«Rhaenyra Targaryen - smart and cunning, good at making people think what she wants them to think. Despite others' opinions, appears to be even more cruel than her husband.

Daemon Targaryen - a true tactician, loyal to the core, overprotective, good at lying and absolutely merciless when it comes to family; as most men like him, charismatic, which helps to fool others or help society to close eyes on his treasons.

(Ah, these royals with privileges! One is always forgiven for being a favourite daughter, and the second one is too pretty to be punished rightfully. To succeed you should be either a man or a girl with a less or more respectful father)».

— From Drusilla Tyrell's memoirs.

• 

Rhaenyra and her not so little family—Drusilla counted the amount of her children in slight terror; if Aemond ever asks her to have more than two kids, she will kill him in his sleep—appeared on King's Landing right on the day of marriage. Ten hours before it, more precisely, and even like this they were met with thousands of rumours and stares. It was less loud than it could be, with lack of Vaemond Velaryon in the court—god bless Criston Cole and his undying wish to beat the shit out of living people—but yet, the princess was always a centre of attention around nobles and commoners.

Though, Rhaenyra wasn't bothered in the slightest. Instead, she decided to help Alicent and Helaena with preparing Drusilla for the wedding.

'What a wonderful dress,' she smiles, correcting the bottom of it, long fingers full of rings tracing the little tracery. 'Lady Tyrell truly can be considered the Flower of Realm.'

Drusilla answers her with a wide smile, hoping her cheeks are reddish enough.

'They Beauty and the Soul as well,' Alicent cuts, voice harsher than usual. Rhaenyra's presence makes her jumpier than usual. 'My dear, do you mind if I bring you flowers that Helaena chose for you? We can braid it in your hair.'

Alicents act a lot like a grown up kid. A kid, who is fighting for attention. Yes, maybe memories of her past friendship with Rhaenyra is still taunting her, but right now she is more focused on infantile fights for her, Drusilla's attention. She doesn't like even the smallest idea of Drusilla liking, or being closed with Rhaenyra.

Not like she planned to, but it is funny.

'Of course, mot...' Drusilla makes sure to stumble across words; now all eyes are on her, absolutely surprised, and she coughs, awkwardly as if it was just a mistake. '...Madam.'

Madam is not a word Drusilla ever used for Alicent, and it is too obvious what she almost called her.

Mother.

The perfect move to calm Alicent's jealousy down.

'Oh, sweet,' Alicent murmurs, quickly kissing her on the cheek. 'I will be right here.'

She hastily leaves, closing the doors behind herself. Now, Rhaenyra relaxes a little bit as well.

'Allow me to give you advice, Lady Tyrell?' She hums, stopping right in front of her.

Drusilla nods quickly.

'Yes, of course...'

'First of all... Lady Tyrell, the house you came into is dangerous. The people that surround you - are dangerous,' Rhaenyra almost whispers, hand slowly tucking a few strands of hair away. 'The woman you call your friend or even mother, might appear not so nice when the doors close. And the same goes to your husband. Aemond... My half-brother is a dragon. More than his brothers. He is reckless, dangerous, cruel... If he ever mistreats you, you shouldn't stay silent. Find a way to write to us. You will always have our support.'

Drusilla tries to bite her laugh.

Dangerous? Cruel? Ha-ha! All of them, Targaryens, are useless, pathetic royals, whose opinion about themselves are so high that they can't even imagine that someone can hate them, and not to fear. The woman and the boy she warns her about? Drusilla has them under her leg. She can ruin them. If Rhaenyra was smarter, she would do the same a few years later. After all, Alicent believes that one person, who loves—or at least pretends—to love her.

Otto can be called a potential danger - with that Drusilla agrees reluctantly. But even he got too carried away by idiots around himself. Years of comfort make him weaker and weaker in analysis of the situation. He hardly notices things, now.

'But... They are all so sweet,' Drusilla mumbles, slightly pouting. 'I love my new family.'

Rhaenyra sighs.

She can predict what she is thinking about.

Poor, naive girl, who needs to be saved.

'I hope they will be like this till the end,' she shrugs, a little bit desperately. 'But remember, Lady Tyrell, divorcing, despite the rumours, is not... Bad.'

How would you know? Your attempt in divorce consisted of faking the death of your ex-husband?

