Prince Aegon Targaryen
It was hard to believe that in just four months as Hand of the King, Daemon would manage to accomplish so much. The feverish activity he unleashed considerably surprised not only his brothers but the Small Council and the lords of the Seven Kingdoms as well.
First, the new Lord Hand turned his attention to the City Watch, of which he had been Lord Commander for several years. Its numbers were doubled, up to five thousand men. Each of them had to be clothed, armed, fed regularly, and paid no less regularly. Lord Lyman accepted the news of the necessity to increase maintenance costs with a sorrowful sigh, but as it seemed to Aegon, the Master of Coin simply did not wish to yield, although there was sufficient gold in the treasury.
"Did you not say that you had already cleansed the capital of criminals?" Grand Maester Mellos asked the Hand in bewilderment. "To what end such expenses and such… drastic steps?"
In response, Daemon stretched his lips into the most amiable and polite smile possible:
"Tell me, Grand Maester, is a single cleaning of the rookery sufficient for your ravens to cease shitting? Is one mousetrap enough so that mice and rats do not destroy your library? No and no. Brigands, murderers, rapists, smugglers, bribe-takers, thieves, and pickpockets have vanished nowhere; they need to be constantly reminded of what the King's Law is. Is that not so, Lord Lyonel?"
"Quite right, my prince," the Master of Laws nodded. "The current number of watchmen is capable of ensuring the safety of the wealthy districts and periodically cleansing the cesspit of the slums, however, King's Landing is too vast for the Gold Cloaks to keep the peace of the entire capital now."
Aegon noted to himself that since the death of his younger son, Lord Strong had noticeably declined: already a large man, the Lord of Harrenhal had grown fat, his face had become pale and puffy, gray had increased at his temples, and a bald spot had appeared on the back of his head. He hid from his sorrows in his study, sitting over affairs nigh on round the clock, to the indignation of Ser Harwin.
Did the Prince pity the remaining Strongs? Yes, undoubtedly. The grief of a comrade and ally in the Small Council touched him, and Aegon himself would not have wished to be in Lyonel's place. Did he regret the order given to Dennis? No, not a whit. The world, as Aegon had realized from his early years, was monstrously unfair: the son of a brave knight might never take up a spear and sword, whilst the son of a loyal dignitary might step onto a slippery path. The first could and should be accepted, the second could and should be nipped in the bud; certainty in his own rectitude did not prevent the Prince, who never became a knight, from expressing his sincerest condolences to the Strongs.
It was expected that after his appointment as Hand, Daemon would leave the post of Lord Commander of the City Watch, and many at court began to place bets and make predictions as to which of the Prince's cronies would take his place. Some bet on Ser Harwin Strong, pointing out not without malice that it was not the first time Lord Lyonel had found warm positions for his sons. Some gave preference to Ser Jaegaer Ilileon, the bastard of dragon blood, whose position at court had noticeably strengthened in recent months: from a poor lowborn invited to court out of charity, in the eyes of the lords and ladies of the Seven Kingdoms he had become a notable figure and a welcomed relative of the King. There were those who believed the place of Commander would pass to Ser Gwayne Hightower, the new Queen's brother, although their tense relations with the Prince were no secret to anyone.
But Daemon managed to surprise everyone and chose as his successor another of his cronies, Ser Luthor Largent—a man of low birth and great height who received knighthood for loyal service to the Iron Throne. Aegon, though privy to his brother's plans, was in the same bewilderment regarding his choice as the whole capital. Seeing the lack of understanding and surprise on the faces of the councilors and the King himself, Daemon condescended to explain:
"Ser Luthor is a reliable man. He knows the habits of criminals as neither a noble lord nor the blood of the dragon knows them. He knows what to expect from these people and how to fight them. He will not show them leniency to prove his usefulness to us."
The most displeased with such a decision turned out to be Ser Gwayne, who considered the post already in his pocket if not by virtue of his noble birth, then at least by virtue of kinship with the Queen. Ser Harwin and Ser Jaegaer merely nodded politely at expressions of sympathy and chuckled—they, by all appearances, were more content with the position of friends of the Hand than his subordinates.
