For a century, the Targaryens held sway over the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros: from the arid deserts of Dorne to the icy expanses of the North, from the verdant plains of the Reach to the rugged coasts of the Stormlands. Yet, amidst the splendor of th...
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A few days later, a meeting of the Small Council was convened to organize another celebration in honor of the king's second-born son, Aemond Targaryen. The main purpose of the event was to present the innocent child to the people, allowing the world to congratulate the new dragon. Yet, the child seemed more like a Hightower than a dragon, as Viserys Targaryen paid little attention to his wife and children, except for his daughter Rhaenyra. They were mere tools for the Hightowers.
Amidst the chatter, predominantly led by Lyonel Strong thankfully, who explained that the crown could not afford any more lavish feasts, Siveen found it difficult to concentrate. She was still reeling from the news that Daemon Targaryen had sent a spy to Volantis to instigate war among the Free Cities. Just moments ago, she had spoken with him without unleashing her fury. The realization that he knew she hailed from the Free Cities and yet spoke to her as if nothing had happened made her clench her fists, scraping her fingernails against the table.
»Rhaenyra,« King Viserys said as the door to the council chamber swung open and the princess entered, her yellow gown complementing her silver hair perfectly. Siveen was surprised; she hadn't seen Rhaenyra in the small council often lately, and when she did, she was usually serving wine to the lecherous old men. »You're late, we're just finishing up.«
»Good,« Rhaenyra replied, as disdainful as ever, still not having forgiven her father for marrying Alicent, and the emotions were naturally exacerbated by the birth of Aemond. »I visited mother's memory.«
»On a dragon?« Viserys sniffed once at her, as the scent still clung to her. Syrax was the name of the female dragon, with golden scales. The princess had Syrax's egg placed at her bedside, forging a close bond between them. Syrax and Meleys, Princess Rhaenys's dragon, were the only ones Siveen had seen so far. She wasn't even allowed to see Balerion's dragon skull in the crypts, the dragon of Aegon the Conqueror with black scales and black fire, said to have been so massive that it could darken entire cities with its wings. Only Targaryens were allowed access beneath the Red Keep.
»Where were we?« the king diverted his attention from his daughter, who went to the wine jug to pour more for those who desired, but Siveen politely declined by placing her hand over her cup. She needed a clear head.
»We were discussing the costs, Your Grace,« Otto Hightower explained, sitting furthest from Siveen.
»The costs of the feast are not insignificant, especially after we just hosted a tournament in honor of your wife,« Strong interjected, and the king snorted loudly. Indeed, Siveen had noticed for some time that the king looked different. At first, she attributed it to his age, but no one aged that quickly. He was growing weaker, leaving meetings early, or sometimes even absent-minded. But not only that, his face continued to deteriorate, although it was not yet noticeable to someone who didn't know him, it was to Siveen. Something was wrong with him, but she didn't know what.
»Ah, Your Grace, and at the urging of Prince Daemon—« Lyonel continued, and Siveen had to concentrate to keep herself from rolling her eyes, looking instead at the empty seat at the table where the Commander of the City Watch should have been sitting but wasn't, presumably finding it as boring as ever. »The Crown has made significant investments in the City Watch. Could Your Grace perhaps encourage his brother to use his seat on the council to provide us with an evaluation as Commander?« Lyonel didn't say this because he wanted Daemon here, but because Daemon was so audacious in obtaining his financial support yet failed to explain exactly what he was doing with it.
