my husband's life. Take care of him. Tell no one..." She trailed off, knowing the other men might crane their heads to hear. Let them think that she wanted him to tell no one of the King's condition. What she really meant was for him not to say how the King became so damaged in the first place.

"Yes, my Queen," he affirmed. "If I may ask–"

"You may not," she said. "If only because I do not wish to give you false hope. But there may be something I can do."

While they flew back, Skyfall kept looking down as if expecting Sunfyre to follow. They caught up to Vhagar fairly soon, the older dragon covering a great distance but slowly. Rhysaenya looked sideways at Aemond, who seemed curious as to why she had gone against her own word. She ignored him, urging Skyfall ahead of Vhagar. He slowed down further to let it happen.

At the Dragonpit, she neglected a carriage and instead rode on horseback to the Red Keep, a raven flying ahead summoning her parents to her apartments with Jaehaera. They were the only people she could tell now. They might not react as she hoped– she knew it was always a chance with them. But they knew the phoenix better than anyone. Something had to be done. Something.

"What happened?" Karrhys had never been a patient man. He knew from the look on her face that something had gone terribly wrong. "Where is the King?"

"What I say in this room cannot leave it," she warned them, taking Jaehaera at once from her mother. Rocking the babe eased the hard beating of her heart. "Do you understand me? Should I learn that either of you let a whisper of it out, I will not hesitate to slit your throats."

They both raised their eyebrows, possibly impressed with her gall. They had better remember she was their Queen, all their own doing. She could decide their fates now. "Very well," said Rhaelyn, sliding into the nearest seat. "What happened to your husband?"

"He is dying," said Rhysaenya. "Aemond, he... I think his jealousies overtook him. It had already happened when I arrived. Ser Criston Cole saw it. Meleys and Rhaenys are dead. Aemond and I killed them. But Aegon paid the price before then... Sunfyre is dying, too. He will be transported back here but I do not know if he will make it alive. If the maesters can fix him. I want to know if the phoenix can."

Karrhys straightened up, eyes dark with concern and intrigue. "Some have attempted to use the phoenix to heal. Little is known of whether it actually worked or not. No one has ever attempted anything on such a scale. By the time we can usually get the phoenix to someone, their fire has already burnt out."

"Well, Aegon's hasn't," she said firmly. "He is alive. The phoenix's tears, Arrwyth once made it seem as though they could hold such a power. He believed it so firmly."

Rhaelyn tilted her head. "It is said the phoenix may have healed Rhystli when one of Maegor's assassins used a poison blade on him. But the tale differs– some say Rhystli was never wounded by any of them, others say he was dying and his fever broke. It is more like to work for minor scrapes. I cannot guarantee anything for the gravity of what the King is enduring now."

Karrhys held up his hand. "The most likely scenario is that your husband will not make it back here alive. Preparations should be made to heal Sunfyre, this is certain, but you must be ready to marry Aemond."

"Oh, do not worry about that," she said scathingly. "He is prepared for it, I am sure. I do not doubt that should my husband die, it is the first thing he will do no matter how angry it may make Lord Borros Baratheon. He will not let me go. Focus, Father, I am not interested in this scenario. I wish Aegon to live. After what I learned Aemond did today... he is not the King we should be wanting for these times."

"You may not think so," he said, "but you must realize that what you aim to do... if you were to harness it, either to heal Aegon and Sunfyre or only Sunfyre... we know the magic in your veins is strong but should it be so strong as to do that, then we can end this war in an instant. You could snuff out the fire from the Pretender's dragons from across the bay, have them choke in their own flame. We'd need no further battles."

"The phoenix's magic is poorly understood despite how much we do know," warned Rhaelyn. "Rhysaenya, you have the power to unlock it but you must be careful. We do not know what price would need to be paid. Its magic is powerful– it could heal him or it could finish killing him. It could leave him different– no one knows."

