Divide and Conquer, Chapter 31: Elegant

Tenth Moon, 122 AD (21 AC)

The King of Hardhome

The past six years had been some of the hardest in Loren’s life. He had thought adjusting to the harsh cold life on the Wall after decades in the royal golden splendor of Casterly Rock had been difficult but Hardhome had been a whole new level of difficulty.

The cold bit and gnawed into his bones worse than it ever had on the Wall, and food was scarce and hard to come by. Farming was difficult and hard in the lands of Storrold’s Point, now renamed Loren’s Point after himself. When winter finally came, Loren had thought they would surely not survive.

Yet survive they had. Twenty thousand souls now lived all across the vast lands of Loren’s Point that were claimed by the Kingdom of Hardhome. They had subsisted off what little food they could grow in the Point and their hunts and foraging in the Haunted Forest, but the sea had been their salvation. A near endless supply of fish, whales, seals, lobsters, crabs, barnacles, and urchins that their fleets and traps could bring in to feed them and help them to endure.

And once winter came to an end and their ships and crews were no longer spending their every waking moment trawling the seas for food to feed the colony, they could establish relations with Braavos and trade furs, ice, and other exotic goods from the frozen lands Beyond the Wall in exchange for food in preparation for the next winter. Perhaps in time they would even become comfortable enough to begin trading for other goods and luxuries, growing their economy and truly making Hardhome their own.

Loren sighed as he considered the distance between Hardhome and Braavos. Braavos, Lorath, Qohor, Ibben, and all the other Free Cities would be useful trading partners no doubt, but the distance was unconscionable. It would be far more practical to trade with the new Wards the Targaryens had established in what had once been the North, the Saans of Skagos, the Naerins of Last Hearth, the Taenos of Karhold, the Drahars of the Dreadfort, Nohiars of Hornwood, and more.

As much as it perturbed him to trade with the Targaryen realm, their new lands and vassals were the closest to his own and it would be the fastest and easiest way to grow his burgeoning kingdom’s economy and secure their food supplies.

It wasn’t like the Targaryens didn’t already know he was up here anyway. For a time, he had been terrified of drawing their attention, deathly afraid they would follow him beyond the Wall and destroy all that he had built here just as they had torn him out of the Rock, but it had never come to pass. Instead, they had sent a condescending envoy who had greeted him with a sneer and handed him a writ with information on the locations of all of Brandon Snow’s remaining children beyond the Wall that they had acquired through some magic, telling him to do with it as he pleased.

In that moment, Loren had realized with a chill that he had not escaped notice at all. The Targaryens knew perfectly well where he was and what he had been doing the whole time and they had chosen not to act. Either because he was simply that insignificant and beneath them or some amusing mummer putting on a show for them, he knew not.

It had been a humbling feeling, and he still lived with the unease of uncertainty. Never knowing if they might one day change their minds and take this kingdom from him as they had the last. Yet he could not stay trapped in that fear forever, he had little choice but to move on, and perhaps he was just grasping for straws, but if he made Hardhome an indispensable trading partner to their vassals, they might just leave them alone.

They had already made Hardhome a penal colony, a replacement for the Night’s Watch which they had abolished. A place to dispose of all the malcontents in their society without having to resort to messy executions. Extra mouths to feed was hardly pleasing to Loren, but at the very least they made for good thralls.

At the end of the day, despite his worries for the future, Hardhome was still standing and thriving today and he took some comfort in that.

The Gardeners and Arryns had not been so fortunate. The supplies that they had brought from the Wall had inevitably run out and once they had, they had begun fighting amongst themselves over food and the right to lead, the ego and mistrust too strong in each former royal and their followers. When winter finally came, all of them and their loyalists had either starved to death or been put out of their misery by the wildlings.

His fears that they might move against Hardhome had all been for naught in the end. The sheer distance between the Fist and the Point and their lack of supplies had made sure of that.

