The Hightower welcomed her.

It was said it was the tallest structure in the Seven Kingdoms, even more so than the seven-hundred-foot Wall. Once, Daella had heard of a Braavosi claiming the Titan of Braavos was larger, until the man had supposedly gone to Oldtown and retracted his statement. She had heard only Casterly Rock could be considered taller, if only because it took advantage of the stone hill beneath.

The foundation was black stone, glittering in the sun in a way that reminded Daella of dragons, the way the inside of their mouths could glow right before they spewed fire. Beneath their feet ran deep vaults, running far underground. The top floors of the tower contained the apartments of the Hightower family. Daella and Gwayne's chambers would be on the penultimate floor, allowing her to climb only two flights of stairs to reach the balcony where the beacon glowed.

As the doors of the ground-level hall opened, shining white-gold, Daella found a metaphor for her new path ahead. She embraced it wholeheartedly, this new family, and a new goal. Otto led them in, Gwayne beside her with a gentle hold of her arm. She was happy and proud of herself. Rhaenyra could not take this from me.

They were greeted by Lord Hobert Hightower, his wife Denyse, and his son Ormund. Daella was gladly accepted by all three, who admired her wit and beauty and informed her that Vermithor circled overhead protectively. Ormund offered her six pheasants to feed him, which she took prior to their feast.

"Wait there," said Daella, motioning for Gwayne to linger at the door where a spiral staircase had led them to the top of the Hightower. "He doesn't like men since taking me as a rider. He'll need a moment to sense your intention."

"I'll be happy here," said Gwayne, holding the sack of pheasants and staring up at the massive shape making its way toward them. Vermithor broke through the clouds with a roar, wings beating heavily and nearly snuffing out the light of the Hightower as he landed on the edge. Daella smiled and reached out to caress his face, shushing him gently.

She kissed his cheek as he rumbled low, staring ahead at Gwayne. "Gīda, ñuha dōna valītsos. Daor jorrāelagon naejot sagon. Bisa iksis ñuha valzȳrys." (T: Calm, my sweet boy. No need to be upset. This is my husband.)

She beckoned Gwayne closer, caressing Vermithor's snout. "Bring the pheasants, let him see his gift." Gwayne tiptoed over, not at all comforted by Vermithor's low croon, as if to warn him about any sudden moves. He lowered the sack in front of him and turned it upside down, depositing the pheasants in a neat pile. Daella motioned for him to approach her, leaving space for Vermithor to spit fire right onto the pheasants, roasting them before taking a bite.

"Good boy," said Daella sweetly, taking Gwayne's hand and placing it over hers, allowing Vermithor to feel the warmth of his contact without his skin really touching him. "We'll go home soon. I'll be needing you in the years to come, my boy. We will set things right."

Their dinner was more pleasant than anything Daella had experienced in the Red Keep following her mother's death. Hobert and Otto spoke happily as brothers, without the bitterness Daemon seemed to carry toward Viserys. Ormund and Gwayne were plenty close as well, about as much as Daella wished she had been with Rhaenyra. Lynesse asked Daella many things about her life, about her dragon, so genuinely interested in ways her father never was. Though she'd agreed to live in the Red Keep for the sake of their plan, she lamented not being able to stay at the Hightower.

Then, at last, came the moment she had been waiting for. They were escorted to Gwayne's usual chambers in the Hightower, spacious apartments with a library and a private room for prayer. Daella could feel her stomach turning in anticipation, she wanted this, she wanted to enjoy it shamelessly, to know she did it right, that she did not need to hide or feel guilt. She was a married woman now, and she would do the duty her mother had told her to be prepared for— the same duty Otto had reminded her of.

She sat herself on the bed, finally relaxed. She looked up at Gwayne, blinking slowly and inviting him to her. He looked so shy, slowly stepping nearer and awkwardly undoing the strings of his shirt. She reached out to help him, noticing how his hands shook. Daella tried to relax him, sitting up to kiss him. Gwayne struggled to find a rhythm at first, pecking back without much pressure until she grabbed his face to pull his lips hard on hers. She was a dragon, she knew what she wanted.

