The castle felt empty.

Her brothers had left that afternoon, following her cousin Ormund and half her relatives back to Oldtown along the Rose Road. Norman had almost cried, Bryndon had offered to break his arm to be unable to travel.

She asked them to be brave, her sweet little brothers, and hugged them both before she turned to Gwayne, whose face looked better today. A paste had been smeared on the scrapes, and fresh bandages were applied to protect him from the sun. Though he remained bruised, he was well enough to ride and had no reason to stay.

Their absence weighed on her within the first hour. It did not bring her comfort to sit in Rhaenyra's room while Alicent read to her. The Tower of the Hand was cold when she returned to see servants already cleaning out her brothers' chambers. Her father's door was closed, light flickering beneath but reminding her that she was not welcome in, for her new task was not complete. Today, the King had said naught about naming Rhaenyra his heir.

Amalia slept alone in her bed, remembering how Norman and Bryndon used to beg to sleep next to her when they were little, for a chance to hear her lullabies. Once, the first few days after her mother passed, all four of her little siblings had piled in with her. Alicent had woken up completely turned around, feet in Gwayne's face, Bryndon had fallen off the bed but not minded, Norman had half his body hanging off, and Amalia was so pushed to the edge without a blanket that her feet were cold when she rose. The memory made her smile.

In the morning, she instinctively went to bid the boys good morrow, only to find they were not there. When she reached Rhaenyra's room, she had already left for the Small Council meeting. She returned, however, much earlier than expected, in tears and so angry, she flung a candle at the wall.

Daemon had bought out a pleasure house on the Street of Silk to entertain the City Watch and friends of his. His wicked tongue had struck again when he toasted to Prince Baelon, styling him the 'Heir for a Day.' Rhaenyra had heard Otto reveal it in the Small Council meeting. Amalia had listened to Rhaenyra snarl awful things about Daemon, none she disagreed with.

When she went to see the King that afternoon, she found him as upset as his daughter. He'd already confronted his brother, she was told, and had told him to return to Runestone and attend to his lady wife. Rhaenyra would be announced as heir to the Iron Throne. He'd spoken with her about it, at last. Her father would undoubtedly be pleased, though Amalia found it almost comical that Daemon of all people had encouraged Viserys to make his decision. Amalia's singular visit had nothing to do with it.

Yet, of course, she knew that her father would want the visits to persist. Now that he'd shown his true colors, she suspected he'd want to convince King Viserys of several other things now that he was vulnerable. Amalia was his means to do it.

To rationalize it, to calm herself, to try and abate her anger towards the King, she tried to think of it as a private moment to help Rhaenyra. If she could counsel Viserys into being a better father, she'd be more efficient in healing Rhaenyra's grief. Perhaps she should have employed the same strategy when her mother passed.

"I presume you heard from Rhaenyra what my brother has done," said the King, more talkative today, it seemed. Still he was moving figures around his model city. What it meant to him, she didn't know.

"I did, Your Grace," she said. "I wish I could have eased her, but I had to give her space to be angry."

"My brother does not seem to understand who we are... what we are. The importance of family." He gestured to the model. "I've never been far from... painful and dark thoughts through my reign. How could I not be, having lost so much before I even ascended the throne? It comforts me to think of Valyria in its prime, to imagine when House Targaryen was prosperous."

She indulged him, "Is this the capital city?" He nodded, and she drew closer to examine it as he explained, "The Valyrian capital was built into a volcano, much like Dragonstone. And the dragonlords, the highest of the nobility, lived here, at the volcanic face, closest to the source of their magic and power." He gestured down to one building. "And this was the Anogrion, where the bloodmages worked their craft."

She leaned down, taking a closer look at the detail. "Forgive me for asking, Your Grace, but where do you find the time to make all this?" Do you neglect your daughter to carve stone?

This made him laugh, "Oh, I do not make it. I pore over the histories and provide the plans. The stonemasons build the structures."

That at least made more sense. "Do you hope to see Westeros rise to the same heights as Old Valyria?" Perhaps that was why it infuriated him so much that Daemon spit in the face of his own family. They were dragonlords, meant to be truly great, yet those within the family hurt one another. Greatness could not come where there was greed and envy.

