( AQUA REGIA )

EDMUND Arryn had never been what one would call intimidating. While he had trained to be a warrior from a young age like all nobles, he had never become heavily built to the levels that Prince Baelor or Ser Daemon ever had. His thin frame and dark blonde hair were characteristic of House Arryn, though people insisted there was some of his mother—a Corbray—in him. There was one thing that put Edmund above all others, though: he was squire to King Daeron.

Edmund's father, Donnel, had firmly supported Daeron when he attempted to stand in the way of his father's more ludicrous ideas. This had prompted Donnel's removal from court but gained him a friend in Daeron, who was only too happy to take Edmund as his squire. Edmund had been eight at the time, and coming to Dragonstone had felt strange initially, but he'd settled in quickly enough, mainly thanks to Baelor.

Now, here they were six years later, with Daeron having been crowned and marrying his daughter to Daemon Blackfyre. He supposed King's Landing wasn't so different from Dragonstone, save for the banners of every house fluttering from the walls of the Red Keep and City Watchmen guarding every door. Walking the halls of the Red Keep still felt intimidating, and Edmund couldn't shake the feeling that the ghosts of past Targaryens were watching him.

Which is why he was grateful to be in the training yard.

Edmund and Baelor sparred in one corner, while Daemon sparred with Aegor Rivers in the other. Despite being two years younger, the latter was almost as tall as they were. He also had a permanent scowl on his face, making his dark hair and eyes even more intimidating. Standing off to the side was Brynden Rivers; the pale, silver-haired boy aimed a bow at a target, hitting the center every time. Watching over them all was Ser Quentyn Ball, the Master-at-Arms of the Red Keep, who had a mop of red hair that matched his fiery temper.

"Try to feint a bit more, Edmund," Baelor replied. Edmund nodded and thrust forward with his training sword. Baelor parried it easily, swatting Edmund's blade aside and catching his chest on the backswing. It was typical of Baelor: quick, practical, deadly. Of course, that wasn't the case with the other duel that was happening; Aegor was hard and brutal with his strikes, enabling Daemon to dance around him, landing strikes that steadily overwhelmed Aegor's defenses. It wasn't long before Daemon effortlessly parried a heavy overhead cut from Aegor before leveling the tip of the dulled sword at his opponent's face.

"Well fought, Aegor," Daemon said with a smile. Aegor grunted in reply.

"Looks like you might have some competition for best swordsman in the Red Keep, My Prince." Edmund grinned at Baelor. His friend had been growing into being a natural warrior for some time, though he was doubtless more practical than Daemon in that regard. The Prince, for his part, just smiled back.

"Not much competition. Daemon's far better than I."

"You speak poorly of yourself, nephew," Daemon said, sliding his sword back on the rack. "I daresay that you would be a challenge even for me."

"He's your Prince, not your nephew." Came Brynden's voice. The boy had lowered his bow and was now fixing Daemon with an icy gaze. His wine-stain birthmark, which stretched from the base of his neck to his cheek in the vague shape of a raven, combined with his cold violet eyes and pale skin, made him seem more ghostly than intimidating. Even so, Edmund felt a shiver go down his spine.

"What did you say, whelp?" Aegor snapped. "Show some respect for our brother."

"Prince Baelor is our brother's heir. He deserves to be called by his title."

"Figures that a fucking Blackwood would stick his nose where it doesn't belong," Aegor sneered.

"Aegor, let's not—" Daemon began to say, trying to calm his brother, but Aegor's blood was up now, as was Brynden's.

"And it figures that a Bracken would kick at the nearest thing he could find," Brynden replied. It was a clumsy insult at best, but it did the job of angering Aegor even more. The older boy's nostrils flared.

"You're the offspring of babe-killers!"

"And you were born to usurpers!"

The two were closing on each other now. Edmund, Baelor, and Daemon tried in vain to bring them back to their senses; any moment now, Fireball would intervene and knock them both on the ground for fighting. Alas, neither of them were listening.

"Fly away, little raven, before I make you bleed!" Aegor raised his drill sword; he felt it pulled from his hand just as he tried to swing it down onto Brynden. As Edmund had predicted, Ser Quentyn Ball had stepped in, and his face was as red as his hair with anger.

"What in Seven Hells is the meaning of this!?" He snapped. "Aegor, Brynden, are the two of you as thick as I think you are?! The only responsible ones here are these three!" He gestured to Baelor, Daemon, and Edmund, "Go and put the equipment away and scrub the armory! And If I hear a word about the two of you fighting, you will be banned from my training yard! AM I CLEAR?!"

The two boys, cowed into silence by the sight of Fireball's temper, meekly nodded before collecting the drill sword and training armor scattered around the yard. Still, it was now that Fireball rounded on the other three. "And what do you think you're staring at!?" He marched up to them. "Why did you not try and stop them!?"

"We tried, Ser Quentyn, but–" Edmund started, only for Fireball to cut him off.

"But what?! You failed to stop it! It would have been better if you hadn't tried if you knew you couldn't stop them! Now get out of my yard!"