Loren supposed if he had to compare his past six years to the experience of Gardener and Arryn, he had definitely done much better. He’d even been able to solve their lack of women in the end too, arranging marriage pacts between himself, his kin and most loyal lords, with the daughters of neighboring wildling chiefs they had sought to ally with, while raiding and stealing large numbers of women to be wives in the wildling traditions from hostile tribes.

Combined with all the men he had brought from the Watch, the smallfolk he had forcibly moved from the Gift, and the wildlings he had already gotten as guides and aides from the tribes he had let pass into the Warg King’s lands as Lord Commander, Loren had a good starting population for his modest little kingdom.

As he continued his brooding on the future in his solar, the door opened and his eldest son Tywin walked in.

“Father, the labor is over. You have a new grandson.”

“Excellent news, my son. What is his name?” Loren inquired.

“Ygritte doesn’t want to name him until his second nameday, says it would be bad luck to do so with how often babes die up here, but when the time comes, I’m thinking Jaime,” he replied.

“A good, strong name. I’m happy for you my son,” Loren said with a smile.

And he truly was, beyond just being happy to have yet another member of his family, Loren could not help but think of how his dynasty was being secured, even in exile. He let himself dwell on that happy thought and put worries about Targaryens and surviving winters away from his mind just for a little while.

His first wife, a proud noble lady of the Westerlands, was long lost to him, as were all of the concubines he had taken from the Iron Islands and the daughters they had given him. But here in exile beyond the Wall, he had been freed from the celibacy the Night’s Watch had imposed upon him and had taken his pick of the most beautiful wildling women for his bed.

He had been careful of course, ensuring that every man in the colony had at least one woman for himself to prevent resentment and unrest, but once they had started acquiring some excess spoils of war or made additional advantageous marriage alliances, Loren had exercised his full rights as king to indulge in some creature comforts and luxuries in this godforsaken frozen land.

He had taken six wives for himself already, and given his brother Tybolt two, and each of his eldest five sons three. And they had gone straight to work giving him a whole host of new children, grandchildren, nieces, and nephews.

House Lannister might have been torn away from their golden throne in Casterly Rock, doomed never to return, but their tale was not over yet. They had made for themselves a new kingdom, using nothing but their wits, just as Lann the Clever had done. And slowly, but surely, they would build up Hardhome and claw their way back into any scrap of wealth and relevance they could. The world would yet hear them roar again.

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Elaena Targaryen

“Are you recovering well from your childbirth Princess?” Lady Marianne Vance, one of the older ladies present inquired politely.

“I am. Thank you for asking Lady Vance,” Elaena replied graciously to the Lady of Atranta.

Marianne Vance hadn’t always been destined for her family’s seat, but when her older brother had died of an illness, she had been thrust into it unexpectedly. Elaena thought she did quite a fabulous job as the Defender of Atranta herself and though she’d never admit it aloud, she did take some inspiration from how the older woman carried herself. After all, Marianne Vance had been a courtier in Summerhall since before Elaena had even been born.

“You look as stunning as ever Princess. Why I can hardly believe you gave birth barely a moon ago!” Lady Larissa Rogare tittered.

Elaena saw the flattery for what it was, but she accepted it. It was most pleasing to hear, especially since it was true. Elaena always made sure to take exceptional care of her body and she had regained her shape and fitness swiftly after giving birth to her son Gaemon but a moon ago. It had made her beloved Aemon especially amorous and that brought not small amount of joy to her heart.

But though full of passion and love, their marriage had but two children, and Elaena was of mind to give at most but one more to her husband before she insisted they halt. They were the youngest after all, the fourthborn son and daughter. There was no need for them to have so many children, even should their father deign to give them an inheritance and estate of their own.

Elaena had little interest in being like her eldest sister Valaena, who had already had six children in barely a decade of marriage and seemed intent on matching their three parents between just her and Aerion. They only had two more to go.

She couldn’t help but envy how her elder sister seemed to easily retain her shape and figure while she had worked exceedingly hard during and after her pregnancy to regain hers. Such fortune was not for everyone, and Elaena would be content with two or three children rather than risk becoming some fat cow.