She stood up, prompting him to help her slip off her dress. He struggled with that, too. His eyes widened when she let it fall, revealing she'd worn no chemise beneath it. She did away quickly with her undergarments, not shy at all about standing bare for him— she wanted him to see her, wanted him to appreciate her.

Daella leaned over to kiss him, helping him slip off his shirt. Then, she began to undo the strings of his trousers. She moved carefully, crawling onto him and moving her hips as she sat on his legs, then gradually settled onto his lap. It was a pleasant sensation, to feel him hard between her legs. Gods, she was excited, she couldn't wait.

At last, he managed to sit up and lay her down, breathing heavily as though afraid. She readied herself, watching him remove his trousers. She remembered all those books she read, and imagined what it would feel like to hold him, to have his warmth inside her, to feel him fill her with his seed. She pulled him by his shoulders, reaching between them to grip him and stroke gently. He gave a shudder and a gasp, letting her be the one to guide him into her. She aligned him and wrapped a leg around him, grimacing as he slowly pushed his way inside. The pain was almost too much to bear the first second.

When he finally entered her fully, she noticed it did not feel... as she thought. Pressure, that was the only sensation she had. He started to draw his hips back then pushed forward, but still, it did not remind her of how her fingers had felt, coiling within herself. She was just about to ask him to try that when she heard him gasp. Then, he groaned and withdrew. She felt wetness, then something sliding out of her. Gods, was that it?

"If the gods are good, they will give us a son," he said, struggling to breathe. He laid himself beside her without a single regard for her pleasure. "Are you in pain?"

"No," she said unenthusiastically. He really hadn't known anything at all, she realized. An oversight on her part. "We will get better at this with practice, I believe. Perhaps we might try for longer tomorrow."

He seemed confused at this. "We ought to wait and see if this worked, should we not? We do not wish to indulge far too much in such carnal things, it is not what the gods believe right. This temptation, it draws us away from them."

Daella could not believe what she was hearing. She liked Gwayne perfectly fine in every regard... but this one. She didn't understand how he wasn't curious, how he could think that simple thing was going to get her pregnant. If the gods performed open miracles, perhaps. No, no, no, this was all wrong, this wasn't how it was supposed to be, she should have enjoyed it the way she enjoyed it alone.

He wished her a good night and turned to sleep, drawing the sheets over himself. Daella laid there, confused, staring at the ceiling. This is not going to cut it for me. I want pleasure, it's not fair Rhaenyra gets to have that however she wants, I waited and I did it all right, where is my reward?!

She wanted to understand this strange mentality of his. While he went to make preparations for their travels, she went back to the sept. She asked the septon for a book, casually pretending she wished to understand what prayers she needed to say for the Mother and Maiden to bless her with a child.

She was horrified with what she found. These Seven were prudes, they didn't think sex ought to be enjoyed so much, they thought that sex was only to make children. The Valyrian gods were not like that, Targaryens in general did not believe in denying themselves pleasures— dragons wanted what dragons wanted. This was absurd.

She flew on Vermithor to clear her head. He wasn't the happiest here, she could sense. Perhaps because he, in turn, could sense she wasn't happy, either. None of this was how it was meant to be. Daella was not free.

She went to find Otto, her instincts telling her that it was he who would know how to solve her predicament. As strange as the conversation would be, she had to ask, had to know what she could possibly do to guarantee herself a child— at this rate, she wouldn't grow pregnant for years.

"Princess." He was surprised to see her. "How are you?" He was sometimes the only one who ever asked her that question. "I trust you slept well."

"I did not," she said bluntly. "There is much swirling in my mind. I am realizing I will find difficulty in making an heir." He was taken aback— she could see the way his eyes darted, not having expected such a conversation.

"Difficulty," he repeated slowly. "What sort of difficulty?"

