Drops of tears, everything to fear…
Naerys Targaryen's first memory was of violet eyes looking at her, gentle hands, a quiet high voice saying 'Sister'. She tried to move her mouth like he had. 'Sistah!' He smiled, shook his head, and pointed at her. 'Sister,' he said again. Sister, she thought, not quite sure what it meant. She was quite puzzled, but she'd liked hearing it.
When Naerys grew, she found that 'Sister' meant many things. When Aemon called her that, it meant love, affection, an unbroken bond. When Aegon called her that, it was different. 'Sister!' she heard Aegon's loud, impatient voice. Panic-stricken, she froze. Aegon ambled towards her, and casually struck her across her face. Pale skin reddened quickly, tears dripping from lilac eyes. Aegon grinned, and then sauntered away.
It was on that day Aemon found her, curled up like a babe in an alcove, tear-streaked face buried in her hands. He had a toy sword hanging from his waist; he'd been returning from a practice session. 'Naerys?' her brother asked. (He alone was her brother, everything that Aegon was not.) 'Ryssa, are you hurt?' Shaking her head, she ran to him. He caught her, gently cradling her face. 'You are a terrible liar, sister. Who hurt you?' His voice was concerned. She burst into tears again at his gentle prompt. 'Mo!' She exclaimed. 'Mo, Aegon not nice! Aegon hit me, I hate him!' His eyes flashed suddenly, focused on hers, and then softened. 'You must not say that, Ryssa. He's our brother.' She shook her head. 'You are my brother,' she replied. So he was.
When Naerys was six, she met her new Septa. The Septa was very devout, and soon had Naerys believing fervently in the Seven who were One. Aemon was quite skeptical about it first, saying, 'How do we know if there are Seven Gods, or fifty, or even a hundred? I do not deny their existence, Ryssa, but…' At the sight of her hangdog face, he laughed and swept her in a hug. 'All right, Ryssa. I'll come to the Sept. I'll pray to the Seven Gods. Anything for you, little sister.' Soon, he was as involved in prayer as she was. They found a sense of togetherness, even in that. Throughout their childhood, they were together. He was her closest companion, her playmate, her protector, and, above all, her brother, her beacon of safety.
There was more in Naerys's life apart from her idyllic little bubble, though. She could vaguely remember the ghost of a tense, silver-haired, purple-eyed woman from Lys. Naerys remembered that she had Aemon's amethyst eyes. No one talked about her, so Naerys assumed that the woman did not exist, except in her imagination. She had more family too. If one could call them that.
Her Father was strange. He was stern sometimes, and cold, too, but when he held her close, she felt like she was the luckiest girl in all of Westeros. Her Uncle Aegon was the King, even stranger than Father. Whenever she tried to get close to him, he'd look scared, almost afraid. She could never understand why. She, Naerys, was not scary! Father was the only person who could reach to Uncle Aegon. Even there, Uncle Aegon acted diffident, as if he had done a great wrong to Father. Naerys did not know why it was so. It didn't matter. All adults were strange, in a way.
Naerys's frail health was always teetering on the edge to oblivion. When she was a little girl, the Maester said, they weren't sure she'd survive. She did survive, but she was different from others. Even she knew that. She couldn't run and play like her brother did. She couldn't even climb the stairs to see the sunset on the Red Tower.
She'd tried once. All she ended up with were aching legs halfway up the tower, a spinning head, and finally, she had collapsed. When she came to, she was in her rooms. Somebody was tucking her in her bed. She opened her eyes blearily, and saw that her Father was wrapping her in a coverlet. 'She will be fine, son,' Naerys heard Father's voice say. 'See, Aegon isn't even very worried.' 'Aegon never was!' She heard a familiar voice exclaim vehemently. 'Mo?' she asked. 'Ryssa! Why did you go there? I found you…' He trailed off. Fighting back drooping eyelids, she replied, 'Went to see sunset…' Every day after that, he'd carry her in his arms to the tallest tower of the Red Keep, just in time to see the sunset. It even made her frequent illnesses bearable, her brother's constant company, the gentle way he handled her.
The first and only time Aemon had ever come close to losing his temper around her was when she asked him about the ghost woman. He'd gone all pale, his eyes had flashed, and he'd told her never to call her that again. She'd been confused, had asked him why. She could never forget what he'd told her next, never in her life. He'd knelt beside her, taken her face in his hands, looked her in the eye, and said, 'Ryssa, she was not a ghost. She was…' (He'd cleared his throat then, she remembered even that) 'She was our Mother. Lady Larra Rogare.' His words were rushed. 'We have a Mother?' she asked. 'Like Aunt Daenaera is Daeron's mother?' It was the closest thing she could think of. Daeron was a little baby, Uncle Aegon's son. Aemon nodded. 'Yes.' 'Where is she?' Naerys asked, curious. Why is she not here?
