Dance of The Dragonwolf

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The Following 15 Chapters are available for Patrons.

Chapter 34 (The Storm), Chapter 35 (A Dance Under The Full Moon), Chapter 36 (Magic is Dark and Full of Lies), Chapter 37 (A Prince and A Princess), Chapter 38 (A Tourney of Sacrifice), Chapter 39 (Words are like an Arrow), Chapter 40 (Viserys's Decision), Chapter 41 (Aenar's Answer), Chapter 42 (You Will Doom Us All), Chapter 43 (The First Cry of War), Chapter 44 (Revenge is a dish best served Cold), Chapter 45 (Dragons and Snakes), Chapter 46 ('You are not Loved'), Chapter 47 (Rhaenyra's Rage), and Chapter 48 (Spread your Wings) are already available for Patrons.

Alicent

' "I am not a singer," Viserys tells her, already two steps ahead of her with his hand in his daughter's small grip. He's mid-conversation with his daughter, something about minstrels, mummers, and singing too.

Princess Rhaenyra scoffed, "Of course not, Papa! Everyone knows that, we've heard you try. Mama sings well enough for both of you." She gives Alicent an exasperated stare, throwing her hands up. "Lady Alicent, can you sing well?"

She thinks on it momentarily, "No, I suppose not, Your Highness." Alicent knew not if she could, for her talents were mostly in sewing, dancing, and now washing. Had she ever had lessons in singing? She faintly remembers singing about a bear as a little girl with her own mother, but that seemed so long ago.

"My mother can sing beautifully." The Realm's Delight beamed, full of such fire and excitement that it felt contagious. Alicent smiles back at her, hurrying in her step to keep up with the child.

Viserys let go of her hand and huffed to breathe. "You're much too fast, Little Rhae!"

She laughs joyfully, "For I am a dragon and dragons are fast!"

Alicent has never seen a dragon. She's read stories of them to Jaehaerys, who himself was once a dragon rider, and she was particularly amazed by Balerion the Dread. It amazed her to think that Viserys once bonded with such an ancient thing. How extraordinary! She mourned for it momentarily. Balerion had died years before she had the chance to see it.

"How old are you, Lady Alicent?"

"One and ten, Princess Rhaenyra."

The girl's eyes shone with delight. "Truly? I'm six. How much apart are we in age?"

"Only five years, Your Highness."

"Only five years." She repeated. "You are from House Hightower?"

"Yes, your grace." Alicent answered with pride in her voice.

"I read the Tower is 250 meters tall; what is it like to climb on top." the Princess asked innocently. Alicent giggled; climbing on top of the tower was forbidden, but she decided to humor the Princess.

"Yes, your grace, reaches higher than the wall. I have been on top once with my father, no one can reach as high as the Hightower." Alicent said almost smugly, feeling proud of her name.

"Dragons can fly higher." Alicent blinked before looking right at the Princess. "What?"

"Dragons will always reach higher; everyone knows that if you can't ride a dragon, you can never reach as high as we do." Alicent's smile faltered; she wanted to say that the Princess was wrong, but was she? She had no Dragon, so she could never reach as high, yet the Princess was born into a better family and could already reach higher than her father because of her dragon.

I, too, can reach as high as a Dragon, Alicent told herself. She might have no Dragons, but she had something more valuable. Words.

She heard approaching footsteps, she looked, and her heart skipped a beat. Prince Aenar strode forward; he looked like a proper prince in her eyes. She remembered some ladies spreading rumors about her and Prince Daemon, but Alicent knew those were just rumors, not much else. The old Prince was handsome, but not Prince Aenar.

"Your Grace, Lady Alicent it's good to see you." He spoke with courtesy, but Alicent knew he wasn't being sincere. At least not with her, before she could even say a word to him.

"Nyra, come. Laena has come with Princess Rhaenys." Prince Aemar quickly grasped the Princess's hand and dragged her away.

.

Father raged through their chambers, "It is that Targaryen girl that will not let this marriage happen!"

Alicent hummed, finishing the hem of Gwayne's new shirt. Since Mother had died, she had taken to caring for the boy. He outgrew his clothes quickly now as his shoulders broadened, and Alicent took great pleasure in sewing new ones for him. It was one of the few skills Mother had taught her that she could use often. Besides, it saved her some coin to do it herself instead of paying a tailor or seamstress.

"And why wouldn't the Lady Velaryon want me to marry her son?"