The three knew better than to argue with Fireball, especially when he was like this. They made themselves scarce quickly, Daemon heading in the direction of his chambers where his wife Visaenys would no doubt be waiting. As for Edmund, he was following Baelor through the Red Keep. The Prince had said that a guest would be arriving at the Red Keep, and it was their job to greet them. Edmund had been a little perplexed when Baelor had said the two of them would be greeting the guest and the King would be absent, but there was little point in disputing things. The ways of monarchs were beyond people like him, especially where the Targaryens were concerned.

♜

THE Red Keep was a maze of halls, balconies, and rooms, even for those who knew the place well, but Baelor seemed to know exactly where to go. The two made their way up flights of stairs into a chamber that overlooked the Godswood of the Red Keep. As Baelor opened the door, Edmund noticed two young girls sitting in the room. One was silver-haired, working on embroidery, while the other was reading. "Lady Mya, Lady Gwenys, it is a pleasure to meet you finally," Baelor said, bowing. Edmund followed suit, his eyes firmly fixed on the floor.

"The pleasure is ours, Prince Baelor," The older girl said, setting down her book before giving a curtsey. "And you, My Lord, are . . ." She said, looking at Edmund. He blushed slightly before responding.

"Forgive me, My Lady. I am Edmund Arryn," Edmund greeted, bowing again. Baelor did his best to suppress a slight laugh. He succeeded, but only just.

"Ah yes, the one my mother said would be paying court to me," Mya smiled, her violet eyes twinkling slightly. She took a step forward, examining Edmund closely. He didn't look like a great knight or lord, but appearances could be deceiving; Brynden's existence proved. "I must admit, it does feel strange to be paid court to by my nephew's dearest friend."

"We're both younger than our nephew, Mya." Gwenys rolled her eyes. She'd inherited the silver hair of House Targaryen but the brown eyes that seemed everywhere in the Riverlands. Baelor simply laughed.

"Well, I suppose it is somewhat strange, considering my sister is married to my uncle," He said before turning to Edmund. "What do you suppose that will make their children?"

"How in the Seven bloody Hells should I know, Baelor?" Edmund replied, shaking his head. Trying to figure out the Targaryen family tree at this point was a losing cause if there was ever one. The fact that the nine-year-old Brynden Rivers was technically uncle to the four-and-ten-year-old Baelor made it too confusing to follow.

"Not around the young ones, Edmund," Baelor chided, gesturing towards Gwenys. The girl rolled her eyes again.

"I'm ten," She replied, slightly indignant.

"I'm still the youngest here," Mya reminded her. "My Prince, may I speak with Lord Edmund alone for a time? I want to discuss the courtship with him."

Baelor nodded and gestured to Gwenys to follow him, though he did wiggle his eyebrows on the way out. Edmund blushed again before turning to face Mya Blackwood. She had been born as one of Aegon IV's bastards–when Melissa Blackwood had been his mistress–and was thus one of those who had been legitimized on his deathbed. She had, however, taken the name of her mother's house over her father's, though he wasn't sure why.

"You wish for this to end in marriage, I would suppose?" Mya asked. Edmund was briefly taken aback before he recovered his senses.

"That would be my hope, My Lady."

Mya hummed. "You are aware of the nature of my parentage, yes? That I am a bastard?'

"You've been legitimized."

"The stain will never go away, My Lord, yet you wish to court me despite that. Why?"

Edmund sighed. True, a legitimized bastard had the right to use their family name and all the privileges that came with it, but that didn't mean society saw them as equals. At the same time, his father wanted House Arryn to reach beyond the Vale and extend its reach to other parts of the realm. "Truth be told, it's to do with my father's political ambitions; he wants House Arryn to look outside the Vale instead of inward."

"Is it not always political?" Mya replied; though her smile had returned, he was glad to notice. "Your father thought I would be a good match?"

"House Blackwood's one of the most powerful Riverlands houses."

"And yet, while we have the blood of the First Men and keep to the Old Gods, you're a scion of one of the oldest Andal families," She said.

She has to be reveling in this, Edmund thought. Was she setting out to wrong-foot him already?

"The Gods you worship are not my concern. I will not lie and tell you that this is not a political arrangement my father desires, but I will do all I can to make it comfortable for you," he said, looking straight into her eyes. Mya smiled after a moment, nodding slightly.

"Well, it wouldn't do for us to be at each other's throats. My uncle tells me that the two of us will likely be betrothed before the year is out," She said. Well, it was an encouraging response, Edmund had to admit. Better than he was expecting if he was honest. Had this been Baelor's reaction when his betrothal to Jena Dondarrion became official?

"Likely, we'll not be married for some years at least, but I'll do my best to be a good husband in your eyes."

"A good prospective husband," She reminded him, wagging her finger jokingly. "Other men will seek my hand as well."

"As long as it's not a Bracken, right?" Edmund joked. The enmity between the two Riverlands houses was legendary and had seemingly been manifested by the constant clashes between Brynden and Aegor.