'O-okay?'

'Now, please... Allow me to leave for a while, I need to check on my boy, Viserys.'

'Of course!'

As Rhaenyra, too, takes her leave, it makes just the two of them in the room: her and Helaena. Helaena is quiet, but it is not like Rhaenyra forgot about her presence. She simply thought it was okay to talk about things like that in her company. Hm.

'She told me the same on my wedding day,' Helaena finally speaks up, clever hands gently making little paper butterflies. 'Sister Rhaenyra is really kind.'

So, Rhaenyra is fond of Helaena. How curious.

Drusilla turns to her sister in law, making a conflicted face.

'Do you... Agree with what she says? About... This house?'

Helaena smiles, not stopping her work.

'Mostly.' Drusilla sits down in front of her, on the little chair, and waits to hear the second part. 'This house is truly nothing but cruelness. And she is not wrong about mother. She can be nice. But...'

Her voice trails off.

Helaena clearly is not willing to forgive Alicent for being wed to her brother. She might love her children, and she can try to forgive Aegon himself—not like he wanted to be her husband—but not her own mother. It makes sense. Because it is Alicent, who wed her to the rapist and alcoholic, well-knowing about his true nature, having alternative options. Simply in the name of traditions. Traditions that Alicent mocks most of the time.

'...But she is a lot like grandfather. Sometimes, they sacrifice their own kids for the bigger goals. Though, grandfather is nice to me. He always listens to me...' She adds unsurely.

'Oh,' Drusilla whispers.

'But, Dru. Don't worry. Rhaenyra is wrong about Aemond. He will protect you till the very end. He is a good husband. Much better than Aegon.'

At this point, almost every husband is better than Aegon.

Drusilla is silent, when Helaena raises her head, and moves closer, catching her chin. With free hand she gently cards her own made butterfly in the curls of her hair.

'But you don't need to be protected, do you?' Helaena whispers softly, her own, smiling. 'Then, protect him, Drusilla.'

She lands a kiss on the corner of her lips, and stands to leave, as if nothing happened.

Drusilla breaths out.

Oh.

Of course, she knows.

There is no way to hide something from Helaena, after all.

•

Augustus rolls his eyes in annoyance, furrowing.

He had been here for three days—a time that is considered to be nothing among the one he spends in the North—and already feels as if he is going insane.

Pathetic attempts of Otto Hightower to figure out something about their family, and his thoughts about Rhaenyra as possible heir, annoying presence of Aegon Targaryen, who talks about nothing—he wonders how he endured his company in the childhood—and, gods, even Daemon Targaryen!

Who else?

The king himself?

It is enough to feel Ser Cole staring at him from every angle, as if he is the danger. And he definitely is aware of Aemond Targaryen's suspicious attention.

How can Drusilla survive in the company of so many predators?

Well, at least, attention lessens, when the ceremony begins.

Augustus, honestly, misses the most part of it. He just claps when Drusilla arrives, a beautiful dark-blue dress hugging her body, with wonderful, matching accessories. And then, it is all blank. He doesn't listen to what everyone talks about, until the time of dance comes.

'Brother,' Drusilla extends her hand, and he quickly takes it in his, leaving the tender kiss on the back of it. 'I am so glad that you are here.'

'Of course,' he answers, pulling her to the centre of the hall, everyone else standing far enough from them. 'I wouldn't dare to miss such an important day, my own heart.'

It is not hard to match Drusilla's always—unnatural—energy of adoring sister, who shines everytime she sees her brother. Augustus is bad at playing, he is more honest than her, but the role of her loyal brother is not fully an act.

Actually, it is easy to be charmed by Drusilla, even when you know how fake she is.

It is easier to stare at her with gleaming eyes, when you admire her, to some extent.

'How much time should I give you before beginning?' He asks, as they waltz around, hands gripping each other tightly. 'I need to know.'

Drusilla laughs as if he said something funny.

'How much do you need?' She sings in a quiet whisper, allowing her to twirl around.

'Not much.'

'Then, make it thirty minutes. I am getting bored.'

Augustus raises Drusilla above himself, hands locked on her waist, and after a slight circle around, carefully pulls her down. He sees Aemond standing from his place, getting closer—impatient little beast—and they finish their dance with a slight bow to each other.