"They say it is because your maidenhood is questionable ! My daughter! It's because they want the Iron Throne. It is because they want him to marry the Princess Rhaenyra." Father huffed, running a hand through his thinning black hair. "She's still bitter, that damned woman, for being passed over as heir? What of tradition? It could not have went to her! She believes her son to have better claim to the throne so he ought to marry the Princess. She will put her boy on the throne one way or another."

"It won't happen either way if Queen Aemma has a son." Alicent replies steadily. She pointedly ignores the slight against her.

Father shrugged, "Queen Aemma hasn't produced a healthy son yet. I highly doubt she will. The Queen has had many miscarriages, and her only son died in the cradle. Rhaenys Velaryon knows that. Chances are high that Princess Rhaenyra will inherit the throne." He slumped down into a seat across from her, rubbing his temples. "This pain in my head will not leave me."

"Some mint leaves ought to help. Have the servants boil them into a tea. King Jaehaerys often had such pains."

"My clever daughter." Father smiled pridefully. "Any man ought to know you are a great prize. No more innocent, smart girl did ever exist. You will be a Velaryon bride, I promise you." Or maybe a Queen.

"It matters not to me." Alicent sighed as she remembered Prince Aenar.

Father continues on, "I'd rather see Princess Rhaenyra on the throne than Lord Flea Bottom, of course. I won't see you passed over for marriage, however. We'll fight it. We'll fight for your place."

Alicent shakes her head and says nothing at all.

She is very tired of fighting.

She wants to start winning. She would win; she knew people looked down on her; they didn't think of her as important because she had no Dragon, but sometimes, the Right words had more power than a Dragon could ever have,'

Now

"How do you think she fares?"

"Well, I am sure, Your Grace."

Viserys sighs, "I cannot fight off this feeling of worry, Alicent." A ring rolled between his fingers fondly, and his eyes were far, far away. The ring was much, much too small for him, with a dark blue stone set with small diamonds. Blue and white. Blue and white. The colors of House Arryn.

Alicent felt her own stomach drop.

"She's with a small army of midwives and Grandmaster Runciter and Maester Mellos, Your Grace." She says very gently, for she knows not what to say. Faint echoes of a familiar voice haunt her horribly. My Lord, all will be well.

Your wife will survive-- no, sweet Alicent, do not weep. Your mother will be alive and well by the end of the night. Her mother had died that very night, taken by a fever and strong stomach pains. It had been her first year at court. That morning, Alicent, with dried tears still on her cheeks, had been rushed out of bed by her Father.

"They will all do their best, Your Grace. She is not the first woman to give birth."

And she would not be the first to die from it, Alicent thinks, but she does not say that. It would be a lie to say everything would be alright. Maester Mellos had told her that as her mother died before her.

"I worry," Viserys whispers. "I worry much too much. I just want a healthy wife and healthy son."

Alicent knows it is inappropriate, but she settles her hand against his arm. She squeezed comfortingly, sitting closer to his side. Behind her, she sees one of the Kingsguards shift on his feet. She does not look at him.

She does not look at Viserys. She looks instead to the ground, and she prays.

"Thank you, Alicent." The King said with gratitude, grasping her hand tightly as if he was drowning in the sea, and her hand was the only sight of goodwill on the horizon.

"I serve you, my King. This is my duty." Alicent said, sounding sincere; she herself didn't know if she truly was sincere. But she didn't want to lose anymore; she didn't want to look as if she was not on the same level as them; they had Dragons, but she had her tongue, and some said that words were sometimes more powerful than a big lizard that could breathe fire.

Aenar. She wanted his hand to hold; the Prince had grown handsome, and many ladies in the court spoke of both Daemon and Aenar. While many of them desired the older Prince. In her eyes, Prince Aenar was always the better choice. He had yet to be betrothed, so why couldn't she be his bride? There was nothing wrong with her. Alicent was beautiful, and she knew that. She deserved to marry a Prince. Someone who could become King one day, and just like every King, he would need a Queen.

It excited her; her skin tingled every time she thought of marrying Aenar, what it meant for her; she dreamed of herself sitting on the Iron Throne; everyone else was below her, kneeling to her, and why wouldn't they? She was a Hightower; their tower reached higher than the Dragons. That's what her father had told her. She could see further than them; her knowledge was that of the Citadel, the ones that shaped history. The ones that controlled everything. Her father had once told her that all that was needed to have full control of Westeros was having the Maesters on your side; Alicent still wasn't sure why. They were just old people with no real power, but she knew they were smart.

But armies, dragons, and the right words had the real power. Secrets and Favors had power, too. With her friendship with the King, she knew she could trust him, the right words were spoken, and he might decide that she was the best option rather than Princess Rhaenyra or the Velaryon whore. House Hightower had the wealth, the strength, and the connections.