Shuddering at the thought, she turned her attention back to the conversation her ladies were having amongst themselves. They were gossiping of course, and who else could be the topic but Elaena’s family, around whom all of Summerhall revolved?

The children were too young to really feature in these court gossips, and their parents rarely did anything worth gossiping about at this point so the conversation centered mostly on Elaena and her siblings. The courtiers were mindful and careful of course, knowing full well Elaena was among them, but Elaena could still engage them in certain conversation topics seen as safe while having long developed the ability to read the court and determine the unspoken true thoughts on the unsafe topics.

Such as how her elder brother Aenar was admired by many in court for his gentle behavior and scholarly ways. A warrior poet they called him, one who had mastered the sword but had no passion for it. He loved not the ways of war but only what they defended, preferring books, balls, feasts, the arts, poems, and song to the training yard yet when needs be borne, he fought with a skill and ferocity equal to the greatest of knights. He was charming and won friends easily, and he made many a lady in court swoon to the beauty of his songs, most especially his beloved sister-wife, Elaena’s own elder sister Daena.

Aenar had made many a sonnet dedicated to his ‘bold and daring wife’, and it had earned them both the monikers they were known by in court these days. Prince Aenar the Bard, and Princess Daena the Daring.

Daena was brave, fierce, and fiery, every inch her mother’s daughter. Where Aenar appeared soft and gentle, she was all hard and imperious. She lived for the training yard, carrying a sword and bow and sparring with their other brothers, the knights, and guardsmen and covering herself in dirt and sweat all day. Yet, despite his own preference for cleanliness and distaste for most any animal that he had developed ever since being savaged by rats in the skinchanger attack on their family, Aenar never hesitated to embrace and kiss her when she returned inside.

Many called them sweet and romantic, yet Elaena knew the whispers beneath. The thoughts unspoken, the words they dared not say. They murmured that Aenar was lean and skinny in build compared to the other sons of their father. That he was weak-willed and soft, too effeminate and ruled by his wife who acted more a man than a proper ladylike princess and woman.

They did not know them as Elaena did. They did not see Aenar’s quiet and firm strength, his soft-spoken but determined will. They did not witness how Daena melted in his arms and became every inch the gentle feminine woman they claimed her not to be. They did not see how caring and kind they were to their siblings and children alike.

The court assumed too much, seeking out gossip and scandal, thinking that there was discord between her and Daena for their differing tastes and demeanor yet for all that Elaena preferred elegance and proper princess-like charm, she had never once held her sister’s passions against her nor she hers. They had endured too much together to allow such petty things to drive a wedge between them.

Aenar and Daena were hardly even the most misunderstood in their family. No, that dubious honor fell upon her eldest four siblings. Where their parents seemed to command both love and fear in equal measure, and Aenar and Daena inspired admiration and the slightest of mockeries, Aerion, Valaena, Aegor, and Rhaena intimidated the court.

The four of them had long since developed a dread reputation, one borne from their great and fearsome deeds in war. The Bloodstained Red Twins, One-Eye, and the Relentless. The Crimson Prince, Princess Massacre, the Cruel, and the Enchantress. Most of the courtiers and ladies at court were intimidated or even frightened of them and the stories that surrounded them. There was a dark glint in their eyes they’d whisper.

The Red Twins had stained themselves in blood at the tender age of three and ten and it had forever changed them, always in the days since had they ever been eager for more war and bloodshed, like hounds unleashed by their father on his greatest foes. The One-Eye and the Relentless had been forever changed as well by the attacks of the skinchangers they would say, Aegor driven into excessive cruelty especially against enemies like Brandon Snow, and Rhaena deep into the pursuit of magic and sorcery. Aegor had one eye but Rhaena had a thousand was the saying now, as whispers hummed of the hidden spy network Rhaena commanded, and the sorceries that seemed to inform her of everything that was going on in court or the world entire.

