Chapter 117: Chapter 117: To Maidenpool
I had been back in King’s Landing for less than a week before we left again.
Rhaenyra made that point while our household prepared to depart, though she did so without real complaint. Highgarden had given us bruises, coin, and stories. Maidenpool required something different.
I had no intention of entering the lists beneath Lord Mooton’s banners. I had not come to win another purse, break another shield, or let men compare Reach songs against Riverland cheers.
This journey was not about me standing in the centre. That was the point.
Three hundred Unsullied escorted the carriages, marching with the same calm order that made even noisy roads quiet around them. Their spears rose in neat lines, shields strapped tight, faces unreadable beneath their helms.
They did not boast, sing, complain, or glance too long at villages we passed. Men on the roadside watched them with the uneasy respect given to things too disciplined to be dismissed.
Ser Arlan Dondarrion rode with us in his white cloak, still new enough to draw second looks, but not so new that he wore the honour awkwardly. Ser Erryk Cargyll rode nearby as well, steady and watchful, while twenty mounted Targaryen soldiers kept formation around the royal carriages. It was not an army. It was not meant to look like one. It was a royal household travelling with enough protection to remind men that courtesy did not require helplessness.
Rhaenyra rode in the main carriage with Aemma, Viserys, and the younger boys for much of the journey. Jace and Luke alternated between riding and sitting inside when the road grew rough, or their mother decided they had been looking too pleased with freedom. I rode often beside the carriage, partly because I disliked being shut inside for too long, and partly because men along the road needed to see that we were not hiding behind curtains.
By the second day, Aerion had begun to consider the journey an injustice against him personally.
"I still think travelling by dragon would have been faster," he said from the carriage window, his silver hair escaping its tie despite the nurse’s best efforts. "If Tyraxes had flown already, we could have arrived properly."
Rhaegar sat beside him, calmer and more irritating by virtue of being correct. "Tyraxes has not flown, and neither has Vhalalor. That makes the argument mostly imaginary."
Aerion looked wounded. "Most great plans begin before small-minded people can understand them."
Luke laughed despite trying not to.
Rhaenyra gave Aerion the look she used when deciding whether a remark deserved correction or preservation for later embarrassment. "A great plan that begins with a dragon who has not yet taken flight is still only a boy complaining inside a carriage."
Aerion folded his arms. "That is an unfairly precise description."
"It is also why it worked."
Jace rode beside me at that point, listening with a smile he tried to hide. He had changed since Highgarden. Not greatly. Not in the silly way men claimed boys became men after a single journey. But something had settled in him. He watched more carefully now, not every moment, not every face, but enough that I could see the lesson had followed him home.
"Maidenpool will not be like Highgarden," I said to him as the road bent through a stretch of open country.
"I know. You are not competing."
"That is part of it."
He looked toward the carriage where his siblings were still arguing in lower voices. "We are all here this time."
"Yes. Highgarden needed men to see that I was more than a rumour. Maidenpool needs men to see that your mother’s claim is not only a matter for council chambers. It has a family behind it."
Jace was quiet for a few breaths. "Do you want me to speak with the Riverlords?"
"When it is proper. You do not need to chase every conversation. Let men approach, answer well, and remember that listening often flatters better than talking."
He nodded. "Mother said something similar, though she made it sound less like a lesson."
"Your mother is better at making lessons feel like commands given by the gods."
"She said you would say that."
"She knows me too well."
By the time Maidenpool came into view, the road had grown busier with travellers bound for Lord Walys Mooton’s name day tournament. Knights rode with painted shields and squires carrying lances.
Merchants had followed the gathering with carts of cloth, wine, ribbons, meat pies, and cheap trinkets that would be sold as keepsakes to men too drunk to know better. Smallfolk gathered along the roads as our escort passed, drawn first by the sight of the Unsullied and then by the royal banners.
Maidenpool was not Highgarden. It did not pretend to be.
Its strength was different: river roads, trade, old walls, and the practical pride of a town that had seen enough history pass by to know splendour could become trouble if invited too warmly.
Pink stone and pale walls caught the afternoon light. Banners snapped above the gates. Beyond them, the sounds of celebration carried through the air: horns, shouting, horses, hammers, and the restless murmur of a crowd awaiting tournament blood without wanting to call it that.
Lord Walys Mooton received us outside the main hall with his household gathered behind him.
He was not an old man, though he had the look of one who wished people would remember his experience before testing his patience. His welcome was warm, but not foolishly so. Having Rhaenyra, her husband, and all her children attend his name day tournament raised the honour of the event. It also placed him more visibly beneath the gaze of factions he could not pretend did not exist.
"Princess Rhaenyra," Lord Walys said, bowing deeply. "Prince Othorion. Prince Jacaerys. My house is honoured beyond expectation by your presence. Maidenpool has hosted many celebrations, but few with such guests."