King Viserys shrugged, "That depends, whether you speak of the Freehold at its height or at its fall." He reached for the figure of a dragon, resting atop one of the towers. He toyed with it between his fingertips, "Over a thousand dragons, a navy large enough to span the seas of the world. The glory of Old Valyria will never be seen again."

The dragon slipped, but she was quick enough to catch it before it shattered on the ground. Years of practice with clumsy Norman and wild Bryndon had sharpened her reflexes; her mother used to say she could have been a cat. She felt him looming over her; he, too, had been trying to catch it. She straightened up and offered it to him, too close for her comfort. His silver-gold hair glistened in the fading light, and he smiled slightly as he took the little dragon in hand.

Amalia considered she ought to leave, but the King asked, "I presume Rhaenyra told you that I mean to name her heir to the Iron Throne?"

"She revealed it, yes," said Amalia, though she'd known of the idea before Rhaenyra even did. Her father's seeds were bearing their fruit, though undoubtedly he had further plans for this plant. Perhaps he hoped to marry Rhaenyra to Gwayne or Ormund, perhaps find a suitable match with someone he considered an ally– a Lannister, mayhaps.

"What do you think of it?"

This surprised her. "It is not for me to have an opinion, Your Grace. You make the decisions for the Realm, you know what is best."

"Yet, I know you care for Rhaenyra. You always worry for her. I wish to know your thoughts, not as a lady of the Realm, but as someone who cares for her the way a mother would."

Hesitantly, she said, "It will be a heavy burden to bear." He snorted, as if he agreed with this. "Help her through it, lest she believes you only chose her to anger Daemon."

He toyed with the dragon once more; gods she hoped he wouldn't drop it a second time. "Thank you for your counsel, Lady Amalia. It is good to know that you are supportive of my daughter."

Taking it as a dismissal, she curtsied and excused herself. She felt his stare following her as she did so. She wondered if it was the dress he liked or if he looked at her already with something else. The idea of that sickened her. The last thing she wanted was for the king to feel lust for her.

She tried not to think of it, filling her head with things she could tell him to help Rhaenyra but not insinuate anything further. Gods, she hoped her father would be satisfied soon and let her be. For now, they only had to get through this ceremony. That, and then the Realm's many visitors would leave.

Daemon departed that same day, seemingly upset to not be standing at his brother's side as the lords of the Realm bent the knee to Rhaenyra and declared her heir to the Iron Throne. Alicent had helped her select her dress while Amalia did her hair for the day. The girls stood together in the gallery, watching the procession and eventually taking their turn behind their uncle Lord Hobert as he, their father, and a few of their swords knelt before Rhaenyra to affirm her as heir.

Rhaenyra had still been in the thick of her grief, and did not smile.

_

For six months, Amalia had tried to turn that frown around. This was difficult to accomplish, given Daemon had gone to settle on Dragonstone the moment he left King's Landing. King Viserys had done nothing to stop him, but continued to fight a growing conflict in the Stepstones in relatively poor fashion, at least in Amalia's opinion, for nothing ever ended the problem. Lord Corlys Velaryon was becoming more unpleasant company, insisting firmly for something to be done. Nothing was.

She saw Princess Rhaenys more often at court. Lady Laena came to visit Rhaenyra, to speak with her and keep her company. Her father told her that the King would need to remarry eventually, for the succession was weak. Even with Rhaenyra as heir, Daemon was still second-in-line. Viserys would need to produce more heirs in case something were to befall Rhaenyra. Amalia thought her father's intention was to replace Rhaenyra as heir with Viserys's first son. And she worried about who would be bearing that son.

She'd suspected that her father meant her to seduce the King in some way from the moment he suggested she wear her mother's dresses. When he'd asked her to continue comforting him, she assumed he wanted her to be the new wife Viserys chose. But she listened, for otherwise this would fall to Alicent. She hated to think of her sweet little Alicent being so close to this older man all the time, proximal enough to deal with his residual tears and growing desire. Amalia had noticed how often he looked at her now.