"Any price will be paid if it means we can save Aegon and defeat Rhaenyra now." She would not hear other arguments. The phoenix served them, they'd always told her that. There was no reason to get cold feet. "How do I bring it here? How do I summon it?" She looked at her father. "You, you hold out your arm and it comes to you. How?"

He looked sideways at Rhaelyn, as if considering what she had said. In the end, however, he looked to Rhysaenya, "I have practiced it many times in my life– I can draw it to me whatever I am feeling. But when I first tried it, when my father demanded I seize control of it, I was but a boy. He left me alone in the fields to call it to me while he told it to stay. It was not until I showed it my despair and frustration that it answered my call. Surrender yourself and it will come."

Apparently, that had been a sign not to rush things. Rhysaenya had accomplished nothing by day's end, as she knelt by the window praying to the phoenix that he might come. I offer you my desperation, I offer you my need, I offer you my pain. Come to me, cry with me, heal him for me, I beg you.

The words did nothing. There was no tug in her gut, nothing that told her the phoenix would come. It did not arrive that night, not even as she was sobbing and rocking Jaehaera in her arms. Would Aegon ever be able to hold her again? Would he even be able to see or hear the new babe she would give birth to? She felt so empty, she wondered if the babe had died in her belly already and she simply didn't know it.

Aemond was not at all subtle as he came to find her that night, striding in through the main door and having himself announced. He hadn't had the decency to at least try to come before the hour of the bat, which might have been more decent. It was midnight– the hour of the eel– and he dared to have her woken up.

She had heard him before the doors even opened. "The Queen is sleeping, my Prince," she heard her guard say uncomfortably. "She retired for bed at least three hours prior." As she rubbed the sleep from her eyes, she heard some whispering, followed by the doors being banged upon. "Prince Aemond, the Lord Hand."

She had already sat up when he entered, fuming as Jaehaera began to fuss beside her. "I should expect someone I care for to be dead if you are here at this hour," she said angrily, knowing that the guards outside had seen her in her nightgown. "What exactly is the meaning of this?"

"I came to see you," he said simply, once the doors had closed. "There is much we need to discuss."

"Oh, I see," she replied coldly, taking Jaehaera into her arms. "You're here to make sure none learn of what you did. You're here to threaten me, then, to ensure I can tell no one that you attempted to murder your brother, the King, my husband, your rival for my affections."

"Aegon wasn't supposed to be there and you know that," he said, though not sternly. It was very matter-of-factly, calmly, as if he wasn't even bothering to defend himself. It wasn't like when he murdered Lucerys– this time, he didn't think he'd done anything wrong. "Rhaenys and Meleys would have killed him."

"And what you did was a mercy, then?" she challenged. "Pity bestowed upon him, so that he might live in eternal agony instead of being buried as a warrior. No, he should not have been there. I would have been distraught if they'd killed him. But you have condemned him to a worse life, you. How could you?"

He moved closer, looking down at Jaehaera. Rhysaenya stepped away when he tried to caress the little girl's face. "Are you truly so cross with me?" He sounded offended now. "I thought you would understand."

"He never would have done that to you, were he in your position," she snapped. "I knew this jealousy between you both was unhealed when we started this, but I never thought you'd go so far as to eliminate him as competition entirely. Now, you will likely be named Regent. If Aegon dies, as I imagine you are hoping, you'll become King. I predict it all, then, how you will say I should not go to waste when I was a good Queen with a healthy womb. You'd name the babe in my belly your heir if it were a boy, you'd wed me and incite the wrath of Borros Baratheon and you'd give him Daeron instead, if he would take him. Your pride and greed could cost us much and you wouldn't care, because you'd have me all to yourself."

He didn't have the decency to deny it. "You've said it, then." Some parts he may not have agreed with, but he wasn't bothering to correct her. "In fact, I would go so far as to try and wed you before Aegon even dies. I would tell them that as my brother lay there, he asked me to watch over his wife and child, to care for them as my own. Whether he lived or died, the outcome would be the same. You'd remain Queen, the son you birth heir to the Iron Throne. I presume the babe in your belly is a boy now, that would settle any unrest. Aegon the Conqueror had two wives, why should you not have two husbands?"

