Nihilus Filius Et Sacerdos Ch 14 - Targaryen I

“Husband, please see reason!”

Viserys stared tiredly at his wife, who was grasping her dress with enough force to pierce. He hadn’t recognized it at first, but then he recalled it was a gift from Lyseni merchants who visited the court moons past. Shame the emerald silk would now be marred with holes. 

“To insult you in such a manner before the court…we cannot allow this to pass without judgment!” she began pacing back and forth. “Word will have spread to every corner of the Crownlands by the sennight, and the rest of the kingdoms won’t need long to hear the same!” 

“I must agree with the queen, Your Grace,” said Lyonel Strong. The Hand’s face was still pale from the earlier events, and every so often, he glanced at the door, waiting for the girl to barge in with her gigantic hammer. It seemed his Hand hadn’t quite believed him when he recounted the events of Driftmark. “To brandish such a weapon before the royal family, when here at your behest…they practically violated guest rights!”

Clasping his hands, Viserys tried to maintain some form of composure. “What would you even have me do?”

“Arrest them!” Alicent sharply hissed. “The king must never be threatened inside his own keep, else others may presume to act in the same manner! We must show that even foreign guests are beholden to the crown’s laws whilst they reside here, especially on the king’s invitation. Their brazen act of intimidation at High Tide was enough of a slight.”

He blanched at her words. Arrest them? “After what you have seen of them? My love, have you forgotten the events at Driftmark? If we attempted to arrest them, I would fear for the soldiers who would fail in the attempt.”

“Then the crown’s image will be forever shamed by your inaction, husband!” she hissed. “Do you wish to see your rule crumble because every lord and knight found the nerve to challenge you in your own palace? Worse, that lies and falsehood about sorcery poisoning your ear?”

Viserys resisted an incredulous scoff. He was well aware of the potential ramifications of Lady Ecclesia’s…display, but surely it wasn’t as extreme as Alicent made it out to be? The girl’s display of magic, while lesser than Master Albaz’s magnificent transformation, was impressive, but only in the physical aspect. There was nothing to suggest she could ensorcell him…but there were no records of the magics they wielded in his grand library either.

“While arresting the king’s guests might take the issue too far,” Lord Strong interjected, carefully measuring his words. “I agree with Her Grace in that we cannot let this matter lie. There are enough whispers at court without the fear of mysterious foreign interlopers.”

“There are always whispers at court, Lord Strong.” Viserys wasn’t blind to the sudden factionalism growing within the Red Keep. The noble ladies were the prominent markers of this division, wearing clashing gowns of green and black. All because of vile rumors about his daughter, aided by the ever-present scheming opportunists in the snake’s den. “But I will not insult my guests by putting them to the question when I have pried them away from Lord Corlys’s shadow.”

Alicent sharply inhaled and clenched her robes even tighter, but thankfully, his Hand interposed himself before his wife’s oncoming tirade. “No one was suggesting that, Your Grace. Extreme measures such as imprisonment should only be used for extreme actions. I would ask you to consider a gesture to assuage your subjects that all guests of the crown bear the weight of your laws. A public apology would do well as a start.”

“An apology…” Viserys mumbled, stroking his chin. Simple enough to quell rising yet voices, yet not so demanding that it would alienate his guests. Alicent, however, was not amused.

“A mere apology will not suffice for elements beyond the court, my Lord Hand,” she replied, her tone cutting as the swords of the throne. “Already, I have been beset by septas who ask me questions I cannot answer lest I break your confidence. The foreigners have all but trampled on guest rights and such a sin before the Seven invites calamity!”

Lord Strong’s brow furrowed, and Viserys held back another sigh. Thankfully, before another argument could burst out, a knock came from the door.

“Yes?”

Ser Erryk of the Kingsguard entered, resplendent in his white cloak and resolute bearing.

“Pardon the intrusion, Your Grace, but Lady Laena is waiting outside and wishes to speak to you about today’s…incident.”

