The future King was behaving like a court fool.

She'd gone to him once she'd placed Helaena on a carriage bound for the Dragonpit. Aemond, she'd left to bathe and wait for Alistair and Aemma to continue their lessons with their septas. The brother she sought out had come right back to nap, as Daella found him tangled in his own bedsheets with his hair a mess. Sometimes, despite the fact that they did not share a mother, she found an eerie resemblance between them, as if Aegon was Baelon, the brother she lost.

"Aegon," she seethed, ripping open the curtains and letting light shine into his face. He gave a groan, shielding himself. "How many times have I told you to leave Aemond alone?"

"I was sleeping so peacefully," he complained. "Aeneas and Aelora already hounded me about it, can't you leave mealone?"

"No, I cannot," she said sharply. "You are fortunate to have claimed a dragon already in this pit. But I've told you the same was not true for me, and is not like to be true for Aemond."

He rubbed his eyes mindlessly, hardly paying attention. "He is your brother," insisted Daella. "You must defend him the way Rhaenyra will only do her own brood. If Rhaenyra ascends the Iron Throne, Jace will be her heir, and he can easily do away with you as he pleases. You must remember that your very existence threatens her farce of a succession. Do not give her a reason to dispose of you. Do you understand me?"

She leaned down, glaring until he looked into her eyes. "You are the future King, this is not how a king behaves. I've told you before that Aemond is like to be your Hand, a member of your council, perhaps even a Kingsguard who will lay his life down for you. He has done nothing to deserve this teasing. You are reaching manhood, Aegon. You must be ready for the challenges it will bring. The time for playing is nearing its end... and soon, these little jabs will earn you a knife in the back."

"I'm not scared of any knives in my back," said Aegon. "You'll always protect me and so will your children. No one is foolish enough to harm me when you're around. Aemond is just a little twat."

"That little twat could be the one holding the blade one day if pushed far enough." I know I am not far from reaching that point with Rhaenyra, if she keeps at it. "You need to be able to trust that those closest to you will not betray you. Believe me, I have seen that betrayal happen and I wish I could have prevented it. All we can do now is work on our alliances... keep our friends close and ensure we are united to face the enemy. Do I make myself clear?"

At last, he nodded. She could see the disinterest in his eyes, the way he did not believe most of the words she was saying. She thought back to Otto saying he would've wished for her to marry Aegon instead of Gwayne– to strengthen her own brother's claim. She wasn't sure that would've changed anything.

She'd asked him about it in more detail when she'd visited Oldtown again, after she'd already given birth to Alistair. Otto had not faltered in his way of thinking– to him, the most ideal solution would've been for Daella to wed Aegon if Rhaenyra wouldn't. Her father never would've agreed, and Daella would not have wasted so many years waiting to marry a babe. She told Otto as much– she'd have rather died than let her cunt dry up so many years waiting for the boy to be of age for bedding. And, considering the difference in their ages, she'd raised Aegon as a son– it would've made it far worse to bed him.

Still, Otto told her that instead of using Helaena as Aegon's bride, they could have wed her off for an alliance. The same might be done for Aelora and Aemma, as was already being planned for Aeneas and Alistair. In the end, Daella argued it was better Helaena marry Aegon (though a part of her wished Aelora could be his bride, so that her daughter might be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms one day) so that she could be in the castle always– she knew her sister and knew she would not be happy anywhere else.

Arguably, she might've had a better chance of turning Aegon into a good king if she were coming to him as his wife and not his sister. In her mind, he was slowly becoming hopeless. A part of her wondered about sending him off to Dorne and placing Aemond as their main successor. Truly, even Aeneas was a far better candidate than both her brothers. In her mind, she would have liked to marry Aeneas to Helaena and Aelora to Aemond while Daeron would marry a Lannister girl in her sons' stead.

Daella kept her eyes on Aegon, seeing how he tried to go back to sleep. Siblings bickered, of course, but she knew her warning to him was real. The same way she'd started to hate Rhaenyra, she worried Aemond might one day feel the same with Aegon's incessant need to humiliate him. How could Aegon not see how he was behaving? Was he just like Rhaenyra?

