### The Shifting Sands of Power
105 AC - Stepstones - Third Person POV
Rhaenyra apparated into Edinburgh Castle's great hall, the familiar glow of candelabras and Yi Ti silks welcoming her. She wore a black gown, her violet eyes stormy, her silver hair loose. Aemma Arryn sat by the hearth, Visenya cooing in her cradle, her blue robe soft in the firelight. Seeing Rhaenyra's expression, Aemma rose, her voice concerned. "Rhaenyra, what's wrong? You look ready to summon Syrax and burn the Red Keep."
Rhaenyra's voice was sharp, her hands clenched. "Father's marrying Alicent Hightower, Mother! My best friend, my lady-in-waiting—she's to be queen! I trusted her, shared secrets with her, and now she's betrayed me, slithering into Father's bed like some scheming courtesan!"
Aemma sighed, her voice heavy, as if she'd foreseen this. "Oh, sweetling, I feared this might come. Sit, let's talk." She guided Rhaenyra to a cushioned chair, her touch gentle. "Your father is a fool, Rhaenyra, swayed by grief and flattery. Otto Hightower is a poisonous snake, always watching, always plotting. He saw an opportunity—Viserys widowed, vulnerable—and sent his daughter to the king's chambers. Alicent, dutiful as she is, did as her father bid."
Rhaenyra's eyes blazed, her voice rising. "Dutiful? She was my friend, Mother! We laughed together, braided each other's hair, whispered about knights and songs. She could've told me, resisted Otto's schemes! I could've helped her, protected her!"
Aemma's smile was sad, her voice soft. "You don't know Otto as I do, Rhaenyra. He's relentless, a man who bends others to his will. Alicent likely had no choice—disobeying him would've cost her dearly, perhaps her place at court, her family's favor. Believe me, he gets what he wants, one way or another."
Rhaenyra's shoulders slumped, her voice bitter. "So she's just a pawn? That doesn't make it hurt less. I see her now, smiling at Father, wearing gowns I helped her choose, and I want to scream."
Aemma took her hand, her voice soothing. "I know, my dragon. Your anger's justified, but don't let it consume you. Women in this realm are often bound by men's ambitions—do as they're told, bear the consequences. I was such a pawn, wed to Viserys to bind Arryn and Targaryen, pressed to produce a male heir until it nearly killed me."
Rhaenyra's eyes softened, her voice quieter. "You suffered for Father's dreams… and now Alicent will too?"
Aemma nodded, her voice firm. "She'll be the next victim in this game of thrones, Rhaenyra. Otto's ambition will weigh on her, as Viserys's need for a son weighed on me. Don't hate her—she's trapped, as I was. Save your fury for those who pull the strings."
Rhaenyra exhaled, her anger ebbing, her voice subdued. "I'll try, Mother. It's hard, but I'll try not to blame her."
Aemma smiled, her voice warm. "That's my strong girl. You're heir now—use your heart and your head. Keep Alicent close, not as a friend, but as an ally. Watch Otto through her."
Rhaenyra nodded, her voice resolute. "I will. I won't let him outmaneuver me."
They talked on, Aemma sharing tales of Visenya's new giggles, Rhaenyra recounting court gossip—Daemon's exile to the Vale, Corlys's growing fleet. As dawn neared, Rhaenyra clasped her ruby necklace, her voice soft. "I should go, Mother."
Aemma hugged her, her voice tender. "Come tomorrow, my dragon. We're here."
Rhaenyra whispered "Dragon's Rest," apparating to her Red Keep chambers, her resolve hardened, her anger tempered by her mother's wisdom.
---
A week later, the Great Sept of Baelor, still unfinished, hosted the wedding of King Viserys I Targaryen and Lady Alicent Hightower. The ceremony was lavish, with lords from across the realm in attendance. Alicent, in a green gown embroidered with gold, her auburn hair veiled, stood radiant yet nervous, her eyes avoiding Rhaenyra's. Viserys, his silver hair crowned, beamed, his grief for Aemma softened by new love. Rhaenyra, in a crimson gown, stood as heir, her expression serene, her heart a tangle of betrayal and pity.
