Yuhahaha

Daemon found her fascinating and would have enjoyed testing her nerve. Marissa's later reputation became divided. Some called her the woman who might have prevented the Greens from making several catastrophic mistakes. Others called her a cold-blooded architect of suffering who reduced human lives to numbers on parchment. Both are true. Marissa never wanted to be cruel. She simply believed cruelty was preferable to failure. And during the Dance, she learned the most dangerous lesson of all: “Mercy is expensive. Victory is cheaper.”

⋆｡𖦹°‧ “Marissa Royce never raised her voice. She had discovered that men listened more carefully when they were afraid of what silence meant.” Marissa was a daughter of one of Runestone's most powerful branches. She learned early that sentiment was a luxury afforded to people who possessed power. She did not hate the Blacks. She did not particularly love the Greens. Her betrothal to Aemond was ideal before all these wars started, and now that Betrothal, tied her to the Greens. They were two people who understood that power was not something to admire. It was something to use. Marissa was not a battlefield commander and never pretended to be. Her battlefield was decision-making. She could look at a lord's loyalty, wealth, family, debts and ambitions and determine exactly how much pressure was required to move him. She preferred coercion to killing. Why waste a useful man when you could make him obedient? A Black sympathizer might wake to discover his debts had been purchased. A wavering lord might learn that his heir's betrothal depended upon his loyalty. A neutral merchant might suddenly find every ship in his harbor subjected to inconvenient inspections. Marissa rarely destroyed people outright. She made their lives so uncomfortable that they destroyed themselves. Her pragmatism had limits and those limits were horrifyingly flexible. When a lord refused to provide men for Aemond's campaign, Marissa discovered that his youngest son was secretly fathered by another man. She exposed the bastardry. The son's inheritance vanished. The family fractured. The lord finally provided his soldiers. Marissa considered the operation successful. When Alicent criticized the cruelty, Marissa answered: “Your Grace, I offered him a choice. He simply disliked both choices.” She had little sympathy for smallfolk caught in the war either. A burned village was unfortunate. A starving town was unfortunate. But if destroying one settlement prevented five others from joining an enemy, Marissa would give the order. She counted lives rather than mourning them. Her relationship with Aemond was one of the strangest political marriages of the Dance. She did not flatter him. She did not fear his temper. She was one of the few people who could tell him that something was foolish and expect him to listen. Aemond admired that. Marissa admired his decisiveness and his willingness to do what others merely threatened. But she also understood his greatest weakness: pride. Sometimes he listened. Sometimes he didn't. And when he didn't, Marissa learned to work around him. Their betrothal was not a love story. It was something colder; mutual recognition. Yet affection slowly grew between them, precisely because neither expected the other to pretend. Alicent initially liked Marissa's composure. She thought the girl might become a stabilizing influence on Aemond. She was wrong. Marissa did not stabilize Aemond. She made him more effective. She taught him when to threaten and when to wait. She encouraged him to distinguish between enemies who needed killing and enemies who could be made useful. Alicent eventually became uncomfortable with how often Marissa's advice produced results. Marissa maintained several secret channels to Black-aligned nobles. Not because she intended to betray Aegon. She wanted contingencies. If Rhaenyra won, Marissa wanted to know which Green families could negotiate. If Aegon won, she wanted to know which Blacks would surrender. She even quietly arranged safe passage for a few children of Black supporters. Not out of kindness. Children could become useful political hostages. That was Marissa's worldview in miniature. Nothing was sacred if it could be used. Aemond respected her more than almost anyone and loved her in his own severe way. Alicent admired her intelligence but eventually feared her influence. Otto considered her exceptionally promising and warned that pragmatists eventually discover that principles are the only thing separating calculation from madness. Rhaenyra regarded her as one of the Greens' most dangerous women.