Viserys felt his lips curve upward. “Send her in, Ser Erryk!” He turned to his wife and Hand with an elevated mood. “Such perfect timing! Let us hope that Lady Laena can provide us with an explanation, no?”

“Indeed, Your Grace,” Lord Strong replied. Alicent nodded as well, though her expression remained tight. The Kingsguard stepped aside and Lady Laena entered, resplendent in her sea-blue robes. 

“Thank you for seeing me, Your Grace,” she curtseyed, her Velaryon silver ringlets bobbing as she did. “I realize the duties of stately affairs must weigh far more than a mere visit from a concerned lady.”

“Nonsense, dear Laena!” he chuckled. “My goodsister is always welcome for an audience. I dare say you provide a splash of joy and wit to the court that has been sorely missed!” He turned to his wife, the perfect portrait of aloof grace. “All will be well, Alicent, so you may put your mind at ease.”

“Perhaps, Your Grace,” she replied with narrow eyes. “But it is best we hear the words of Lady Velaryon before we rush to judgment.”

Using his own words against him…he should’ve expected that. 

“I wish to deliver an apology on behalf of Lady Ecclesia,” Lady Laena said, her voice clear and authoritative. “The stress of her arrival at King’s Landing and her initial reception at court overwhelmed her, resulting in her momentary panic. I fear the sudden attention from the abundance of courtiers and standing in the Iron Throne’s presence was too stark a contrast to when she and master Albaz were received at Driftmark. I sat down with them, and after clearing the matter up, they expressed deep regret for their actions. I only ask that you show them leniency.”

Viserys beamed throughout the whole explanation, even as relief filled his tired old bones. “Your explanation is most welcome indeed, my lady. I am well aware the Red Keep can be overwhelming for most folk. Rest assured that I shall have them endure no such parades again, and I accept their apology.” He turned to Lord Strong and gestured at Laena. “See? No harm was intended, and a full apology has been made. Let us put this unpleasant affair behind us.”

His Hand’s mouth pressed into a thin line, but nonetheless, he sighed and dipped his head. “As you wish, Your Grace. I shall deliver the news that an apology has been given.”

“A thousand thanks, my lord Hand,” Laena said, curtseying again. “Lady Ecclesia also apologizes for the ruined floor. If any help is needed in its repair, she would be happy to assist.”

A jovial bout of laughter escaped his gut, contrasting with his wife's and his Hand’s stupor. “Such words are highly appreciated by her, my lady, but there is no need to trouble our guests over such a small matter! Dare I say it will add a spot of character to the Great Hall for generations!”

“Your words please me, Your Grace. Is there anything else you would have of me?”

Stroking his bearded chin, Viserys hummed. “I would like to speak with our guests in the library within the next eve or two, there is much I wish to discuss. Will they be ready by then?”

“I shall finish acclimating them to their quarters and have them meet you there later today, Your Grace. One floor below your chambers?”

“Indeed. I see you have not forgotten your time there.”

“It is a grand sight, Your Grace. Only a fool would disregard such a treasure,” she replied, eyes flickering to the side. From the corner of his eye, Viserys inwardly groaned as a tear formed in his wife’s dress. After weeks of begging for that silk…

“You are welcome to attend as well, Lady Laena, along with my brother. It has been many a year since we sat down and pored over the secrets of our homeland.” Laena’s smile grew and she bowed low.

“Your generosity knows no bounds, Your Grace. I shall pass your messages to both my husband and our guests.” 

His business stated, the king waved at her, and she left the room. Once the door closed shut, Viserys addressed his Hand. 

“If my guests join me this evening, have the cooks prepare a hearty meal for us in the library.” An amused grin crossed his face as he recalled the youths’...voracious eating at High Tide’s feast. “Large helpings of meat for both. I believe we shall have to stock up for their stay. They have quite the appetite.”

“By your command, Your Grace,” replied Lord Strong, his features cooled to their usual stoicness. Viserys moved to dismiss him, only for Alicent to speak her mind.

