The Heir of the Dragon: A Rhaenyra Targaryen Quest

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For a time the worries of the world seem to melt away as Syrax banks through the clouds, a cool mist washing over your face. The troubles that plagued you, your father and even the realm seemed so small from up here. Why did it matter if a few lords disapproved of you being named heir when the mere sight of you flying through the air would be enough to make even the most defiant bend the knee? Who cared if the Triarchy was gaining ground in the Stepstones if you could turn their fleet into so much burning timber in a single night? Did any of the burdens of court really matter if you could just fly away at anytime and go anywhere you wanted. The only ones who could stop you would be your fellow dragon riders.

Of course even now, in the back of your mind you knew these thoughts were absurd, but up in the air, so high that even King's Landing seemed small, absurd and foolish thoughts had a way of seeming just a bit less absurd.

Riding a dragon was a singularly unique experience. Nothing in your life really compared to it. Even beyond the simple fact you were flying atop something far larger than any beast known to man, when you rode a horse you are always aware that you and the animal are just rider and mount. With Syrax it's not always so simple. While commands are needed, she often knows where you're going before you even give the order. And sometimes, when you're in a dive or pulling off some dangerous stunt, you feel less like rider and mount and more like one being in two bodies. Your will is her will. Her pain is your pain. The feeling always seems absurd when you're on the ground, but not right now.

The two of you pulled up from your latest dive, well above the waves of Blackwater Bay. Syrax letting out a short, sharp growl of approval. For months the two of you had been turning and pulling up either too sharply or not hard enough. Dragons never stopped growing. The dragonpit may slow the growth of some but they never completely stopped growing. It's why the wings of Vhagar could plunge an entire town into shadows as she passed. Though Syrax's growth had been different than normal. While she was still smaller than the likes of Dreamfyre or Meleys, she was approaching the latter's size sooner than the Dragonkeepers expected. Sooner than even Syrax herself had expected, judging by your recent issues. The dragonkeepers claimed it was a reflection of your changes in the past few years. As you had become more of a warrior, so too had Syrax.

It made a certain kind of sense. Syrax was young. While you had not hatched her, she was barely larger than a horse when you found her and you had been the one to give Syrax her name. The two of you grew up together to an extent. It would make sense for the dragon to reflect it's partner.

Whatever the reason for the changes, a few weeks of training and flying had allowed the two of you to finally adjust to Syrax's increased weight and size. Giving the both of you quite the workout in the process.

Bond With Syrax Improved

Dragon Riding Improved

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Curiosity more than anything else drove you to the tower of the Hand.

You knew Otto Hightower for almost as long as you can remember. He was your Father's hand after all, arguably the second most powerful person in the Seven Kingdoms, and his daughter Alicent was your closest friend even if that friendship had become rather complicated these past two years. But you and Otto hardly ever talked and only on very rare occasions did that amount to more than a few words being exchanged. And judging by Alicent's reaction to your fights and sword training, he didn't seem like they kind of man who would approve of you.

So why did he push to make you heir?

"Good Afternoon, Princess," Otto greeted as Rhaenyra stepped into his apartment within the Tower, Ser Westerling closing the door behind her, "to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Otto Hightower was standing by his writing desk, the room lit up by a soft orange glow from the late day sun.

"Many of the lords in the Red Keep are whispering that you were the first to push for me to be named heir," you remarked, "On the same day my mother died in fact. While I am not ungrateful, I am curious as to why."

"Princess, I would advise against listening to gossip of the court," Otto replied, his face and tone unreadable, "Rumors in the Red Keep spread and change faster than they would among fish mongers. Besides, it was your father's decision alone that made you heir after your uncle disgraced himself."

"And you were the one who told my father about Daemon's 'heir for a day' comment," you retort. "You told the entire small council about it."

"I was simply doing my duty as Hand of the King." Otto's voice gaining the slightest defensive edge to it.

You switch tactics, your posture becoming less stiff.

"I simply wish to know what it is I have done to earn such a vote of confidence from you, Lord Hand," you say with a smile.

You don't know what larger game Otto had in mind here or if indeed there was a larger game here at all. Otto's hatred of Daemon and vice versa was well known. But you were still curious why he pushed so quickly after your mother died.

Otto relaxed slightly as he met your gaze.

"It was simple matter really, Alicent and others have always spoken highly of your character, and while you may have caused your father fustration more times then I care to recall, you have never given anyone cause to think you disloyal to him," Otto explained. "The same could not be said of your uncle. Daemon's actions with the city watch confirmed many of my worst fears about the man and with your mother's tragic passing, it did not seem safe to leave only one life standing between Daemon and the Iron Throne."