'She is all yours,' Augustus says to him, eyes narrowed. 'But the lacking eye will be the last thing that shall worry you if you ever disrespect her.'

It is funny how Aemond considers him to be... A what? Threat?

'Well, thank you, brother in law,' he almost hisses. 'I think I can take care of my wife.'

How funny.

Immature brat.

Augustus casts Drusilla an amused glance. She answers him with almost the same one, with little possessiveness, dancing on the edge of blue orbs.

He can say - that is what she was fighting for.

'Have fun.'

'Thank you, brother!' Drusilla chirps.

...And fun will be provided.

By him, of course.

•

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Criston Cole predicted that this wedding as many others—including Rhaenyra's or many dornish weddings—will end up with some sort of... Ruckus.

This time, despite not knowing the reason for a fight, he was ready.

It happened rather unexpectedly. But in one moment Drusilla talks with her servant in the middle of crowd, laughing about something—it is the time of dances, but, apparently, Aemond appeared not to be interested in them, so after two dances with Aegon and Helaena, his wife simply refused to dance as well—and in the second there is clashing noise and screams.

'Oh my god!' His Queen exclaims, turning to him, asking for help.

He doesn't need to be told twice.

Before prince Aemond even stands up, Criston is already fighting his way through people, searching for Drusilla. And gladly, it takes just a few seconds to spot the bright blue dress. She looks scared, and she yelps shortly, when he throws her on his shoulder unceremoniously.

He can apologise later.

'Is she okay?'

When he puts her down, Drusilla is shivering. Others immediately circle around her, which clearly doesn't help. It is Aemond, who disperses them away, helping her to calm down a little bit. She clutches in his arm strongly, and they start to whisper something to each other. It is hardly heard in this awful noise, but Criston can recognise some words among screams.

'Augustus!'

'...Do you want me... To?' Aemond sounds much quieter than she.

'Yes.'

Right.

Her brother might be somewhere there, and if he is drunk, then it's even worse.

'I am so sorry that your marriage day is...' Rhaenyra appears on Drusilla's side, voice almost soothing.

Her voice makes him twitch. He wonders how it can be possible? He once adored her voice, her appearance and traits. Now he sees red everytime she speaks.

'Lady Tyrell,' he goes past Rhaenyra, slightly bowing before Drusilla, 'should I go to find your brother?'

'Tyrell-Targaryen,' his Prince corrects him with a strange wave of anger, as if it is what is important now.

'Oh, Ser Cole, please. Please bring my brother here.' She nods quickly, almost on the verge of tears.

So despite questioning glances from Rhaenyra and her goddamn husband, he almost runs back, where the rampage seems more and more uncontrollable. Because Drusilla asked him something to do, and if he can help her, he will.

He finds Augustus Tyrell not so quickly. He is not in the worst state as he could, yet, obviously it is not good either: lips and nose swollen, eyes slightly disoriented, and there is a lot of blood on white shirt - his or not, that Criston can't say. He simply brings him back as it was asked.

'Oh, brother!'

Drusilla almost collapses on her brother, hugging him with all force hidden in this short body. The Queen calls for Maesters almost instantly, and there are minutes of dreadful waiting.

'I believe the wedding ends here,' Aegon hums, almost cheerfully.

But it is Lady Tyrell—Tyrell-Targaryen, he fixes himself—who Criston Cole looks at. And when she spares him a short glance, she whispers a little thank you, with lips only. He finally sighs out with relief.

His goal is achieved. And that is what truly matters.

•

Drusilla assures Aemond that she will return quickly, and disappears in the corridors of the castle, listening to the unrealistic silence that rings around. It is beautiful like this - without guards, noises and light. Peaceful. She wishes it could stay like this forever.

When Augustus told her about repeating the scenario that happened many years ago, at Rhaenyra's wedding—"you will win sympathy, and some fun to see!"—Drusilla realised: he definitely learned a few things in the past years from her. Yet, she didn't expect it to escalate so awfully, to the point of knights not being able to stop people.

'How much did you pay for this?' Drusilla asks him right from the door threshold, voice distant.

Augustus is laying on his bed, with wet fabric on his forehead; hands stretched, bruises turning blue. She had seen him worse, but Drusilla still sighs, sitting on the edge of his bed, cooing:

'Poor thing.'

He rolls his eyes.