It didn’t help matters either that Aerion and Aegor were so much like Aunt Visenya. So disciplined, militaristic, and almost harsh. They did not request or convince, they demanded with all the certainty and imperiousness of true dragonlords straight out of Old Valyria. Rhaena too had lost much of the patience she had once had and few truly knew her thoughts when speaking to her. While Valaena, though still charming in many ways, was almost seen as even more disturbing for it due to how easily she could switch on a dime between the perfect princess and a remorseless bloodstained killer while still wearing that sweet smile.

The courtiers did not know her eldest siblings as their family did. They did not see how hard Aerion and Valaena had pushed themselves to always set the example of perfection as the heirs. They did not know how Rhaena had pushed herself almost into exhaustion to master her magic, how she had begun taking over command of the Eyes from their aunt.

They did not understand how Aegor cared for her and for the rest of them with a thoughtfulness that belied his dread reputation. They did not see how even to this day the reminder of what he had lost bothered Aegor, how he flinched inside every time he scared another young child or innocent lady with the frightening visage of his missing left eye and the emerald that had replaced it.

And then there was Elaena herself and her beloved brother-husband, Aemon. Both of their reputations bore a sharp duality. For in many aspects, they were the most popular of their siblings in court. They were seen as the painting-perfect couple, the knight and his lady, the prince and his princess, such a contrast to the fearsome and intimidating eldest four yet also unlike the thirdborns, Aenar and Daena, who so mismatched with the traditional expectations of a prince and princess’s personality and demeanor.

Aemon was every inch the warrior that their elder brothers were, yet he was not gentle or dispassionate for it like Aenar was, nor did he appear to overly thirst for blood and battle like Aerion and Aegor did. Instead, he comported and carried himself like a knight, winning acclaim and fame in jousts and melees and always doing his best to act chivalrously and courteously. It was why he was known as Aemon the Admirable.

Elaena meanwhile was youthful, sweet and ladylike. Mastering all forms of etiquette, elegance, and charm, dazzling the court with her beauty and grace and wielding a subtle power and influence. Elaena the Elegant they called her.

More than any of her sisters or even her mother and aunt did Elaena influence the court to follow her example and the trends she set. Her mother and aunt often dressed regally and in the colors of their house, respectable but monotonous and plain after a while. Valaena was much the same, never shaking off the bloodstained image with her obsession with red. And neither Rhaena nor Daena cared enough about their dresses to truly impress.

Not Elaena though. It was like she wore a new outfit, a new color every day. Reds, greens, blues, purples, and more. Always fabulously designed and made to awe and amaze. Combined with stunning jewelry and a careful poise on her part and it only lent well to her reputation of elegance and the charm she wielded that let her so easily read the mood of the court and at times sway it as she pleased, usually to the benefit of her family in some way or another.

Yet even the brightest lights cast their shadows and not even they were untouched by the fickle moods in court. Even more so than for the rest of her family, the courtiers knew better than to let unthinkable thoughts of her and Aemon let slip around her yet still Elaena picked up on them.

She knew what some of them thought of her and her beloved in the depths of their hearts. They thought her vain, vapid, and spoilt, and Aemon a pretentious and self-righteous impostor playing at tourneys and combat when he had no experience. Because for all the supposed flaws the courtiers so loved to whisper about their six elder siblings, they had all proven themselves in at least one aspect that they had not. They had fought and bled for their kingdom in war.

The court’s moods and opinions were as fickle as the affections of a rascal. Yet often their opinions ran with an edge of something much more real. Beneath all the flatterers and sycophants, the sheep, that naturally herded in a royal court was something deeper, something truer. The councilors, the bureaucrats, the generals, the guards, the soldiers, and the servants. Those that kept the household and the realm running as smoothly as it did.

It was from them that Aerion, Valaena, and all the others had won true acclaim and respect for their various deeds in both war and governance in the past. Enough that Aerion and Valaena’s rule would be secure from the moment they succeeded their father, regardless of how much some overly sensitive and naive courtiers gossiped to each other about their brutality in war. Among certain circles, such a reputation won them even more respect and loyalty. Just like it did their parents.

It was a respect and loyalty that extended to Aemon and her only out of courtesy. And that had always irked them both. They were popular among the courtiers and that was certainly enjoyable, but they both wanted something much more earned and real than that.