However, Daemon did not limit himself to reshuffling the City Watch and expanding its ranks. A couple of weeks later, a raven flew into King's Landing, bringing an alarming letter from Lord Vance of Wayfarer's Rest: the eternal feud of the Blackwoods and Brackens had taken a new turn, and the two houses were preparing to take up arms again. The diplomacy and mediation of their direct suzerain, the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands and the Trident, Grover Tully, proved inept and, as Lord Lyonel explained, not too sincere, and therefore failed to prevent the crisis.
Viserys was seriously concerned by this fuss.
"This is a violation of the King's Peace!" he was indignant. "The peace that the Conqueror established and that our grandfather maintained! I will not allow someone's foolish fuss to disrupt the established order!"
"My Sovereign, the conflict of the Brackens and Blackwoods has lasted many centuries, ever since the Andals came to Westeros," inserted the Master of Laws. "Neither the Mudds nor the Hoares reconciled them, and even the ascension of Aegon the Conqueror could not temper their enmity."
"Yet something held them back from knifework all these hundred years," inserted Lord Otto.
After the demarche staged by Daemon and Rhaenyra at the royal wedding, Viserys preferred to hush up the scandal as quickly as possible, and the only solution that came to his mind was the return of his father-in-law to the Small Council as the new Lord Chamberlain. The difficult task of negotiating with their brother fell on Aegon's shoulders again, but Daemon, surprisingly, agreed, grumbling only to save face. He explained his not too consistent behavior by the fact that it was easier to be watched in the Small Council than to have traces of his intrigues sought out all over the court.
"Dragons held them back," the Prince chuckled. "If the Sovereign permits, Caraxes and I, as Hand and a member of House Targaryen, will act as mediators in this little dispute."
"Yes, fly. The sooner, the better," Viserys agreed.
And Caraxes bore Daemon to the north. Following the dragon with his gaze from the walls of the Red Keep, Aegon inquired of Strong:
"Tell me, My Lord, what are the chances that my brother will not allow a war?"
"For that, he would have to burn Stone Hedge and Raventree Hall at once," the Master of Laws remarked joylessly. "Brackens and Blackwoods imbibe hatred for one another with their wet nurses' milk. Several marriages organized by your ancestors could hardly force them to cast aside all grievances and disputes of the past. Furthermore, I do not think this conflict has a good solution."
Aegon chuckled: hearing his own thoughts from another's lips, even if they concerned a different subject, was amusing.
"And if you will permit, My Prince…"
"Speak freely, Lord Lyonel."
"I do not think your brother will succeed where Lord Grover failed. I know him, for he is my suzerain as well, and I can say that he and Prince Daemon are alike. They are always, everywhere, and in everything right; another point of view does not exist, any objection is treason. In my view, you should have gone."
The Prince only snorted in response. Knowing himself, he assumed he would have immersed himself headlong in searching for the root of the conflict, which surely was not preserved even on the pages of the most ancient chronicles. This presented a certain interest from a maester's point of view, but in practice, hardly would it help to find the righteous and the guilty. Although from the height of a semi-maester with three copper links of a historian, Aegon cynically admitted that neither the one nor the other existed nor could exist.
To the surprise of many, the Prince Hand managed to solve the crisis peacefully and even without blood. The latest iteration of the oldest dispute of the Riverlands began with the squires of the two houses quarreling at a tourney in honor of the birth of Lord Vance's heir: allegedly, a Blackwood paid a smith to shoe a Bracken's horse poorly. The unfortunate animal lost a horseshoe, and the expert on horses who got to the bottom of the truth attracted his kin to his side, who word for word quickly reminded the Blackwoods of all grievances. The latter did not remain in debt, and lo, the tourney intended to unite neighbors on a joyous occasion turned into a field of discord. Lord Grover's arbitration yielded nothing, and by the moment of Daemon's appearance, both sides were already preparing to call the banners.
Astride Caraxes, the Prince Hand circled Raventree Hall and Stone Hedge, and afterwards ordered the Brackens and Blackwoods to appear at the place where it all began. On the tourney field, without overly long proceedings, he released the two instigators from their former oaths, and then took both as squires for himself. After this, he commanded them to arrive in two weeks to serve him at the Red Keep, climbed onto Caraxes, and was gone.
"If brotherhood in arms cannot reconcile them, then nothing can," Daemon announced to the Small Council. "And I explained the possible consequences of violating the King's Peace to the parents: House Targaryen will not seek the right and the guilty. Let them think seven times before they decide to recall the old days."
"Poor children," Aegon lamented feignedly. "So far from the gods and so close to a dragon."
