You knew the choice would split you in two, but that look on Maegor's face had a stunning sense of genuine affection on his face. Where his arms folded over one another and there was appreciation in his gaze.
You do not know what you have done, but the die was cast.
25 Stress Added
Maegor Targaryen Relation: Poor > Appreciated
Visenya Targaryen Relation: Poor > Neutral
You do not know what comes next, but you don't wish to be approached on it longer. You took it in stride and found yourself surrounded by familiar faces.
Your mood must have been seen by a league, for so many had yet to give you the common courtesies. Your eyes narrowed for a time, but Daeron had easily slid a hand onto your shoulder. His eyes regarded you carefully, and for that, you had taken it in stride.
You had needed that.
Daeron's lack of words, be damned, his assurance that you would have his support was a light in the foggy darkness that was your home and, in honesty, your time in the castle of Dragonstone.
You had made a choice that would have had many wonder if you were as kind as they thought you were, but when Maegor had come to you with that need. That wish—what else could you have done? It was if you stood on the future and the present, you were just a child, and it felt as if you defined Westeros for the next few years or so.
You had sat cautiously at the counter where Edric had given you a kind enough smile, but for now you had let it pass without much word besides a smile and a grunt. You weren't here for your usual pleasantries and songs. There needed to be talks, and these people, from the peasant to the traders, should have some understanding of what they know.
It took you time; of course, people had stars in their eyes when they saw you as usual. You weren't just a Targaryen, but you were a fixture of this establishment. People hadn't known that you sang and continued to regale them with dance and song.
"My prince." Yet there was one, the soft voice as you caught one of the boys or the few of them that had continued to wipe down floors and tend to some of the patrons that continued to speak with their voices as boisterous as usual around the tavern.
It was a small smile that you were given as the boy with blue eyes regarded you with that same idolisation as usual. You were nervous, not understanding why such a boy who was only a few years younger than you even decided to give you such a look.
It was not only you who had given him a chance.
"Hullo there." You turned and offered him a smile as he pushed a platter of cheeses onto your table.
"Edric wished for one of us to give you that. He's said that he appreciates what you've done with the extra help. Is there anything else we could help you with? We would appreciate giving you the same kindness that you have to us."
These boys had made you smile, and in that instance, you had allowed the worry and misunderstanding of Maegor to be cast to the back of your mind. The worry was not needed, truly. You had what you did for Egg, for your brother who deserved the world, you would need him ready and far more understanding than what the realm thought of him.
You had the beginnings of a plan in your head.
Yet you had shimmyed in your seat and breathed out slowly, getting your thoughts into order.
"Are there any traders here? Men from some of the ports of the realm? I would like to talk to them, to see if they have news or anything of the matter that a prince may manage to lend an ear to." You managed the words easily, and you hadn't felt that lurch in your throat.
You were grateful; it seemed you hadn't lost sense of yourself either. Thank the gods.
The boy hummed. A dotty look on his face as he managed to look like a mummer in some sort of act, yet his eyes widened when he let an "ooooh!" of excitement out. Your eyes widened comically; you were sure that he hadn't meant that, but just before you were taken by force. You had turned to Daeron and sent him towards the cheese platter, and yet your sword was already plopping a few in his mouth when you caught his eyes.
He smiled and ducked his head with a rubied blush as you giggled to yourself. To know that he joined you for the cheese and not for the honour of serving the dragon.
You are hurt.
You were soon brought before a roundtable that was piled high with arbour gold and northern ale. Laughter flowed as easily as the coin had when the men hadn't seemed to notice your approach. Perhaps that is why you managed to catch the small bit of conversation that caused your brow to furrow like a squirrel with an acorn.
"Aye. The Hightowers are taxing us with our trade routes to Dragonstone, though they don't explicitly say it. There is a storm brewing here, my friends. I have half a mind to take up a route to the free cities and Essos proper; I have no wish to play some sort of smuggler in times of war. It would get my ass sent to the wall or worse." One of the traders had slammed his tankard down with anger, his blotchy face looking more and more like a tomato with how he grasped the tankard; annoyance dug heavily into his features.
Yet he was not the only one; this one was careful and less drunk. His fingers came together and his eyes heavy as he focused on his surroundings, which seemed a far lot more focused than the likes of his friends.
"It is true. A storm is brewing and we know the king has yet to see it, I would not wish to stay for whatever happens, luckily so it seems that the Hightowers are being staved off by the likes of the dragon in the sky, Balerion." Yes, there was a touch of an accent, you could almost hear the soft roll and song in his voice, the way it just seemed to be a touch of northern nobility, and yet there was the low drawl of a schemer.
There was something about that man with his fire-kissed hair and his eyes that met yours as you and your escort had finally reached the table. Unlike his friends, he hadn't roared with appreciation as you had stepped forward. Instead he eyed you like you were some sort of piece, and you shivered but carefully turned your gaze over to the rest of his assorted companions.