She still remembered the day Rhaenyra tried to 'apologize' for what she'd done with the letter. 'Daella, truly, I did not intend for the High Septon to remain unaware of the truth. I expected to remedy it, for us to have a good laugh.' "I assure you, I did not laugh," Daella had told her flatly. Rhaenyra did not plead further after that.

She knelt further down, and placed her hand on Aegon's head as he closed his eyes. He was so calm now, her own anger dissipated. She wasn't truly angry at him, she was angry at this situation Rhaenyra had caused. "You are a sweet boy, Aegon," she told him. "I know that. I remember when you were born and you were so curious, so perfect. I know you are capable of kindness. You show kindness to many... especially Helaena of late, I see how she feels safe around you. Do the same with Aemond, I beg you. Kindness given is kindness returned. We are in a dire situation now, one were our father is cleaving to Rhaenyra's will. We must stand together, or she will find a way to hurt us. I don't want anything ever hurting you."

"I know that," he said quietly. He wiggled back to face her. "Does my mother know what happened?" Daella shrugged, unsure if anyone had informed Alicent. "Good. Don't tell her. She'll snarl at me and hold my chin until it is red. She doesn't do it to protect me, only because she hates me."

"Your mother does not hate you, that I can assure you." The look Aegon gave her was one of doubt. Daella wondered what Alicent must say to her children when Daella wasn't around. As far as she knew, Alicent didn't demonstrate even a sliver of warmth to them. They at least had the memories of Daella lulling them to sleep and running around with them. She could be angry with them at times, but she was their sister and she always remembered them– Aegon and Helaena in particular– as her first babes, though they'd not come from her body.

"I do promise you, however," she added, "that I will do anything for you. I will go to any lengths, it doesn't matter what they are, to see done what I think is right. My faith is in you, little one."

Aegon considered it. "I wish you had been my mother." He lay still as she ran her fingers through his hair.

_

Her eyes tracked Gwayne's movements as he readied himself for bed. Her own hands were crossed on her lap, waiting for him to join her. Though it had never been a requirement, she actually quite liked sharing a bed with Gwayne in the night.

He had clearly never seen her the same after she murdered Ser Criston. He understood her and still treated her with kindness, but Daella knew that he'd become afraid of her that day and that worry had never gone away. She admired that he never showed it. In fact, despite how boring he was when he bedded her, she truly liked his piety and his ability to be realistic. Many people weren't like that. Gwayne told things as they were and was always keen to listen to anything and everything.

He was a good companion to be had. A friend she could speak with, a husband who doted on her children, a knight who taught others to defend themselves. He would escort Helaena to the sept for her prayer if Alicent could not accompany her, and always had time to run around with Alistair and Aemma if they wanted his attention. He was a good man, Daella knew. In the end, she was glad to be married to him.

"Your most recent plan is soaring like a dragon," said Gwayne, sliding beneath the sheets and allowing her to let out a quick puff to plunge them into darkness. "I heard them speaking about it in the yard. How Ser Harwin was notably absent from his duties today upon the birth of Rhaenyra's new son. How he clearly favors her boys over the other students there. Many are even making comments as to the resemblance."

Daella's lips curled. This had been a recent little project from her and Larys, wherein Daella began to wonder aloud to her handmaidens whether Rhaenyra's child would be dark-haired or not. Larys had propagated the words to his network and asked them to look for any and every instance of closeness between his brother and the bastard boys. Others were beginning to see what they saw, beginning to know what they knew. Sooner than late, Harwin would have to address this... and Daella knew he would struggle to hide the truth.

"You've done good work, my love," she told him, offering her cheek for him to kiss. "Let us hope that soon we will have the evidence we need to show my father that Rhaenyra has spit in the face of her duty. Then... we will remind him that he has a son."