“There is still the matter of the Faith, husband. Even if you agree with Lady Velaryon and that this was a mistake of panic, there will still be questions. Rumors of magic and witchcraft cannot be dispelled, and many will worry for the integrity of your mind. I daresay we shall even hear accusations that you are ensorcelled by them, rendering you pliant to their whims!”

This time, Viserys grumbled and sent a pointed glare to his wife. “In case you have forgotten, my queen, they are of foreign lands, with attitudes towards magic much different than here. On top of it all, Master Albaz bears the blessing of dragons on par with the most powerful mages of Valyria, mayhap even beyond. The Doctrine of Exceptionalism that my grandfather established with the Faith of the Seven outlined that my family, as descendants of Valyria, are unlike other men. Our bond with dragons, among other facts of life, is rooted in magic and sorcery. And now we have in our keep, by my grace, a boy who rivals all those accomplishments. He is as Valyrian as I, my brother, and my children, and thus there is no reason why the doctrine cannot apply to him as well. Lady Ecclesia may not be Valyrian herself, but she is as extraordinary as he.”

Alicent’s eye twitched wildly as her jaw threatened to shatter the stone floor. In contrast, Lord Strong’s featured schooled themselves into a more ponderous mein. 

“The Doctrine of Exceptionalism…” he muttered and fingered his necklce of hands, a symbol of his office. “Certainly, there is precedence. They are not Andals or First Men. I have yet to see the extent of Master Albaz’s sorcery, but if it is as spectacular as you claim, your grace, it would definitely quell the more impulsive servants of the Faith and more zealous noble houses.”

“What of the shriveled Warlocks of Qarth? The Shadowbinders of Asshai? The vile red priests of Volantis?” Alicent spat out. “Shall we extend our blessings to practice their anathema and defilement on our lands?”

“I never said that,” Viserys quickly responded. “Rather, I propose we treat this case by case. So far, Master Albaz and Lady Ecclesia have meant us no true harm and only desire friendship, so we shall treat them with similar courtesy. If any shadowbinder, fire priest, or other warlock seeks my protection, then I shall judge their pleas and decide then. What say you, my Hand?”

“...I see no fault in your reasoning, Your Grace,” Lord Strong replied, albeit with a measure of hesitation. “There will be lords who will grumble at this, but as an act to strengthen the realm…yes, they will comply.”

“Good. Let it be written and let it be done.” He clapped his hands with excitement, ignoring his wife’s distraught look. Such an opportunity to talk with ones so entwined with magic would not be denied, not even to appease the Lords of the land. “Now, what else is due for today?”

“You have an audience with Lord Fossoway, Your Grace, regarding new apple shipments through the Crownlands,” Lord Strong said, his discomfort almost vanishing in its entirety. He withdrew a rolled-up parchment from his cloak and began to read from it. “There is a request from House Prester that has been waiting for a response for a moon. We have a merchant ready to receive permits to trade within…”

And so the day passed, with petitions and audiences abounding, supervised by his able Hand. Viserys did his best to give each petitioner his full attention, announcing his decisions to the faces of both the elated and the downtrodden, yet thoughts of his library lingered in the forefront of his mind. Alicent had left after Lord Fossoway’s audience with thunderous eyes pinned to a demure and placid face. Viserys had to withhold a sigh when she stormed out the door, drawing cries of surprise and groveling from the poor noble who had the misfortune to be standing outside. He knew she wouldn’t be happy with any decree he made regarding their magical guests, but he was hoping she would maintain a level of civility or politeness. No doubt her fearmongering would spread to the rest of the court, and he’d rather his guests enjoy their stay in the Red Keep without undue unpleasantness. 

‘Lady Laena and my brother might help in this regard; they hosted them in Driftmark and Pentos up until now and have grown familiar with their comforts and habits. Perhaps I should invite my children to entertain them. The sight of the princes of the realm spending time amongst guests would surely alleviate any overbearing concerns.’

