A/N: In preparation for future chapters: Older Aeneas's faceclaim: William Franklyn-Miller (Giovanni de Medici in Medici), Older Aelora: Álfrún Laufeyjardóttir (Yrsa in Vikings: Valhalla), Older Alistair: Luke Shanahan (Young Ubbe in Vikings), and Older Aemma: Amelia Crouch (White Queen in Alice Through the Looking Glass). Imagine them all with Valyrian features.

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The Red Keep, King's Landing, 133 AC

Rhaenyra was arriving for her trial.

Daella heard it first from Aeneas, who had been out in the yard– he always trained the hour before Aemond– when the message came that Rhaenyra's ship was docking. A carriage had left at once to fetch her, and her son had come running to where Daella was supervising Alistair and Aemma as Aelora threw knives at a target on the wall.

"Our aunt is here," he said to his siblings, the tone of his voice laced with mirth. He'd never really liked Rhaenyra. She'd never spoken to him alone, never hugged him or treated him like he was her nephew. Her sons had obviously disliked Aeneas for defending Aemond from their teasing even before he told the truth of their stupidities at Driftmark.

"It had to happen sometime," said Aelora, closing one eye and lodging her blade right in the center, millimeters away from the one she'd thrown previously. Her aim was better than anything Daella had managed at her age. "She's like to walk around the castle like a dog with its tail between its legs."

Alistair gave a shrug, setting his quill aside and offering his mother the sheet where he had translated a passage into High Valyrian for her revision. "I'll be in the library most of this week to avoid them all. I never really liked being around them. Jace talks a lot and Luke doesn't like books the way I do."

Daella glanced down at Alistair's parchment, unable to find any mistakes. She handed it back to him with a smile, causing him to beam and return gladly to his current read. Aemma gave a frustrated sigh, staring down at her half-filled page and pouting. "What if Jace, Luke, and Joffrey can speak High Valyrian better than me? It will be embarrassing."

"That's not possible," said Daella. "You speak it here everyday, with us and with Āeksion. It is writing and reading you struggle with. You'll get better at it, all your siblings did." She smoothed a hand down her head in comfort, noting how Aeneas had sat himself down, crossing his arms and glaring at the target that Aelora kept nailing with her knives. "What is it, my boy? What bothers you so?"

He tilted his head as if not wanting to discuss it. "They have dragons and I don't. Why, if they're bastards?"

"Even just one Valyrian parent seems to be enough. You must remember your father has not a drop of Valyrian blood in him that we know of. I don't know why dragons come to them naturally, perhaps I doomed you all because I never had one bond with me so early. It doesn't mean you'll never get one, Aeneas. You are more than worthy." She went to sit beside him, holding his shoulder. "You are smarter, faster, and stronger than any of her boys could ever hope to be. You are the best with your sword, perhaps even better than Aegon the Conqueror and Maegor were said to be. My father rode Balerion, he was fierce enough to claim him... but all of his reign has been without a dragon. It doesn't make him less, it just makes us different."

He didn't seem to believe her, but she knew her words could do little. Her own mother had struggled with convincing her of her worth when she had been wanting a dragon. Daella remembered many conversations like this, where her mother told her she mattered just as much whether she was a dragonrider or not. She hadn't been satisfied until she had her Vermithor– Aeneas was like to be the same. He was as stubborn as her, only he was much fiercer. He had a cunning even she had never achieved. If he wanted a dragon, he would get one, she knew. No matter what it took. Were it up to him, he probably would've snuck off to Dragonstone to try and claim one alone– even one as impossible as the Cannibal.

"What happens if the succession doesn't change?" asked Aelora, collecting her blades. "If Lord Corlys gets better and affirms Luke instead of Ser Vaemond?" She twirled one of the knives in her palm, letting it jump between her fingers. "How he could be so blind is beyond me. It is stubborn pride that makes him not change the succession... he'd have to admit his son could not get it up around women, not even one who looks like Rhaenyra, and that would be a shame to his house. So he'd rather the Strongs infiltrate his line... what idiocy."