"As do we." He gave her a pointed look, and she knew what he was thinking. That which Otto thought possibly more likely than Viserys setting Rhaenyra aside for Aegon. Perhaps... perhaps her father would set one sister aside for the other. Daella had no taste for being Queen but she certainly liked the idea of being publicly acknowledged to be better than Rhaenyra.

She knew Gwayne would be a puppet with the title of 'king consort.' His father, her lover, her Hand would be the one pulling the strings. She'd be a fierce queen, as strong as Visenya with Rhaenys's charm. She'd be better than the weak king Aenys and reign as long as her great-grandsire Jaehaerys. Her son, her perfect firstborn, would be her heir, then. Aeneas would be a good king, she knew, if that were the case.

She'd felt him slip beneath the sheets, turning over and blowing out the candle on his side of the bed. With a careful sigh, Daella did the same, but stared at the dark ceiling deep in thought. How to make her father do anything, that was the real question. He'd never been quick to act. He loved pawning his problems off to whoever could deal with them. For a time, that had been Otto. She hoped it would be again.

She'd slipped the idea around as much as she could without arousing suspicion. Mentioned to her father whenever she visited that Lord Strong wasn't as assertive as Otto had been. That Otto had juggled far more tasks as Hand and hadn't left a keep behind to be tended to by some distant cousin. She told her father the truth, how she missed talking to Otto about the happenings of the kingdom– Lord Strong never kept her updated.

Her father had been none the wiser and said happily that he'd talk to her about things. Sometimes he did, whenever she brought her children to see his model of Old Valyria– Alistair was most fascinated by it, and loved to hear his grandsire's many stories. Daella only listened, hoping to find some useful information.

At last, the following day, one of the seeds she'd been planting bore fruit. Gwayne had witnessed the incident and brought it straight to her like a loyal dog– Ser Harwin had reacted poorly to some of the knights questioning his absence the day before. With his sharp words defending himself– and a fist in the face of a knight that said he was quite paternal with the Velaryon boys– he'd all but confessed that which everyone in their right minds knew.

She'd invited Larys for dinner with her earlier in the week than they usually met– this delicious event was a dish best served and consumed immediately. She sent her handmaidens and ladies away, having tucked her children into bed early to allow them their privacy. He'd come hobbling in with his cane, unassuming as ever with that innocent expression, but his eyes gave it all away– she'd learned to recognize hidden glee in them the same way she recognized when they were harboring anger. Her eyes did that, too, she saw it every day in the looking glass.

"You'll forgive me if I am not hungry, Princess," said Larys as he slipped into his usual chair. "I've come from dining with Her Grace, the Queen."

Daella knew that Larys informed to Alicent as well, though he often came to Daella first. She raised her brows, wondering what that was about. "Forgiveness is unnecessary. What did the Queen have to say?"

He leaned back, arms crossed over his lap. "My father attempted to resign his post as Hand. She was present when he asked it of the King. Your father refused, of course, because mine would not speak plainly the 'why.' It seems instead, my brother will be escorted back to Harrenhal to assume his duties. My father will have his time away from court. The Queen rues now most the absence of her own father."

"Ser Otto would never have allowed something like this to happen," agreed Daella, gliding her knife to slice herself some ox meat. The dragon in her hungered for blood; she'd asked the cooks to leave it as raw as they could. Vermithor's cravings had affected her since their bond, and in the years since Aemma's birth, she'd wanted raw meat more often than ever, as if to replenish what her body lost after four children. "Believe me, it is my intention to reinstate him. That, of course, cannot happen unless your father is dismissed."

She gritted her teeth, her fork ripping away a large chunk. "Yet, my father is so willfully blind. Rhaenyra has cuckolded my cousin, has flaunted bastards about, has whored herself out to a mere Gold Cloak, and somehow still rises to the very top. The throne should spurn her, should she ever sit on it."

Larys watched her closely, always one to drink up her sneers about her sisters the way drunks consumed wine. He loved how much she hated Rhaenyra, and she knew it was because he hated Harwin to the same degree. How unfairly Rhaenyra and Harwin got what Daella and Larys deserved more and did not get simply because they were younger. "The Princess Rhaenyra has made no comment about the incident. I doubt she will ever. Though it is plain for all to see... the prince consort spends more time with his young squires than with his sons."