You admittedly only half paid attention to most what Otto said after the first sentence.

"Alicent speaks of me still?" You said in open surprised, "But we've hardly talked for nearly two years."

Alicent's disagreements with your desire to prove yourself a warrior and eventually a knight had caused a massive breakdown in your once strong friendship. To hear she still spoke of you to her father, and positively at that, was quite the surprise.

"Alicent thinks the way you live your life is entirely unbecoming for a woman of your status," Otto admitted. "As do many people at court. Most fathers would not allow their daughters to get away with a tenth of what you do."

"Most daughters don't have my strength," you countered, resisting the urge to flex a well muscled arm to demonstrate.

"Nor are they raised to ride dragons. So perhaps it is not my place to judge," Otto admitted dismissively as he looked out the window. "The point is there is a clear difference in character between you and your uncle."

"Most of your fights involve you protecting servant girls from randy stable hands or squaring off against a young squire who thinks he knows better," Otto explained. "Whereas Daemon's fights lead to hundreds of people losing their limbs or their heads in a brutal slaughter of our own citizens. It is not hard to see which would make a better heir for our king."

There was almost always venom in Otto's voice when he talked to or about your uncle but now it seemed even more pronounced then before.

"You're saying Daemon is a threat to my father? They're brothers. They've always been close, Daemon would never dare."

"Does it not disturb you that when Daemon left, the city watch followed him to Dragonstone without question?" Otto asked in a low voice. "Almost every single man in a gold cloak abandoned this city and their king without a second thought."

That had been troubling you. Seeing two thousand Gold Cloaks leaving the city was quite the sight, even from the Red Keep. A few highborn officers tried to get them to stay, but they were all ignored. The men loved their Rogue Prince and were willing to follow him wherever he went.

"Viserys gave Daemon command of those men to protect the city," Otto went on, "and instead he builds his own personal army. With every action he takes, he seeks to undermine your father's authority."

If there was one thing you thought you were certain about with your uncle, it was how much he loved your father. Whatever their disagreements, which were often many, the two loved each other and were loyal to one another.

But how loyal could Daemon be if he was building his own army right under your father's nose? How much could he truly love your father if he was willing to mock his dead son in a brothel?

"Do you think Daemon is plotting rebellion?" you questioned. The Small Council had largely viewed Daemon's occupation of Dragonstone, your island, as little more than a nuisance. If Otto was right, then that approach seemed wildly misguided.

"No," Otto assured you. "Even your uncle would not be so foolhardy as to wage a war with only two thousand men and a dragon. This is a farce designed to emberass your father and make him look weak. Nothing more. But I am confident he would have done something drastic, had he remained in the city and remained heir. And in truth, I'm not sure how safe either you or your father will be should he return to King's landing."

"That is quite the accusation, my lord hand. To suggest my uncle would slaughter his own family for the crown!" You were aghast.

You and your uncle had an increasingly rocky relationship but the suggestion he would kill both of you felt absurd.

"He would not be the first of your line to do so" Otto replied wearily, the two of you staring at each other for a long tense moment. "The fact we are even having to debate this with any degree of seriousness is proof enough that Daemon is too dangerous to be let back into the city, wouldn't you agree?"

The question gave you pause. Otto was hardly unbiased here, the hatred between him and Daemon had been clear for years. He had always wanted Daemon off the Small Council. But it was hard to overlook the fact that Daemon was currently occupying a seat that rightfully belonged to you, using an army he had made loyal to himself first and foremost.

"So you're saying we should ask my father to exile Daemon?" You asked skeptically.

You could never see your father going for that, even now after everything that has happened.

"Nothing so drastic, princess," the Hand of the King assured you. "But when Daemon eventually grows bored of Dragonstone, the King must be firm that Daemon is to return to Runestone and his wife"

It could just be Otto taking advantage of the more unsavory aspects of Daemon's character to paint him as a monster. It could be more that Daemon was impulsive and selfish. The Gold Cloaks were loyal to him because he liked having an army of thugs at his beck and call rather than due to any sinister plan. Or Otto could be right, and Daemon had designs on the Iron Throne and he'd been building an army that answered to him alone.

How do you reply to Otto Hightower?

[] Agree. Daemon was plotting something and he cannot be allowed to return to the city.