Rhaenyra answered before I did, as planned and as proper. "Lord Mooton, your invitation was gracious, and we are pleased to attend. My family has heard much of Maidenpool, and I thought it fitting that my children see more of the realm they will one day serve."
That was well placed. Not rule. Serve. Riverlords liked plain words, but they also liked hearing that great houses remembered duty when speaking under banners.
Lord Walys looked toward the children with genuine interest. "Then I hope Maidenpool proves a worthy host. The tournament begins tomorrow, though there will be smaller contests and music tonight. Your rooms have been prepared, and any need you have will be met if it lies within my power."
Jace bowed. "Thank you, my lord. We are grateful for your welcome."
Luke followed half a breath later, a little less polished but earnest enough to make the gesture charming rather than clumsy. Rhaegar and Aerion bowed together, though Aerion made his deeper, likely because he had decided courtesy could also be a competition. Viserys hid partly behind Rhaenyra’s skirts until Lord Walys smiled at him, at which point he looked solemn enough to be mistaken for a tiny maester judging a tax dispute.
Aemma slept through the entire welcome. That may have been the wisest response.
The hall that evening was crowded, though not with Highgarden’s polished abundance. Maidenpool’s feast had more river strength to it. Fish, roasted fowl, dark bread, onions, herbs, strong ale, and wines brought for the occasion by men eager to prove they could host beyond their own cellars. The music was lively, and the hall warmed quickly with bodies, firelight, and conversation.
I did not sit at the centre of everything. Rhaenyra did.
That changed the shape of the room more than any speech I could have given. Men approached her first, as they should have. Lord Walys presented several Riverlords and landed knights. Some were warm. Some were careful.
A few looked at the children longer than courtesy required, as if measuring whether rumour could survive silver hair, purple eyes, and the easy way Luke leaned toward his mother when unsure.
Rhaenyra handled them beautifully.
She did not plead for approval. She did not perform softness. She spoke of roads, river trade, harvests, repairs after flooding, and the burden of keeping peace between proud neighbours who shared borders too closely.
When one minor lord tried to flatter her by comparing her to old queens, she thanked him without letting the compliment become the conversation. When another asked whether the prince enjoyed travelling, she turned the answer gently toward Jace and let him speak for himself.
Jace did well.
Not perfectly. He was still eleven, and anyone expecting a boy to carry a hall like a grown king deserved disappointment. But he listened. He answered without rushing. When Lord Walys asked what he thought of the journey, Jace spoke of the roads, the towns, and the difference between seeing lands from dragonback and travelling through them slowly enough to notice people.
That answer pleased more than Lord Mooton.
Luke had a smaller moment later, and perhaps a more useful one.
A knight sworn to House Darry asked him whether he preferred dragonriding to sword training. It might have been harmless. It might not. Luke glanced once toward me, then toward Ser Erryk, who gave nothing away.
"I prefer dragonriding," Luke said, honest enough to draw a few smiles. "But Ser Erryk says a prince should not love only what comes easily to him. So I train with the sword even when Arrax is more forgiving than practice shields."
The knight laughed, not mockingly. Rhaenyra’s hand tightened briefly on her cup. She was proud.
So was I.
The younger children drew a different kind of attention. Rhaegar watched everything with unsettling calm. Aerion charmed two old ladies by explaining that Tyraxes would one day be larger than every dragon except perhaps Dravvaxx, though he admitted this might take "a reasonable number of years."
Viserys was admired because solemn children often made adults imagine depth where there was mostly tiredness. Aemma woke in time to be praised, fed, and passed back to her nurse before she could ruin diplomacy by crying into Lord Mooton’s sleeve.
Ser Arlan’s presence mattered too. Men noticed him.
A newly sworn Kingsguard could have been dismissed in whispers as my creature, Jace’s mistake, or a Marcher placed too near the royal children. At Maidenpool, he looked like what he was: a Westerosi knight in white, disciplined, quiet, and attentive without seeming theatrical. Several men approached him during the evening. He answered with courtesy and gave no one the satisfaction of awkwardness.
At one point, I found him near the edge of the hall speaking with a Riverlander knight about the Dornish Marches.
When the knight departed, I said, "You are becoming popular."
Arlan gave me a look of mild suffering. "If this is popularity, I understand why clever men avoid it."
"You wear the cloak well."
"I am trying to wear it correctly before I worry about wearing it well."
"That is probably why men are noticing."
He looked across the hall to where Jace was speaking with Lord Walys under Rhaenyra’s eye. "The prince chose carefully. Men are deciding whether to admit that."
"They will admit it slowly if allowed."
"And if not allowed?"
"Then they will still notice, but with worse manners."
Arlan almost smiled. "That has been my experience of court so far."
The tournament began the next day, but I remained in the stands.
That alone made Maidenpool different.