"I do not fault him," muttered Daella, letting the rich blood drip into her mouth, teeth ripping away at the meat. Once she'd chewed, she said, "My father only ever chose this path for her out of guilt. For what he'd done to my mother, nothing more. For having chosen to be a king over being a father for so many years. He thought this could remedy all his mistakes, but it only served to create a larger one."

She felt herself growing angrier with each shred of meat, with each drop of blood running down her throat. She ranted as Larys remained silent, "She was always late, even when she was a cupbearer. She never tended to my mother, she always pranced around with Alicent, unbothered and enjoying every luxury in life without a care in the world what her choices cost everyone else. She could have tried harder with Laenor and she did not. She preferred to present bastards as legitimate heirs– it is the most obvious jest and my father does not see it. She runs to him for every problem and he simply fixes it. She never gets scolded, never. She expects everything to fall into her hands, expects respect and alliances, yet does not do anything to earn it."

"It is refreshing to know that you see all this so clearly," said Larys. Gods, it was so obvious he wanted her to say more, and Daella was glad to let him have it– it wasn't anything she hadn't said to others she kept in her circle of trust. She made sure everyone who bent an ear knew why Rhaenyra was unworthy. "If only your father had your eyes."

She rolled them in that moment, finding it so absurd. Sometimes, it was comical how Larys cleaved to her will. He'd do anything for her approval. To see her feet, mostly. She lazily lifted her skirt in reward, crossing her legs and letting him see they were already bare. "She was given a duty she did not take seriously," continued Daella. "Had I been told to wed for duty, I would've done it. If she did not want to uphold our house's values, she should've told our father to make Aegon heir. She acted as if it was such a sacrifice to marry Laenor, yet my father gave us numerous opportunities to find the person we loved and she said nothing. If she wanted to marry Harwin, why did she never pose it? I swear, she only wanted him after I said I was interested." She flicked her hand at him dismissively, knowing it would annoy him, "A moment of weakness for a young girl, you'll have to excuse me."

He didn't care about that, not when she was bouncing her leg and letting him get a good glimpse of the curve of her foot. "She's arrogant," added Daella. "She claims she wanted this role yet still slept with Ser Criston. She found a new target once she could not have him anymore. She drove him to madness, that's why he did what he did. You know, if she was truly so taken with our uncle Daemon, why not fuck him and present their children as Laenor's? It would have made more sense, I am sure Daemon would not have minded his children having the Iron Throne. Or she could have just wed him if it mattered so much to her. It's all about power, she wants to feel special, but she is too stupid to maintain it for too long. She wanted the crown and the throne because they seemed pretty to her, not because she was willing to bear the duty assigned to her."

She wanted Rhaenyra to hurt, hurt and bleed the way the meat was in her mouth, almost dripping down her lips. She could see Larys's face was reddening, and noticed the arms he had crossed over his laps were moving slightly– sometimes, he did that in her presence. She had let it happen when she realized it got her what she wanted. He had his release and she'd get him to do what he did best– spread whispers.

Daella realized now she had him in a unique position to do what she wanted. She had to do something about this, something to get Otto back. She had an idea, an evil wicked idea... one that she could not get away with alone. Her father would punish her if he knew of her involvement, punish her in a way he couldn't bear to when she killed Ser Criston to defend Laenor and try to save Joffrey.

"Larys." She waited for him to look at her, and leaned back, letting the blood linger on her lips. "There is something I am thinking... that could benefit us both. But it is dangerous, very dangerous. It would be the most sinful thing we've ever done." And we've done other sinful things. Stirring fights, spreading rumors, firing anyone who we did not like or could not serve us, threatening to take children away from their mothers if the women did not become our spies... but murder is another thing entirely.

He tilted towards her with interest. "I am listening." She had a feeling he knew what she was going to ask of him already. He was good at predicting things, and this would be something for his benefit too... for them both to make their siblings suffer. "I presume this is almost... a payment of sorts, for my years of service."