Aemon and she had always been too young to join the previous campaigns and prove themselves yet it was frustrating that everyone had seemingly forgotten that elegant and chivalrous or not, they were dragons nonetheless and they had their own fire. They had endured the attacks of the wretched skinchangers just like the rest of their kin and hunted down and searched for the lost vault with all their siblings.

They had more than proven themselves in the past but it seemed they would have to do it again. And that opportunity was fast approaching.

After so many long years, the time was finally ripe. For years their Eyes and other agents and envoys had been undermining their last enemies, recruiting local allies in secret and planting the seeds for what was to come while they had prepared and rebuilt their armies at home. Soon, the conquest of Dorne, the last of the Westerosi kingdoms, would take place, and right after they would go on into Essos and end the Century of Blood, humbling each of the Free Cities and reminding them all who the true heirs of Valyria were.

It was a set of campaigns that would likely take a few years at least. It pained her heart to part from her children, but the sheep had to be reminded of their place and those whose thoughts truly mattered would understand that the youngest dragons had finally come into their own and give them the respect they were due. Let them all see that she and Aemon were not just pretentious self-inflated creatures of court but fully capable and competent royals in their own right, just like their siblings and parents. That respect would be given to their children as well and ensure they were not thought lesser than their cousins simply for being the children of the youngest line of royals.

Beyond the thirst to prove herself and her part of the family however, something else entirely motivated Elaena’s desire for war as well.

Unlike some of her siblings, Elaena did not hunger for battle or war, nor did she particularly enjoy the feeling of a sword or a bow in her hands though she had learned how to defend herself with both weapons and magic. She did not particularly want a reputation for bloodshed like that which marred some of her siblings’ renown either. She wished to be loved rather than feared, even if she would prefer that love be accompanied by a healthy and proper respect for the power and capabilities she held in her own right. Yet elegant and ladylike or not, a dragon was still a dragon and some things could still stoke her wrath.

The last for whom she had truly felt this kind of hatred and rage had been Brandon Snow and his skinchangers but she had been denied the chance to avenge herself upon in person, having to be content with her parents and siblings doing it for her. Yet after what their parents had told them, Dorne was quickly becoming near-equally wretched in her mind.

It had been a shock at first, when they had sat all eight of them down after Aemon and her had come of age and told them the tale of that other world and its terrible future. Yet once they had all assimilated the knowledge they had been given and begun thinking on how to do better than their counterparts, the rage they had all borne for the now vanquished skinchangers was turned upon a new foe.

In another world, in another time, the wretched Dornish had defied them even unto the threat of their own extinction. They had broken sacred guest rights and laws of truce to kill envoys and even a king of their blood yet their greatest crime of all had been daring to kill Elaena’s beloved mother. And that was a sin she would not let them even think of replicating in this world. An opinion she was certain the rest of her family held.

Dorne would bend, bow, break and burn. The Free Cities who had so often taken advantage of and defied them in that other world would be forcibly put in their place, and when the dust had settled, her family would come together as one and build something better. A dynasty and realm that wouldn’t fail the same way it had in that other world and time.

But before they could do any of that, some faceless nuisances had to be dealt with lest they interfere. Luckily for Elaena’s family, it was rather fortunate that they had the means to do just that.

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No One

The servants of the Many-Faced God gathered beneath the temple as was their tradition. All of the acolytes and members of their order were present in the House of Black and White but they would speak nothing tonight. Only eleven would. Those chosen champions that had given up everything to serve Him of Many Faces and truly become no one.

Few understood what their order truly was. Thinking them just killers for hire. But the servants of the Many-Faced God did not give the gift of death simply for mere coin. Death awaited all. It was the great scale that balanced and equaled all.

Valar Morghulis. All men must die. The services they offered was to give the gift sooner to some, but only when the Many-Faced God willed it. To ensure that his will was followed, that it was accurately interpreted, there were rules that had to be followed. Sacred and unbreakable rules.

