114 AC
Rhaenyra Targaryen rode into King's Landing, her silver hair wind-tangled, her crimson cloak dusty from the road. Her tour of the Seven Kingdoms—Highgarden, Casterly Rock, Riverun—had yielded no suitor to her liking, her heart unswayed by lords vying for the Iron Throne's heir. Syrax, her golden dragon, soared above, her roars echoing Rhaenyra's defiance. At the Red Keep, King Viserys I Targaryen awaited in the throne room, his Valyrian steel crown heavy, his face etched with frustration. Queen Alicent Hightower stood beside him, her green gown elegant, her expression soft but wary. The small council—Ser Otto Hightower, Grand Maester Runciter, Lord Lyman Beesbury, Lord Lyonel Strong, Lord Corlys Velaryon, and Ser Ryam Redwyne—flanked the throne, their eyes on Rhaenyra.
Viserys's voice was stern, his disappointment raw. "Rhaenyra, you've toured the realm, met every eligible lord, and yet you return alone? The Iron Throne demands a consort, a union to strengthen House Targaryen. Why have you spurned them all?"
Rhaenyra lifted her chin, her voice steady but edged. "Father, I met lords aplenty, but none stirred my heart. I'm your heir, not a mare to be bred for alliances. I'll marry when I find a man worthy, not before."
Viserys's face reddened, his voice rising. "Worthy? You're seventeen, Rhaenyra, and the realm expects heirs! Your whims risk our dynasty. Did you consider the realm's needs?"
Alicent stepped forward, her voice gentle, her hand on Viserys's arm. "Your Grace, Rhaenyra's young, her heart fierce. Perhaps time will guide her choice. She's loyal to House Targaryen."
Rhaenyra's eyes met Alicent's, their friendship mended over years, though scars remained. Her voice softened. "Thank you, Alicent. Father, I'll serve the realm, but I won't chain myself to a man I can't respect. Give me time."
Otto Hightower's voice was smooth, his green doublet pristine. "Princess, time breeds instability. Suitors scorned may turn to rivals. A swift marriage secures the crown."
Corlys's voice countered, his sea-green robes shimmering. "Let the princess choose, Ser Otto. Her dragon's fire guards the throne. Laenor's fond of her—perhaps a Velaryon match, in time."
Viserys sighed, his voice weary. "Enough. Rhaenyra, you have a year to choose, or I'll name your consort. Go, rest—we'll speak later."
Rhaenyra curtsied, her voice tight. "As you command, Father." She glanced at Alicent, a nod of gratitude, then strode out, her heart heavy but unbowed.
---
That night, Rhaenyra clasped her sapphire necklace, whispering "Sanctuary," apparating to Edinburgh Castle on Bloodstone. The great hall was quiet, its candelabras dim, the air warm with summer's breath. She sought Aemma's chamber, hoping to unburden her frustrations, but found it empty, the bed untouched. Puzzled, she wandered the stone corridors, her crimson gown swishing, her thoughts on her father's ultimatum and Alicent's quiet support.
Reaching Dominic's solar, she raised a hand to knock, but froze at a sound—soft moans drifting through the door. Her breath caught, curiosity warring with propriety. Against her better judgment, she pressed her ear to the wood, her cheeks warming as she heard two distinct female voices—Daenerys's melodic cadence and Missandei's deeper timbre—mingled with Domonic's low murmurs. The sounds were intimate, rhythmic, stirring a heat in Rhaenyra's chest, her body tingling with a mix of embarrassment and fascination.
She lingered, entranced, until the moans quieted, replaced by soft laughter. Realizing her indiscretion, Rhaenyra's face burned, her heart racing. She stumbled back, whispering "Dragon's Rest," apparating to her Red Keep chambers. Collapsing onto her bed, she buried her face in her hands, her blush fierce, her mind reeling with what she'd overheard, her body still warm with unbidden thoughts.
---
In Dominic's room, the air was heavy with contentment. Domonic lay between Daenerys and Missandei, their bodies tangled in silk sheets, the room lit by a single candle. They had already sensed Rhaenyra's presence outside, her Haki signature unmistakable, but they'd chosen to continue, their passion unbroken. Now, resting, Daenerys propped herself on an elbow, her silver hair loose, her voice teasing. "Dom, you knew Rhaenyra was listening, didn't you? You didn't pause for a moment. Are you… interested in her?"
