Chapter Text
129 AC
King’s Landing
The Day of the Driftmak Succession Petition
The morn was gloomy and windy. It was a large comparison to the bright and warm mornings that the princess was used to in Meereen. The only major difference after that was the smell; King’s Landing always smelled of shit and death, regardless of what the weather was.
Still, the hustle and bustle of the city brought back fond memories for Sashera. It was her home for almost nine years of her life. The place where she grew with her family, even if said family was ripping at the seams now.
The time was still early; early enough that her grandfathers’ court has not yet convened. Early enough to sneak through the secret pathways undetected, hopefully. It might’ve been a breeze if it was only herself, but she had her sworn protector and her handmaiden in procession with her in the small boat.
Sashera gazed upon her two companions: Amara the Kind, and Vanor the Brave she named them. Amara was simple yet beautiful. Her eyes were the color emeralds, standing out to her brunette hair. Her face heart-shaped face complimented her pouty lips, with a small nose on top. Her smile was as bright as the sun during summer, and her voice was always as calm as a cool breeze.
Vanor was incredibly unique and striking compared to her; his Valryian features shining through, with white streaks in his mostly brown hair, and depending on which way the sun hit his eyes, you could barely see amethyst within them. Vanor had the tell-tale facial structure of a Lys-born, strong and slim. He was built to be a warrior, but was also wise and cautious. Both of them were the closest people that she had to siblings since she had left across the narrow sea, and she couldn’t be more thankful for them.
“Your Grace”, Vanor began. “How do you wish to go about this? I know and trust that you remember the pathways, but you simply cannot expect to get into a closed court without an issue.”
Sashera’s lips quirked for a fleeting moment before settling into a fine line. “I rea
lize this might not be wise of me, but there is a passage that comes directly from the throne room. I have confidence that this has yet to be enclosed, as very few know of it.” A weary breath was taken while Amara clasped her queen’s hand.
“It has been so long since I have been back here, so who knows? If not, there is always a way into the King’s chambers so that I might seek a counsel with my grandfather.”
Vanor simply hummed in return and kept rowing, while Amara glanced between them.
“My lady, I have no doubt that this will work in our favor. For the gods have never truly forsaken you before, why start now?” Amara grinned as she finished, while the princess let out a quick snort.
“The gods work only in their favor, my friend. I have yet to run out of favor it seems, but there is always a time for that.”
~
Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, Crown Princess, Heir to the Iron Throne, is afraid.
She’s only been afraid a few times in her life, and all those times combined were nothing compared to the fear she felt now. The Hightower branch of her house has essentially usurped her father and made themselves rulers. With the bastard maester practically drowning her father in milk of the poppy, he lays bedridden day and night, unable to rule.
“I should’ve never left him.” Her grace mumble while holding her belly.
The blatant disrespect shown during the arrival was almost enough to convince her, but after seeing the state her King father was in, it was enough for her to confirm that.
“Yes, we should have my dear, but it is far too late for that now.” Rhaenyra turns to her husband as he sits, inspecting his nails.
“If they so dare even threaten to take away Lucery’s claim on Driftmark, they are committing the highest of treasons. The broodmare and her half-breeds may be ambitious, but they are not stupid, my lady wife.”
Rhaenyra feels her body relax at her husbands’ words, and grabs his hand. The two gaze at each other, before the heir steps away and gestures towards her clothing,
“Help me put on my dress, uncle?”
Daemon ‘hmphs’ and smiles as he goes to help his pregnant wife. The Rouge Prince, though sloppily, laces his future queen into her black dress. He kneels in front of her, and lays his head upon her bump.
The indigo eyes of the prince are watery as he stands and looks into his counterpart. His voice could barely be heard by Rhaenyra, but it was just enough for her heart to almost collapse in on itself.
“I miss our girl.”
“So do I, my husband.”
~
The three families stood divided, as Otto Hightower was standing above the throne of a thousand swords. His face was neutral, but his eyes shined with arrogance. The Greens and the Blacks, with part of the Velaryon branch in between. Six eyes watched from the walls, ready to strike when the time was right.
“Though it is a great hope that Lord Corlys Velaryon survives his wounds,” Otto began, glancing over the audience of the Hightower leaning court gathered, “we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As Hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters.”
The Lord Hand turns to sit upon the conquers throne, stating “The crown will now hear the petitions. Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon,”
The fight for the Driftmark throne has officially begun.
Vaemond moves to the center of the room, hands clasped in front of him. It is tense, as the Blacks, specifically the Rouge Prince, stare down the second son.
“My Queen, My Lord Hand. The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas.
