Chapter Text
Tar Valon
Moiraine wakes with a gasp.
Her nightshift clings to her damp skin, slick with sweat. The dream again, the same nightmare that haunts her nights ever since her uncle’s death a month ago. A lot has changed since then. She has been named heir to the Iron Throne. The last true royal blood.
Even sleep offers no rest. The promised future, the prophecy whispered in dragonfire and shadow, haunts her.
The door creaks open, and the noise startles her. Instinctively, Moiraine straightens, smoothing her expression into practiced calm. Today is the day. The one they have all waited for, dreaded for.
“Good morning, my friend! Or should I say, my Queen ?” Daena grins, dipping into a theatrical and very poorly executed curtsy.
A giggle slips from Vaenessa as she follows close behind, “You really should work on that curtsy, sister. Especially now that our dear Moiraine is to be crowned.”
Moiraine looks at her friends, and a small smile tugs at her lips. She’s glad they’re here. She needs someone who remembers her from before, before fate laid its heavy hand on her shoulder.
“Where’s my sister?” she asks.
Daena lays the coronation gown carefully on the bed and shakes her head, “Oh, you know Caetlyn. She’s probably on her knees making someone scream.”
Vaenessa nudges her playfully, “Don’t worry. She knows what today is. She’ll show up.”
Moiraine nods and turns toward the tall window. The early sun stretches across the city below , her city. The nation she will soon rule. She closes her eyes and lets the morning breeze wash over her, drawing it deep into her lungs. And when she opens them, she smiles, a smile practiced to perfection, as if the burden of a crown she never asked for isn’t already pressing into her bones.
When she turns back, her friends are watching her, concerned flickering in their eyes.
“I’m ready,” she says.
And so, they begin. The quiet ritual of transformation. Preparing her not just as Moiraine, the girl they once knew, but as Queen.
Verin is rattling off reminders as they walk the corridor toward the great hall.
“Remember to address the Old Houses first, then the outer territories. Don’t mention Driftmark yet. Keep your tone neutral when you-”
She stops mid-sentence when a child sprints into the hallway.
Moiraine barely reacts before the girl trips. Moiraine catches her before she hits the ground.
“Are you alright?” she asks, steadying the girl.
The child looks up, wide eyes meeting Moiraine’s. She smiles.
“You should’ve never been born.”
Before Moiraine can fully register the words, a blade flashes, black, thin, and swift. Poisoned, surely.
The guards are on the child in an instant, dragging her back as she kicks and screams. People panic. The hallway erupts in shouts. Moiraine stands perfectly still.
Her friends rush to her side, hands running over her arms and shoulders, searching for blood, for a wound, for anything.
“None,” someone whispers.
Verin places a firm hand on her shoulder. “Moiraine… we can do this another day. When it’s secured. When we know everything is in your favor.”
Moiraine looks at her. Her voice is quiet, “We both know we’ll be waiting a long time before that happens.”
Verin sighs. They both know this isn’t the first time someone has tried to kill her.
Moiraine’s uncle had many bastards, but none with true blood. He was cruel, feared, obeyed but one thing Moiraine respects him for is his loyalty to her father. He never forced a marriage to her. Never crossed that line.
But a child. She never imagined someone would use a child.
“She’s just a child,” Moiraine murmurs.
She turns to the guard holding the girl. “Hold off on killing her. I want to speak with her first.”
Can she really spare someone who just tried to assassinate her? She’s about to be Queen, after all. That must mean something.
The others protest, but Moiraine’s look silences them. One glance. That’s all it takes. They nod and whisper quiet instructions to the guards.
When the gates open, Moiraine turns to her companions. “I’ll see you there.”
Ahead, her dragon waits.
Balerion’s shadow stretches across the stones, his scales shimmering in reflection of the sun. Moiraine walks forward, reaches out. He lowers his head. Balerion huffs and shifts his weight, nudging her with his enormous snout. She stumbles, then laughs.
“Well, it’s good that you still sound like a little girl free of worries about to come.”
Moiraine turns and smiles. Only one voice would dare say that. Only one could be this close to Balerion and walk away unscathed.
“Good to see you too, sister,” she says.
Caetlyn leans lazily against a rock, arms folded. “It’s your big day, sis. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
Moiraine waits, arms crossed, brow raised, “Well?”
Caetlyn rolls her eyes, “Oh, please. You don’t need me in there. Your little spawns are probably already sweet-talking you earlier.”
“I needed you there. There was an… incident earlier.”
Caetlyn’s entire posture shifts. Serious now, her jaw sets as she says, “What do you mean, incident?”
Moiraine shrugs, “You know. The same kind.”
Caetlyn swears, “Bloody hell, Moiraine! What were your guards doing? I’ll have their heads hung! Are you hurt?”
She reaches out to check her, but Moiraine turns away and climbs onto Balerion’s saddle.
“Moiraine! You stubborn, stupid woman! When will you take the attempts on your life seriously? I’m going to kill that bastard for even trying!”