"Rather, close to one another," chuckled Lord Lyonel.
The Master of Laws acknowledged the Prince Hand's unexpected decision as quite reasonable: the practice of taking honorary hostages in the Riverlands had been practiced since ancient times, only now they were taken not to ensure the loyalty of vassal houses, but so they would not tear each other's throats out. Such abrupt interference of the Hand in local affairs could not please Grover Tully, and the Old Fish burst out with an irritated letter, complaining to the King of his brother's arbitrariness, disregard for his, Lord Grover's, position as Lord Paramount, and the undermining of his authority. However, Viserys himself remained pleased with his brother's labors, and in response, a stern missive flew to Riverrun, reproaching Tully for inaction and reminding him that precisely this became the reason for the Prince Hand's sudden visit.
But not only Lord Tully did the King give a dressing down at the suggestion of his brother the Hand. Foresters had recently discovered that, besides the King, a company of young lords of the Stormlands headed by Lord Boremund Baratheon's heir, Ser Borros, was hunting in the Kingswood. The Lord of Storm's End was offered a choice: to answer in the Red Keep or at his home, but in the presence of Caraxes. The Lord Paramount chose the first and brought with him his son and all his hangers-on, among whom were young Lord Fell, his brother-in-law Lord Errol, and three sons of Lord Grandison.
With the full court assembled, Daemon accused the highborn hunters of violating royal privileges to hunt in the Kingswood and, defending the honor of the Crown, reminded them that the place for poachers was on the block or in the Night's Watch. Viserys spent the entire evening and half the night arguing with his councilors, and in the morning demanded payment of a fine of fifteen hundred gold dragons per hunter, promising that next time they would not get off so lightly. Lord Boremund, clenching his jaw so tight his teeth could be heard grinding, nobly promised to pay for everyone no later than the end of the month.
The punishment of the Storm lords caused much gossip at court after their departure, and with every day thoughts, rumors, and conversations spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms. They said various things, mostly lies: that Ser Borros threatened to challenge the King to single combat for the right to hunt in the Kingswood (in reality, he only made unintelligible and stupid excuses), that Lord Fell wept (in reality, he only stuttered from fear), that the three Grandisons accused each other of who finished off the boar (in reality, Lord Errol slew it). However, besides this, they also said that the new Hand was painfully tough in temper, and would demand full repayment for any, even imaginary, insult to the Royal House. Some were pleased, rejoicing that at last there would be more order in the realm; some were indignant at Prince Daemon's willfulness and the trampling of ancient rights of the nobility, but a far greater part tried to understand how to obtain as much profit as possible for themselves and their descendants in the new realities, without exposing themselves anywhere.
Soon after this, Jaegaer had to perform a special service for his new-old homeland. One day, Daemon summoned their cousin to a meeting of the Small Council and in the most businesslike tone inquired whether Ser Jaegaer wished to see Volantis again.
"My Prince, I am exiled from the New Freehold," the cousin objected. "If I return, I will be killed."
"Not if you are our ambassador."
"Perhaps that might mean something to the Triarchy," Aegon cut into the conversation, remembering perfectly well the bloody chariot race along the Black Walls. "But in certain matters, they prefer to stand aside. The status of ambassador and guest means nothing to those who wish to wash away blood with blood."
Viserys, evidently guessing at the complex relations between Jaegaer and the Old Blood, shifted worriedly in his chair at the head of the table.
"We cannot expose our cousin to such danger, Daemon. He asked us for asylum, and I granted it—I have no right to persuade him to renounce it of his own free will."
"Your Grace can command," Jaegaer bowed his head submissively.
"As the Sovereign wishes," the Prince Hand backtracked. "You can serve us quite well here. It suffices to say which of the Old Blood possesses actual power."
"The Triarchs, my prince. But they are elected every year."
"Or not elected," Aegon reminded him. "Everything could have changed several times already."
"We have no other options anyway," the Prince Hand shrugged.
As it turned out, Daemon wished to establish contacts with Volantis to ascertain whether the inhabitants of the First Daughter of Valyria intended to take revenge on the Triarchy, which was bogged down in the Stepstones. Naturally, Otto Hightower immediately had doubts and objections regarding the embassy, but the Prince Hand swept them aside at once:
"Is it for me to tell you, my lord, how the trade of Oldtown merchants suffers from the war in the Stepstones?"
