The Best Revenge

Title: The Best Revenge
Author: Saydria Wolfe
Fandom: Fire and Blood/House of the Dragon
Genre: Fix-it, AU
Relationships: Rhaenyra Targaryen/Qoren Nymeros-Martell, Daemon Targaryen/OFC, Laena Velaryon/OMC
Content Rating: PG-12
Warnings: Canon-level Violence,
Author Notes: 1.) Qoren Nymeros-Martell in my banner is played by Hrithik Roshan. We don’t have a firm birthday for Qoren but the range of years that the Wiki of Ice and Fire offers goes right across Rhaenyra’s birthday so just assume they are the same age. 2.) I am playing with characters making different decisions in the first place rather than anyone having to time travel and fix their stupid. 3.) For those not comforted by my philosophy, my working title for this was “Rhaenyra Wins Without Trying” lol
Word Count: 4,021
Summary: When the opportunity to go to Dorne arrives, Rhaenyra takes it and leaves House Hightower to suffer in the bed they made.

 

 

“The best revenge is to be unlike him who performed the injury.”
― Marcus Aurelius

 

“I have received,” Father said to the entire Small Council even as Rhaenyra joined them. “An offer from the Princess of Dorne for her heir, Prince Qoren, to wed my daughter, Princess Rhaenyra. This arrangement would be a strong step towards peace with Dorne and possible future Dornish integration into the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, I am not inclined to accept. Rhaenyra is my heir.”

“Your Grace,” Ser Otto spoke up. Because of course he did. “Dorne has presented us with an opportunity that we must deeply consider. True peace with Dorne is something Westeros has never had Even before the Conquering.”

“I would have to disinherit my heir,” Father defended her stoutly, “for her to become another ruler’s consort.”

“There are other heirs, Your Grace,” Grand Maester Mellos offered.

He was a Hightower, too, before he pretended to discard the name so Rhaenyra really could not claim surprise that he would advance Ser Otto’s aims so quickly and deftly.

“We cannot settle for anything less than Dorne’s integration into Westeros,” the Master of Laws, Lord Jasper Wylde insisted. “In exchange for Princess Rhaenyra’s losing her inheritance and her hand in marriage.”

“We cannot allow the rider of a dragon to marry out of House Targaryen!” Master of Coin, Lord Lyman Beesbury disagreed. Like the good, loyal lord he was, “Much less out of Westeros.

“Not into Dorne. Not even for Dorne!”

The Small Council argued round and round. Opportunity versus Security. Destiny to expand versus the King’s rightful heir. Through it all, Rhaenyra watched Otto. Otto watched Father, gauging his responses and whispering poison in Father’s ear. Enough was enough. She was tired of the games.

Rhaenyra stood.

The table went silent.

“Ser Otto is correct,” she said, shocking all of the Greens. That the factions not only existed but had names was proof enough of her father’s power being a façade. All he wanted was peace in his Court. He had ordered them to make peace but he would not do anything—would not handout just consequences for flouting his will—to bring peace to his court, so she would do it for him. Just like when she had been forced to cremate her mother because her father was too much of a coward to try for a second dragon. “I should go to Dorne. Lord Jasper is wrong, demanding Dorne integrate will take much more than one marriage regardless of the loss of one woman’s inheritance.

“Regardless, I will go. And you may disinherit me, but do not think to inherit me again when your fool of a grandson fails as king,” she said directly to Ser Otto. “You forced father’s hand to allow him to bond a grown, wrathful, slothful, lusty dragon at such a young age that Aegon had no discipline of his own to combat the dragon’s vices. Sunfyre has shaped him into a creature of vice. Because you ignored Rhaenys’ warnings. Because you ignored my warnings.

“If you wish to recover him at all, you must send Aegon to foster with the only Lords who’s rule of their lands has never wavered. Not even in the face of Balerion the Black Dread.”

“House Stark?” Father asked, clearly considering.

Alicent gasped, shocked and dramatic. “My son will never foster with those heathen, tree-loving savages!”

Rhaenyra nodded. It was as she expected. “As I said. Do not seek to inherit me again when the rest of my father’s children fail. I will go to Dorne.

“I will not return.

“You have won, Ser Otto,” she said as she faced the snake directly once again. “Your Grand Maester murdered my mother. You drove my uncle away from my father’s side. You have driven me away from Westeros all together. My father is alone, as you have worked for since you squired under Lord Commander Redwyne.