Anyone could come to the House of Black and White and ask that the gift be given unto themselves or another. To ask for the gift for oneself cost nothing but to ask it for another? A price had to be paid, a price that was more than just gold or coin. A price that was high and dear yet always within the means of whoever made the request, no matter how rich or poor they were, so long as they were willing to make the sacrifice.

When the envoys had come from the Westerosi kings to ask that the gift be given unto the dragonlords, they had told them their price and they had left empty-handed. Unwilling to pay the price. For beyond asking for gold, they had asked for the lives of those kings’ children and grandchildren, to do with as their god pleased, and they had been so horrified and aghast that the envoys had simply left.

Foolish, all of them. Did they think the silencing of eleven dragonlords bore a price as simple as gold?

Unlike them, the Braavosi Sealord understood the prices they demanded for the gift to be given to his Volantene rivals. That was why they had always had such a long and positive relationship with the rulers of Braavos and a mutual understanding.

In order to best interpret the will of their god, they communed with each other in unanimous council and prayer, first to determine whether to accept the request, then to determine the price, and lastly to decide who would carry the gift.

For the gift could not be sweet to the gifter. It had to be freely given without hatred, bias, or prejudice. It must be fair. And to ensure that it was, only those that did not personally know the target and bear them either love or hatred were allowed to carry the gift. This as well was decided by council and approved by all who were no one.

The necessity for unanimity slowed down the rate at which they gave the gift as they could not accept contracts unless all were present to commune, but it mattered not for sacred obedience to the rules was more important than gold.

Today was the first time in many months that all of their number were present, as one of their brethren, the handsome man, had been tasked with bestowing the gift upon one of Volantis’ Triarchs by the Braavosi Sealord and had finally returned, a gift for which they had exacted a most dear price indeed from the Sealord.

With their full number returned to communion in Braavos, they discussed once again at last which contracts to accept.

Over and over, they rejected and accepted them in turn, based on how they felt the Many-Faced God communing to them, the willingness of the requesters to pay the price, and their familiarity with the targets.

One last contract stood out to him, however. A rare request that had made it through the exclusivity the Braavosi Sealord and Iron Bank had been purchasing for the past few years. A desperate plea by some Pentoshi magister to give the gift to the man his wife was cheating on him with.

The price they had demanded had been high, as usual, but the man it seemed had been willing to pay it and had even done so in advance.

With all of his brethren in agreement and none of them familiar with the target, he was about to declare that he knew this man not and would give him the gift before a roar broke his chain of thoughts.

The ceiling of the House of Black and White collapsed in on itself, fire and ash descending as they all burned. Acolyes, pilgrims, and champions alike. Their sacred stores of faces, potions, and glamors all ignited in flames and the statues of their god turned to ash.

They had spent their whole lives bringing the gift to others. Now at last, they would receive the gift for themselves. It should have brought comfort to him, knowing that his god would finally welcome him, and yet for the first time since he had been someone, he felt true fear.

The flames consumed him then and he passed into darkness, knowing nothing more.

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The Targaryens and their Dragons in 122 AD (21 AC)

Generation 1:

Visenya Targaryen, born 73 AD (29 BC), 49 years old, rider of the she-dragon Vhagar which hatched on Dragonstone in 50 AD (52 BC). Known as the Bronze Fury, Vhagar has bronze scales with greenish-blue highlights and flames and bright green eyes.

Aegon I Targaryen, born 75 AD (27 BC), 47 years old, already known as the Conqueror though the epithet has not yet gained its full prestige, rider of the dragon Balerion which hatched in Old Valyria in 13 BD (115 BC). Balerion is known as the Black Dread for his black scales and wings and for his black flames with red swirls.

Rhaenys Targaryen, born 76 AD (26 BC), 46 years old, rider of the she-dragon Meraxes, which hatched on Dragonstone in 14 AD (88 BC). Meraxes is known as the Silver Queen for her striking silver scales and imperious golden eyes and accents that further emphasize her regal nature. Her flames are silver-gold.