She could almost see it, everyone kneeling to her, the Main Hall of The Red Keep packed with people, all of them on their knees for her, even Aenar. She had finally reached higher than any other Hightower ever before. She wouldn't lose anymore; she had everything. She was the one sitting the highest than everyone else.

As Alicent allowed the King to hold her hand, she knew her friendship with the King was something she could use; she just needed to be discreet, which was what her father always told her.

'Never let them know what you desire, if you manage that, then no one will know how to fool you with words.'

Alicent had taken that lesson to heart; her father was wise and a good one. She remembered her mother saying that him becoming the Hand would 'Doom them All,' but her mother had been wrong; since becoming the Hand, no one dared to look at her father like they used to do. He was the second son, and many in the South were indifferent towards him, looking down on her father, but not anymore; he was The Hand; now, her father was the one looking down on them. He was a True Hightower; no one could go higher than them. And she was living in the Red Keep. Her home felt like a Commoner's home compared to The Red Keep. She knew she could live her whole life here. What better life than the Queen of Westeros, ruling over everyone? No one would be higher than her, not even Princess Rhaenyra and Lady Whore.

"Your grace, can I ask you something?" Alicent asked gently, her hand gripping his; she expected him to move his hand away; his wife was still alive, but the King didn't; his hand remained there.

"You can call me Viserys when we are alone, Alicent, and you can ask me anything you want," Viserys said with a gentle smile. Alicent smiled back sincerely. Was it one? She didn't know. It didn't matter. She noticed the Kingsguard shift uncomfortably once again; she knew this conversation was better in private than with a Kingsguard whose tongue could slip up and say the wrong words.

"Viserys, can you tell your Kingsguard to wait outside." She suggested, her voice sweet like honey, sounding like a gentle girl.

"Of course." Viserys turned to face the knight. "Ser Willis, You can wait outside."

"Your grace, are you sure?" The knight asked; he looked reluctant to leave; his eyes flickered at Alicent for a moment, glaring at her and looking down at her.

No one looks down on me.

"Ser Willis, the King gave you an order. Are you disobeying him?" Alicent questioned; the knight gave her a hard look, but he didn't leave; he looked at the King, and only when he nodded did the knight reluctantly leave.

"I will be at the door if you need me." Once the door closed, Viserys turned his head to face her.

"Alicent, I'm the King here. The Kingsguards take orders from me, not you." He said, almost sounding strict. Alicent looked down in sadness.

"I'm really sorry, your grace. I will leave if that's what you want." Lady Alicent attempted to get up and leave, but just as she expected, Viserys grabbed her hand and stopped her.

"No, my Lady. It was just a small mistake. You're forgiven. But don't do that again." Alicent smiled sweetly at him as she sat down right beside him, her hand on top of his.

The Red Lady

As the carriage came to a halt, its wheels sinking into the muddy ground, the eyes of its occupant fell upon an aging, dilapidated house ahead. Its exterior bore the scars of neglect, exuding an aura of desolation. The once-sturdy wooden structure had succumbed to the relentless passage of time, causing it to decay and crumble in various spots. The result was an eerie sight, with gaping holes in the roof and walls where the rain freely infiltrated.

But she knew the dear Prince had a reason to want her here as she sat, sheltered from the rain; the gentle pitter-patter of raindrops against the windowpane filled the air. The sound mingled harmoniously with the distant echo of dogs' paws splashing through the muddy streets. Looking out, she could see the silver streaks of rain falling. Dark clouds had rolled in, obscuring the once luminous moon, diffusing the typically ethereal glow that it cast upon King's Landing, but her smile remained; the cold didn't bother her; she always felt warm; only the cold touch of death could make her feel cold.

The kind soldier extended a welcoming hand toward her as the carriage door swung open, its hinges creaking softly. A Helmet covered most of his face. She managed to catch a glimpse of his dark hair cascading down to their shoulders, each strand sharp and resolute like the finest steel. In addition, his regal golden cloak, agleam with grandeur, revealed traces of mud clinging to the hem; her eyes caught the sight of a dagger attached to his hip; the handle was made of a wood she recognized.

"Thank you, good ser." She spoke, sweet like honey; her voice made many men lust after her, but this one simply led her inside the house without saying anything to her; if her looks had any effect on him, then he did a good job hiding it.