She smiled wryly. Sometimes he got too cocky for her liking. "I pay you every day for your service by not killing you. Make no mistake about that." It would be so easy for her to slice his throat open, he'd not be able to run and he'd never react fast enough anyway. He smiled back, though his eyes squinted. Sometimes there were moments like that, where they reminded each other that they were friends out of necessity, not because they truly meshed all that well together. There were things she didn't like about him, same as she knew there were things he loathed about her.

"Regardless," she continued, "this would indeed give you what you deserve, Larys. It would give us back a good Hand as well. I rather enjoyed removing Ser Criston from the playing field. I say we permanently remove Harwin and Lord Lyonel as well. An accident traveling back to Harrenhal, perhaps. If they die, you become Lord of Harrenhal and the seat of the Hand would be vacant. My father prefers the familiar, and so he will name Ser Otto. Do you understand?"

"What you suggest is indeed dangerous, Princess." She saw the same hunger in his eyes, she knew he could not pass the opportunity up. "But I believe I have something in mind. You've heard the stories of Harrenhal, I presume... it was built in hubris by Harren the Black as a monument to his own greatness. Blood mixed into the mortar. It is said to be a cursed place. That it passes judgment on all who pass beneath its gates. It will be difficult, however..."

"You will see it done," said Daella, wondering if he was hesitating. "I am the Princess, you will do as I say."

He did not like that. "You are the Princess, and yet you have deep need of me. It is a great risk to incur for me to only become Lord of Harrenhal. In the planning, I have more to lose. Surely I deserve some other assurance?"

He was beginning to annoy her. "You get to keep your head, Larys, that is your assurance. If you are not willing, then I will find someone else who is. I can get information from anyone else. If you try and fail, or if you succeed and word comes out, then I can easily deny it– they will believe me. I can see your head put on a spike. I thought you would want this. Perhaps you are not as good at these things as you claim to be."

His eyes were dark. "You know that I am the best, that is why you keep me here. You know I am motivated, I only wondered what other benefits I may gain... if you want proof of the extent of my knowledge, you are welcome to put it to the test." He had baited her, she knew it, but she took it anyway, raising a brow and wondering what exactly his plan was.

He took a goblet of wine and sipped slowly. "I know the truth about your children. Their parentage." Her skin ran cold, the blood in her mouth seemed to dry, but her expression did not falter. "I know why you crave Ser Otto's return so badly. He is your lover."

The knife beneath her sleeve flew out, and in a second she'd pinned him into his seat, her knee wedged hard into his groin, one hand slamming down to trap the wrist holding his cane, and the other holding the knife beneath his chin. She'd given it away; he won. Maybe he'd only been teasing, maybe he knew nothing, but she revealed it all.

Larys started to smirk, in that same 'I know it all' way that Rhaenyra sometimes did. "Princess, you are not as clever as you think we are. But that is why we must work together. For there are things you have the power to do that I do not. And I surely cannot rival you when there is a blade in your palm."

"How did you know?" she demanded. "What gave it away?"

"I know your husband. I've spoken to him. He is too pious of a man for a dragon's appetite. I've watched you eat your meat raw for years. I know your appetite is too fierce for a man like that. I've seen how many letters you write to Ser Otto, I've heard the way you speak of him. You came back pregnant each time you went to Oldtown yet have not conceived here despite sharing a bed with your husband. It was a guess, really, but your blade told me your truth."

She rolled her eyes, stepping off of him and flicking the blade back up her sleeve. He grimaced, massaging his wrist and adjusting his hips to reduce the pain of her knee digging into his bad leg. "Fine," she said at last. "Lord of Harrenhal. Master of Whisperers. You will always have a place here at court. You could have any wife of your choosing, I'd see it done. I'll make certain the Lord Hand knows how you helped, and he will give any reward he can. When my brother becomes King, you will have a place on his council. And... I will do that which you've always wanted me to do yet would never dare ask me."