“I wash my hands of this. Strike your bargain. Send me to Dorne or I will send myself and you will gain nothing.”

And Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen walked out of the room with all of the dignity she could muster.

 

-*-

 

Prince Qoren was handsome and warm. Touching him was like touching a blanket left in the sun or Syrax where her scales laid flat.

“You have embraced my family and my culture,” he said softly to her as they danced at their wedding. In Dorne. “Knowing our peoples’ history as I do, I never expected this. Can you tell me what inspires you to be this way?”

She looked down and away, guilty. She had to be honest, and yet. “I hope you will not judge me too harshly, husband.”

“We are joined now,” he urged. “To judge you would be to judge myself. Speak freely with me and I will swear to do the same with you.”

She looked into his deep brown eyes and found the courage she needed to be honest. “There is a snake in my Father’s House. House Targaryen see themselves as kings, the children of conquerors but the snake is the true king of Westeros. He has been since my great grandfather, Jaehaerys’s dotage but none of them can see it.”

Prince Qoren nodded. “The Hightower Hand. House Dayne hates House Hightower. Always has. But you must hear how they speak of that Hightower in particular.”

“As if he were a plague,” she said because she had heard it. “We should marry our firstborn to a Dayne. To be sure they do not fall victim to my father’s most beloved poisons.” Otherwise known as his wife and good father.

Prince Qoren threw his head back and laughed. It was happy though, not mean.

“Do you have a plan,” he asked when his mirth had subsided. “For when the Six Kingdoms collapse?”

She rolled her eyes at him and he grinned.

His grin was amusing when she knew he had no idea how wrong he was. “My Father’s realm is already eight kingdoms. Aegon the Dragon divided them that way, even if they are not all acknowledged as such.”

“They claim seven in the name of their kingdom,” he pointed out.

“And my father has seven Kingsguard despite requiring many more to maintain any sort of security for himself.” she pointed out. “Even more are required to secure his keep and an entire other military order to maintain the security of the city that is his Seat.” She rolled her eyes. “More Hightower poison.”

“The Faith of the Seven is a Hightower poison,” her husband said, musingly. He thought for several moments before he nodded. “Mayhaps our second born should marry a Stark, wife. To boost House Martell’s immunity to the Poison of the Seven.”

She considered that. “I find no fault in your reasoning, husband. Mayhaps we should visit the North upon Syrax to open trade between our Houses and realms.

“Such could open the door for the marriage you seek.”

“I agree,” he said. Simply. Easily. As if flying the length of Westeros was a simple thing to do. “You have not told me your plan for when your father’s line fails the Eight Kingdoms. You have said you will not return that Realm. Will we take them in? Become the Nine Kingdoms of Dorne?”

“Ten Kingdoms of Dorne,” she corrected, suddenly struck by inspiration. “We should open negotiations with my Uncle Daemon to bring the Kingdom of the Step Stones and the Narrow Sea into the Dornish Empire.”

“I have a younger brother, not a younger sister,” he pointed out.

She waved the concern off.

Her uncle would never accept a match with House Martell. Not for himself and certainly not for any children he had. She loved Daemon, but that did not make her blind to his faults. Her uncle was as proud as he was vain and unforgiving of anyone other than her father and mayhaps her, depending on her crime against him. He would hold a grudge for the time House Martell supported the Crabfeeder before she could convince them to return to neutrality in the conflict.

“We have House Dayne,” she said. “My uncle has always wanted a Valyrian bride. Lady Shonna looks the part. And she is unwed.”

“The Dayne bloodline is much older than Old Valyrian,” he said gravely.

That got her attention. “Where is it from?”

“Essos,” he answered evasively. “More than that is a secret you will have to earn directly from House Dayne.”

“Well, then you will not be getting a third dance,” she sassed.

He grinned and kissed her.

She half-heartedly pushed him away. “I need to speak with the Dayne sisters.”

He kissed her again.

She did not speak with the Dayne sisters that night.

Or that week.

 

-*-

 

Daemon laughed when she slid off of Syrax’s back. Because she needed help. From her husband.

In her defense, setting foot on Bloodstone Island was not the easiest thing to do, despite being a dutiful princess to Dragonstone. The task of standing was made all the more difficult by the baby belly that left her feeling like Blood of the Whale rather than Blood of the Dragon.

Daemon stopped laughing when he got an eyeful of Lady Shonna Dayne, standing as one of her ladies. Tall and slender with silver hair and rich purple eyes. Lady Shonna looked like the epitome of a Valyrian noblewoman.