Moiraine looks down at her, face calm but her voice cracks just a little, “She’s just a child, Caetlyn.”
Caetlyn stops. Her hand drops to her hip. She meets Moiraine’s eyes and understands.
“The implications,” she warns, “They’re getting bolder.”
Moiraine says nothing.
Caetlyn sighs, “Fine. I’ll spare you the tenacious process and question her myself.” She lifts her chin. “But right now, you're about to be Queen. So let’s do that. And anyone who tries to end you?”
She mounts her own dragon, Meleys, red as fire and twice as deadly.
“I’ll feed them to her.”
Balerion lets out a growl that shakes the ground as Moiraine descends toward the coronation grounds. The crowd erupts into thunderous cheers. Caetlyn and Meleys follow close behind, wings cutting through the sky.
The air is intense, electric with awe. Moiraine feels it radiating from the crowd, the hatred in the eyes of men who would rather burn than bow, the inspiration and jealousy simmering in the hearts of women who see something they’ve never been allowed to become.
She sees it all as she scans the sea of faces. And still, she holds her head high.
Not a single bead of sweat marks her brow as the crown is placed upon her head. the loud screams awakens something in her and somehow it scares her to her core.
Driftmark
Siuan steps off the ship, boots hitting the dock with a heavy thud. The sea wind still clings to her, salt in her hair, exhaustion in her bones. Weeks at sea, and all she wants is a hot bath and a night without motion beneath her feet.
Leane waits on the pier, scroll in hand, expression unreadable. Siuan groans before she even takes it.
“Please don’t tell me this is urgent.”
Leane doesn’t answer. Just hands it over.
Siuan breaks the seal and skims it quickly. Her brow lifts. Then she rolls her eyes. Of course.
“A new queen’s been named,” Leane says, as if Siuan hadn’t already read the first lines. “She’s summoning the major Houses.”
Siuan snorts. “Summoning me, you mean.”
She crumples the scroll in one hand and tosses it to a waiting squire. “If she wants my support, she can come and get it. I won’t go running like a lovesick puppy just because I’ve been summoned.”
Leane raises a brow. “She is the Queen.”
“Then she’d better act like it,” Siuan mutters, already walking toward the keep. “And come to me.”
Tar Valon
The coronation is over, but the fire has only just begun.
The Great Hall is full, the major houses have gathered, answering the queen’s summons or most of them.
House Velaryon is notably absent.
Others speak with hesitation, offering guarded words and cautious allegiance. Some are less careful. A few say it outright no .
Moiraine listens. She counters each objection with the poise of a ruler, but the moment one crosses the line, calls her names, hints at rebellion, mutters about unseating her…She does not flinch. She sets them alight.
The silence that follows is absolute.
Smoke curls into the rafters as their sons step forward, trembling, and take up the sigils of their houses. Legacy now belongs to the ones who did not speak treason.
When that was done, they returned to their meeting quarter.
Moiraine’s gaze sweeps the room. “House Sanche,” she says.
A scroll is presented to her, the seal still damp from travel.
“Apologies to the Queen.
As much as I would love to be there, I have only just returned from a long sea voyage and must tend to my aching body.
— Lady Siuan Sanche”
She folds the scroll slowly. Her face is unreadable.
Caetlyn stands nearby, her half-sister, draped in black, dangerous and smiling. She is not well-loved by the court. Her reputation precedes he, untamed, unmarried, sharp-tongued, dragon-backed.
But Moiraine had called for her the moment she was name the heir of the throne.
As children, they rode together, one on Balerion, the other on the last unclaimed beast. Since then, they have been inseparable.
Cate steps forward, voice laced with contempt. “Let me ride there and burn their house for this atrocious disobedience.”
Moiraine doesn’t turn. “You will do no such thing, Catelyn.”
“You can’t be soft, sister. You’re the queen now.”
Moiraine’s jaw tightens. “Would you expect me to burn every lord who does not kneel today?”
“That’s different,” Cate says with a shrug. “They deserved it.”
Verin speaks up, carefully. “Siuan didn’t say no. She simply said she couldn’t come.”
The tension thickens. Moiraine’s temper simmers beneath the surface. So much for her first day as queen.
A council member dares to interrupt, “We should look into the attempt on your life.”
“I’ll look into it,” Cate snaps before Moiraine can speak. Her voice is sharp.
Moiraine’s eyes don’t leave the tabl, “I need to secure an alliance with Driftmark. They remain the richest, most powerful house. We cannot afford distance from them.”
Silence again. Eyes shift around the room.
“I’ll ride there myself on dragonback. I’ll return before sundown.”
Verin takes a step forward, “My Queen…”
Others echo her, voices low, cautious. But they all know it must be done. Moiraine does not wait. Annoyed, jaw clenched, she exits the hall and mounts Balerion. The dragon snarls, wings spreading wide.
And then, with fire roaring in their wake, they rise as they take off to Driffmark.