Thankfully, the sun had set, and the last of the supplicants had left the tower. With a spryness unassuming for his aging body, Viserys hopped from his chair and headed to the library, his Kingsguard steadfast before him. They reached the library in due time, and Viserys allowed himself to bask in the sight of the royal library. Shelves towered like pillars over him, filled with tomes collected from every corner of the known world, meticulously cared for and sorted by the Grand Maester and trusted castle servants. Here was his sanctuary, away from the court’s scheming and plotting, where he would bathe in the glories and secrets of old Valyria, the last remnants of his ancestral homeland.

‘And now, more will come.’ He trailed a finger over the spines and sighed. “If only my children shared my enthusiasm. Daemon, for all his faults, holds a passion for the old world surpassing my own. And now he brings in tow these heralds of change…the gods’ sense of humor is mysterious indeed.”

KNOCK-KNOCK

“The Lady Laena Velaryon and her wards await you, Your Grace.”

He immediately perked up at the Kingsguard’s words. “Send them in!”

The doors opened and Laena entered, with the two objects of mass gossip and curiosity at her side. 

“Lady Laena, Master Albaz, Lady Ecclesia,” he greeted, arms spread wide. “Welcome to my library. I’ve been greatly expecting you.”

Laena curtseyed while the two youths dipped their heads and waists. Uncensored at the blatant disregard for propriety, Viserys ushered them into the room and the doors closed behind them with a resounding thud. 

“Have you properly settled into your rooms?” asked Viserys. 

“Y-yes, they’re very nice, thank you,” Ecclesia replied. Laena lightly nudged her and she quickly added. “Your Grace.”

“Ah! Good to hear. Where did they place you?”

“Near the far side, our room looks over north of the bay.”

“Hm, I cannot say I’ve been there myself, but the Red Keep is full of rooms. I do not think anyone has visited them all, save Maegor’s builders,” he chuckled, then paused. “I must have misheard you, but do you not mean ‘rooms’? I understand the Common Tongue is rather new to you, so -”

“No,” the girl shook her head and held her companion’s hand, who was startled from his wonderment at the library. “It wasn’t a mistake, I meant room, as in one room.”

Viserys’s eyebrows rose and he turned to Laena. “Truly?”

The Velaryon lady smiled and curtsied again. “They were most insistent on it, your grace. It was like this at High Tide as well. Lady Ecclesia claims she sleeps better with Master Albaz at her side, and he at hers.”

‘Well, Alicent will be most scandalized at this!’ He thought, but he smiled at them. “If that is what you prefer, then I shan’t interfere. I must ask you to refrain from spreading this, however, as most of the court will see it as improper.”

“We don’t care,” Ecclesia replied. “Back home…they thought so too, but Albaz is my best friend. I trust him, and he stays with me.”

Ah, to the crux of the matter. “I was hoping to address that.” He walked over to a plush armchair and sat himself down, steepling his fingers. “Lord Corlys, his wife and my brother have told me their accounts of your lands. I am most curious and I would rather hear it straight from the horse’s mouth than a convoy of gaggling merchants, if you’ll pardon the expression.”

The youths glanced at each other, and Lady Laena’s posture grew alert. No doubt she was as eager as he to listen.

“What do you want to know?”

“To start, Lord Corlys said that your nation, Dogmatika, is ruled by a high priest, correct?”

She nodded, though her expression tightened. “Yes, His…Holiness Maximus is the high priest, leader of our faith and our nation. Everyone answers to him and the soldiers pledge loyalty to the faith and to him.”

“Soldiers? Akin to the Warrior’s Sons, but given legitimacy and authority…” he mumbled, then cleared his throat. “And the nobility are all adherent to the high priest and the faith as well?”

“Mm-Hmm. We don’t have a lot of noble families like I’ve seen here, but all of them contribute to the church in some way. Weapons and gear for soldiers, supplies, builders; if it helps the church, then it’s a follower’s duty to contribute. I’ve met younger children of nobles who were given to the faith to serve as scholars or soldiers.”

Viserys chuckled, as did Laena. “Heirs and spares? It seems certain matters remain the same, even across seas and mountains. Do you have an order akin to maesters, or is that integrated into the faith as well?”

