The Fury of the Realm's Glory

It was still autumn in the hundred and tenth year after the Conquest, the following day in the Red Keep of King's Landing.

Morning light filtered through lace curtains, scattering patches of light and shadow across Rhaenyra's room. The fire in the hearth had gone out, leaving only the lingering warmth of its ashes. Seagulls cried outside, their calls mingling with the distant bustle of the market-King's Landing had awakened.

Rhaenyra sat before her dressing table, her long silver-gold hair spilling over her shoulders and back, her eyes heavy with sleep. Aegon nestled in her arms-the three-year-old boy curled up on her lap, his little face buried against her chest, still half asleep. This had become their customary position ever since that night in the forest two years ago: whenever Rhaenyra was there, Aegon was in her arms.

Sunfyre lay coiled on the rug in the middle of the room, his already sizable golden body taking up almost half the space.

He rested his chin on his forelegs, his golden eyes half closed, his ears twitching occasionally as he listened to the sounds around him.

In two years, he had grown so large that the doorway had to be widened to let him through-

Viserys had specifically ordered alterations to Rhaenyra's door so that the dragon, whose devotion to his rider Aegon bordered on excessive, could come and go whenever he pleased.

A maid stood behind Rhaenyra, gently brushing her long hair with an ivory comb.

She was Rhaenyra's personal maid-

Floris Strong, the second daughter of Earl Lyonel Strong, the current Hand of the King, and the younger sister of Harwin and Larys.

Only two years older than Rhaenyra, she had delicate features, chestnut hair, and a gentle but quick-witted disposition. The princess trusted her deeply.

"I have to be the cupbearer at the Small Council again today." Rhaenyra gave an enormous yawn, her words slurred. "Can't Father find someone else? I've been his cupbearer for five years."

Floris chuckled softly. Compared with her elder sister, who also served as the princess's maid, she clearly shared her brother Larys's way with words and enjoyed more of the princess's trust. Her comb never stopped moving.

"Princess, doesn't that show how much His Grace trusts you? It's traditional for the heir to attend the Small Council."

"Traditional," Rhaenyra muttered. "I hate that word more than anything."

She looked down at Aegon in her arms.

The boy had become particularly sleepy since returning from the Kingswood two years earlier. He stirred, then clutched Rhaenyra's nightdress with his little hands, mumbling, "Sister... let me sleep a little longer..."

Rhaenyra smiled and bent to kiss his forehead. "Sleepyhead. The sun's already shining on your backside."

Aegon grunted and buried his face even deeper.

Floris kept combing, drawing the comb from roots to tips with gentle, practiced movements.

After a moment's hesitation, she decided to speak. "Princess, I heard that the son of Earl Oakheart from the Reach will be coming to King's Landing for an audience this afternoon."

Rhaenyra gave a deliberately casual hum. "Oakhart? That... old earl's son? What's he coming for?"

"Apparently, he's bringing tribute from the autumn harvest to His Grace on behalf of the Reach." Floris's voice grew softer. "But I heard... I heard His Grace intends for you to receive him personally, all on your own."

The sound of the comb passing through her hair suddenly became distinct.

Rhaenyra went rigid.

"Receive him?" she repeated slowly, most of the sleepiness draining from her voice. "Me? Personally, all alone, receiving the son of some... earl from the Reach?"

Floris did not answer. She simply kept combing. But her silence said everything.

Rhaenyra looked down at Aegon. At some point, the boy had lifted his head, and his purple eyes were fixed on her, far too alert for someone who had only just awakened.

Their eyes met.

Then Rhaenyra turned toward Sunfyre.

The Gold Dragon was watching them too, a trace of... wariness in his golden eyes? He had sensed something.

Well, it was clearly Rhaenyra's "sleeping dragon's wrath." Two years ago, the sight of her "brutally" stabbing that boar to death with nothing but a dagger had burned itself deep into Sunfyre's young mind.

"Floris." Rhaenyra's voice became very calm-the sort of calm that frightened people. "What did you just say? Say it again."

Floris's hand trembled, startled by the princess's sudden eruption of "sleeping dragon's wrath," but her voice remained steady.

"It's only... only a rumor, Princess. I heard it from the kitchen staff. They said Earl Oakheart's son was coming, and His Grace was arranging for you to receive him personally. They also said... said this might be another..."

"Marriage prospect."

Rhaenyra finished for her.

Silence settled over the room for a moment.

Then Rhaenyra reached down and set Aegon on the floor. She rose, her movements slow and steady. Floris instinctively retreated half a step.

"Princess..."

