Not All Men Dance With Dragons

A Beautiful War

CW: graphic descriptions of injuries / burns

After the council meeting ended abruptly, Otto Hightower had arrived as an envoy in the name of King Aegon Targaryen, the Second of His Name. Otto Hightower made his sniveling demands of them under the threat of their deaths. In the end, Otto Hightower somehow was allowed to leave Dragonstone alive despite the obvious rage in Daemon's eyes when he returned from seeing him. Nothing could dampen that dragonfire.

A night and morning had passed since then. Tensions rose by the second but they were still within the realm of raven letters and siege strategies. Yet, in the heat of it all, no one had seen or heard from Jorran despite the household guards searching the island for him. They considered him to be the least of the black council's concerns when they were still trying to get their standing in a row.

Lord Corlys had awoken from the infection that tried to take him in his long travels, inching into the council chamber with a cane, his wife, and his dearest granddaughters. Though he tried to throw his words around to test Rhaenyra, she caught him at every turn. She stood her ground against him and he bent the knee as best he could. That was all anyone could ever ask a queen.

They set about their plans again but Rhaenyra reminded them that they wouldn't have enough swords at hand to seize the city without the help of the other high lords of the kingdoms.

The maester bowed his head to her. "I'll prepare the ravens, Your Grace."

"We should bear those messages." Every eye in the room turned to Jacaerys. He kept his head held high, as any prince would. That was their new heir to the throne and he addressed his mother at the other end of the Painted Table as such. "Dragons fly faster than ravens... and they're more convincing. Send us."

Rhaenyra stared across the table at her son. It was as though she saw a man before her and not one of her own boys. It must have pained her.

"The prince is right, Your Grace." Corlys agreed.

"...Very well." Rhaenyra conceded eventually to her eldest son's proposition. "Prince Jacaerys will fly north. First to the Eyrie to see my mother's cousin, the Lady Jeyne Arryn, and then to Winterfell to treat with Lord Cregan Stark for the support of the North. Prince Lucerys will fly south to Storm's End and treat with Lord Borros Baratheon... We must remind these lords of the oaths they swore... and the cost of breaking them."

It seemed like a fair arrangement but the girl who had become a permanent fixture at Borin's side since the new light of the sun arrived suddenly moved forward. "May I go with Prince Lucerys, Your Grace?"

Rhaenyra turned to face them at Maelena's question, as did everyone else in the room who appeared shocked that the girl wracked by guilt a day ago would want to act. They didn't know her though. They had no idea that she had cried herself dry and that all that was left was cracking, seething anger.

Before anyone, let alone Rhaenyra, could answer, Borin moved back up to the young girl's side. "Mae-"

"Wisp is one the fastest dragons we have." Maelena snapped back to the lord. She softened her approach again when she returned her attention to the queen. "With both of us, Luke can make peace with Lord Borros and I can reach out to my grandfather in Nightwell-"

"No, you won't."

They all whipped around to find the one man that they didn't think they would see marching into the council with a gaggle of confused guards trying to stop him. Jorran slipped through any grabbing hand but it was Rhaenyra's raised palm that finally had them stopping.

He looked somehow worse than he did a day ago. The bandages he had on hung in shredded, filthy rags along with his clothes. The hair he did have left on the right side of his head was matted and oily as it clung to his shoulders and face. Any bit of skin revealed was smudged with dirt and soot but his gaze was wild. Electrically bright with mania. It was as though wildfire had been lit in the dark of his skull.