"The war in the Stepstones was unleashed by the Lord of the Tides, his selfishness and thirst for power," snorted the new Chamberlain. "As a result, merchants of all the Seven Kingdoms suffer: those who do not wish to pay predatory tolls are sold by pirates into slavery in Lysene brothels, regardless of sex or age! I will also allow myself to remind His Grace and this Council that it was Prince Daemon who, at the time, convinced us that we should not interfere in the affairs of the Triarchy and allow it to levy tolls for passage through the Stepstones. And you, Lord Lyman, said then that prices would change quite insignificantly, and what now? Goods have to be transported by land because not a single ship under our sails can enter the Narrow Sea or leave it. Remind me, how much does Arbor gold cost now?"
"The war with the Three Whores was started by Lord Corlys," the Master of Coin indignantly rejected the accusations against him. "He not only left his post in the Small Council without permission but also disrupted all our possible negotiations with the Triarchy!"
"That is true," nodded Mellos. "At that moment I was already conducting correspondence with several magisters of Tyrosh and Myr, but after the Lord Admiral led his ships to sea and dragons to the sky, my correspondents fell silent."
"We are straying from the subject," Viserys cut off his councilors and turned his gaze to Jaegaer. "Cousin, we await from you a list of those of the Old Blood who might support a war with the Three Whores."
"As the Sovereign wishes," the former Exarch bowed.
"You may go."
Scarce had the door closed behind him when the King spoke in a concerned tone:
"We must write to Volantis, of course, but the Sea Snake should also be called to account. Mellos, send a raven to Driftmark or wherever he is now... The sooner, the better."
But no sooner had they moved to discuss the next issue than the meeting was interrupted by one of the Kingsguard, Ser Arryk (or Ser Erryk?) Cargyll. Throwing open the massive door with the carved dragon, the knight announced from the threshold:
"Meleys over the Blackwater!"
"It seems we have an excellent opportunity to learn how affairs are going for Lord Corlys," spoke Daemon, thoughtfully winding the gold chain with the Hand's badge around his finger. "Will you receive the cousin, my brother?"
"Of course," Viserys shrugged. "I will receive her right here."
"And if she wishes to speak... as family?" Aegon inquired.
"Had she wished to speak as family, she would have found the time to fly to my wedding," the King cut him off. "Let her speak before everyone."
The Prince managed to notice the Lord Chamberlain hastening to hide a satisfied smirk in his red beard, and nodded contentedly himself. Since Daemon had become Hand, their elder brother seemed to have become harder and more demanding of his subjects, and Aegon could not but admit that Viserys needed this firmness. One had to watch that neither one nor the other went too far, but Aegon sat in the Small Council precisely to trim the excess and smooth the sharp corners, and besides, there were other councilors. Lord Lyonel and Lord Lyman could manage this together with prudent caution and reasonable thrift, but now Lord Otto joined them as well, so there was no need to fear the adoption of overly absurd decisions in Aegon's absence—he was just intending to visit Duskendale.
One had to give Cousin Rhaenys her due—she did not keep the King waiting. Having apparently galloped the whole way from Rhaenys's Hill to Aegon's Hill, the Queen Who Never Was appeared before the Small Council like a Visenya of sorts: over her riding leathers, she wore mail and a two-colored surcoat with the Targaryen dragon on the right half and the Velaryon seahorse on the left; at her belt hung a coiled whip on one side and a long dagger on the other; she had gathered her coal-black Baratheon hair at the crown in a high tail, and two silver strands at her temples, inherited from her father, cut the hairstyle in two.
Entering the Chamber, Rhaenys bowed reservedly to the King, as if there had been no insultingly ignored marriage proposal, nor a demonstratively skipped royal celebration. The lords, after a slight hesitation, showed courtesy and rose from their seats, greeting the Princess; Viserys, as befits a King, remained motionless, Daemon pretended that his Hand's badge was very dirty and urgently needed cleaning, and Aegon shifted in his chair for show, reminding everyone of his clubfoot, and bowed his head in greeting.
"Your Grace, My Lords," Rhaenys spoke in a dry voice.
"Cousin," the King nodded in response. "We did not expect you."
"I too did not think I would return to the Red Keep so soon, but the gods laugh at the plans of men."
"So what brought you home?"
"Necessity. My lord husband is forced to ask Your Grace for aid."
"Is that so?" Viserys, raising his eyebrows, feigned surprise quite convincingly. "The Sea Snake has condescended to pleas?"