Being a direct descendant of House Dayne and Old Valyria’s common ancestor, the Amethyst Empress, did that for a woman.

 

-*-

 

Rhaenyra was the one that laughed when Rhaenys dismounted Meleyes on the outer deck courtyard of the Sandship, looking harried.

“My husband wants a kingdom,” the Queen that Never Was said bluntly.

Rhaenyra immediately stopped laughing.

“And my daughter needs a husband.”

“We can make that happen,” Rhaenyra promised. Getting the fastest dragon House Targaryen ever had, Meleys, and oldest, largest dragon currently alive, Vhagar, onside with Dorne would be worth a kingdom.

At the very least.

 

-*-

 

“My Princess,” Alicent greeted.

“I am not your anything,” Rhaenyra retorted. “Nor am I a princess.”

“My friend,” her former governess tried.

“I am not that, either.” She was old. She was tired. She missed Qoren. And Daemon. And Rhaenys.

Her son was the undisputed emperor of thirteen kingdoms across Westeros and Essos. She had grandchildren that were currently in line to rule six of those Kingdoms and children actively holding at least that many keeps and Kingdoms in their own right. “Not since you tried to steal Dragonstone from me.”

Not since Alicent had seduced her father while he was vulnerable and in mourning, in truth, but Alicent would never see anything she did as wrong. Morals did not come into these issues for her. Her father had ordered it. He was the Father as far as Alicent was concerned and that made every evil she did just and right.

Somehow.

Rhaenyra honestly could not understand it.

She allowed her eyes to drift over to Ser Criston. Her first lover, now Lord Commander Criston Cole of the Kingsguard. The Kingmaker. She wondered if bitterness did make people ugly.

It certainly seemed to with Lord Commander Cole and her dear, old nanny.

Of her father’s kingdom, only the Reach, the Riverlands, and the Crownlands still held together. The North had taken their freedom before her father had died, once it had become clear House Targaryen could only claim one dragon for their defense. They were stout allies of Dorne, set to join the Empire when her eldest grandchild inherited Winterfell.

The Iron Islands had actually been the first to leave her father’s Kingdom.

At first the Iron Islands had claimed Uncle Daemon as their king and father had let them go with his blessings, tired of their pirate nonsense and wishing Daemon the joy of them. When Daemon had refused to take responsibility for them, they had decided to join the Empire Dorne in their own right so they could keep raiding Essos at Deamon’s side.

She had been told Alicent’s fit at Viserys’s so-called surrender of the Iron Islands had lasted for days.

Then the North had killed Sunfyre and Aegon II with him. Her precious boy had been taken down by a single weirwood arrow—a method the North had apparently known but been convinced not to use during Brandon Snow’s negotiations with Aegon the Dragon. Negotiations that ended with King Torrhen Stark kneeling only to rise again as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North.

Aemond had become king then and been such a tyrant that the Vale and the West had abandoned him very quickly.

The Stormlands had lingered for a while, hoping for one of Lord Baratheon’s many daughters would become a queen but the one-eyed fool had chosen his own sister—his brother’s widow, over the good of his kingdom. Aemond, being dragonless and nearly bereft of allies, had been torn apart by a riot for his crimes against the people of King’s Landing. The last of Aegon’s Kingsguard had let it happen and had taken themselves to the Wall before the Red Keep had been any the wiser.

“Rhaenyra!” Alicent slapped the table between them.

Her youngest son and his Spears stepped forward. “You will speak to the Dowager Empress with respect, Andal.” Aethan growled, truly showing his Northern fostering. “You will use her title and address her as her radiance or you will not speak to her at all.”

“Nothing to say about your attempted theft of Dragonstone?” Rhaenyra asked.

Alicent sent her a hateful look that Rhaenyra knew well. A look that said Alicent had been speaking the entire time her mind had been wondering. It might be unbecoming of her, but ignoring Alicent had been a pleasure of hers long missed.

It was probably the only thing she had ever had in common with Ser Otto.

“My children needed dragons, Dowager Empress.” She said it like it was an insult. “You have always been so selfish. How dare you keep my son’s birthright from him!”

It was not as though she had prevented the taking of Dragonstone on purpose. Laena had been patrolling her father’s Kingdom of the Narrow Sea, of which Dragonstone was a part. Vhagar had seen Prince Daeron’s raiding boat pushing off the shore with dragon eggs that could have only come from Dragonstone’s hatcheries and extracted justice for her kin. No one stopped Vhagar from extracting justice because no one could.