"And a prince from his lofty tower joins us. Aye! My prince, please, take a seat. I wonder what brings you here." It was another of the traders that had only spoke with a touch of anger in his tone.
Yet his eyes were loose and he was drunk; you wondered how much they had drunk for companionship and another to drown their sorrows. You did not wish that to be you, not on your worst days.
"I came to discuss how my fellow man was doing. Yet I can't help but pick this out—trouble at ports? Is there anything I may do? House Hightower shouldn't be so quick to alienate coin. No matter if they are one of the richest houses of the realm." That was a fact, from the root of their beginnings, from the greatest of trading ports with their time with Valyria at its peak, House Hightower had remained a fixture of Westeros.
Here, however, they had traded looks before one of the lesser drunk captains had tossed a look to the fire-kissed man. His lips carefully tugged up into a smirk. "Well, my prince. Rolf here would have more knowledge than any of us. He is the one that understands what is happening acrosss the realm far more than we."
The realm?
You must not have realised how far this went, as Rolf had given you a winsome but appraising smile. It was easy to see, for you had done the same thing when you wished to perform here for the first time.
So you wondered what else he wanted to keep from you.
"Rolf? A pleasure, please. If you do not mind, I would like to hear of what plagues the realm's trade besides that of the Hightowers." You leaned forward, your eyebrow's furrowing slightly as Rolf regarded you carefully before he too leaned in as well.
"From what we know, there is a joint effort of the Hightowers and Lannisters to choke trade to Dragonstone. The Starks have an open trade, and with it, I would suggest so did the Stormlands, especially Tarth. Yet I would think there is something deeper at play, prince Viserys." You knew that as well, clearly there was an effort on both the Westerlands and Reach.
"And what would you gleam that is at play here, Rolf?" You know he knows more and he knows you know, but he simply moves his hand in a back and forth manner as if shrugging indecisively.
"Someone does not like your family's rule. The biggest argument of the faith is your uncle's disrespect to it. Of course there is also talk of your incestual ways—that you are all descendants of incest from Lady Rhaenys and Visenya coupled with their brother. There is something coming, and they wish to starve you dry before they launch it." Rolf had offered it simply, but you had known already.
The faith and their ways—you had already managed to end one issue with your uncle, and that look on his face—perhaps he would sooner come to you with an issue that resulted in his favour. If you could temper him, then maybe the realm would be safer for it.
Only you did not have time for the game and for barbed words over chalices; you need honesty. Perhaps that is why you leaned closer, your lean and athletic frame perhaps made you quite a different sight but it is what you needed as you sat up and placed your hands on the table. Your fingers dug into it with your smirk, a charming and calm thing.
"Be plain, Rolf. Who is it if I am to help you make your coin and perhaps give you all you so wish, money? Then couldn't you spare the name?" You hadn't outright glared at him, but there it was, he was stuck, and he knew it.
"The High Septon. He curries influence with both the West and the Reach. He does not want to see House Targaryen last the next decade, much less a century." You don't manage to keep your tempers at bay as you laughed, instead you given them looks and perhaps you know why your Uncle Maegor suggests violence, why he suggests heads, spikes, and walls.
They wouldn't have tested your family, your brother, your sister, and so many others if they knew they weren't able to. It is why you did what you needed to do now.
"Thank you, Rolf." Just as you turned away, he cleared his throat and offered you a coy smile.
"Do not worry, my prince. I think we will be seeing one another very soon. After all, I have heard you make all sorts of friends in this tavern. I may have more on the faith in the next year, if not, I am sure my friends here will keep you company with their drunken relvelry." You see it now, that knowing gleam in his gaze.
You are reminded of that woman but just as you would have focused, something tugs on your mind.
You have something to do, a dragon to claim, and a realm to know that House Targaryen is not as weak as they would believe...
Yet, there are questions to it all, and you know it is a touchy time that your family stands housed on. What do you do, in fact, how do you do it? To rest the waves that crash against Dragonstone with enemies on every horizon.
You must be smart about this, you must be smart about how to claim the beast that devours the young and feasts on its eggs.
The Cannibal is not a simple monster, far from it.
How do you wish to claim it?
[] Bring meat from the kitchens, if it wished for a feast, you would bring it all...
[] Bring song and dance, let it bond with you over the tearful words of youth...
[] You will aproach it like a friend, a partner, not a thrown beast, let it bond with the embrace of family...
Rolf Relation: N/A > Neutral
We're in the endgame now. Where your choices will define House Targaryen for a little while. Some stress accured from the coin flip and Westeros will never be the same again, yet a positive with Maegor, I wonder what that will wrought.
This was more of an info chapter, and its not showing you everything but it is showing you that the High Septon is making moves, and he has the support of two great houses. Yet, the wheel continues to turn.
Choose wisely, folks.