The High Septon bound their hands, his voice intoning, "May the Seven bless this union with peace and heirs." The crowd cheered, though Rhaenyra's applause was measured. At the feast, she sat beside Alicent, her voice polite. "You look beautiful, Lady Alicent—my queen."
Alicent's smile was strained, her voice soft. "Thank you, Princess. I… value your kindness."
Rhaenyra nodded, her voice cool. "As I value yours, Your Grace." The words hung heavy, their friendship fractured but not forgotten.
---
Seven days after the wedding, the small council convened in the Red Keep's chamber, its oak table etched with Westeros's map bathed in morning light. Viserys presided, his crown glinting. Rhaenyra stood at the side, her violet gown understated, her eyes attentive. The councilors—Ser Otto Hightower, Grand Maester Runciter, Lord Lyman Beesbury, Lord Lyonel Strong, Lord Corlys Velaryon, and Ser Ryam Redwyne—settled, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern.
Viserys opened, his voice warm. "My lords, we gather to discuss matters of the realm. Lord Corlys, your ravens from Essos bring news. Speak of Slaver's Bay."
Corlys leaned forward, his sea-green robes shimmering, his voice resonant. "Your Grace, Slaver's Bay has fallen—not to war, but rebellion. Astapor, Yunkai, Meereen—their slavers are overthrown, their chains broken. A new kingdom rises, called Paradis, under a self-proclaimed queen. Their banner bears blue and white wings on green, named 'wings of liberation.' They call her the Mother of Nature, claiming trees bend to her call, forests spring where sands lay."
The chamber stirred, Rhaenyra's gaze sharpening, her silence intent. Otto Hightower's voice was skeptical, his green doublet pristine. "A queen in Slaver's Bay? Lord Velaryon, these cities thrive on slavery—rebellions flare, then fade. This 'Mother of Nature' sounds like a mummer's tale. Will they not return to their chains in a year?"
Corlys's eyes narrowed, his voice firm. "Not this time, Ser Otto. My spies in Meereen report unity, not chaos. This queen's power is… unnatural. Sailors speak of vines strangling slavers, roots tearing pyramids. Her followers worship her, not fear her."
Runciter's chain clinked, his voice cautious. "Unnatural, you say? The Citadel warns of such claims—sorcery, perhaps, like Valyria's doom. This queen may dazzle now, but Slaver's Bay's greed will reclaim them. Mark my words, they'll sell their own by winter."
Lyonel Strong's voice was steady, his broad frame calm. "Sorcery or not, Lord Corlys, a new kingdom shifts trade. Slaver's Bay's wealth—spices, silks, slaves—fed Essos. If this Paradis bans slavery, Lys and Volantis will suffer. Should we care?"
Corlys's voice was sharp. "We should, Lord Strong. My ships trade with Meereen—less slavery means new markets, but instability risks our routes. This queen's strength could challenge the Triarchy, our foes. We must watch her."
Beesbury fidgeted, his voice quavering. "Watch, yes, but at what cost? Sending ships to Essos drains the treasury—gold for spies, gold for scouts. Can we afford it with the Stepstones trade just begun?"
Ser Ryam Redwyne's voice was gruff, his white cloak stark. "A queen with magic trees? Sounds like a bard's song. But if she threatens trade, we arm our fleets. Dragons deter any queen, Mother of Nature or not."
Viserys's eyes gleamed, his voice intrigued. "A queen who commands nature? It's as wondrous as King Domonic's gryphon of light. What manner of woman is she, Lord Corlys? Young, old, noble, common?"
Corlys's voice was thoughtful. "Young, my spies say, with dark skin and eyes like stars. Her name's unknown, but her followers call her 'Mhysa'. She's no slaver's daughter—perhaps a freedwoman, risen to godhood in their eyes."
Rhaenyra's fingers traced her necklace, her silence masking her racing thoughts. Viserys leaned forward, his voice eager. "A Queen shaping forests in deserts. Should we send an envoy, offer friendship? A realm of liberation could ally with us, as the Stepstones have."
Otto's voice was sharp, his tone wary. "Your Grace, caution. Slaver's Bay is a viper's nest—rebellions die swiftly. This queen may fall before our raven reaches her. Wait, observe, lest we waste gold on a fading star."