She couldn't help but rant, "Your son knew next to nothing about the bedding. In less than a minute, I am somehow expected to come to be with child. It was not how I anticipated that occurring. I did everything as I was supposed to, I was good and proper, and this is what I get? I did not realize the Seven thought coupling so sinful, even between a man and wife. You'll not get any grandchildren from him if this keeps."

He blinked several times. "Princess, I do not know what I can do to remedy this situation. You've need to speak to my son about your preferences."

I'd prefer that my husband bedded me the way I've wanted to be bedded for years. Gwayne is kind and sweet, but his piety will not excite me. "I do not know how I will manage to convince him to partake further in this apparent sin," said Daella bluntly. "I must be repulsive to him, for it was over so suddenly. Is this truly how followers of the Seven are? It is a miracle that the believers have not died out."

He looked between wanting to laugh and wanting to ask her to speak about anything else. She huffed, crossing her arms. Her mind was jumping to all sorts of possibilities, many of them inappropriate. Gwayne had two brothers, surely one of them was less pious or at least more curious.

"I am sure a conversation with him would help you significantly," he said carefully. "You are certainly not repulsive, Princess, there is simply... a difference when a man is not aware of what this act entails. Those who have not read or heard stories from their friends are often entirely unprepared for the experience."

"It is the simplest thing to read," she said with a scowl. "I read plenty about this, I have been prepared for years. How am I to acquire a babe in my belly when my first bedding was a disaster? I thought Gwayne found me beautiful, should he not want to—?" She chose to end the thought rather than say something so vulgar in front of Otto. She wasn't sure why she felt so comfortable doing so.

He sighed deeply, forehead wrinkled as he closed his eyes and presumably thought of what to tell her. "I will see what I can think of, perhaps some scripture you could quote to him for encouragement. It is necessary to our cause that you come to be with child."

"Not only that, I have wanted this," said Daella. "While Rhaenyra shirks her duty, I have held true to my heart the truth my mother said to us years ago– this is how we serve the Realm." And I assure you, Rhaenyra will not have anything to come with Laenor. She'll have no line of succession. "My sister did not wish to be married, much less bring children into the world." Still, she took a risk that could have resulted in that, how could she be so selfish and stupid?

"It may yet be useful for us that she doesn't," said Otto. "Your father understands that to be heir, she must have a stable succession. He saw that even when Jaehaerys had several children, his succession was anything but. If he foolishly hopes for Rhaenyra to be Queen, then she must have at the very least three children to follow her– and if the gods would have mercy on her, one or more would be a son."

She narrowed her eyes at him, unsure why the gods would or should ever have mercy on her sister. "Why is it part of our plan for me to have heirs? I want children, but yesterday you stated that my first daughter would marry Aegon. What need is there, if Helaena is already there?"

Otto ran his tongue over his lips, prompting her to sit. She sank down on the opposite side of his table, leaning back in a green velvet chair. His solar here was much more spacious and fresh than the one in the Tower of the Hand. She could feel the wind swirling in, could see clouds so close that she could probably touch them if she leaned out.

He tucked his hands together and looked at her. "Daella, there is a reason such plans take time. We must prime your father to this idea, it cannot be done in a single day. Evidence must be gathered of Rhaenyra's incompetence, as must evidence to the favor of... other candidates. If you recall, I wished your father to initially name you as his heir. There is a chance that even if we convince him Rhaenyra is not fit to rule, he may gravitate towards you instead of Aegon."

Daella saw now a side of him that both annoyed her and intrigued her. This plotting had been going on much longer. She narrowed her eyes at him. "How convenient, then. If I become Queen, it won't matter that I am a woman... House Hightower would support me because a Hightower man would be King Consort– and considered the true King by the men of the Realm. Hightower children would inherit the Iron Throne. And if Aegon becomes King, married to Helaena or not, Hightower blood will still carry the line of succession. How calculated. Alicent's guilt was genuine, then. It was not her plot to seduce my father... you pushed her into his chambers."