Aemon looked uncomfortable, then lowered his eyes. 'She's gone, Ryssa. She went away a long time ago.' He looked sad, and she felt sad, too. Not because of their mother, the ghost woman. She didn't even exist in Naerys's life. She'd left them long ago, hadn't she? She wasn't nice, Naerys knew. What sort of mother left her children all alone in this world? No, she felt sad because he was sad. She rose and hugged him close. 'Can you tell me a story?' she asked. He was always happy when he told her stories. He nodded, opened his mouth. 'About her.' Naerys said. 'About our Mother.' He smiled at her, his eyes warm. And her Mo was happy again.
'A long time ago, there was a beautiful Princess.' 'This is a new story!' exclaimed Naerys. 'I haven't heard this before.' Aemon's eyes sparkled mischievously. 'She was all of nine, with long silver hair, and violet eyes.' He tickled her in the stomach. 'She was very pretty, kind and gentle.' 'What was her name?' Naerys asked, intrigued. 'Her name was Naerys Targaryen…' She cut him off, poking him. 'That's no story!' She was indignant. 'It's a true story,' he replied candidly. She looked at him, and he laughed, carefree. At times like these, Naerys thought, life was better than Heaven itself.
One day, when Naerys was ten, she overheard Uncle Aegon talking to Father. 'Viserys, do you frequent the practice yards?' Father shook his head. 'No.' He replied. 'My duties prevent me from such frivolities, Aegon, you know that.' 'Come with me.' Uncle Aegon commanded, in his most kingly voice. Slightly puzzled, Father followed him. So did Naerys, unknown to either of them.
When they reached the yard, Naerys saw the Master-at-arms, Ser Ryamun Darry, fight against someone. Father arched a brow. 'Well, it seems that Ser Ryamun is losing. Against a green boy, no less.' 'Look closer, brother.' Naerys looked. Ser Ryamun's opponent was a young boy, and Ser towered over him. She almost gasped. It was Aemon! Aemon was fighting Ser Darry! Father was squinting, even now. Suddenly, Aemon disarmed his opponent. Ser Ryamun clapped him on the back. 'Good work!' Aemon turned, looking slightly shocked. He then noticed Father and Uncle Aegon, and bowed. 'Your Grace, My Lord Father.' He said, then threw a sly little wink at her. 'Aemon?' asked Father. Her brother looked up obediently. Father walked over to him, looked him in the eye, and said, 'Keep it up, son.' Aemon nodded. His face was lit up in a grin. 'Yes, Father,' he promised. 'I will. I'll become better, you'll see!' Father paid no heed to his earnest words. He turned on his heel, and left. Aemon's smile died.
Since that day, Aemon worked even harder at swords. Naerys used to watch him practice, always awed at his speed, his strength. Once, after he'd practiced, they met Aunt Baela. Aunt Baela had been scarred, burned by a dragon when she'd been younger. Naerys liked Aunt Baela, and Aunt Rhaena, too. They were nice to her, paid attention to her and Aemon. They knew Aegon for who he truly was, though Father never listened. Naerys wished he'd listen, truly she did.
He was too busy tending to the Realm, though. Aemon always said that Father had done a lot for the Realm, sacrificed a lot for its welfare. Father was beloved of the smallfolk, though Naerys could hardly understand why. She was shocked out of her rumination by Aunt Baela's tinkling, musical laugh. 'Why, Aemon,' she commented, 'you are almost exactly like Viserys was at your age. Our little brother was quite the charmer, wasn't he, Rhaena?' Aunt Rhaena nodded.
Naerys squinted up at Aemon, trying to imagine her father in his shoes, Father being carefree, quick to laugh, always by his siblings' side. Aunt Rhaena sighed. 'Viserys had his boyhood cut short, like Aegon.' And there it was. The pale shadow of something Naerys would never understand. The ghost of the war clinging to them, never forgotten.
Aemon was kneeling on the lush green grass, his face titled up, staring up at Uncle Aegon. Blackfyre was on his right shoulder. 'In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just, in the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.' Uncle Aegon's quiet voice was commanding, arresting, and Naerys lost track of the words. She quickly came to her senses. 'Do you swear, in the name of the Seven, to uphold these vows?' 'I do,' replied the strong, sure voice of her brother. 'Then rise, Ser Aemon Targaryen.' The whole crowd rose and clapped their hands. It was a magical moment.
Then came an unexpected voice. Uncle Aegon's. 'Kneel, Ser.' Obediently, Aemon knelt. Uncle Aegon had a sword sheathed in his hands. Slowly, he unsheathed it. The sun sparkled on the Valyrian Steel. Naerys gasped. It was Dark Sister. Dimly, she recalled Aemon taking her to the armory, pointing out the sword to her. He'd let her touch it, treating it reverently. Why did Uncle Aegon bring the sword here? She thought.