"I would rather marry a horse than a Bracken," She quipped with a venom that hadn't been present in her voice before. Edmund took a slight step, afraid that he had angered her, though she resumed her smile after a moment. "A jest, I understand, but it's a serious matter to us."

"I can see that," Edmund replied, tentatively reaching to take her hand. Thankfully, she didn't seem to object. "I'll prove myself worthy of you."

"See that you do, My Lord."

♜

A meeting had been called for later that afternoon, doubtless to discuss the plans for the King's rule, and as his squire, Edmund would be required to attend. He had little doubt that Baelor would also be there, and maybe Daemon. The King had yet to name a Small Council, so it would likely be an informal meeting. As expected, it was to be held in the Council Chamber.

The King stood at the head of the table, along with Baelor, while Daemon was on his other side. The three of them sat as Edmund set about pouring water for the three of them. Daeron never had wine served at official meetings before standing to one side of the King's chair as their final guest arrived: the King's sister, Princess Daenerys.

Daenerys Targaryen was two years younger than either of her nephews. She had the same silver hair and violet eyes as her brother, making her resemble Daemon more than Baelor. The girl sat next to Baelor, eyeing the King closely as they sat down.

"Thank you all for coming. Firstly, I want to congratulate Daemon on a successful marriage to Visaenys and wish you two many children in the years to come."

Daemon bowed his head. "Thank you, Your Grace."

"Now, I wish to bring up the matter of Dorne. The time has come for us to welcome them in but as friends and not an object of conquest. Queen Myriah and I intend to begin negotiations with Prince Maron before the year is out," The King said. Baelor nodded; Edmund supposed he would've been the person in the room most open to negotiating with Dorne. Daemon, on the other hand, looked disappointed.

"Your Grace, are we so eager to forget the death of Daeron the Young Dragon? And the others who were massacred in Dorne during the conquest there?" He asked.

Edmund knew that few Arryn soldiers had gone as part of Daeron I's army into Dorne, and few hard feelings still existed between the Eyrie and Sunspear, but that didn't mean the Stormlands or Reach were ready for it.

"The Dornish acted in self-defense, uncle. It's no different to what you or I would've done in the same situation," Baelor turned to his father, 'What do we intend to offer them?"

The King nodded and smiled, pleased at his son's support. "We will see with the negotiations, but I intend to offer your hand in marriage to Prince Maron, Daenerys."

That was when the mood turned. Daenerys looked dismayed, but Daemon now looked downright riotous. He stood up fast, his eyes firmly fixed on the King. "Your Grace, you cannot force a twelve-year-old to marry!"

The King ignored the outburst. "You will marry when you are of age, Daenerys. Myriah has said that Maron is a kind man–"

"Your Grace!" Daemon thumped his hand on the table, causing Edmund to jump. The cup of water in front of Daemon was jolted off the table and spilled. "Your Grace, the laws of the Gods and the realm cannot compel marriage!"

"You would do well to hold your tongue, Daemon," Baelor hissed.

"Your Grace-"

"Daemon, will you repeat our father's promise to you?" The King sternly said, "You are not Aegon the Conqueror and will not be permitted to have two wives. We are nearly two centuries removed from the Conquest."

"Father swore it! You swore to uphold the promises he made to people!" Daemon countered.

"The ones that have evidence to support them, yes," The King's tone darkened now, "You have none to support yours, which means I am not bound by it."

"I–"

"It is alright, Daemon," Daenerys said, placing her hand on his arm to calm him down. Like her mother, the Princess was a soft-spoken, pious young girl. Daemon slowly sat back down, still clearly unhappy with what had been decided. "I will do what I must for the realm, brother."

"Thank you, Daenerys. Regarding the negotiations, Prince Maron will come to King's Landing within the moon's turn. Baelor, you will be conducting the welcome for him," The King instructed. Baelor nodded, relishing the chance to make his first real connection to a major ruler.

"And what of me?" Daemon asked brusquely.

"What of you, Daemon? You have your lands now, and I hope you will have started work on your holdfast before Prince Maron's arrival."

Daemon's face didn't darken noticeably, but Edmund noticed a deep anger in his eyes. Surely the King was just speaking the truth to him? If Daemon had not begun to raise his castle by then, then perhaps he was not suited to ruling.

Daemon's mouth morphed into a thin smile. "Then may I be excused?"

"There is more to discuss regarding you and Visaenys, but if you wish–"

Daemon did not wait for the King to finish but stood up, pushed into his chair, and left without a word; his back turned to the King and Baelor the whole time. Edmund heard him apologize to Daenerys before he left, and only a fool would've missed the Princess's gaze following him.

"Sometimes I think he's more childish than boys half his age," Baelor clicked his tongue in dismay.

"That's enough of that, Baelor," Daeron sighed. "He is still your uncle and my brother, so make amends with him for both of your sakes."

Edmund could see that Baelor resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he replied with a slightly bored "Yes, father," but if the King noticed, he did not address it.

"Very good. I had best name my Small Council before the day is out."