'I didn't pay for anything. Apparently, your stupid brother in law did everything himself.'

Oh?

She raises her brows, absolutely excited.

'Tell me, tell me!'

Augustus raises on his elbows.

'Aegon, this foolish brat, said to someone that he suspects us to be incestious. And then, someone, of course, asked me. And the fight had begun.'

They exchange glances before bursting out in the loud laughter.

'I told you!' Drusilla says through giggles. 'Aegon is the best to play with! He is so funny, ha!'

Augustus lays down back, humming an agreement. They fall in comfortable silence, and then, he speaks up again.

'I will leave today. The more I stay there, the less my brain is functioning. This family reduces my brain cells just by breathing.'

She didn't wait for Augustus to stay here for a long time; he hates this family even more than she does, and, of course, he doesn't really owe her anything. But it's still disappointing. Especially, considering the fact that tomorrow they will have a family dinner. It should be funnier, in her opinion.

But... Well.

'Oh, be honest with me, you are just desperate to get back on Cregan's cock.' Drusilla retorts openly, fixing bandages on his arm.

Augustus gasps.

'Shut it!'

Drusilla grins.

'Not a chance.'

How could anyone even assume that this man has at least some interest in women, she wonders?

Oh, yes, the most wanted groom in the Reach is, indeed, homosexual! What scandalous news, right?

But it is true, and Drusilla saved his reputation but a mere existence.

It was easier to assume—calmer to believe—that Augustus Tyrell, the Sword of Highgardens, is forever in love with his own sister, refusing to get married unless it is her, than admitting that loving a man is normal.

So they played.

And played it well.

Believable enough, at least.

Drusilla has no family sense, but Augustus was the reason why she still walked and breathed, so when he asked her to get in a fake relationship with Cregan Stark, so he would have a reason to visit him, to be always around him, she helped.

In the end, Tyrell and Stark truly fell in love. Just not the ones that others expected.

'Say him I said hello, would you?' She asks.

And Drusilla only benefited from this.

Cregan Stark chose her brother. And her brother chooses her.

If Drusilla will need help in her little game, Cregan Stark would help her. Isn't that amazing?

'I will.'

'And I wondered what is with this story about you, limping, because you wounded your leg... Someone had a tough month, right?'

'Drusilla, be nice and keep it quiet!'

Augustus never likes talking about his attraction aloud. Drusilla thinks it's just pathetic how he tries to distance from admitting—to himself, at least—that he loves man. As if it will burn him.

'Does Cregan like deepthro–'

'Shouldn't you please your husband right now?' Augutus snaps, irritated.

Drusilla huffs.

Oh hell, she will.

'You are so worried about my love life. I am pleased.' Then, she finally stops teasing him. Her hand comes to cup his cheek, and she looks him straight in his eyes. 'Be safe.'

More the order than wish.

Augustus doesn't answer, and Drusilla almost leaves, thinking that it is how they part their ways this time.

(They were never good at saying goodbyes. Sometimes, they just high fived instead of saying farewell, and well. It is fine. It is usual.)

But when she reaches the doors, he calls for her.

'Ru-ru?'

'Hm?'

'I know he is the man of your dreams... But if anything goes wrong... Kill him.'

Drusilla stares at her shiny shoes. There are sprinkles of blood on the tip of it, presumably from when she was in the crowd, while others fought.

'Nothing will go wrong with Aemond,' she answers finally.

Augustus sighs.

'I don't trust your judgement on this man.'

'You are overestimating him.' Drusilla scoffs.

'At least, if you will not do that, he will do it for you,' she hears him whispering in her back as she closes the door.

Ah, Augustus.

Always pairing her with the wrong Targaryen.

•

Aemond is tired, when he finally reaches their chambers.

Of course, he expected their marriage to be something he would not like—too much noise, people and family—but what truly happened is beyond his imagination.

Irellea deserves a better day than this. Much better.

'You have returned?' He asks, closing the door behind himself, noticing the lean figure, standing in front of the mirror.

She is wrapped in blue silk—not from the wedding dress, no; just silk—and he stares at her in the reflection, amazed. It is a much darker shade than the one she wore at the ceremony, more reminding him of sapphire. And though it is also more plain—without additional accessories—it looks more like Irellea. Because all these butterflies and golden collars are not in her style. It