More than one knight looked mildly disappointed that I had not entered. A few looked relieved. Lord Walys made a courteous remark about Highgarden’s champion honouring his lists by watching them, which allowed me to answer that Maidenpool had no need of me to make its field worthy. That pleased him, and more importantly, it placed the focus back where it belonged.
The bouts were entertaining enough. A Mallister cousin rode well in the joust. A Bracken knight took offence at a Blackwood cheer before being reminded by three men that Lord Mooton’s name day was not the place to renew history.
The melee was rougher than Highgarden’s but smaller, with less polish and more personal knowledge between competitors. Riverlords fought like men who expected to meet again on roads, in disputes, or at weddings where old bruises would be remembered.
Jace sat beside me for part of the day, Luke on his other side. "Do you wish you were fighting?" Jace asked.
"No."
He looked sceptical. "You said that too easily."
"I enjoyed Highgarden. I also enjoy not being hit with blunted steel while bruises are still deciding what colour to become."
Luke leaned forward. "Mother said if you entered this tournament, she would forbid the maester from giving you anything stronger than willow bark afterwards."
"That sounds like your mother making a military threat through medicine."
"She seemed serious."
"She usually is when I am being foolish."
Jace watched the field, where two knights circled each other under cheers from the crowd. "It feels different when we are only watching."
"It should. At Highgarden, men looked at me because I stood on the field. Here, they look at our family because we sit together."
Luke frowned slightly. "Is that better?"
"Not better. Different. Sometimes strength is shown by taking the centre. Sometimes it is shown by not needing to."
Jace absorbed that. Luke looked as if he understood half and would think over the rest later. That was enough.
Throughout the day, nobles approached in ones and twos.
Lord Mooton introduced me to men whose names I would have only skimmed once in a history if not for this life. Some mattered by land. Some by marriage. Some by proximity to crossings, roads, or old quarrels that could become sudden fires if badly handled. I spoke less than I had at Highgarden and listened more. That suited the Riverlands. Men there distrusted polish when it shone too brightly.
By the end of the second evening, the purpose of the journey had begun to show itself.
No lord bent the knee anew. No great pledge was made. No faction shifted so openly that ravens would carry it by dawn. That would have been too easy and too false. Instead, smaller things happened. Lord Walys spoke to Rhaenyra with greater ease.
A Darry knight praised Luke’s answer where others could hear. A Mallister cousin asked Jace about Vermax without smirking. Several women of noble houses fussed over Aemma and then spoke warmly of Rhaenyra as a mother, which would travel farther through households than many formal declarations.
The children became harder to dismiss because they had been seen laughing, listening, bowing, tiring, recovering, and trying.
That was why we had come.
On the final morning, I stood near the yard and watched the Unsullied prepare for departure. Their lines were as exact as they had been on arrival. Riverlords watched them with the same discomfort and respect I had seen on the road. They did not understand the Unsullied, not truly, but they understood discipline.
Rhaenyra came to stand beside me. "You were right," she said.
"I will try not to enjoy hearing that too visibly."
"You will fail."
"I usually do."
Her mouth curved slightly, but her eyes remained on the children. Jace was speaking with Lord Walys. Luke stood near Ser Erryk, more relaxed than he had been when we arrived. Rhaegar and Aerion were being supervised with the firm vigilance required of boys who had discovered another lord’s ornamental fountain. Viserys held his nurse’s hand and looked offended by the morning. Aemma slept again, saving her strength for future disruption.
"This was better than another victory," Rhaenyra said.
"Yes."
"They saw them."
"They did."
She glanced at me. "That matters more than I wanted it to."
"It should not have to matter. That does not mean it can be ignored."
Lord Walys came to see us off with proper warmth. He thanked Rhaenyra first, then me, then bowed to Jace with enough seriousness that my son noticed.
"Prince Jacaerys," he said, "I hope Maidenpool has not seemed dull after Highgarden."
Jace answered without needing to look at me. "No, my lord. Highgarden was grand, but Maidenpool has taught me different things. I am grateful for both."
Lord Walys looked genuinely pleased. "Then you are welcome here again."
Another small thing. Another useful thing.
We departed beneath a pale sky, with three hundred Unsullied marching in perfect step and the carriages rolling east toward King’s Landing. No dragons circled overhead. No purse of gold waited at the end of a field. No crowd roared my name.
That was fine. Highgarden had needed steel. Maidenpool had needed witness.
As the towers of Maidenpool receded behind us, I looked at Rhaenyra through the carriage window. She sat with Aemma in her arms, Luke leaning against her side, Viserys half-asleep nearby, and the twins arguing in whispers because they had been warned not to do so loudly. Jace rode ahead for the moment beside Ser Arlan, speaking with him as the new Kingsguard listened gravely.
There it was, plainly enough for any Riverlord to carry home. Not a rumour. Not an insult. Not a question shaped by Otto’s men.
A family. A future. And three hundred silent spears making certain it reached the road safely.
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