When the Doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebearers came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end to their bloodlines and their name.”
Vaemond pauses briefly, looking upon the room of nobles. The heir refusing to meet his eye, while the Green Queen gives him a quirk of a smile.
“I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’s closest kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins-“
“As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon.” Interrupts princess Rhaenyra.
All eyes turn to the heir, who is standing strong amongst her opposers. Her voice, while gentle, remains as powerful as she can possibly muster.
“If you cared so much about your house’s blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir.” The princess’ voice has a venomous tone to it, as she finally turns to face the usurper of her sons’ seat. “No, you only speak for yourself, and for your own ambition.”
Queen Alicent quickly interjects, “You will have chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Ser Vaemond a curtesy of allowing his to be heard.” The Queen is firm as she stares at her former friend.
Vaemond turn the princess with a smirk on his face, as Rhaenyra returns her gaze in front of her.
It looks as if Vaemond was about to speak again, however he was interrupted as the doors to the Hall open. The gathered, including the little birds, turn to look upon the King as he is announced. Though King Viserys I is sickly, he is not in complete decay as many thought him to be.
Viserys hobbles down the few stairs, while the Queen and the Hand gape at each other at his arrival. Rhaenyra and the Blacks look relieved as the King makes his way, while Vaemond and Rhaenys have visibly paled. A slight giggle could be heard by those close to the left of the throne room.
Slumped upon his throne, Viserys asks, quite out of breath, “I must…admit…my confusion. I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. Corlys Velaryon has made it well known to all that his wish, upon his death, was that Lucerys Velaryon, son of Ser Laenor Velaryon, was to receive the inheritance of the Driftmark seat. Why am I wasting my time upon this, Ser Vaemond?”
Vaemond, visibly angered at this point, steps to the center or the room once again. “You, King Viserys, break laws and centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. You may rule your house as you see fit, but you will not determine the fate of mine. I will not allow you…” Vaemond pauses as her regards his words, as they might be his last if his tongue slips.
“Say it,” is heard as a whisper to all, but it is unknown who it is from. Many turn to look for the voice, but no one can seem to find its origin. Vaemond, deciding to think of it as a voice from the gods, follows through.
“I will not allow you, to sully the good Velaryon name, with fucking BASTARDS from that whore.” He rages as he turns to the crown princess, his eyes alight with fire.
Rhaenyra hold Lucerys closer to her, in case Vaemond take his anger out on them. Daemon’s grip upon Dark Sister tightens, and the air becomes so heavy, it hurts to breathe.
The King, despite his illness, stands with such fluidity and grace that it might’ve been shocking to those who have seen the illness he suffers with. Viserys pulls his dagger from his sheath, and with such venom utters, “I will have your tongue for that!”
Before anyone can move though, a single arrow goes through the left of Vaemond’s head, with the tip barely peaking from the right. He collapses, dead. Blood begins to pool as chaos ensues. Sweet princess Helaena screams as she covers her ears, her mother and younger brother come to her aid. Daemon in turn covers his family, while Rhaenys does the same with young Baela. Some Kingsguard turn to find the perpetrator, while other turn to cover the King and Lord Hand.
The King can hear quiet footsteps on his right and Viserys turns, ready to face a possible demise to protect his family, but is shocked in place as he sees a young girl beside the throne, and he knew.
Her true Valyrian eyes, matching his lady mothers were a dead giveaway to who she was. Her once unruly platinum curls, that gave his daughter so much annoyance, settled into perfect coils. Her face no longer carried the childlike youth, it carried the looks of a woman grown. An oval face shape, high cheek bones, a strong nose, heart-shaped lips. His daughter’s firstborn, his granddaughter, has returned to them.
“Lower your weapons, we are in no danger here.”
Immediately the Hand objects. “My King, there-“
“Enough Otto, we are in no danger here.” Viserys states firmly. He then turns to his right side, and holds out his remaining arm, “Come to me, my granddaughter.”
The entirety of the court turns to look, and to their shock, they see the lost Jewel of the Realm. The heir begins to cry, and turn to her husband who is shell-shocked. The Jewel turns to the Green Queen and their side and embraces her quickly, following princess Helaena.
Sashera turns to Aegon the Elder and nods with a smile. She then turns to Aemond “One-Eye”, and embraces him quickly to his own shock, before glancing to her mother. She gives a tight-lipped smile, before pulling out a dagger and approaching Vaemond’s body.
A slice and a simple squelch noise can be heard as the Jewel slices Vaemond’s tongue from his body, and she turns to kneel before the King.
“You asked for his tongue, your Grace.”
“That I did, my sweet granddaughter.”