⋆｡𖦹°‧ Lady Marissa Royce of Runestone

⋆｡𖦹°‧ “Elysara Tully loved like a poet and punished like a queen. Unfortunately, she possessed neither a poet's mercy nor a queen's crown.” Elysara was born during the early years of the Targaryen dynasty and grew up close to the royal family. She was beautiful in a quiet, melancholy way and possessed a habit of remembering everything people told her. Unlike the louder ladies at court, Elysara rarely sought attention. She preferred private conversations. A grieving widow. A frightened girl. A knight ashamed of something he had done. A lord mourning a dead son. People confessed to Elysara because she seemed to genuinely understand them. And she did. That was the beginning of the trouble. Elysara was unusually compassionate toward people suffering beneath the new Targaryen order. She helped families whose lands had been confiscated during the Conquest. She paid debts for sailors. She sheltered women fleeing violent husbands. She secretly provided food to villages suffering after bad harvests. This earned her an excellent reputation. Then she discovered something uncomfortable: Kindness could be weaponized. A lord who owed her money could be pressured. A family she had rescued could become loyal. A frightened woman could provide information. Elysara began using compassion as a currency. She still helped people. She simply started asking herself: “What can I make this kindness worth?” Elysara initially adored Aenys. She believed he was a gentle king who genuinely wanted peace. But as rebellions multiplied and the Faith grew increasingly hostile to the Targaryens, she became convinced that his mercy was destroying the realm. She began quietly supporting stronger measures. Not because she loved violence. Because she hated watching people she cared about suffer. And eventually, she began deciding who deserved to suffer instead. She arranged for several outspoken Faith supporters to be publicly humiliated through revelations about their private lives. She encouraged rival noble families to feud rather than unite against the crown. Elysara's greatest flaw was that she could justify almost anything through emotion. She didn't say: “I did this because I wanted power.” She said: “I did this because someone had to.” When a child died because of a political feud she had helped create, she was devastated. But instead of questioning herself, she blamed the people who had forced her hand. She became increasingly convinced that good intentions mattered more than consequences. That belief made her dangerous. Rhaena Targaryen became one of the few people Elysara genuinely trusted. Their friendship was emotionally intense. Both women understood what it meant to be trapped inside a dynasty whose decisions were made largely by men. Elysara admired Rhaena's strength. Rhaena admired Elysara's compassion. But Rhaena eventually became frightened by what that compassion was becoming. When Elysara arranged the destruction of a noble family to protect someone she loved, Rhaena confronted her. Elysara answered: “You taught me that love makes us brave.” Rhaena replied: “Not cruel.” Neither forgot the exchange. Aenys I genuinely trusted her. Alyssa Velaryon respected her intelligence but distrusted her methods. Rhaena loved her, then feared what she was becoming. Visenya Targaryen considered her “a soft woman learning hard lessons.” Later histories remembered Elysara strangely. To some, she was a compassionate woman corrupted by a cruel age. To others, she was simply a manipulator who learned to disguise ambition as tenderness. The truth was uncomfortable. Elysara really did care. She really did save people. She really did love deeply. And she really did destroy lives. Because somewhere along the way, she began believing that if her heart told her an act was justified, the act itself could not make her wicked. That was the lie that eventually consumed her.

⋆｡𖦹°‧ Lady Elysara Tully of Riverrun

Elyra never wanted Daemon dead. She simply accepted that his dream might have to die so that he could live. And when Redgrass Field proved that even that hope had been foolish, Elyra was left with the knowledge that she had betrayed the brother who loved her and had not even managed to save him.

⋆｡𖦹°‧“Elyra Waters had no crown to lose, and therefore feared losing nothing.” Elyra was one of the many bastards of Aegon IV, born with enough royal blood to be interesting but not enough legitimacy to ever feel secure. She grew up around princes and nobles who knew exactly what she was; the king's daughter, but not a princess. That contradiction shaped her. Elyra became charming, observant and intensely protective of the few people she considered hers. She had no desire to become queen. She wanted something much simpler. To never again be powerless. When Daemon Blackfyre rose in rebellion, Elyra initially remained close to Daeron. Not because she loved him. Because she understood the odds. But Daemon fascinated her. He possessed everything she had been denied; legitimacy in the eyes of his followers, charisma, martial glory and the possibility of becoming something greater than Aegon's discarded children. The two developed a strange affection. Daemon treated Elyra as a sister rather than an illegitimate inconvenience. She loved him for it. Her favourite brothers were Daeron and Brynden. She gave Daeron whatever Daemon confessed to her in moments of drinking and brotherly advises. She deliberately allowed minor victories for Blackfyre because she believed Daeron needed to understand the seriousness of the rebellion. She also quietly sabotaged Blackfyre plans she believed would lead to Daemon's destruction. She wanted Daemon to survive, even if he lost. She failed. Elyra became increasingly ruthless as the rebellion intensified. She arranged for several Blackfyre sympathizers to be arrested based on information she had acquired through friendships. Some were guilty. Others were not. She considered that distinction less important than preventing the rebellion from spreading. She once exposed a lord's secret bastard to destroy his political alliance. The resulting family feud killed three men. She also encouraged two rival Blackfyre supporters to accuse one another of treason. Both were executed. Elyra knew neither man had betrayed Daeron. She simply needed them gone. Her justification was brutally simple: “The realm cannot afford two wars. Better that two fools die fighting one another than twenty thousand die fighting a king.” Daemon's affection for Elyra was genuine. He trusted her more than many of his sworn supporters. He reportedly called her “little dragon”, despite her insistence that she was no dragon. She admired his courage. She also believed he was being manipulated by men who wanted to use his blood for their own ambitions. That became her great tragedy. She wanted to save Daemon from the rebellion. But she could not convince him to abandon it or win it. When he finally rode to war, Elyra understood that she might never see him again. She did not betray him completely. She betrayed his cause. And Daemon never learned the difference. Daeron eventually came to rely upon Elyra. She understood the politics surrounding Aegon's bastards and Blackfyre supporters better than almost anyone. Yet she never became a loyalist in her heart. Her loyalty was to the survival of the realm and the people she loved. Daeron occasionally found her unsettling. Baelor Breakspear liked her considerably more. He recognized that she was doing terrible things for reasons she genuinely believed were necessary. But that did not make him forgive her. Daemon Blackfyre loved her like a sister and never knew how much she had sacrificed his cause. Daeron II trusted her usefulness but never completely trusted her heart. Baelor Breakspear adored her and understood her better than most. Bittersteel despised her after discovering she had undermined several Blackfyre plans. Later Targaryens remembered Elyra as an uncomfortable figure. Some called her a bastard who saved the realm. Others called her a traitor who betrayed her own blood. Both interpretations contain truth.