Aegon Targaryen married both his elder sister Visenya and his younger sister Rhaenys in the same wedding ceremony in 93 AD (9 BC). He has four children with each of them, three sons and one daughter with Visenya, and three daughters and one son with Rhaenys. The eldest two children, Aerion and Valaena, are false twins because they were born from different mothers on the same day and are half siblings through their father and first cousins through their mothers. Their closeness, same nameday, similarly colored red dragons, and obsession with red as their favorite color have given the pair the moniker of the ‘Red Twins’. A moniker they doubly earned with the addition of ‘Bloodstained’ from their bloody massacres in the Wars of Conquest, starting at the tender young age of three and ten.

Generation 2:

Aegon and Visenya’s children:

Aerion Targaryen, one of the Bloodstained Red Twins, known as the Crimson Prince, born 94 AD (8 BC), 28 years old, rider of the dragon Caraxes which hatched in his cradle on Dragonstone in 94 AD (8 BC). Caraxes is known as the Blood Wyrm for his lean slender build and his blood red scales and wings. His flames are a dark crimson, the color of dried blood.

Aegor Targaryen, born 96 AD (6 BC), known as One-Eye and the Cruel, 26 years old, bonded to the dragon Aegarax which hatched in his cradle on Dragonstone in 96 AD (6 BC). Aegarax, known as the Black Scourge, has scales as black as coal and menacing green eyes and flames that are the color of wildfire. (Aegon Targaryen believes Aegarax is the same dragon that would have become the Cannibal in another world).

Daena Targaryen, known as the Daring, born 99 AD (3 BC), 23 years old, bonded to the dragon Vermithor which hatched in her cradle in Summerhall in 100 AD (2 BC). Known as the Bronze King, Vermithor has bronze scales, large tan wings, and golden-red flames.

Aemon Targaryen, known as the Admirable, born 102 AD (1 AC), 20 years old, bonded to the dragon Telarion which hatched in his cradle in Summerhall in 102 AD (1 AC). Known as the Terror, Telarion’s scales are a rich mahogany brown and his flames are gold with swirls of red. (Aegon Targaryen believes Telarion is the same dragon that would have become Sheepstealer in another world.)

Aegon and Rhaenys’ children:

Valaena Targaryen, the other of the Bloodstained Red Twins, known as the Ruby Princess and Princess Massacre, born 94 AD (8 BC), 28 years old, rider of the she-dragon Meleys which hatched in her cradle on Dragonstone in 94 AD (8 BC). Meleys is known as the Red Queen for her regal bearing and queenly personality and she has scarlet scales, pink wing membranes, and a bright copper crest, horns, and claws. Her flames are copper swirled with scarlet.

Rhaena Targaryen, known as the Relentless and the Enchantress, born 98 AD (4 BC), 24 years old, bonded to the she-dragon Quicksilver which hatched in her cradle in Summerhall in 98 AD (4 BC). Quicksilver has silvery-white scales and pale white wing membranes. She is known as the White Flame for her pale white fireballs and coloring.

Aenar Targaryen, known as the Bard, born 100 AD (2 BC), 21 years old, bonded to the she-dragon Silverwing which hatched in his cradle in Summerhall in 100 AD (2 BC). Silverwing is known as the Splendid for her beautiful silvery scales and blue fire.

Elaena Targaryen, known as the Elegant, born 103 AD (2 AC), 19 years old, bonded to the she-dragon Dreamfyre which hatched in her cradle in Summerhall in 103 AD (2 AC). Known as the Blue Queen, Dreamfyre has pale blue scales, wings, and flames, with silver crests and markings.

Each of Aegon’s children with his two wives is paired with a half-sibling from his other wife to ensure that all of his grandchildren will be descended from both Visenya and Rhaenys. As of the year 122 AD (21 AC), all of the marriages have taken place and borne fruit with Summerhall’s corridors lightened up by the joy and laughter of Aegon’s many grandchildren.