[] Agree in part. Daemon wouldn't betray your father but he is dangerous and should not be allowed to return, lest he create more problems.

[] Say something non-commital.

[] Disagree. Whatever Daemon's faults, he is family and he cannot be treated like that.

[] Write-In (Subject to QM approval)

---

Many wrote about Visenya Targaryen but frustratingly they all seemed to lack for details. They talked of how Visenya was Aegon's elder sister-wife. A warrior who wielded Dark Sister and with Vhagar she helped burn down most of the castles in Dorne after the death of her sister. Mentions of her after the Conquest are frustratingly sparse until after Aegon's death, where the records accuse her of poisoning her nephew, King Aenys and ensuring her son Meagor took power. With many records painting her as a cunning sorceress who aided much of her son's early cruelties, a few even suggesting that Maegor himself was not Aegon the Conqueror's true born son but instead had been created by Visenya using some kind of vile blood magic.

Which, honestly was so absurd it somehow became downright amusing.

For a while you feared this would be the limits of your research and that all that was left of Visenya's record were tales of her being a witch and kin-slayer, until you realized who was writing most of the books you had been using for your research. Septon Barth, Grand Maester Allar, Archmaester Crey. All men who's works were respected across the Seven Kingdoms. All men who had served during the reign of King Jaehaerys.

Meagor was a usurper who had killed two of your great-grandfather's brothers and forcibly married one of his sisters. The old king had more reason than most to hate his uncle, but that also meant those who served him and Maesters of the citadel of the time had motivation to exaggerate the worst cruelties of Meagor's reign and slander anyone who had been loyal to him. Such as Meagor's mother, Visenya.

So, you dug deeper into the Red Keep's libraries, looking for records and tomes written during the reign of King Aenys or even the Conqueror himself. Your search took the better part of a week and annoyed several Maesters who insisted you were interrupting important studies, but eventually you came across some rather interesting finds. Records from the Small Council of King Aenys and the writings of Grand Maester Gawen.

These works painted a far more complex picture of Queen Visenya. She had been the founder of the Kingsguard, creating it after having to defend Aegon from Dornish assassins. Aegon had resisted at first, until Visenya forced the issue. Visenya had often held court while Aegon was on Dragonstone or taking part in a royal progress, and she didn't just rule in Aegon's name either. There is more than one record of her passing some law or making a decree by her own right, in her own name. Indeed, it seemed during the later years of his reign, Aegon had given over both building the Red Keep and actual ruling over to Visenya while he basically retired to Dragonstone.

Visenya was much more than a consort. She had basically been Aegon's equal and she had defined many aspects of what it meant to rule the Seven Kingdoms. This would be a great argument for your own rule. Women had written many of the laws of this kingdom and founded the order that guards the king. If they could do all that, why not have one sit the Iron Throne in her own right? Visenya had basically done that already.

There was one issue though. None of the sources you've found yet could dispute the claims that Visenya had murdered Aenys to allow her own son to take over. If that was true then any lord could just point to Visenya's sorcery and kin slaying as proof that women weren't fit to rule.

Of course, it was entirely possible that Visenya hadn't poisoned her nephew after all. The record were clearly willing to forget and distort her memory as they saw fit. If Visenya's better deeds were all but forgotten, who's to say she was truly to blame for the worst deeds the histories had ascribed to her?

But that would require even further research.

Learning Increased

Action Unlock: Investigate the Death of King Aenys

---

"Princess Rhaenyra, your grace" Lord Commander Ryam introduced as you stepped in the room.

Your father was sitting alone in your parent's-in his room, stripped of almost all refinery and dressed in a simple white shirt and dark pants. He was in the middle of carving out another building for his grand model of the Freehold's capital city.

Working on this model always brought him joy and a sense of meaning but as your father looked at you this evening, eyes looked hollow, grief etched into his face.

"Greetings, father," you said as Redwyne left and closed the door behind you, "I have been doing some research into Queen Visenya and I thought you might be interested in what I've learned."

If there was one thing your father had true passion for that was left in this world, it was uncovering the secrets of history.

"Really?" Your father stared at you with unmasked surprised. "I am glad to hear it, but what sparked this sudden interest in history?"

"You compared me to her so often, I figured it best I learn more about this woman I apparently have so much in common with," you reply with a small smile.

Your father lets out a half chuckle. "For the record, I was only referring to your martial interests. I was not accusing you of being a sorcerer, Rhaenyra."

"That is good to hear," you replied.