Their conversations were easier; really she could speak with anyone if she tried. He shared more about his youth, about what his uncles and aunts had been like, what Jaehaerys and Alysanne were like. But what bothered her was that he spoke to her so much, yet hardly said a word to his daughter. Rhaenyra was a child, she didn't know how to reach out for help. He was the adult, the one experienced in loss, yet he was afraid to face her.

"Your Grace," she said, on a day when she'd brought fresh bread for him. Alicent had some brought for Rhaenyra earlier. "Might I discuss something about Princess Rhaenyra?"

He nodded, carefully rolling between his fingers the soft insides of the bread; that was her favorite part, too. "Of course. I am eager to know how she is, for she does not tell me directly."

"That is my concern, precisely," admitted Amalia. "I seldom hear of you speaking. I understand how intimidating it is for both of you to face these feelings, but I think it is a necessity. Rhaenyra's new position weighs on her. Not only has she been expected to grow up so quickly, but she is also being perceived differently."

He leaned forward with interest. She continued, "She was not taught to rule from birth the way most heirs are. There is much you must teach her, Your Grace, lest the role overwhelms her. She will have many questions and doubts and I am sure she is still struggling to cope with losing a parental figure. Demonstrate to her that you chose her for the reasons I believe you did. She is capable. Your firstborn. A fierce dragonrider, a clever girl who would be as influential as Queen Alysanne. I always learned from my septa that King Jaehaerys relied heavily on her."

This made him smile. "That was true. I remember my grandmother fondly. Would that you could have met her, I think she would have liked you."

Amalia tried to seem like she took it as a compliment, which it ought to have been, but lately she sensed that his discussions of family were becoming too intimate. "I would hope so. Rhaenyra can become like Alysanne, but not if she drowns in her sadness. Alicent and I can only do so much. She needs her father."

"You are right, as usual," said Viserys. "I admit... I am at a loss in terms of how to guide her. My grandmother wished for women to be equal to men throughout the entire Realm. You know, she wished for Jaehaerys to name their daughter Daenerys as his heir. The babe died, but the idea lived on. My uncle Aemon named Rhaenys as heir and raised her with such expectations. Even my mother, she stood on equal grounds with my father and would not allow anyone to make her feel less. I grew up understanding how important a female influence was. I firmly believe Rhaenyra can be what Alysanne dreamt of, a Queen of Westeros."

"I wish that Rhaenyra could have known or remembered these women," said Amalia. Aemon and Alyssa had died before Rhaenyra was born, Alysanne had died when she was three. "For starters, a conversation would help her. Discuss new responsibilities. As a cupbearer, there is little she can do. Perhaps she ought to be given decisions to make. A seat on the council would be a good start." This, her father had never suggested, but she knew it would make Rhaenyra feel like more than a spare he used because he had no other choice.

Viserys pondered on it. "A wise bit of advice, my lady. Yes, earlier this week Rhaenyra wished to speak on the matter in the Stepstones. Perhaps to give her a voice would be reasonable. Her suggestions will improve with time and experience, with direct discussion with the other members of the Council. She'll come to understand things as I once did. Your father was instrumental in teaching me to be King. He taught me how to be more like Jaehaerys."

He smiled fondly, thinking it a good memory. Oh, if you only knew what Otto thinks about behind your back. It occurred to her that she could tell him, that she could admit to the plots she thought her father was brewing. Her father might be tried for treason. But what if that did not go as planned? What if her father found out before the passive king did anything? What if Alicent came to harm? No, she couldn't. And he was her father... her mother had loved him so dearly...

Still, she let the thoughts brew in her for the next several days. It almost brought her the same comfort it did when she would imagine hurting Daemon. She still hated him, for the way he'd hurt Rhaenyra and even Viserys, for how he abandoned his family when they were most in need of him. But of late, she loathed her father more, and had these visions about him most often.

In the end, she decided to say nothing. She heard Viserys had spoken with Rhaenyra, and though things had been tense, the two of them had managed something of a conversation during their dinner. Alicent believed that Rhaenyra felt more open to speaking with her father, though nothing could be promised about how civil the conversation would be. Amalia's influence worked some magic. She wouldn't have thought to help Rhaenyra this way if not for her father's push. All she wanted was for that little girl to be happy.