"He expressed it differently," the cousin shrugged. "But it does not change the essence. It is hard for him to admit, but his little campaign in the Stepstones is not going as he calculated."
"Let us be frank: Corlys has shit himself," inserted Daemon.
"My husband has withstood the combined forces of the Triarchy for nearly a year, defending the interests of the Seven Kingdoms with the aid of his fleet alone, while the royal ships stood at the docks. He captured several islands in the Stepstones, he burned several dozen ships, sent thousands of pirates and sellswords paid by the Three Whores to feed the crabs. Sooner or later he would have overcome them, even if he had to continue relying only on his own forces and money, but when Dorne entered the war, he deemed it his duty to inform the Iron Throne. An old enemy has entered the game again."
"Dorne?" now Viserys's surprise was genuine, and the entire attention of the Small Council concentrated on Rhaenys.
"Prince Qoren gave his daughter to Drazenko Rogare, brother of the Lysene magister. The girl has not yet flowered, but it is a matter of time, and the Martells are reaping the fruits of the alliance already: the Triarchy levies no tolls on their ships, engineers from Tyrosh are building canals from the Greenblood to irrigate fields near Sunspear, and with loans from the banks of Lys, they have already gathered a new army and built a new fleet."
"What makes you think Dorne will interfere in the war?" frowned Grand Maester Mellos.
"Because Dornish scorpions have already fired upon my son's dragon, and my husband's warriors have already fought Dornish spearmen," Rhaenys cast out sharply. "And scars have been added to Meleys's hide."
Aegon leaned forward in concern; a new Meraxes was the last thing they needed.
"Is one of the dragons wounded?"
"Praise the gods, nothing serious. Laenor is also well, cousin, thank you for your concern."
The Master of Dragons nodded, but his thoughts were far more occupied with the well-being of the young dragon and the Red Queen than the well-being of his cousin once removed. Meanwhile, Viserys preferred to return to the main problem:
"And what does Lord Corlys want from us?"
"Help, Your Grace. Driftmark is strong, we have many ships, but we cannot stand against Myr, Tyrosh, Lys, and Dorne. Furthermore, the interests of all the Seven Kingdoms are affected: trade around Westeros, the security of the borders with Dorne—against whom, in your opinion, has the Prince gathered a new army?"
"Lord Corlys asks help of the Iron Throne after ignoring my wedding? After leaving his place in the Small Council without my permission? After unleashing a war without my knowledge? On what does he rely?!"
"On Your Grace's magnanimity. In order to smooth over the conflict, my lord husband and I propose to conclude a new marriage between our houses. House Velaryon offers the hand of Lady Laena to Prince Daemon."
Silence reigned in the Chamber of the Small Council. Viserys looked attentively at his brother the Hand, but he was still playing with his chain. Aegon noticed Lord Otto tense all at once: everything he feared and warned the Prince about had come to pass. It would be just like Daemon to finish negotiations with the Velaryons behind the backs of Viserys and the Small Council, and now play the innocent and agree to the marriage solely for the good of the realm, binding himself by blood, quite literally, with the "island opposition." Judging by the gloomy and concerned faces of the other councilors, similar thoughts had occurred to them as well.
"You swore, my brother, that I would marry only by my own will and to a woman of my own choice," Daemon spoke quietly.
"Yes," Viserys nodded. "I do not renounce my words."
"I do not want to take Laena Velaryon as my wife."
A shadow fell upon Cousin Rhaenys's face, in which Aegon fancied a storm of furious anger born of the dangerous alloy of Targaryen and Baratheon tempers. If they truly had conducted negotiations, this was clearly not the result Corlys had counted on.
"May I know why my daughter is rejected again?" her voice was colder than the Wall.
"Dear cousin," Daemon began in an unexpectedly soft tone. "I have married twice out of duty to my family and for the good of the Seven Kingdoms. Can I, finally, find myself a wife whom I will love without all these loud words about duty, politics, and profit? Furthermore, if my memory does not fail me, you married Corlys for love yourself. Will you truly not give your daughter the same chance?"
"Love can be born in a marriage of convenience as well."
"Or it may not be born, and then both are doomed to suffer. Believe me, I have already been through this."