"The day before yesterday," Rhaenyra said, her voice still calm. "Just the day before yesterday, he promised me again. At dinner that evening, he told me himself, again-'Rhaenyra, I won't force you to marry. You can take your time choosing, until you feel ready.' The day before yesterday!"

She turned toward Sunfyre.

The Gold Dragon had already risen. Now he could feel it unmistakably-

That familiar, "terrifying" presence he had felt once before, deep in the Kingswood two years ago, something that belonged to his rider's sister.

"Sleeping dragon's wrath."

The phrase had long circulated within House Targaryen, describing dragonlords whose dragon blood boiled as fury consumed them. Rhaenyra had rarely shown this side of herself before, but whenever she did, it always...

Aegon sighed. Of course he knew what would happen next. After all, he deserved some of the "credit" for Rhaenyra's current "sleeping dragon's wrath."

Sure enough, Rhaenyra swept out an arm and scooped Aegon back into her embrace. She turned and marched out, her steps swift and urgent, still in her nightdress with her hair only half combed.

"Princess!" Floris cried. "Your hair-"

But Rhaenyra had already charged out the door.

Sunfyre hesitated for half a second-

He looked at Aegon in Rhaenyra's arms. Aegon gave him a helpless look, as though saying, Just follow. Don't provoke her.

The Gold Dragon sighed-if dragons could sigh-then rushed out after her.

Floris stood stunned for only an instant before lifting her skirts and following with practiced ease.

The Small Council chamber was on the second floor of the Red Keep's main building, separated from the outside by a heavy oak door.

The two Kingsguard standing duty on either side of the door that day were-

Ser Alec Cargyll and Ser Erryk Cargyll. The twin brothers looked like mirror images as they stood together.

At that moment, muffled voices drifted through the door.

Princess Rhaenyra rushed up to the door and stopped. She wore a nightgown, her hair disheveled, Prince Aegon in her arms, with a young dragon and a breathless maid following behind. She hardly looked fit to barge into a Small Council meeting.

But she did not charge straight in. Raising a finger, she made a shushing gesture at Aegon and everyone around her, then abandoned all concern for appearances and pressed herself sideways against the door.

Aegon pricked up his ears too.

Sunfyre had the good sense to stop a few paces away and settle his enormous body onto his haunches. His golden eyes watched his rider and his rider's sister with a hint of... resignation?

Floris finally caught up, panting, the ivory comb still clutched in her hand.

Seeing Rhaenyra eavesdropping against the door, she instinctively began to say something, but the princess turned and glared at her. She immediately shut her mouth and stood obediently to one side, silently tidying the princess's appearance.

Viserys's voice came from within.

"...That son of Earl Oakheart's-have any of you met him?" The king sounded relaxed, clearly in a good mood.

Then came the voice of Tyland Lannister, the Master of Ships. "Your Grace, I met him once at the tournament in Lannisport three years ago. The young Oakheart knight is skilled at arms and has a gracious bearing. They say he's quite popular with the noble ladies of the Reach."

"Popular?" Viserys laughed. "Perfect, then. That girl Rhaenyra is terribly choosy. We'll have to find her someone popular."

Outside the door, Rhaenyra gritted her teeth.

Next came the voice of Floris's father, Lyonel Strong, the newly appointed Hand of the King:

"Your Grace, House Oakheart is certainly an illustrious house of the Reach, but theirs is still an earldom of the second rank. For the princess's marriage, should we not consider someone more... equal in standing?"

"I know, I know," Viserys said. "But let them meet first. It needn't lead to anything. That girl is stubborn. I have to ease her into it."

Tyland spoke again, his tone lightly teasing. "Your Grace, since the princess does not care for my elder brother, Duke Jason, might I, as his younger brother, have the honor..."

Soft laughter rippled through the chamber.

Tyland was clearly joking, but a trace of nervousness slipped into his voice despite himself.

As the younger twin, born only seconds after Jason, Tyland had grown up in his brother's shadow. Jason was the heir, the future Duke of Casterly Rock, the center of everyone's attention.

Tyland, meanwhile, could only "make his own way," becoming Master of Ships and winning a seat for his family on the Small Council.

Deep down, he was not without a desire to measure himself against his brother.

"My dear Ser Tyland!" Viserys roared with laughter at his jest. "Are you serious? My daughter is notoriously difficult to please."

"Only a jest, of course, Your Grace," Tyland said hastily, though a barely perceptible note of disappointment crept into his voice.

Before the laughter had faded, Grand Maester Runetell spoke-old, slow, and carrying the stiffness peculiar to maesters. "Your Grace, I do have a tentative proposal. Prince Qoren Martell of Dorne remains unmarried. If the princess were betrothed to him, perhaps we could use the opportunity to bring Dorne into the realm. The great undertaking Aegon the Conqueror failed to complete might yet be accomplished in your hands."