She looked at him as if he'd gone mad– maybe he had. "Aegon the Conqueror was King. Not King Consort– King. He was a Targaryen. You cannot presume to make the same argument about me." You don't even know that I myself am a bastard– would you want me the same if you knew the truth? She wondered if she should tell him, to back him off this idea. "Should you wish to wed me, I shall refuse."

"Refuse?" He was getting upset now, but still managing to keep his voice low. "Why would you refuse? You know you crave me, Rhysaenya, you need me. It is why you argued for this arrangement to begin with. I see the truth of it, I see that your parents cleverly prepared you to wed either of us, should one make a better candidate for King than the other. It was always their intention you be entangled with us both and you saw that. You have loved the darkness we share, the bloodlust. You should've been my bride from the start."

It was true, she liked the way he made her feel. But she did not love it. "I am attached to you, yes," she admitted. "As I am attached to my spear. You have become a part of me, but this was not something I ever envisioned, Aemond. This sabotage, this treason. What you've done is simply that."

"And you, bedding your King's brother, conceiving a child with him, that is not treason as the gods state it?"

She scoffed. "You don't even know the half of it." She felt her fury reaching a point where she wished to kill Aemond here and be done with it. Let Daeron become King, let her marry him if that was what her father wanted. But she did not want this confusion any longer. "I assure you, however, the child I carry in my belly and the child I hold are Aegon's, not yours. I have always known it. You may gladly announce me as a whore, but I will ensure everyone knows that their perfect and pious little Prince was a glad and willing participant."

"I would never out you so," he said, now confused. Gods, she didn't understand him. He wasn't threatening her but he was gloating all the same. He was hungry for more, hungry for what Aegon had always had. "I would not stand to see you harmed."

"Perhaps you should," said Rhysaenya. "Perhaps I should tell everyone the truth that my parents hid. That I am a bastard, seed of Daemon Targaryen planted in the womb of my mother when she was furious with Lord Karrhys. Perhaps I should tell them how everyone here plotted for my ascent as Queen, how I was prepared from birth to be Aegon's wife and not yours, despite the truth of how I was made."

He didn't know what to say. But she saw his eyes shining, stinging, he didn't like the truth of her parentage very much. "You are Daemon's daughter?"

"Yes," she said. "I've known since I was nine. Karrhys raised me, yes, I see him as my father. But he is not my true sire. That is why I have your silver hair. Perhaps that is why you've always been drawn to me. We are family, Aemond. I am not some distant kin, I am your cousin."

But she realized this wouldn't entirely draw him away. If there was one thing she noticed about Aemond, he idolized Daemon– he put him on a pedestal next to the Ignividus men he had been worshipping since he was a boy. Now, she proved herself to be the daughter of the two men he looked up to the most. In trying to make him forget he wanted her, she'd made herself more desirable.

"Get out of my chambers, Aemond," she demanded. "Your little secret is safe with me, I've no intention of telling anyone what really happened. However I need to do it, I will heal Aegon." And then he will tell everyone for himself what you did.

"Nor will I tell anyone your little secret," he murmured. "I love you all the same knowing what I do now." She wanted to scream at him. This was not love, this could not be love, how could he suddenly tell her that he loved her after dealing her such a blow? Knowing that she was still suffering after losing her son when he was the reason it had happened? She wanted to hurt him, she wanted to cut him and see him bleed, she wanted to bite into his shoulder and punish him for all that he'd done.

No amount of praying or ranting in her head brought the phoenix to her in the next several days. Her knees ached but she would not rise until called to eat or do anything else. When at last the procession returned from Rook's Rest, they made a spectacle of parading Meleys's head around. The smallfolk had taken it as a bad omen– gods, Cole was an idiot. Thousands left the city afterwards, until Alicent ordered the city gates closed and barred.