As soon as the heavy wooden door swung shut, a faint sound reached her ears. The distant clip-clop of hooves receded into the distance, indicating the departure of the carriage. The knight beside her remained tight-lipped. Breaking the silence, he strode towards a nondescript door embedded in the stone floor. She watched him swiftly turn the weathered, tarnished handle, unveiling a hidden passage below. With the creaking of hinges, the door swung open, exposing a dimly lit set of ancient stairs leading downwards into the unknown. As her gaze shifted downwards, a group of startled rats scampered away in fear at the sudden intrusion, scurrying into the shadows.

As they walked downstairs, she closely trailed behind him, her eyes scanning the surroundings. With every step, the notion that this secret tunnel was dangerously susceptible to being discovered by random people lingered in her mind. The corridor brought them to a dead end, where a wooden wall stood as a seemingly impenetrable barrier. The soldier knelt down and extended his hand beneath the floor. A previously concealed square part on the wooden wall sprang open, a door that led beyond.

"Magnificent, did King Maegor ordered this to be built?" The Lady in Red asked. The man had been a beast in human skin; sometimes, she wondered what would have happened if he had known of the power of the R'hllor.

"I'm not obligated to answer you, my lady; now follow me. You can get lost in here if you don't know where you are going." The soldier commanded; she smiled sweetly before following him.

They walked through tight tunnels, reaching a part that split into five different tunnels, and the most difficult one to traverse was the one the soldier led her to; they needed to crouch and walk slowly; the walls had small sharp rocks on the wall and floor.

She realized that if someone had ever come here by luck, they would most likely never choose the really difficult tunnel to pass and would get lost in the other four.

Eventually, they finally emerged into a spacious room. As they stepped into the room, a heavy sense of darkness seemed to consume every inch of the area, making it difficult to discern any objects or details initially. However, she could see everything. Her eyes effortlessly pierced through the obscurity, allowing her to observe the soldier as he confidently walked towards a torch that stood nearby. Not wasting a moment, he deftly took out a small white substance and swiftly applied it to the torch. Instantaneously, the torch erupted in a brilliant burst of flames, glowing the room. The once-enshrouded darkness was abruptly banished, replaced by a luminosity that revealed the intricate details of the chamber.

They walked upstairs, their footsteps reverberating on the creaky wooden steps, using a long ladder as their only means of ascent. With a gentle yet supportive hand, the soldier assisted her as they navigated the final stretch of the stairs. Finally reaching their destination, they found themselves enclosed in a cramped square room. Despite its size, small slivers of light pierced through the tiny cracks in the dilapidated walls, painting delicate beams of illumination across the rough, worn floor.

The soldier approached one of the walls, pressing his hands against its surface. The wall yielded under the soldier's touch, smoothly sliding open to reveal an opulent chamber beyond. Entering the newly unveiled space, they were confronted by the dazzling sight of grandeur, adorned with decadent decorations and furnished with lavish pieces. Sunlight poured through a closed square window, casting a warm glow that danced upon the polished marble floor.

Despite the evident luxury, they soon realized that the chamber lacked any visible door that led outside.

She figured this room had a secret door that led to another chamber that had a door. "I take it the Prince is expecting me." She questioned with a playful smirk on her face. She had seen visions of him; they had convinced her to seek out Prince Aenar; he was the one R'hllor wanted her to serve and as a faithful servant of the Red God. She would serve the Prince in any way he desired. But how did the Prince know? She knew her fellow priestesses had not said a word, so the Prince, knowing she was coming, intrigued her.

"He is." The good soldier answered; she knew she wouldn't receive more answers from him. There must be a way the Prince had learned of her presence near King's Landing; she didn't know how, but this only convinced her further. Prince Aenar has already made an impression on her. She watched as the guard threw the same substance on a torch attached to the wall. The torch burned blue for a moment, but the flames quickly turned bright orange, and the guard turned to face her, eyeing her warily.

"My Lady, you are not to be harmed, but I won't hesitate to cut you down." The soldier said, his words were no lies but sincerity; the Red Lady smiled sweetly; death never scared her; if she were to die, then she knew R'hllor had wanted it to happen that way.

"I'm not here to harm the Prince. I understand my... sudden appearance might raise a few eyebrows, and in Westeros, is it known of our practices, but I assure you. My Lord has chosen Prince Aenar. My duty is to him, and I will do what he orders me. If he wants me to go back from where I came from, then I will do so without hesitation; I'm sure the Prince knows better, don't you think so, Northern." She spoke, her voice changing into a gentler one, almost like a mother talking; the guard shifted uncomfortably; he took several steps back from her, his face still hidden from the helmet, but she could see the distrust in his eyes.

"How do you know I'm a Northern?" He demanded; the Red Lady smiled sweetly at him.