Generation 3:

Aerion and Valaena’s children:

Aegon ‘the Younger’ Targaryen, born 112 AD (11 AC), 10 years old, bonded to the dragon Sunfyre which hatched in his cradle in Summerhall in 112 AD (11 AC). Known as the Golden, Sunfyre has gleaming gold scales and flames and pale pink wing membranes.

Vaella Targaryen, born 115 AD (14 AC), 7 years old, bonded to the dragon Seasmoke which hatched in her cradle in Summerhall in 115 AD (14 AC). Seasmoke is a pale silver-grey dragon with blue flames.

Baelon Targaryen, born 119 AD (18 AC), 3 years old, bonded to the dragon Arrax which hatched in his cradle in Summerhall in 119 AD (18 AC). Arrax is a pearlescent white dragon with yellow flames, golden eyes and a golden chest.

Daemon Targaryen, born 120 AD (19 AC), 2 years old, bonded to the dragon Stormcloud which hatched in his cradle in Summerhall in 120 AD (19 AC). Stormcloud is a turquoise dragon with black horns and claws.

Jaehaerys Targaryen, twin of Jaehaera, born 122 AD (21 AC), less than a year old, bonded to the dragon Morghul which hatched in his cradle in Summerhall in 122 AD (21 AC). Morghul is a black dragon with copper horns and claws.

Jaehaera Targaryen, twin of Jaehaerys, born 122 AD (21 AC), less than a year old, bonded to the she-dragon Shrykos. Shrykos is a copper dragon with black horns and claws.

Aegor and Rhaena’s children:

Valerion Targaryen, born 115 AD (14 AC), 7 years old, bonded to the dragon Tyraxes which hatched in his cradle in Summerhall in 115 AD (14 AC). Tyraxes is a pale violet dragon with dark purple horns and purple flames.

Visenya ‘the Younger’ Targaryen, born 119 AD (18 AC), 3 years old, bonded to the she-dragon Tessarion which hatched in her cradle in Summerhall in 119 AD (18 AC). Tessarion is a beautiful blue dragon with dark cobalt wings and flames, while her claws, crest, and belly scales are the color of bright beaten copper.

Daenys Targaryen, born 121 AD (20 AC), 1 year old, bonded to she-dragon Moondancer which hatched in her cradle in Summerhall in 122 AD (21 AC). Moondancer is a slender pale green dragon with a pearl crest, horns, and wing bones.

Maekar Targaryen, born 122 AD (21 AC), less than a year old, bonded to the she-dragon Morning which hatched in his cradle in Summerhall in 122 AD (21 AC). Morning has pale pink scales with a black horn and black crests.

Aenar and Daena’s children:

Daenora Targaryen, born 120 AD (19 AC), 2 years old, bonded to the dragon Vermax which hatched in her cradle in Summerhall in 120 AD (19 AC). Vermax has olive green scales, pale orange wing membranes, and orange flames.

Viserys Targaryen, born 122 AD (21 AC), less than a year old, bonded to the dragon Viserion which hatched in his cradle in Summerhall in 122 AD (21 AC). Viserion has cream-white scales with a gold crest, eyes, horns, wing bones, and pale gold flames shot through with red and orange.

Aemon and Elaena’s children:

Laena Targaryen, born 120 AD (19 AC), 2 years old, bonded to the dragon Rhaegal which hatched in her cradle in Summerhall in 122 AD (21 AC). Rhaegal is a green and bronze dragon with dark jade-green scales and wings and bronze eyes. He has black claws and black needle teeth, and his flames are orange-yellow shot through with veins of green.

Gaemon Targaryen, born 122 AD (21 AC), less than a year old, bonded to the dragon Syrax which hatched in his cradle in Summerhall in 122 AD (21 AC). Syrax has yellow scales and flames.

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Author’s Note: I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Especially Loren’s last ever interlude and the insights into Elaena’s character and how she and her siblings are characterized and perceived by the court. Tis finally time to develop the younger four kids as we enter into the final arc of Divide and Conquer! Stay tuned!

Thanks to Poke_verse for the family tree as usual!

Please me know your thoughts, suggestions, and questions in the comments below or over on Discord!