“There are different…branches to the faith,” Ecclesia said, scratching her chin. “There are the gnosis, who are like your maesters. They’re the scholars and teachers, and they record everything the church needs to know about the regular - sorry, natural world. They help with administration and manage the normal affairs of the church.” She began ticking off the fingers of her hand. “The evlogiménos are regular priests. Every day, they pray, study and help out the other branches. The high-ranking ones lead ceremonies and preach at churches outside the Great Cathedral. Most people who join the church start there.”

“I presume the soldiers are next?” he asked.

The tightness in her face loosened as she resumed speaking. “The atsáli. In our language, it means ‘steel’. It’s the name given to every soldier and warrior in the holy host. It doesn’t matter if you use a sword or cast spells, once you put on the armor, you are atsáli.”

“A revered rank, I presume?” It would make sense for a martial culture to produce a warrior of Ecclesia’s strength. But even houses that claimed centuries of battle and knighthood never possessed her prowess!

“Re…revered?” She tilted her head, her striking blue eyes blinking. “Um, sorry, what is the word?”

“Honored. Respected,” Laena chimed in, eliciting an ‘ah’ of understanding from the girl.

“Yes. Honored. To show faith through combat…there is no higher honor.” A wistful smile graced her face. “All holy maidens and saints are trained as atsáli first. My sister trained me as one and she was the greatest atsáli in generations.”

“Fascinating,” he whispered, eagerness seeping into his tone. “And you say your…spellcasters undergo the same training?”

“A spell is only as strong as the hand that casts it,” she recited. “My teachers said it all the time. If your body is weak, then so is your magic.” 

Humming, Viserys leaned back as he contemplated her words. A martial culture centered around religion, the Warrior’s Sons applied at a scale unheard of in the history of the Seven Kingdoms. The fact that the nobility regularly acquiesced to the demands of their faith with little complaint or pushback spoke volumes about the faith’s reach into the everyday facets of the Dogmatikans’ lives. The houses of the Kingdoms respected the Faith of the Seven - except for the North, which was a given - and some regions were more devout than others. For example, the Reach was more devout than the Westerlands, where gold sang louder than sermons, and even within the Reach, there were differences. A noble from Oldtown would never ignore a favor from the Faith compared to House Footly. Yet from her words, no such division existed within the Dogmatikans. It was baffling, pure and simple.

And magic - not only was it openly practiced, but incorporated into their structure, even into their soldiers! Not the vague mutterings of red priests or the tricks of fire-swallowers, but a much greater power! The Faith would never condone such practices, no matter how useful or benign they would prove. For the high priests to allow widespread usage of arcane powers within their halls meant they ruled with utter surety, never doubting their rule would fall. After all, if magic was used in the service of their faith, why would the leaders of said faith need to fear it?

“These high priests must feel secure in their rule, to hold no fear of magic. How many have ruled Dogmatika?”

“Um…one.”

“Well, yes, I know one rules now, but how many came before him?”

Ecclesia tilted her head in puzzlement. “No one. It was just him.”

Was this another miscommunication? “Lady Laena, perhaps they have not understood those words yet?”

However, Laena appeared just as confused. “No, Your Grace. They understood your words clearly.”

“Hmm…so Dogmatika is a new kingdom then? Or has the priesthood recently wrested control from the nobility?” The latter seemed the more likely answer, yet it presented a worrying picture; if word spread to the wrong ears, it could renew old sentiments among the Faith.

Yet the girl’s confusion remained. “No, our high priest Maximus has led Dogmatika since he blessed the first saint with power. That was…a very long time ago,” she placed a hand on her breast. “I am the six-hundred-and-sixty-fifth saint.”

The king’s eyes widened, her words fully sinking in as his breath felt snatched away. Six hundred and sixty-fifth…

“L-Lady Eccelsia, let me ensure I understand you correctly,” he said, gripping his chair’s armrests. “How long do saints like yourself…live?”

“Mm, a bit longer than most people. Some die in combat, some don’t.”

“And how often does a new saint get chosen?”