"If it does not change, it won't matter," said Daella carefully. She and many members at the Small Council already had a plan in place for the real succession that mattered. Many precautions would be taken to make sure Aegon ended up on the throne... no matter the cost. Driftmark was inconsequential to a degree, though a victory here would be paramount in proving their point. Once Aegon was king, they could change things there, install whoever most pleased them. "Lord Corlys can doom his house if he likes. But do not forget, your grandsire the Hand will preside over the claim in place of your grandsire the King. He is not blind as my father is."

"How anyone could be blind to this is beyond me," said Alistair without glancing up from his book. "Even I have read the detailed accounts on both Houses Targaryen and Velaryon, and since the Conquerors, not one of them has looked like those boys do. Even Princess Rhaenys has our lilac eyes with her dark Baratheon hair. But Rhaenyra's sons have shit-brown eyes and hair that wasn't even seen in our grandmother Aemma."

"Precisely," said Aeneas. "If you trace both lines back, practically everyone has had silvery-gold hair and lilac or blue eyes. It's only idiots who would argue otherwise." He side-eyed Aelora, who seemed to be reminding him that that made the King an idiot. Aeneas did not retract his statement in the slightest, and Daella would not have expected him to– her father was an idiot. An idiot who wanted to see the best in a daughter that had disappointed him more times than anyone could count anymore. Such was the love of a father. Daella wondered what that was like.

She left the children to tend to themselves as she departed for the Small Council meeting. She had to fetch Aegon on her way there; he always spent time with the twins before his duty called. This morning, Helaena was with him, showing him how to gently brush the babes' growing hair to keep it out of their faces. With a smile to her sister, Daella waved for Aegon to come with her. He almost seemed to want to bring little Jaehaerys with him, but in the end handed him back to Helaena and followed after Daella.

"I cannot always be here to remind you that you have meetings to attend," Daella chided him. "It is good that you spend time with your children, but if you are running short on time, you must manage it on your own. Next time... bring the boy. It is never too early to prepare him to be king. It will make him as great as his namesake." She liked the babes, it reminded her of when all of her own were little. She would not mind holding Jaehaerys so that Aegon might pay better attention.

Aegon gave a sigh, the type of sigh that meant he knew everything she was saying already... he simply didn't like having to do it. Daella loved her brother, but he could be so lazy, so idle. It was hard to get him to have an idea on his own. He did not argue, though, and instead opted to say, "I hear our sister returns today."

"She's docking in Blackwater Bay," said Daella, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "I can't image she'll have very warm words for us, or any at all. Don't take it personally."

He turned his head up, as if he hadn't expected anything kind. "I learned that a long time ago. She's never once called me her brother, nor did she ever care to ask how I was. I'll be surprised if her children even speak to me after that affair at Driftmark." He shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'm perfectly content avoiding her until she's gone. She won't stay, she never does. Can't face the truth that this castle offers, I wager."

They were the last ones to arrive, seating themselves at the table. Given her father's constant absence, there was no need for Aegon to serve as cupbearer anymore, but Lord Beesbury had made too much of a fuss over him having a seat, which meant the only way to keep Aegon in those meetings without inciting some sort of droll lecture about the succession was to keep him, at age twenty, serving cups. He didn't seem to mind, it was easy enough. In Daella's mind, it kept him having to focus, unable to doze off like some of the men she'd known to sit the council.

Today's meeting was no more interesting than the one the day before. It was meant to be quick, but old Lord Beesbury certainly knew how to drag on about the most ridiculous of subjects. He was always the last to speak as Master of Coin, which meant the length of each meeting was dictated by how long it took him to remember everything he wanted to say. The matter of coin was important, however. Daella was already having Tyland prepare himself to take up the post as soon as Lord Beesbury passed– he was not long for this world, often having coughing fits and falling asleep. It was time for him to rest, but he would not accept retirement no matter how many times Otto asked him whether he might prefer to spend his remaining years with his family at Honeyholt.