Not that Rhaenyra would ever explain that to Alicent.

“Oh, I am so selfish, keeping the dowry my father gave to me explicitly in writing as part of my wedding contract with Dorne. So incredibly selfish.” Rhaenyra rolled her eyes and sat further back in her chair.

She had never rolled her eyes in Westeros. Her mother had considered it uncouth. In Dorne, it was mostly just considered hilarious.

An acceptable way to express exasperation without throwing a fist.

“Why is it selfish for a woman to keep that which is given to her, but not for a man to take something his royal father had decided he had no right to?” She did not wait for the answer. Alicent would never see the double standard for what it was and she was tired of trying.

“What did the North say when you demanded King Aegon II’s body back?” She asked because King Cregan had been deliciously vague.

So deliciously vague, she had resolved to seek details elsewhere.

Alicent’s brother, Ser Gwayne, cleared his throat. “The King of Winter told us to get fucked, Your Radiance.”

Rhaenyra laughed, surprised. “Did he really?”

“I was a member of the negotiating party, Your Radiance,” he assured her. “His exact words when his party met us were ‘Get out my kingdom and get fucked.” We had just left the causeway of Moat Cailin for the Northern Kingsroad.”

She looked deliberately, significantly between Cole and Alicent. “Well, at least two of you are living by royal instructions.” The servants had had quite a lot to say about what those two did behind closed doors during the three days Rhaenyra had made them wait to see her.

Ser Gwayne looked confused.

The poor sod.

Alicent looked ashamed for a brief second before she rallied.

Cole did not bother to pretend he felt shame for breaking his vows. He had certainly never felt shame for it before, so at least one of them was being honest.

“What do you want, Alicent?”

“You get your title and I do not?” Alicent demanded.

“Beggars do not make demands in Dorne,” Aethan’s older twin, Aelyx said impatiently. Aelyx was the future Lord of Dragonstone and usually the most laidback of her all children. For him to lose patience so quickly, Alicent must have been in top form while she had not been listening.

Alicent took a deep breath.

It was the kind of noise that she had cultivated to tell Rhaenyra that she was being unreasonable and Alicent was being very kind. She had a list of such sounds. Each was a manipulation tactic. Always had been, but now Rhaenyra saw it for what it was.

Rhaenyra laughed.

Alicent flushed with fury. “We used to be friends, Rhaenyra. Do you not remember? Do you not miss it? The husband that held you here is long dead. Nothing is binding you to Dorne now. Come home.”

Home. Was that what Westeros King’s Landing was? Home?

“Will you tell me of my father’s death?” she asked in return. “Was it you that poisoned him? Or was it your Grand Maester that made his last ten years a wasting misery? What of his funeral? Will you tell me at least how beautiful Sunfyre looked burning my father to ashes?”

Alicent paled but rallied quickly. “Come home.

“You are Rhaenyra of House Targaryen. You belong in the Seven Kingdoms. Be Queen. Sit your father’s throne.

“House Hightower will support you; my cousin has sworn it.”

That was what this was, then. Not that Rhaenyra was surprised. “You want my dragon. You know that she and I are the only way you and your useless daughter will keep your lives,” Rhaenyra laid her former friend’s card out on the table for her. Since she did not seem to realize that now was the time to be complete, utterly honest.

Alicent started to shake. There was no denying the danger she and Helaena were in. The Empire of Dorne had them surrounded on every side. The Narrow Sea, all of the Seven Kingdoms former trading partners, and most of their former vassals belonged to Dorne now. Her oldest son, Emperor Qaen, had received an inquiry from the Reach regarding their entry into the Empire.

Rhaenyra slid her hands across the table, a silent promise of comfort.

Alicent took the offer immediately. With bloody fingers. Rhaenyra shook her head; Alicent never knew when to stop picking.

“What does your father have to say about you coming here?”

“My father did not long survive yours,” Alicent admitted slowly. “Your— Your Radiance.”

“You cannot mean to say he died of a broken heart,” Rhaenyra said, appalled. She had always wondered if her father had been in love with Ser Otto and that was why he had listened to him so religiously. Father had certainly spent more time with and given more regard to Ser Otto than even his supposed-One True Love, Aemma Arryn. Her Mother.

But. Rhaenyra had not ever thought Ser Otto might return Viserys’s regard.