She hesitated and counted off her fingers. The boy Albaz looked as curious as ever, following her every movement. 

“There are three saints alive at any given time; usually, there aren’t more than that. I was trained to become a saint since I was born, and Fleur was fifteen at the time. The one before her was old when she was chosen, so…” She paused, then shrugged. “Not less than ten years.”

“B-but that would mean-” Viserys couldn’t finish. The notion was too incredible.

“Hundreds of years…more than a thousand,” Laena whispered, her copper skin paling as she glanced at the young pair with astonishment.

Hundreds of years. A priest-king with a rule of hundreds of years. 

An immortal priest-king.

There could be no other explanation.

“By the Seven…” he whispered. Even the Dragonlords, some of whom possessed the gift of longevity, never reached such lifespans. “How?”

Ecclesia bit her lip, looking askance, and Albaz’s stare grew worried. “I don’t know…it’s always been like that.”

A brief glance at Laena confirmed she shared his disbelief. Had they not mentioned their ruler’s immortality before? Or did Lady Ecclesia see it as not worth mentioning, a triviality that was so commonplace in their land that it sounded peculiar to ask? 

‘After all, why should magic, rebellion and sedition concern you when nothing can risk your life?’ 

“...every talk with you is a revelation, Lady Ecclesia,” he whispered. His regal composure was waylaid and discarded, and a distant part of Viserys noted how much he was acting like an excited child. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to care; there were no courtiers to whisper, his Kingsguard were leal and true and would never repeat what they had overheard, and Lady Laena had proven to share those same qualities. Decorum would return, as was its duty, but within these halls filled with knowledge, it would rest at the door.

The next couple of hours passed by them in a blur. The exchange of knowledge had grown into a mutual affair. Chairs were brought in for the guests, and torches were rekindled. The questions did not come to Viserys as easily as he’d thought, but he mustered his nerve and pressed on. Lady Ecclesia was a font of knowledge regarding her homeland; she spoke of ancient battles filled with danger and heroism, of saints who called upon the elements to lay waste to entire countries, of miracles and acts of magic that no living soul in Westeros could comprehend. Fondness entered her voice as she recounted days of training under her sister, practicing and learning from the wisdom of their predecessors. Despite her exile, it was clear she cared deeply for her homeland. Laena placed a comforting hand on her shoulder when her voice dipped, and Viserys’s heart softened when dew reflected in her eyes. The Targaryens were exiles of a different nature, a fate wrought upon them by the gods rather than men. All of his blood family felt a longing for their ancestral home, for the legacy and power their kin once held.

The boy Albaz proved the opposite of his companion, much to his upset. Quiet and reserved, he spoke little, content to let Ecclesia be his voice. What little answers he did give were vague and opaque. He knew very little of his powers and how he could accomplish his feats. When Laena gently coaxed him and Ecclesia placed a hand on his back, he shook his head and wrinkled his brow.

“How do you…breathe? I can’t explain it. I know it sounds strange, but that’s how it feels to me. Sometimes when I get angry, it happens, but other than that…” he stared at his open palm, a frown marring his youthful features. “It's like breathing. A big breath, like there’s fire in my chest and then…it happens.”

Ecclesia had little insight to share as well. “There are sorcerers and mages who could turn into animals,” she said while rubbing the boy’s hand. “But never a dragon. I only read about them in passing, so I don’t know much about them. I wasn’t suited for those types of magics.”

“When I fly with Vhagar, it often feels as though we are one being. Not merely rider and dragon, but a single pair of eyes and a single beating heart,” Laena said with a thoughtful look. “Daemon oft similarly described his bond with Caraxes. The dragonlords of old spoke much of the bond with their dragons; it is far beyond the trust you would give to a pet or a horse. Your power mayhap could be an…enhanced form of the bond. But you recall nothing of your past, yes?”

Albaz nodded, his frustration swelling despite his companion’s assuring grip. 

“I believe I could offer some help in that regard, if that is indeed the case.” Viserys gestured to the vast array of books around them. “My family has collected many Valyrian tomes over the years, scrounging every scrap and page of our ancestors’ lore. If I should find a sliver of knowledge that could pertain to your condition, I would be most happy to share it.”