"Good day, Ser Criston," she said, greeting the new and young knight of the Kingsguard as she arrived to King Viserys's apartments yet again at the end of the week. Lately, she felt the Kingsguard somewhat glaring at her, as if she were coming to perform illicit acts within the chamber. As if they couldn't hear her talking away with the King. Gods, she hated those looks. But assumptions would be made regardless of the truth, she knew that well enough.

"Good day," he replied. He opened the door and announced, "The Lady Amalia Hightower."

She saw Viserys seated by his desk, and he immediately set down his quill to smile at her. "Lady Amalia." She came to sit across from him, shaking her head as he offered her a cup of wine. "How are you this morrow?"

"Good, Your Grace," she said. "And you?"

"Well enough." His smile was pained. He had a habit of smiling even when upset, though the smiles were different. When the smile was forced, his eyes wrinkled at the edges, his lips twitching. "To be frank, my head has been swimming all day."

She expressed concern, as was her custom. "If you've need of someone to listen..."

"Yes. I am being urged to remarry."

That dreaded moment. Her heart leapt into her throat. No, the time had come. For months now she'd shown Viserys that she was a blunt yet charismatic force that he could contend with in any conversation. Finally, he'd come to his realization. "I surmised as much," she replied carefully. "It is always encouraged for kings to have multiple children. As painful as I am sure it is... this duty would be forced on you sooner than late. I am sorry, Your Grace. I know how you must still mourn the Queen."

"I do," he agreed. "Lord Corlys has offered me his daughter, the Lady Laena."

She'd heard as much from her father. Even Rhaenyra had discussed it with Alicent, and the thought had made Alicent sad. "A good match," she agreed. Laena was twelve where Viserys was five-and-thirty, it was a horrible thing to think of, even worse than her father having pushed Alicent towards the King. "Lady Laena is Targaryen and Velaryon combined. Her father is your Master of Ships."

"So she is, so he is." He didn't sound enthused. "Admittedly, I don't know the Lady Laena well. She is very young."

Amalia assumed that he could marry her and not bed her until she was much older. Or delay this as long as he liked. Inevitably, however, the pressure would be too great. Damn these men for pushing it onto him and Rhaenyra so soon. For putting this on her now. "I understand that, Your Grace," she murmured. "Would that you were free of this duty. You always seek the good of the Realm, yet it takes much from you."

He nodded. "Yes. I am constantly reminded of this duty. Grand Maester Mellos, Lord Lyonel, they thoroughly agree with this course of action. Your father has understood me better than most, for he never remarried after your mother... well, I worry for Rhaenyra, who might not react well to a stepmother."

"She might not." Her whole body hurt to think of where he was going with this. "Another conversation to be had. She's mature enough to understand you have no real choice in this, Your Grace. To do it or delay, in the end a wedding will happen. Eventually, I fear, even Rhaenyra will have to wed someone she might not want to. It is an unfortunate duty, yet she will come to comprehend its necessity. Gods forbid anything were to happen to her, but otherwise, you've no other heirs. In time, she will accept it..."

He was silent, letting it sink in. Then, "You know much about being a parent, despite having no children of your own. The eldest daughter who filled the role of mother to the younger four. It is a burden I think you and I both understand. We are the eldest, we are forced to think clearly and make sacrifices to save the others pain." He began to tap his fingers anxiously on the desk. "You have always been kind to Rhaenyra. An elder sister... motherly with her."

She flinched when there came a knock at the door. Even Viserys seemed startled. He composed himself quickly, "Come." Ser Criston announced, "The Hand, Your Grace."

Her father swept in quickly, worry etched over his brows. He paid Amalia no mind, "Your Grace, I've called the Small Council to an emergency session."

"Why?" asked the King.

"I think it best you hear it directly."

Viserys exited his seat. "Very well."