He neither confirmed nor denied it. She gave a light laugh. A sinister man, cunning, she both admired him for it and wanted to slash her knife across his face. She had it with her today, she'd been angry and wondering what to do with it. "You really do think of everything, Otto. You assumed I would deny being Queen even if my father wanted to make me heir. You know that I want to be free more than I want to rule. Well, I say we be prepared for anything. Regardless, my problem persists. Your son is unlikely to be able to put a babe in me, much less the three I would need for my own succession. I will not go back to King's Landing without a babe in my belly. I've suffered far too much embarrassment and waited far too long for this moment to not enjoy it."

She saw him flinch when she stood, and she realized she'd let the knife slip out from beneath her sleeve, the tip of it resting on her wrist. The glint of silver had startled him. She let the knife escape fully, leaping into her palm. "This knife will certainly find its way into someone if we cannot convince my father. We'll need to work hard, very hard, to see it done. I will not see my sister get everything she does not deserve. I don't wish to live in that wretched castle, but I will do it, I will write to you and teach Aegon. In return, I do not want failure."

"I will not fail you or the Realm, Princess." He got to his feet, looming nearly a foot taller than her. She'd threatened him in her own way, and he was threatening her now. "If you wish to play this game, then you will acknowledge that there is much and more you do not know. You are entering this plot for anger, I am entering it for this ambition you accuse me of. Do not forget that I first suggested Rhaenyra be wed to Aegon. Even now, I would've preferred you marry him than marry my son. I won't tolerate foolishness, Princess. I won't tolerate failure from you. You will contain this anger of yours and do what you are told, or I will be sure to remove you altogether. If I cannot trust you, then you are but a loose end to be tied. Do you understand?"

She glared up at him, unable to recall the last time someone spoke so harshly to her face. Perhaps never. She both hated it and liked it. Daella had always admired Otto's honesty. Still looking at him, she slowly slid the knife back up her sleeve. "I understand," she said flatly. "You are clever, Ser Otto, I don't deny it. You certainly know more than me where this game is concerned. As for my issue... if you bring me a solution, I will gladly do as you bid."

She watched for his reaction, unsure what she sought. She felt herself leaning over to him, she wanted more of this anger and she didn't know why. His face gave nothing away, but Daella felt a strange sensation, the desire for a challenge. She liked the responsibility he handed her, but she did not enjoy how he believed she was doing his bidding. If he wanted that, he had to show her he deserved for her to listen to him. Why should she submit to him?

"You can be quite infuriating, Princess," he said quietly, after his expression demonstrated no change. He remained ever serious, still looming and trying to intimidate her. Well, she would not be intimidated, he ought to know that by now.

"So I've been told," she retorted. "You needn't call me 'Princess' anymore. My name is Daella. I am your son's wife, the formalities are unnecessary."

Otto gave a dry laugh. "My son's wife, yet you are here in my private quarters asking for my help to end up with child." Oh, that irked her. The knife re-entered her hand, and she flicked it up at his throat, letting the blunt end press beneath his chin. He raised a brow, either unafraid or impressed. That face he was making, it angered her. She wanted to smack that expression off him. She wanted... she wanted... gods, she wanted him to purse his lips like that and press them hard to her own mouth, with the sort of conviction that Gwayne could not manage. Why, why, why? She'd never thought of something so sinful.

His hand reached for her wrist. She sensed it before it arrived, and if she wanted to she could have cut his throat much faster than he could grab her. She'd practiced the same move with Laenor and a sheathed knife– Daella's advantage was always being smaller and quicker. Her blades were always sharp. She did not wish to truly hurt Otto, however, and she let him grab her arm, twisting it back rather than pushing it down. It brought her pain as he turned the blade back to her. The hurt was sweet.

She opened her hand to let the knife fall, Otto still holding her arm. She ran her tongue over her lips, looking at him, wanting to hurt him back, wanting to devour him like a dragon would. She remembered how her appetite improved after claiming Vermithor– her sexual appetite had arrived in those days, and it had never been satisfied. She was hungry now, starving. She wanted to be bedded as she'd imagined, and perhaps a man who had four children to show might be a better option than his pious son.