"...we have continued to enjoy improved customs duties since the settling of the Stepstones," droned on Lord Beesbury. "And the extent to which we exploit those is contingent on the harbor master's receipts, of which septons have requested half that again for a bronze bust they wish to commission for the Festival of the Mother, which I would not recommend."

"Thank you for that exhaustive accounting, Lord Beesbury," said Alicent tiredly from the seat of the King. She often sat there in his stead, as insisted upon by Otto since the King had become too unwell to join them. Another way of ensuring no one could raise complaints about the presence of those Rhaenyra wouldn't have wanted there– which only Lord Beesbury seemed to care about. "I remind you–"

The door opened, letting in Ser Harrold Westerling of the Kingsguard. "Your guests have arrived, Your Grace." Alicent and Daella shared a look, neither eager to welcome Rhaenyra back. Otto said cordially, "I trust they've been welcomed as befits their station."

Ser Harrold gave a small nod. "As you instructed, Lord Hand." Daella remembered him always being warmer with Rhaenyra... he'd had a soft spot for her. Still, he'd always been kind to Daella. Loyal to a fault. She hoped he would be loyal to Aegon, as he was often the one who escorted him to the Dragonpit at Alicent's insistence.

Everyone remembered why Rhaenyra was here. "It was my understanding," piped up Archmaester Orwyle, "that Lord Corlys wished for his grandson Lucerys to succeed him as Lord of the Tides."

"The boy has been raised most of his life away from Driftmark," said Tyland reasonably, as discussed with Daella. "He can fly a dragon, yes, but can he command a fleet?"

"I agree," said Daella, feeling the way he tapped her foot beneath the table. "Lucerys is not yet five-and-ten. He is far too young to assume such responsibility, should anything happen to Lord Corlys. I completely understand Ser Vaemond's claim on his ability. Lord Corlys never spoke on Lucerys being any sort of prodigy. I don't even know when was the last time he saw his grandson or knew anything about him." Otto gave a nod of agreement to this.

"Ability does not alter his claim," noted Lord Beesbury. "The boy may be young, but with proper counsel he will do his duties."

"The Sea Snake has never formally named him as heir," remarked Lord Jasper Wylde. "If it comes to that, the Crown must choose what is best for the Realm."

Lord Beesbury was stunned. "He is Laenor's son. What grounds could there be–"

"What indeed, Lord Beesbury," interrupted Lord Jasper, staring at the old man as if he thought him dull. "What indeed."

Daella spoke, "Though one would expect it to proceed as such, we must remember that much has changed these last years. In the end, no one has any written affirmation from Lord Corlys that he would choose Lucerys. The Sea Snake is very old, he might've thought to do as many have before, and name someone older and trusted to oversee his heir in taking this role. He did not, and there is no telling how anyone could help the boy prepare at this stage. Whether the succession changes or not, it is like to be Ser Vaemond assisting him. We must at least hear his claim or we'll never hear the end of his complaints." Reasonable complaints, she wished she could say.

Alicent was quick to intervene when she saw Lord Beesbury opening his mouth again, "I do beg your pardon, my lords." She got to her feet. "The Princess and I must greet our guests." She gave a nod to Aegon, as if to excuse him. The meeting was all but over anyway. None of them would want to remain there now that Rhaenyra had returned.

The two strode out together, quiet until at last they had cleared the entrance hall where everyone was always keeping their ears sharp for any gossip. Alicent had nothing kind to say about Rhaenyra's arrival, nor did Daella. Though, Alicent was always less... vicious with her words than Daella was. Sometimes, it bored her how much Alicent held back. Then again, they would never be friends the way Alicent had been with Rhaenyra. No, Daella had all but assured that when she killed Ser Criston. So long ago, yet Alicent would never forgive her for it. In the same way, Daella would never forgive her weakness and inability to raise her own children.