She returned to the Tower of the Hand to wait on further news. When her father returned, he told her that Daemon had stolen a dragon egg, the same one that Rhaenyra had chosen for Prince Baelon. He'd announced his intention to take a second wife, having impregnated a whore of his and styling himself the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. Her father would be leading a group to Dragonstone to retrieve the egg and demand his departure from the island.

Wordlessly, her father had implied she return to the King. She didn't bid him a warm goodbye as he left. For a brief moment, she imagined Daemon slaying him on Dragonstone. Then, she thought herself a horrible person and stopped to pray before she reached King Viserys's chambers again.

The Kingsguards' stares were the worst when her visits came so late. She tried to keep her head high, knowing that the King would be upset now, and when he was upset, he did not speak well with Rhaenyra. The girl had shut herself in her room, not even Alicent permitted to see her. Neither blamed her for her rage.

"Your father is a good man," said Viserys. "Would that I still had the Black Dread, Daemon would not do such things."

"He is a younger sibling," reasoned Amalia. "They like to have attention, to elicit a reaction." Her brothers had never been as rowdy as Daemon, of course. "I hope my father's mission will be successful, especially to retrieve that egg. I should hope at last that Dragonstone will be freed."

He nodded. "Forgive me, I do not wish to discuss the situation at hand. I need to think of something else."

"Of course, Your Grace." Amalia searched for something to say, something to not revisit the earlier conversation. "Rhaenyra's choice in the new Kingsguard seems to be going swimmingly. Ser Criston is an able fighter. Young blood is good."

He managed a laugh. "I initially assumed she chose him for his good looks, but I did indeed see proof of his abilities."

"To be sure. Alicent agrees with that." She found herself smiling, thinking of her little sister's passing comment about Ser Criston's handsome face. Alicent was finally starting to be vocal about the boys she found attractive, which both excited Amalia and made her fear that soon, Alicent would choose not to need her anymore.

Viserys cleared his throat. "May I ask you something, Lady Amalia?"

"Of course, Your Grace."

"My mind keeps returning to our earlier conversation. I feel at liberty to speak with you about many things. You put me at ease with your honesty. I know I can share my thoughts in confidence and be sure to receive proper feedback." He paused, she tensed, another bit of dread rising in her stomach. "There are many things I want in a new wife, if I must take one. She must be good for the Realm, someone the small folk will love. She must be young but not a child, capable of giving me heirs and still mentally mature... so I am able to discuss all matters with her. Most importantly for me, she must be good to Rhaenyra. Love her as her own, guide her and nurture her. Someone my daughter will respect and heed advice from."

"Those are good things to consider," said Amalia, tugging hard at her fingers. It was her substitute for picking at her cuticles.

"Paramount, I would say." He looked up at her. "My lady... Amalia. It is my desire... for my own family's sake and for the Realm's... that you be my wife."

She fought hard to keep down an obvious sign of how this conversation distressed her. She knew that he could not see how she'd been unintentionally manipulating him down this line of thought. She knew that when compared to Laena, she had many personal benefits though her father did not command a great fleet nor keep the blood of the dragon.

Amalia looked down at her hands, finding this the only way she could say, "I am... surprised, honored, and humbled to hear this, Your Grace."

"I've grown fond of your company." He seemed shy now. It hid well the way her eyes sparkled with the start of tears. "You are beautiful. Your hair, it is one of my favorite things about you." She liked her hair, too, but this statement made her suddenly want to chop it all off. "Full of curls, always around your face. I know you've apologized for them before, you've mentioned you have no time to properly pin yours because you devote so much time to your sister, to my daughter. I believe it a sign of your generosity, of your tender inclinations. If the Realm insists I remarry, should I not marry someone I trust and... care for?"

"You should do as you see fit, Your Grace," said Amalia softly. "As you feel comfortable. I wish only to serve the Realm. To serve my family and yours."

He seemed to understand this didn't indicate enthusiasm, but he did not ask for her true feelings, either. "I will speak with your father about this when he returns." He smiled, and put his hand over hers. It reminded her of the way he'd held Aemma's dead hand before the Silent Sisters wrapped her body.

Amalia had a feeling he'd had her in the back of his mind as a potential second wife from the moment she went to find him there. And that, her father hadn't told her to do.