Corlys's voice countered, his tone firm. "Waiting risks losing her, Ser Otto. If Paradis endures, we gain a partner against Lys and Myr. A letter costs little, gains much."
Viserys nodded, his voice decisive. "Lord Corlys speaks wisely. We'll watch Paradis, send no envoy yet, but prepare a letter. Ser Otto, draft it—neutral, probing. Dismissed."
The councilors rose, Rhaenyra curtsying to Viserys, her voice soft. "Father, may I retire?"
Viserys's smile was warm. "Of course, Rhaenyra."
---
That night, Rhaenyra apparated to Edinburgh Castle, her sapphire necklace glowing as she whispered "Sanctuary." The great hall was lively, Domonic and Daenerys lounging by the hearth, Aemma rocking Visenya. Rhaenyra's crimson gown swished as she entered, her voice excited. "Mother, Dom, Dany—Slaver's Bay's fallen! A new kingdom, Paradis, under a queen called Mother of Nature. Trees answer her, they say, and her banner's wings of liberation!"
Aemma's eyes widened, her voice intrigued. "A queen in Slaver's Bay? That's bold. What did the council say?"
Domonic and Daenerys exchanged a glance, then burst into laughter, their voices echoing. Rhaenyra frowned, her voice confused. "Why are you laughing? This is serious—Father's intrigued, Otto's skeptical!"
Domonic wiped his eyes, his voice amused. "Rhaenyra, the queen you're talking about is my other wife."
Aemma and Rhaenyra froze, their jaws dropping. Rhaenyra stood, her voice incredulous. "Your *other wife*? You have *two* wives?"
Domonic tilted his head, his voice quizzical. "Yes?"
Rhaenyra blushed, sinking back into her chair, her voice flustered. "Why haven't you told me before?"
Domonic shrugged, his grin teasing. "You never asked, Princess. It's not exactly court gossip."
Aemma turned to Daenerys, her voice stunned. "Dany, you're… fine with this? Two wives?"
Daenerys's laugh was warm, her silver hair catching the firelight. "I was the second wife, Aemma. Missandei—Queen of Paradis now—was Dom's first. We're close, Missy and I, like sisters. It works for us, strange as it sounds."
Rhaenyra's eyes darted between them, her expression a mix of shock and curiosity, her cheeks pink. "Missandei… the Mother of Nature? Your *wife*? How—when—"
Domonic's voice was calm, his hand on Ace's hilt. "Missandei's from Naath, a scholar and warrior. Her magic lets her command nature. She's freeing Slaver's Bay, building a kingdom of justice. We're proud of her."
Daenerys's voice was fond. "Missy's fierce, Rhaenyra. You'd like her—smart, kind, stubborn. She's why Paradis stands."
Rhaenyra shook her head, her voice soft, still blushing. "I… I don't know what to say. It's just… unexpected."
Domonic's eyes twinkled, his voice gentle. "What's that look, Princess? Something on your mind?"
Rhaenyra's blush deepened, her voice hasty. "Nothing! Nothing at all!" She stood, smoothing her gown, her voice rushed. "I should go—court tomorrow. Farewell, Mother, Dom, Dany."
Aemma hugged her, her voice warm. "Come back soon, sweetling."
Rhaenyra whispered "Dragon's Rest," apparating to her Red Keep chambers, her mind reeling. Domonic's two wives, Missandei's rebellion—it was a world beyond Westeros's games, one she was only beginning to grasp.
---
Missandei - Super Soldier Serum, Natasha Romanoff, Emma Frost, Mori Mori no mi, Tsunade Senju, Minerva McGonagall, Poison Removal, Weakness Removal, Shakuyaku.
Daenerys - Super Soldier Serum, Mera Mera no mi, Boa Hancock, Hermione Granger, poison removal, Weakness Removal, Sakura Haruno.
Dominic - Super Soldier Serum, Toph Beifong, Gellert Grindelwald, Gol D Roger, Erwin Smith, Ted Mosby, Green Arrow, Poison Removal, Weakness Removal.
He has a lot of cards but isn't using them right now