The chamber abruptly fell silent.

The affable Master of Coin, Earl Lyman Beesbury, cleared his throat, a hint of restrained displeasure in his voice.

"Grand Maester, the Dornish have had blood feuds with the Reach and the Stormlands for hundreds of years.

If the princess were married off to Dorne, what would the lords of the Reach and the Stormlands think?"

"Exactly!" Earl Jasper Wylde, the new Master of Laws who had taken over Lyonel's former office, all but exploded.

The hot-blooded young Stormlands nobleman was uncompromising in both his conduct and his temper. "Grand Maester, perhaps you have forgotten how many times the Dornish have raided the Stormlands over the past hundred years! My own grandfather died in a Dornish ambush!"

Runetell's voice remained even. "Earl Wylde, this would be a political marriage, intended to end the hatred-"

"End hatred by marrying off a princess?" Jasper sneered. "Better to do it with a sword!"

The Hand of the King, Lyonel Strong, intervened at just the right moment, his voice steady and firm. "Gentlemen, I still stand by the proposal I made to His Grace during the Kingswood hunt two years ago. House Velaryon has intermarried with the royal family for generations. They now possess not only a fleet, but dragons as well. Marry the princess to Ser Laenor and Prince Aegon to Lady Laena. That would strengthen the bloodline and bring Lord Corlys and his family back into the royal fold. This is the soundest choice."

Arguments broke out again within the chamber. Some supported the Dornish proposal, others the Velaryon proposal. Some muttered that "Jason Lannister is actually quite a good choice," while others even raised possibilities in the Vale and the North.

Viserys spoke again, a little helplessly. "All right, all right, stop arguing.

I was only asking casually today. It's not as if I'm marrying Rhaenyra off tomorrow. She's only thirteen. There's still time."

"But Your Grace," Grand Maester Runetell said, "thirteen is already old enough for a betrothal. Many young ladies have marriage contracts settled at that age."

Another silence followed.

Outside the door, Rhaenyra's face had grown as dark as the sky before a storm.

Aegon looked up from her arms and saw that familiar fire in her eyes-

He had seen the same fire when she faced the boar deep in the Kingswood two years earlier.

"Sleeping dragon's wrath."

Aegon sighed.

Of course he knew what followed would not be pretty, but he also knew he could not stop her. All he could do was hope Sunfyre would cooperate.

Rhaenyra reached out and took hold of the door handle.

Then she turned to look at Sunfyre.

The Gold Dragon understood at once. He rose, his enormous body advancing toward the doorway.

The two Kingsguard-Alec and Erryk-instinctively stepped aside.

They had seen this dragon unleash his power. They knew that although Prince Aegon was his true master, the prince and princess were now so close that they were practically one...

The door swung open.

More precisely, Sunfyre rammed it open.

The heavy oak door burst inward and struck the stone wall with a tremendous crash. Everyone around the council table turned at once to look toward the entrance.

Morning light streamed through the high windows, illuminating the figures in the doorway.

Rhaenyra stood at the front, wearing the nightdress that had just been made reasonably presentable, with a cloak Floris had just had someone bring draped around her shoulders. Her freshly combed hair was slightly tousled, Aegon rested in her arms, and her face wore a murderous expression.

Behind her, Sunfyre sat on his haunches, his golden eyes sweeping the room as a low rumble rose from deep in his throat.

Farther back stood Floris Strong, clutching her comb. She looked at her father Lyonel, the Hand of the King, and her brother Larys, the king's interrogator, with a helpless expression that said, There was nothing I could do.

The council chamber was deathly silent.

Viserys's wine cup froze halfway to his mouth. Tyland Lannister flushed from his neck to the tips of his ears-his earlier "jest" had clearly been overheard.

Grand Maester Runetell adjusted his spectacles, looking embarrassed.

The affable Earl Lyman Beesbury lowered his head to study the tabletop. Earl Jasper Wylde's face was livid-not because of Rhaenyra, but because his anger over the Dornish proposal had yet to subside.

Lyonel Strong looked at his helpless daughter outside the door, then at Rhaenyra. A complicated expression flickered across his face-resignation, concern, and a trace of... understanding?

Rhaenyra stepped into the council chamber.

She did not walk quickly, but every step was firm. Sunfyre followed, his tail brushing the floor with a rustling sound as his enormous body passed.

Aegon lay quietly in her arms, watching the varied expressions on the faces around the council table, with only one thought in his mind: That's it. There'll be no continuing this meeting today.