They found that Daemon and Rhaenyra were awaiting them inside the King's chambers, having gone to see Viserys first thing. The guards opened the doors to reveal an odd pair indeed– Rhaenyra, belly heavy with child, standing over Daemon as he slouched in the chair her father used to sit in to tell them stories. Daella didn't at all like the sight of them. And how could Daemon let his pregnant wife stand? What a cunt.

"Princess Rhaenyra," greeted Alicent, much more warmly than Daella would've been upfront. "And Prince Daemon."

Daella smiled tightly, watching how Rhaenyra instinctively clutched her belly. Are you afraid of me, sister? I would never be cruel enough to hurt you that way, not after having lost my own babe. You make me seem like a madwoman. "What a delight to see you both again," she said, not unkindly but absent of warmth.

"I saw no delight in the greeting we weren't merited upon our arrival," said Daemon coldly. That was about as much patience as Daella had– she felt her lips twitch and couldn't stop herself from replying, "Were you expecting fanfare to welcome you back after your exile? We were preoccupied with the Small Council... and given your record, we weren't going to sit around waiting for you to attend."

Her comment had the intended reaction. Neither Rhaenyra nor Daemon looked pleased to be reminded of their disinterest in the Small Council of late. "We understand," said Rhaenyra coolly to keep the peace. "I'm sure the Queen and the Princess had pressing business, my love. What can either of us know of ruling a kingdom?"

You could know more if you cared to do anything about it. "I do not rule, as you well know," replied Alicent for clarity. "My father, the Princess, and I are mere stewards of the King's will and wisdom."

"And how exactly is that wisdom expressed?" asked Daemon, gesturing back at his brother, who slept so peacefully Daella wondered if he was dead. "In blinks and wheezes? I'd be surprised if he could remember his own name."

"My father's health continues to decline," said Daella. "Though I tend to him every night and the children help me read stories to him, his mind drifts further and further away, escaping the considerable pain he is in. The Maesters advised–"

"Ah, the Maesters," said Rhaenyra. "Of course. It is they who keep him addled on milk of the poppy while the Hightowers warm his throne."

Daella coiled her fingers, balling her fists and feeling her nails dig into her palms. Rhaenyra knew nothing of attending to their father, she hadn't even bothered to stick around knowing he could have died at any moment. "No expense was spared in bringing dozens of Maesters from the Citadel to see to him. In the end, none has found a solution. You are both welcome to find a cure for him yourselves, since you are so clever. Milk of the poppy keeps him at peace, so he might not suffer so if he will continue to decline."

Daemon retorted mockingly, "I have no doubt it was an act of the purest mercy."

She wanted to snarl at him that he was welcome to look at the notes she and even little Alistair kept about her father's condition, that he had been sitting uselessly on Dragonstone while they and the Maesters studied countless books. All the Maesters agreed that there came a point where a condition could not be reversed, where all that could be done was ease existing pain. Daella saw no point in persisting years more when her father had lost the will to live and was hardly hanging on. She wouldn't have preferred him to be so addled, not when it kept him able to understand much of what she tried to convince him of, but it was better than hearing him moaning and groaning every time she brought her children. Otto had thought this the best course of action, and she agreed.

But he continued before Daella could say more, "Tell me, for the King's suffering, did the maesters also prescribe the removal of Targaryen heraldry and the installation in its stead of various statues and stars?"

Alicent spoke calmly, "The emblems of the Seven serve only to guide us on an uncertain path. To remind us of a higher authority."

Rhaenyra questioned, "And on the morrow, which authority will sit in judgment of my son's claim on his own inheritance?"

She could sense how Alicent wanted to smile, "That would be mine... the Princess's... and the Hand's."

"Ah." Daemon glared at Daella. "Well, then, the Queen, the Hand, and the leftover Princess– turned traitorous Hightower. Wonderful."