Engineered it, certainly.

Returned it, never.

“No,” Alicent denied. Then said nothing.

Rhaenyra turned to Ser Gwayne and raised a silent, demanding eyebrow.

“Ser Steffon Darklyn of the Kingsguard challenged Ser Otto to trial by combat,” Ser Gwayne explained. “Ser Steffon felt Ser Otto was responsible for King Viserys’s death, which was treason. His specific suspicion was poison.”

“And Ser Steffon won?” Rhaenyra asked rather than making the logical assumption.

Ser Gwayne nodded.

“What happened to Ser Steffon?” Because Rhaenyra knew he was dead. His ravens had stopped. In fact, his last one had been to unofficially advise her of the death of her father.

It had been the only such notice she had received.

“King Aegon II had Ser Steffon remanded to the black cells for treason. Specifically, for murdering the Hand of the King in conspiracy with Dorne.”

Rhaenyra could scarcely understand— The stupidity was mind blowing. “Ser Steffon of House Darklyn. Stout supporters of House Targaryen and the Iron Throne. The blood of our blood, no matter how distant. That Ser Steffon won a trial by combat—a rite from time immemorial. A rite sacred to all of Westeros from the Wall to the Arbor, from Sunspear to Casterly Rock. A trial by combat proved that Ser Otto was guilty in the eyes of the Gods of murdering his king, your husband, and you let your son arrest him for it?” she demanded from her former friend. “Did that fool murder Ser Steffon, too?”

“Aemond did it,” Alicent admitted softly.

“Fucking shells, Ali.” Rhaenyra had to close her eyes. She could not look at this level of stupid.

She took a deep breath and let it out. “House Hightower is not welcome in Dorne and never will be. I cannot keep you or your daughter here unless you foreswear the name Hightower.”

Alicent sucked in a wounded breath.

Rhaenyra glared at her before she could launch a new volley of manipulation. “Consequences. They were always going to catch up with you. And with your House.

“All of the Maesters of the Citadel must give themselves over to the Collegium of Moat Cailin under the aegis of House Reed. The Riverlands northern border down to Raventree Hall must renounce their allegiance to House Tully and the Iron Throne and swear themselves to the Collegium. The office of High Septon must be abolished. The men of House Hightower must go to the Wall or be executed. The women must foreswear all things House Hightower and take the name Flowers. Though they may join the Faith of the Seven as Silent Sisters, if they wish.

“The lords of the Eastern coast of the Riverlands and Crownlands must swear themselves to King Corlys and the Kingdom of the Narrow Sea. All other lords of the Crownlands and the Riverlands will be divided between the Stormlands, the Vale, and the West. If House Tully refuses to submit to House Nymeros-Martell, they will be destroyed.

“There will be no mercy.

“There will be no compromise.”

Alicent stared at her in shock. “What are you telling me?”

Just when she thought her step-mother could not get any stupider. “I am giving you the Empire of Dorne’s terms for surrender of the Three Kingdoms.”

Alicent pulled her hands back and crossed her arms to hide them. “What about me and Helaena?”

Rhaenyra supposed that was fair, though surprising. She could not imagine holding concern for her children—for herself—above concern for the people she had ultimate power over. “If you take the surname Flowers and take a vow of silence, I will acknowledge Helaena Targaryen as my sister and arrange a suitable marriage for her. Further, I will allow you, as Alicent Flowers, to spend the rest of your life in silence as her lady maid.”

“A vow of silence?” Alicent asked in shock.

“Arranging a royal marriage for a woman twice married with no children to show for it will be a tricky thing,” Rhaenyra pointed out. Even though she had a candidate already prepared. Laena and Qyle’s firstborn—also twice married, also childless—was too magical for his own good. A wife of Andal blood would ground him in this reality and, Gods Willing, save the sanity of the future King of the Narrow Sea. “That she is and always will be a daughter of a hated enemy, House Hightower, no matter that we agree to never speak of that again will further complicate my task.

“Promising to never open your manipulative, lying mouth again is the least you could do for your daughter.”

A single, manipulative tear ran down Alicent’s cheek.

“I accept.”

 

 

Should I have waited for EAD? Maybe. I couldn’t. I wrote it in a single go yesterday, reviewed it myself today, made art, and had to put it out there.

Took the image I am using for separation from a Wallpaper site; it is also the background of my banner. Not sure who made this particular image. If you have a people name, not a company name, let me know so I can credit them!