There is a shadow of a smile across your father's face but it does nothing to light up his eyes.

There is an awkward, painful silence for a moment before you go on.

"Did you know Visenya founded the Kingsguard?" you asked.

"No," Viserys admitted with a small amount of surprise, "I was not aware of that, that is remarkable."

"Apparently King Aegon believed his guards from Dragonstone would be enough. Visenya disagreed and thought he needed proper knights protecting him," you explained. "To prove her point she drew her blade on her husband one day, drawing blood from his cheek before any of his guards could react."

"Fascinating, she sounds like a remarkable woman," your father replied with a tired voice.

The room feel silent again, Viserys looking caught halfway between working on his model and talking with you, seemingly too weary to do either.

"I'm sorry, I make for a poor conversationalist right now," your father admitted wearily.

"It's fine, you have every right to grieve, father," you reply warmly. "I know how much you loved her, and how much she loved you."

Viserys put down his tools and turned towards you, sorrow filling his eyes.

"I do not think I will ever be the same man I once was," he confessed, "Your mother's death is like a wound that won't heal."

"Everything feels colder now, doesn't it?" You asked, dragging up your own grief.

Your father looked at you with wide, sad eyes.

"Doesn't matter the room, or the time of day, or how many people are in it, this whole castle has felt colder and emptier since she passed," you admit.

Your relationship with your father had been troubled for some time. There was screaming. Shouting. Threats of punishment. You constantly lashing out against an unfair order of things, fighting him tooth and nail just for a chance to be yourself. But your mother? Your mother was always kind. Always warm to you. Even when she didn't approve of your choices. She loved you both with all her heart.

"Yes, I know exactly how you feel," your father admitted, his expression seeming less hollow as he nodded. "The first week after she passed, this entire place felt like a tomb."

"That pleases me to hear," you wipe away tears as you speak, "To know someone else understands my grief."

"I feel the same," your father confessed. "Thank you for reaching out to me, Rhaenyra. I do not think I would have had the courage to talk to you first."

"If you need someone to talk to, I am here for you, father," your voice full of sympathy as you spoke.

"That is good to hear," your father replied.

He still looked miserable and depressed. that was unlikely to change anytime soon, but there was a light in his eyes now that wasn't there when you arrived.

"Your mother would have been so proud of you. You know that." Your father said unprompted. "You handled yourself excellently during the ceremony."

"Even with my armor?" You said with a smirk.

You could see your father wince for just a split second.

"You were honest to yourself, even in front of dozens of lords. That is to be commended," Viserys acknowledged.

"Thank you," you replied.

"How do you feel about the ceremony?" your father asked. "I had not thought to ask before. I imagine it was a lot for you."

"I think it went great," you replied evenly, unsure of what to say.

"Even with the cold looks some of those lords gave you?" your father asked.

You looked at your father in surprise. You had not thought he saw that.

"People think that just because I do not lash out at every insult or bit of tongue wagging that I am blind to them," your father replied, seemingly reading your thoughts before you could put them into words. "I saw how some of them looked at you. They should be thankful none of them were stupid enough to say anything."

"Should I be worried?" You asked.

If there were lords openly holding you in contempt, how many were insulting you behind you back?

"No," your father replied dismissively. "They will come to accept you in time. Besides. Their opinions matter far less than their oaths. But I can understand if you feel upset about how some of them behaved."

The thought had been bugging you on and off since the ceremony. Lannisters, Fossoways, Tarbecks, and others all starring at you with contempt as you stood before them in your armor. Barely hiding their disdain as they swore their oaths.

You've grown used to men holding you in contempt these past few years, but this was something else. Something that might be dangerous in time. Who knows how many lords holding their Queen Regnant to be in all but naked contempt? You weren't sure how to feel about this, a dozen different thoughts striking you at once.

How do you feel about their contempt for you?

[] [Defiant] The disdain of men has never held you back before, you will not let it bother you now.

[] Father is right. They will come to accept you in time.

[] You will prove them wrong and that you are worthy of the throne.

[] You can't help but worry. Could they rebel against you? Might they already be plotting to do so?

[] Write-In (Subject to QM approval)

Relationship with King Viserys Improved. New Status: Warm

---

QM's Note: How much an action or a skill improves a relationship and or Rhaenyra herself is situational, depending on both the circumstances and Rhaenyra's traits. Comforting her father now is going to have more an impact than the two basically waiting six months to have a real conversation like they did in canon. Also no plan voting this time, not needed.