She was there beside the Dowager Queen when Aegon was brought in, the maesters swarming him at once. Rhysaenya burst into tears at the sight of him– he looked so sickly, she wondered how he was still alive. He was stronger than he seemed. She was not allowed to touch him, even as she drew near. The maesters got to work at once, trying to peel from him the armor that had burned into his flesh. Blood sprouted everywhere– the armor was all that was keeping his skin together in some places.

"You do not need to see this, Your Grace," said Grand Maester Orwyle when he saw her, wide-eyed and sobbing silently, examining every last burn. The Silent Sisters awaited in the doorway– it did her no comfort. When neither Alicent nor Rhysaenya moved, he pleaded, "Your Graces, please, if you'll excuse me, these next hours are most critical."

Alicent put an arm around her, leading her away. Rhysaenya did not want to go. She felt sick to her stomach when she heard them popping his bones back in place. They'd not yet left the room when Aemond came, as if gloating. He leaned over the bed, watching their work. "Someone will have to rule in his stead," he said calmly.

"Give the Grand Maester the hours he needs to attend to our King," said Rhysaenya sharply. She felt even Alicent's hands tense on her shoulders– could she understand that this was not coincidental? That one of her sons had done this to the other? "Then, the Small Council will convene and discuss the matter. We ought not be here."

Wordlessly, he followed them out. It did not escape Rhysaenya's notice how his mother's gaze trailed after him as he turned and went back the way he came. He'd come only to show off, she thought. To see if Aegon was still alive or not. She worried he might come in the night, slip a blade into an already open wound and be done with it. She decided she would hold the vigil with her husband that night. Every night until he was better.

Grand Maester Orwyle hadn't thought it wise, but allowed it all the same. By nighttime, the maesters had done what they could for the day. She lay herself down beside him, mere inches from the edge of the bed, her hand carefully placed over his so he might feel her touch.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to him, not knowing if he could hear her. So dosed was he on the milk of the poppy, he was barely conscious. "I'm so sorry, Aegon. This never should have happened. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." It was not her fault, she knew– he had left before he even realized she intended to go anywhere. Aemond had encouraged him, even if only with sly words in the Small Council chambers.

She wanted to kiss him, hug him, tell him everything was going to be alright. But she did not know. She could not be certain. She squeezed his hand as gently as she could. "Aegon, I should have told you this sooner. I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. Fight for me, for Jaehaera, for the babe in my belly. Come back to us, my love. Come back to us."

The Small Council was called so early that morning, she did not return to her rooms. Maester Orwyle came to fetch her for it, handmaidens hastily helping her freshen up before she rushed behind him, wishing to ask a million questions about his status. Whatever he'd noticed in his examination while she dressed, he did not yet say.

Ser Otto presided over the decision, wherein Queen Alicent proposed herself or even Rhysaenya as candidates. Karrhys had spoken in favor of Otto, despite the fact all knew that Aegon so recently hadn't wanted him on the council because he felt he was getting nothing done. In the end, the lords could agree on one thing– women were not to be considered, but men were. Aemond was Hand already, the candidate all could more or less agree on. It was made official. Rhysaenya was thankful he at least did not try to propose marriage to her right then and there.

Weary after her night with Aegon, she went to her chambers for a bath. She would go out for a ride afterward, she thought, perhaps clear her head and find another way to call the phoenix. Or perhaps she should simply fly to Tarth to retrieve it– that was an option, too.

She'd not even entered her room when she saw a bright light flickering beneath the doorway. Her heart skipped a beat. When she threw open the door, she was bathed in light, able to smell the familiar fire on her curtains, just as she'd been awoken the first morning she spent at the Phoenixfort.

Rhysaenya's mouth broke into a grin when she saw the phoenix perched on her windowsill.