It became quiet again. Rhaenys incinerated Daemon with her gaze, and he looked back at her with a self-assured smile. Judging by the cousin's reaction, the Velaryons had not yet managed to come to a final agreement with him, and now Daemon was sending everything not even to the Seven Hells, but to the Fourteen. Hightower was right—such an alliance was obvious, and it would have brought profit to both sides. Daemon would have gained three dragons on his side at once (or two and a half, to be consistent) and a fleet. Corlys would have achieved his grandchildren sitting on the Iron Throne after all, despite the Great Council of Harrenhal. A fine exchange, an ideal alliance...
So why did his brother refuse it? Did he want to remain heir to the Iron Throne? With the Velaryons, he would have strengthened his position so much that no one would dare contradict him. What forces people to commit such senseless, irrational acts?
Aegon found the answer unexpectedly. Daemon had already found the one who would become his new wife, and he did not need Laena now. One thought pulled another, and that explained too much. Rhaenyra. He is waiting for Rhaenyra.
The Grand Maester cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself, and suggested:
"My Prince, the security of trade and the southern borders is a very important matter, and as Hand, you ought to..."
"Do you have problems with your hearing, Mellos? I already said 'no'."
"It is irresponsible!"
"Your opinion does not concern me, but I would not want His Grace to form the same impression. On the contrary, I consider the situation very serious, and further ignoring the war in the Stepstones may cost us dearly. If Lord Corlys is selling his daughter to save his own arse, then I would propose giving Lady Laena to our brother Aegon."
The meaning of what was said did not immediately reach the named groom.
"Excuse me?"
"Prince Aegon is our beloved brother," Daemon continued as if nothing were amiss. "He is smart, wealthy, he is a traveler with acquaintances all over Essos and the Master of Dragons in the Small Council. Finally, he is the rider of Vermithor, the Bronze Fury, and Lady Laena has saddled Silverwing. Does this alone not make our brother a better match for your daughter than I?"
"This is a good option, Your Grace," Lord Otto hastened to agree with the Hand, having cherished the same plan and now grabbing the opportunity to realize it with both hands. "The marriage of Prince Aegon and Lady Laena will give the Iron Throne a reason to reconcile with the Velaryons and a pretext to enter the war on their side."
"This is slightly not what House Velaryon counted on," Rhaenys remarked. Of course, they counted on getting the Prince of Dragonstone, the future King, as a son-in-law, whose wife would in due time become the new Queen, and now they were getting only the younger brother, who would no sooner see the throne than participation in a knightly tourney.
"If something does not suit House Velaryon, they can get in line and kiss my brothers and me on the arse, and then continue to wallow in their dirty puddle," even now, when Daemon moved to threats, his tone remained soft and affectionate, as if he were rocking a daughter. "And later, when one of you wins—to us, cousin, it matters not even who it will be—we will come and take what is due to the Iron Throne."
Rhaenys's lilac eyes flashed angrily, but she did not dare to object: if the Iron Throne untied the hands of the Triarchy and Dorne, no one would return to Driftmark. Pale from suppressed rage, the Queen Who Never Was only pursed her lips so they became almost invisible. Aegon loudly moved the marble dish with the obsidian ball on it, drawing attention to himself, and inquired grumpily:
"My opinion, I suppose, interests no one?"
"My brother, you promised me yourself to enter into a marriage for the good of our House," Viserys reminded quietly, and the Prince immediately cursed the day and hour when careless words had slipped from his tongue.
However, the King caught his gaze, and in his brother's violet eyes Aegon saw a silent plea.
"Please, do not complicate things and help. It is necessary."
He could not refuse Viserys. Firstly, he had indeed given a promise. Secondly, he could not let his elder brother down, not now, after Daemon had sent all political calculations to the Seven Hells and refused a marriage profitable for both sides. In the end, Viserys, like Aegon himself, was bound hand and foot by promises, oaths, obligations, and good intentions. There were no reasons to flee from duty, and no choice either.
"I obey the will of the King," the Prince bowed his head.
Viserys nodded gratefully and turned to his cousin.
"House Targaryen offers House Velaryon to conclude a marriage between Prince Aegon and Lady Laena. Does House Velaryon accept this union?"
"It accepts," Rhaenys answered after a short reflection. "The terms of the marriage contract will be discussed separately. The Velaryons will give a dowry for Lady Laena corresponding to her status and origin. Be assured, we are waging a war, but we are not beggars."
"Truly," the Prince recalled Grandmother Alysanne's words again. "All Targaryens are proud."
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