⋆｡𖦹°‧ Lady Elyra Waters of King's Landing

⋆｡𖦹°‧ Lady Saera Redwyne of the Aebor

⋆｡𖦹°‧ Lady Saera Redwyne of the Aebor

Later historians couldn't decide what Jocelyn Blackwood actually was. Some called her Jacaerys's greatest protector. Others called her a murderer who used a dead prince as an excuse for vengeance. Both were true. She genuinely loved Jace. She genuinely tried to save him. She genuinely failed. And afterward, she committed terrible acts against people who had nothing to do with his death. That is what makes Jocelyn tragic rather than merely evil. Her villainy was born from a virtue. She had spent years believing that one person was worth protecting at any cost. When that person died, she simply applied the same principle in reverse. Anyone who had taken Jace from her was worth destroying at any cost.

⋆｡𖦹°‧ “Jocelyn Blackwood had spent half her life keeping Prince Jacaerys alive. When she failed, she decided that everyone who had failed him deserved to die.” Jocelyn Blackwood came to court as a child and became one of Rhaenyra's closest childhood companions. The two girls were very different. Rhaenyra was born wanting to be seen. Jocelyn preferred watching. She was clever, dryly funny, difficult to embarrass, and possessed of a remarkably stubborn streak. Rhaenyra trusted her because Jocelyn never treated her like a princess when they were alone. When Jacaerys was born, Jocelyn became particularly attached to him. She was not his sworn sword. She wasn't even formally his protector. She simply made herself indispensable. She taught him which courtiers could be trusted. She warned him when conversations were becoming dangerous. She learned which lords were whispering about his parentage and which servants carried gossip between the royal apartments. Jace regarded her as an older sister. Jocelyn regarded him as the one person in the royal family whose future mattered to her more than her own. When war came, Jocelyn followed Jace's movements whenever possible. She disagreed with Rhaenyra at times. She disliked Daemon. She distrusted Corlys. She considered the Blacks' willingness to sacrifice young people for political objectives deeply hypocritical. But she remained because Jace remained. Her loyalty was therefore conditional in a way people failed to understand. If Jace had decided to make peace with Aegon, Jocelyn would have helped him. She wasn't protecting the Black cause. She was protecting Jacaerys Velaryon specifically. And then came the battle that killed him. Jocelyn had warned Jace repeatedly about the dangers of flying into contested territory. She understood his desperation to help his mother take back her throne, but she didn't want him to go nevertheless. He went anyway. She failed to stop him. And after Jace died protecting his little brothers, something fundamental in Jocelyn broke. The woman who emerged afterward was considerably worse. Jocelyn stopped caring about the distinction between enemies and obstacles. A Green sympathizer might be killed. A neutral lord might be ruined. A Black commander who had ignored Jace's warnings could find his career destroyed. A servant who carried information to the enemy could disappear. She began collecting the names of everyone who had, in her eyes, failed Jace. Not just those responsible for his death. Those who could have prevented it. Those who had advised him poorly. Those who had mocked him. Those who had treated him as expendable. And eventually, those who simply survived him. Her relationship with Rhaenyra became tragic. Jocelyn still loved her childhood friend. But she increasingly blamed her. Not necessarily for Jace's death, but for creating a world in which Jace had been expected to die for a crown. Rhaenyra eventually realized that Jocelyn no longer fought for her. She fought for the ghost of her son. And that made Jocelyn impossible to control. When Rhaenyra ordered her to show mercy toward several captured Greens, Jocelyn obeyed publicly. That night, the prisoners disappeared. Rhaenyra knew. Jocelyn knew she knew. Neither spoke about it. Jace was the great love of Jocelyn's life, though not romantically. He trusted her with his fears. She trusted him with her loyalty. His death transformed that loyalty into something poisonous. Jace had been the reason she restrained herself. Once he was gone, there was very little left restraining her. Rhaenyra loved her, then feared what she had become. Jacaerys had he lived, would probably have been the only person capable of stopping her. Baela Targaryen understood Jocelyn's grief but despised the cruelty that followed it. Daemon respected her ruthlessness but warned that grief had made her stupid. Aemond wanted her captured alive because he believed she knew exactly which Green families were vulnerable.