Domonic chuckled, his voice relaxed, his hand tracing Missandei's arm. "Interested? She's a dragon, fierce and beautiful—I'd be blind not to notice. But marry her? No. The lords of Westeros would riot if their future queen became a third wife to a foreign king. They barely tolerate our Stepstones crown."
Missandei smirked, her dark eyes glinting, her voice playful. "You said you can't *marry* her, love, but you didn't mention anything about bedding her. There's a difference, you know."
Domonic laughed, his voice warm but puzzled. "What does marriage have to do with sex?"
Daenerys shook her head, her voice amused. "So she will share our bed but will not be married to you, but she has to take initiative if she wants you."
Missandei's voice was soft, her fingers trailing down Daenerys's shoulder. "She's young, Dany, tasting desires she doesn't understand. We've seen it in Paradis—girls drawn to power, to freedom. Rhaenyra's caged by her crown, but she's no stranger to fire."
Domonic's voice grew serious, his hand stilling. "If she seeks us, it's her choice, but I won't chase. We've got enough flames to tend—Stepstones, Paradis, Uruk."
Daenerys's smile was sly, her voice teasing. "Fair enough, my king. But if she knocks again, don't be surprised if Missy and I invite her in."
Missandei laughed, her voice rich, pulling Daenerys closer. "Let's see if she's bold enough. For now, I'm not done with you two."
Dominic grinned, his voice low. "Greedy queens." Their laughter mingled as they resumed their intimacy, the candle flickering, Edinburgh Castle a sanctuary of their unconventional love.
---
#### Bloodstone: A Growing Family
Over the past nine years, the Stepstones had transformed. Bloodstone's ports teemed with merchants, its tariffs enriching House Velaryon and Domonic's coffers. Corlys's smallfolk had settled the islands, building towns under Edinburgh Castle's protection. In Essos, Missandei's Paradis stretched from Astapor to Braavos, its blue-and-white wings banner a symbol of liberation. Her Mori Mori no Mi had turned deserts green, her rule uniting former slaves and Free Cities under a vision of justice.
Domonic, Daenerys, and Missandei balanced their realms with Uruk, their interdimensional home. After half a year in Westeros, they brought their children—two sons and one daughter, letting time flow naturally in both worlds. Uruk, managed by Domonic's trusted lieutenants, thrived as a hub of multiversal trade. The children, raised with Visenya, adored Aemma's stories and Rhaenyra's dragon tales, their laughter filling Edinburgh's halls. Rhaenyra, now a sisterly figure, taught them High Valyrian, her bond with them deepening her loyalty to the Stepstones' royals.
---
The North, under House Stark, had profited most from the shifting world. Trade with Paradis, Missandei's kingdom, had transformed Winterfell's fortunes. Paradis's goods—spices, silks, and steel forged with magical precision—were cheap yet unmatched in quality, flooding northern markets. In exchange, the North sent timber, furs, wool, and iron, their longships laden with wealth. White Harbor's docks swelled with Paradis's blue-and-white wings banners, its merchants hailing the Mother of Nature.
Lord Rickon Stark and Missandei forged a personal bond, exchanging gifts—furs and direwolf pelts from Winterfell, emerald tapestries and coral carvings from Paradis. Rickon visited Paradis's green capital, marveling at forests risen from sand, while Missandei and Dominic journeyed to Winterfell, welcomed with feasts of roasted aurochs and mead.
This alliance strengthened both realms. Paradis gained a steady supply of northern resources, while the North's wealth rivaled the Vale's, its isolation breached by Essosi trade. Rhaenyra, during her tour, noted Winterfell's prosperity. The Starks' loyalty to Paradis subtly shifted Westeros's balance, a northern anchor for Missandei's vision.
---
Westeros enjoyed peace, though undercurrents stirred. Daemon Targaryen, freed from exile, led the gold cloaks with ruthless efficiency, his eyes on Rhaenyra's suitors, his ambitions unchecked. Viserys's marriage to Alicent had borne three children—Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond—yet Rhaenyra remained heir, her position secure but contested by Otto's whispers. Alicent and Rhaenyra, reconciled, navigated the court as allies, their friendship a fragile bridge over Otto's schemes.