"The handle of your dagger is made of Weirwood Tree, good Knight. A gift, I suppose, perhaps it was a sibling." The Red Lady said, pointing at the dagger attached to his hip; the guard cursed something in the old tongue before moving his golden cloak so it would hide the dagger from her red hunting eyes.

"My half big brother." The guard said, letting out a groan; soon, they heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the other side of the wall. The wall opened up, and the Red Lady straightened herself up as the Prince walked in; his bright purple eyes looked at the Northern Knight for a brief moment before looking straight at her soul.

She felt naked under his gaze; her lips parted slightly. He looked like a Prince through and through, but there was darkness in his eyes, something hidden beneath the mask of the Prince.

She had seen many handsome men in her life, including Aegon Targaryen himself, but Prince Aenar was perhaps the most beautiful one. She bowed her head respectfully, respecting the man R'hllor had chosen.

"Artti, you can leave." Prince Aenar ordered, his eyes focused on her; the gold cloak looked conflicted for a brief moment before nodding in understanding, and he left the chamber, closing the secret door as he left.

Now that they were finally alone, The Red Lady fixed her gaze upon the Prince. He stood confidently before her, his attire exuding a captivating combination of elegance and strength. Clad in a striking ensemble of crimson wool and sleek black leather, the Prince's choice of clothing emphasized his regal stature and youthful charm. Although he was considered tall for his age, the Red Lady could not help but tower over him, as she had always possessed a commanding height. It was not uncommon for many to draw comparisons between her and a valiant knight, but instead of iron, she wore red.

"Your grace is an honor to meet you. But might I ask how you knew of my presence?" She asked, her voice sweet like honey, but the Prince's eyes remained on her red eyes; many tended to avoid looking at her, but it seemed the Prince wasn't bothered. She wondered if this wasn't his first meeting with a Red Priestess.

"The captain of the ship that brought you here, his name is Miche; if you ever need to sail somewhere, he's the one you need. No questions asked, and does everything you say." The Prince answered; the Red Lady remembered seeing a strange red ring on the captain's index finger, with the sigil of a phoenix on it. She realized the man worked for the Prince; she wondered how many people in King's Landing worked for the Prince secretly.

"Why did you not have your guards arrest me? I'm sure the Faith would be very happy to hear their Prince has arrested a faithless Red Priestess." The Red Lady questioned, sounding intrigued as she strode closer to him, his face illuminated by the torch's fire; his dark hair looked like a dark crown on his head.

"I have been to Volantis, quite a beautiful place, if it wasn't for the slaves. While their Maester eat on golden plates and drink silver from their cups. I was in your Red Temple. I met Benerro." The Prince's words made her heart skip a beat.

Benerro was the Highest Priest of The Red Faith; they called him The Flame of Truth. No one knew who he really was; his age and real name had long disappeared from History. But everyone knew of the magic he could use, some rumours said that he was the only member left from the most important House of the Old Valyria. House Jaesyrian, or as some people called it in Common Tongue.

House Godhand.

A member that was said to have somehow escaped the Doom of Valyria.

Some rumours said that he was a Dragon made human, but the Red Lady had only once seen his power in display, he was able to bend the Fire itself to his will, and the flames were nothing to him. But no one knew the truth, and one thing was known, any lie could become Truth if enough people believed in it.

"Benerro, The Flame of Truth. He told me he had met someone special, but I never thought he meant you. I understand now why he said that the chosen one is in Westeros." She spoke with sudden passion in every word; she sounded like she was singing her words; her hands reached out, touching his cheek; it felt warm, but he quickly pulled her hand away.

'He's hidden in Westeros. The Man who saw the world once and now twice. I see him, standing taller than everyone else, taller than The Conqueror, but I see swords, the swords of his enemies.'

After seeing her vision of Prince Aenar, she knew Benerro's words were true; the figure in his dreams was Aenar Targaryen. R'hllor's chosen. She had told Benerro of her vision, but the man had looked at her as if expecting that; she told him she wanted to leave for Westeros to meet the Prince. Benerro had given her a small bag of gold coins before ordering her to leave and serve the Prince.

"There's no such thing as chosen one, my lady. Prophecies are blades with no handle, they are dangerous." The Prince spoke; she saw the way he grimaced when she spoke of him being a 'Chosen One.' The idea of that, it disgusted him.

"Mayhaps, but I saw a vision of you in the flames. I have come to serve you, if you have me?" The Red Lady spread her arms, offering herself fully to the Prince.

"What is your name, my lady?"

The Red Lady smiled sweetly before answering. "Kinvara. I'm the High Priestess of the Red Temple in Volantis."

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