A glimmer of hope shone in Albaz’s widened eyes. “You’d do that?”

“It would be a pleasure, my boy. ‘Tis not every day a man has the chance to delve into such mysteries; even a Targaryen king would be hard-pressed to recall an exchange such as this!”

He smiled and, in a rather clumsy manner, bowed from his neck. “Thanks, uh…Your Grace.”

Suppertime came, and Viserys had prepared in advance. Plates filled with roast chicken, stuffed peppers, and fresh white bread rolls with cheese were delivered and enjoyed with vigor. It was truly baffling to see a petite girl like Ecclesia scarf down an entire loaf’s worth. Moreso, she sliced the breadrolls in half and stuffed them with pieces of the roast chicken. Intrigued by the curious act, he’d asked the purpose of the action. She replied that it was done all the time back in her land, though usually it would include sliced vegetables and a white sauce as well, made from fermented goat’s milk.

“I don’t know if there’s such a sauce in the Red Keep’s kitchens, Your Grace, but the meal looks simple enough. Bread sliced and stuffed with meat and vegetables.” Laena giggled as she sipped her wine. “I wonder why no one has done it before.”

“A new experiment for the cooks, then! I shall ask them to prepare a batch for next supper.”

Albaz and Ecclesia smiled at the prospect, though the young lady quickly wiped drool from her mouth. Her appetite was vast indeed.

The conversation continued to flow, with Viserys and Laena regaling them more about the Seven Kingdoms and its noble houses, or the various wars and affairs of note in the last few years. The two asked them questions about King’s Landing and the Red Keep, and Albaz was rather interested in the Dragonpit.

“It’s cramped in there. And you have more than a few dragons resting inside.” He nibbled on a breadroll. “Doesn’t that hurt the dragons?”

“I share your sympathies, my boy,” Viserys replied with a sigh. “Alas, dragons run wild if left idle, and could harm any smallfolk unfortunate enough to be caught in their path. I encourage my family to fly with them as often as possible, but life’s inconveniences have unpleasant ways of interfering in such plans.”

Albaz nodded, though he cast a troubled glance out the window, where the faint silhouette of the Dragonpit rose near the night’s horizon. “Okay. But I’m not sleeping there.”

“And there will be no need, you have my word.”

The hour of the wolf drew near, and when the last morsel of food vanished from its plate, Ecclesia stifled a yawn.

“Ah, the hour draws late! Goodness, how time flies!” he smiled and waved at the servants to clear the plates. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”

“Laena said she wanted to give us a tour of the castle. There are lots of places she wants us to see.” Albaz replied, wiping a crumb from his lips. 

“‘Tis true, Your Grace. I’d hoped to show them the gardens and training yard as well.”

“A sound idea, my lady. You’re all invited to lunch at the great hall as well, as my guests.” Laena’s eyes widened briefly before composing herself. After Lady Ecclesia’s display before the Iron Throne, the sight of her and her companion at the king’s table would appear strange indeed. But Viserys had a method in that madness: only the king’s family and trusted allies were allowed to dine with him. To invite them meant he was showing the court his favor, and that any action against them would be heavily discouraged. It was risky, but a far better alternative than the results of Alicent’s desperate scheming would be.

“We thank you for your generosity, Your Grace.” Laena curtsied, and with her prompting, Albaz and Ecclesia followed up with a bow. “And for this wonderful supper.”

“The first of many, I hope,” he replied with a jovial smile. “I would love to see further demonstrations of your magic as well.”

“When we’re in the training yard, we’ll ask Laena to tell you,” Ecclesia replied.

“Excellent! I bid you goodnight then, and the first of many pleasant morrows!”

As Viserys waved them goodbye, a tinge of relief filled his chest. Alicent and Harwin worried too much. They were no schemers, merely youths lost in a strange land. As king and host, it was his responsibility to help them.

Surely the rest of his family will come to share his views as well!