Daella tucked her hands behind her back, flicking her wrist and bringing one blade into her palm to ease her, letting herself imagine she was lodging it into Daemon's forehead. She could throw it faster than he could react, it would be over in a second. Alicent was calm, "Be assured, the Father is just and commands me to forget the accusations you have hurled in this room today. Come, Daella, we ought to free our children from their septa."

As they swept away, Daella tucked the blade back up her sleeve. One day, she told herself, one day that blade would find its way into Daemon Targaryen's skin, and she'd be rid of him forever. That day could not come soon enough– she'd gladly kill Daemon to keep her father alive for several more years, and keep Rhaenyra far from court.

She went to find Tyland first, to have someone listen to her vicious fantasies. She'd pinned him down and ridden out her frustrations until finally it felt as though she'd gotten the blood she craved– she could feel the burn of fire in her belly, which meant Vermithor was feeling her anger. She almost wished he could kill Caraxes in the Dragonpit, that would certainly be satisfying. Tyland had raised no complaints to the bruises and bite marks she left behind– he always seemed to like when she was rough with him.

She found her children in Helaena's room later that evening, once the buzz had died down from Rhaenyra's return. Aelora and Aemma were delighted to play with the twins while Helaena braided their hair for bed, Alistair was already dozed off on an armchair with a book open on his lap. The other boys were all talking in the corner, and went abruptly silent upon Daella's entry.

"Don't stop on my account," she said. "Whatever you have to say, you know I am not one to judge."

"Aemond was telling me he saw Jace and Luke in the yard," said Aegon. "They seemed intimidated by him."

"They should be," said Aeneas, arms crossed as he watched Aelora blow a raspberry at Jaehaera, eliciting a giggle. "Those brats can do nothing against us, even with one less eye he can still slice them in bits within seconds."

It was rare to hear Aeneas compliment his uncle– the two had grown so closely together that they'd been natural rivals. She knew Aemond wished he was as good with his sword as Aeneas, the same way she knew Aeneas wished he had a dragon like Aemond. In the end, they were better working together than apart, but Daella wasn't sure they could see that when they were at an age where girls were obviously paying one or the other more attention for the same reasons that brought upon their insecurities.

Her son's eyes were darker than she remembered seeing them. He muttered, "It won't be difficult to subdue them when the time comes."

"Don't say that," said Aegon dismissively. "There is no point in talking about this."

"You're going to be King," said Aeneas. "It is what the gods want, it is what your namesake would want. It is what was meant to be from the moment you were born. The fact no one can accept this truth is ridiculous. Look at your sister, she is nothing but a stupid whore. That bitch will never be Queen, you have to open your fucking eyes, Aegon."

"Aeneas," said Daella sharply, not to reprimand him for his truths, but to remind him that Aemma was there. She tried not to have them speak so foully in front of her.

"You know it's the truth, too," he said. "I don't know what will happen tomorrow, but whatever is decided, Aegon will be King. I will gladly use my sword to make any blind man or woman see that." He got to his feet, clearly irritated. "I'm going to bed. I should hope soon I can see the King I am intending to serve." He cast Aegon a look that could only be described as disappointed. "We are willing to fight for you, Aegon. It's only about whether you'll fight for yourself."

Aemond pursed his lips, presumably in agreement. But Daella could see the burn of jealousy in his eyes– perhaps he wished for what Aegon did not want, perhaps he wished his own rival would be so passionate about defending him if he were the one meant to be King. Daella knew that rivals or not, Aeneas would surely defend Aemond as fiercely. Her son knew the rightful succession. Her son was clever, he was passionate, he was truthful and he was stronger than she ever could have hoped him to be. So honest, so blunt. She wished she could have been born before Rhaenyra to make him King. He had the drive that Aegon lacked, the charisma that Aemond was too shy to achieve.

Aegon, well... lately, her hopes for Aegon were low. But he was trying, she knew. With Aemond and Aeneas supporting him, with her guidance, with Otto's advice, he would grow. He would learn. And already, he was a better candidate than Rhaenyra had ever been.

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A/N: Happy 200 pages! Comment for more :)