This perked him up. She knew she had to do things to get what she wanted, and she had to have him in her control again. She required him to need her the same way she needed his help. Whatever way that happened would have to be it.

He raised his brows, not quite understanding. "You've always wanted more power over me," she said, lifting her foot onto his leg. His breath hitched when she ran her toes over his hand. "So take it. Know that you have a Princess so desperate for this outcome that she will do your bidding, whatever it may be."

She knew what she was allowing was depraved, but she could not lose her control over Larys. Let him think he had control over her for a moment. She could find a way to enjoy it. It had been too long since she'd been fucked properly, and though she doubted Larys had the ability to, he might surprise her with his other ideas.

"Whatever it may be," she repeated, dragging her foot over his groin. "To ensure that what I want is done... in a timely manner, mind you... and that my lover can be back in this castle."

She stepped off him abruptly, slinking herself towards her couch like a cat, tugging at the strings of her dress and sliding it off and tossing her hidden blades to the floor until she was in only her smallclothes. She knew he didn't likely care about what lay beneath those– all he wanted were her limbs, and now he had the fullest view of her legs than had ever been possible.

He stood up so quickly, he nearly collapsed on the table. She lay herself down and caressed her own knee with her other foot, watching and waiting for him to sit down with her. As he fumbled with the strings of his trousers, she extended both legs out, feeling him grab at her foot and start caressing it with his hands– she'd never let him touch her before, never. This was quite the jump, she knew, but she'd jumped in her own requirements for him as well, never having asked him to kill for her. He had to now, he had to, and he would kill for her infinitely now if he knew she'd give him this.

She sat herself up on her elbows, watching as he moved her feet wherever he liked. He wanted them on his cock, and she let them dance, caressing it with her toes the same way her nimble hands would caress Otto when she was begging him to fuck her. Gods, how she missed him. She liked the way he felt in her, she missed it so dearly.

She sought her own pleasure, reaching her hand between her legs and thinking of him as she let Larys slide his cock over her feet. It seemed to excite him more believing he was enjoying it. His hands were moving up her ankles, and she could feel his desperation growing. She let Otto's face fill her mind, she felt so empty without him– this would not be enough. She would need to use Larys for her own pleasure, too, and she knew he would not deny her.

"Have you ever truly fucked a woman, Larys?" she said breathily as she touched herself. "Or has it only ever been the feet for you?" His breathing was growing heavy, but he managed to reply, "I have, but this excites me most. Are you... are you offering yourself to me?"

"We both have needs and we both have things we wish to get out of this little plot," she muttered. "Better to keep it even, don't you think?" She saw the way he pressed his lips together, neck arching back as she kept rubbing her feet on him.

He gave a nod, and slowed his movements to a halt as if to give her time to catch up. She slid off the couch, ripping off her smallclothes and pinning him down as she had earlier, making sure her feet were tucked beneath her and within reach of his hands. She grabbed his wrists and made sure he could at least reach her ankles. He shivered as she sat herself down on him, moaning and arching her neck back.

She rode him hard, the same way she liked to ride Otto, gasping and imagining her lover's hands were the ones gripping her feet desperately. One of her hands was still between her legs, rubbing and rubbing until she felt that familiar fire exploding in her. Larys gave a shudder, as if the sensation had driven him over the edge. She felt his seed in her, and she drew up quickly, letting it drip down between her legs. It ran until it reached her feet, the sight of it so apparently intoxicating to him that he lay back on the couch, sighing in ecstasy.

"I will do whatever you ask of me, Princess," he said breathlessly, blinking as if he was drunk on every wine in the world. "Gods... the gods are good, they will give us what we deserve."

Daella felt herself smiling. "Yes, they will. The Stranger better prepare for visitors."

_

A/N: I in no way have a foot fetish but Daella is a manipulative psycho in case you can't tell. If she could have just killed Harwin and Lyonel on their way out of the Red Keep, she would've, but because she would face way worse consequences than with Ser Criston, she resorts to any other means necessary... even indulging in shit she's not into. This girl is crazy, that's what makes her so interesting to write!