"What do you want?" asked Otto. He challenged her. Unless she kissed him or said directly that she wanted him to take her, she'd get nothing. What a cunt. A cunt who thought of everything. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to say, "You know precisely what problem I came here looking to solve. If you're so clever, then solve it."

He was still holding her wrist as he pulled her around the desk. He fell back into his chair, bringing her down with him. She stumbled, grabbing at the armrest and catching herself right as he seized her by the throat and brought his mouth to hers, just as starved. He kissed her with fire, as if he wanted to consume her in the same way. How they got here, she wasn't sure. All those conversations, all the time Otto saw her when no one else did, this cruel jape of Rhaenyra's about having Daella marry him... well, she understood her own side of it. Him, well, perhaps it had something to do with how motherly she'd been with Aegon and Helaena, how she wanted to hear him, how she thought as he did.

She felt his other hand frantically looking to get beneath her skirt. When at last it did, she lifted her knee onto the armrests of his chair, gripping his shoulders and digging her nails in when she felt his fingers slipping beneath her smallclothes. She felt it then, the exact pleasure she'd been searching for. How he slid his fingers into her and coiled them, drawing from her a gasp that she muffled into his mouth. The grip of his other hand on her throat was intoxicating, she scarcely felt able to breathe.

He gripped her waist as he pumped his fingers into her at a much steadier pace than anything Gwayne had managed the night before. She let her head loll forward, biting her lip hard and rolling her hips in every which way she could to feel him more, more, more. "Take me," she pleaded, her head light. "Give me my own heir, give me a son."

She almost sobbed when he withdrew his fingers, feeling so empty. She struggled to stay on her feet, listening to the rustling of fabric as he undid the strings of his trousers. She sat herself down as he slouched back in the chair, feeling his fingers again as they guided her forward, until he'd pressed himself to her and drove in without any remorse. Her neck arched back, the intrusion welcome. She liked how rough he was, the way he dug his fingers into her thighs and sheathed himself in her like a sword meeting its victim.

She held the armrests and rolled her hips as he moved her body up and down, eliciting sounds she had to fight hard to conceal. Daella wanted to moan every profanity she knew, wanted to beg him for more. She felt him deep inside her, then his fingers began to rub at her from the outside while she dropped her head into the crook of his neck, the collar of his shirt leaving his neck inaccessible. At least then, she was able to breathe heavily into his ear and listen to his own panting– it was heavenly.

It lasted much longer, as well. Daella felt herself growing light, then lighter– he lifted her body and she was weightless, until her back collided with the desk. The sound was a muffled thump, which would surely be accompanied by bruises on Daella's lower back. She did not care, how was Gwayne going to ever see them? She laid back, reaching out to pull Otto onto her and feeling the high get closer and closer, until he'd finally rubbed her so hard that she felt that explosion in her.

Her back arched into him, thighs spasming and tightening around his hips. Her legs stopped flailing and instead wrapped around him, pulling him as close as she could– so close, they were one person, not two. She felt so full, and it had excited her even more when she heard him groan low in her ear. Her legs kept him trapped there, but still he moved and moved until he shuddered and slammed himself in as far as he could, his seed spilling into her and warming her from within.

She unwrapped her legs, expecting him to step aside as Gwayne had done. He merely straightened himself up. "You wanted me to solve your problem," he said matter-of-factly, as if she were clueless. "You're not leaving this room until I am certain you are with child."

Gods, that was all he needed to say, all that she wanted to hear. She sat herself up as far as she could, kissing him again and biting at his lower lip– he groaned and accepted it. "Perhaps we should have done what that letter originally commanded," she muttered.

"We couldn't have, not if we want Aegon to be King. You'd have no believable reason to return to King's Landing."

"But I'd have as many children as I wished. I suppose Gwayne and I will need to visit Oldtown often, for the sake of succession." She drew back and narrowed her eyes at him. "Perhaps there is something I might manage to do to bring you back as Hand. It would take time, but I think I can convince my father to forgive you more easily than I can convince him to set aside Rhaenyra."

His lips curled. "It would seem we have an understanding... Daella."