'On the occasion of your knighthood, Ser, I bestow upon you the ancestral sword Dark Sister.' Aemon's eyes grew impossibly wide, as he accepted the sword hesitantly. 'Your Grace,' he said, 'I am not worthy of its heritage.' 'You are.' It was another voice. Father's. 'I hope to do its heritage justice, Your Grace, My Lord Hand.' Aemon's voice was automatic, still shocked, staring awestruck at the sword. He reverently tied Dark Sister to his waist and bowed. The entirety of King's Landing rose again, and cheered. 'Prince Aemon, Prince Aemon!' They chanted. That day, a legend was born.
At three-and-ten, Naerys became a woman. She entered this new stage of life with the hesitant grace characteristic of her. Womanhood was not very different from girlhood, at least for her. That bliss lasted until Father shattered it. Oh, how well she remembered that day! She'd woken in high spirits, for it was Maiden's day.
Father had arrived when she'd been breaking her fast. She'd quickly attended to him, obedient as she was. Sometimes, she wished that she'd been more rebellious, more assertive, like Daena was. This, though she did not know it then, was shaping up to be such an occasion.
'Naerys,' Father started, his shoulders squared and stance alert, even when seated. 'What is it, Father?' She asked, worried. As it was, he looked even more formidable than usual, so she braced herself for bad news. 'This is something you must do for our House. You are a woman grown, you must marry, and you must have children.' Ah, so this was it, she thought. Marriage. Who was she to marry, though? Daeron? No, he was the Crown Prince. Baelor? She shook her head slightly, turning to Father.
'Yes, Father,' she agreed. 'I know.' 'I have thought long and hard on this, and I know that he is high-spirited, but I know it is the best for both of you.' Who is it? She wondered, her heart fluttering. 'You are to marry Aegon, Naerys. I have the King's blessing on your union.' Naerys's stomach dropped.
'No!' She wanted to scream, to shout, to rage. But she couldn't. She was Naerys Targaryen, a Princess of the Realm, trapped in a golden cage. Oh, how she wished she could be brave! Brave like Queen Visenya of yore, whose sword Aemon bore. Father must have seen her face change, for his expression softened. 'Naerys, you must trust me. Aegon is youthful, he will learn, perhaps you can…'She rose and curtsied, cutting him off mid-speech. 'Your Grace,' she uttered, exiting the room.
'High spirited' was describing Aegon's vices as his virtues, Naerys thought. If she had to marry a Targaryen, why couldn't it be someone else? Daeron, Baelor, even Aemon, the brother she loved as a sister.
She was called back to the present by a maid's gentle voice. 'Your Grace,' the maid began, 'Lady Alayne Blanetree is waiting for you.' Alayne. Her trusty young lady-in-waiting. 'I am coming.' Slowly, she rose, plastering a smile on her face. She had known that marriage was her fate, ever since Father had refused to let her become a Septa. She remembered that day so vividly…
Septa Adriana had still been alive then. Naerys had summoned all her courage and asked her Father if she could become a Septa, just like Princess Magelle, the Old King's daughter. He'd looked at her and laughed. 'Naerys', he said, gently but firmly, 'You are but a young girl, with a long time before you to grow. Becoming a Septa can be appealing now, but, you are a Princess of the Realm, your duty, as such, is to further House Targaryen.'
Obediently, she'd lived with her shattered dreams, hoping that her father would find the right man for her. Even on that bleak day, she remembered that Aemon had been there for her, had tried to talk to and reason with Father, carried her to bed, stayed with her all night, comforting her.
She laughed sarcastically. The very idea of Aegon being the "right man" for her was enough to make her retch. 'Princess!' She heard a voice exclaim. She'd bumped into Alayne in her haste. 'Forgive me, Alayne.' 'Is everything alright?' Naerys nodded, not forthcoming enough to confide in the older woman instantly.
Alayne was dressed in white, jasmines braided in her hair. Naerys, too, was dressed in a similar fashion. Ah, she remembered. It was Maiden's day. Her last Maiden's day. Naerys felt like she wanted to scream and cry. She collected herself with an effort. 'Come, Alayne.' 'To the Sept, Princess?' 'To the Sept.' She whispered.
When they entered the Sept, she noticed a silhouetted form kneeling in front of the Maiden. It was vaguely masculine. As she walked closer, he bowed his head to the Maiden. At her side, Alayne smiled. Clearly, an argument was going on. 'I do not think it wise for you to pray to that particular deity…' The Septon trailed off.
The man rose, according the Septon proper respect. 'Why not, Septon?' asked a familiar voice. 'Is it because I am a man, a knight? Have no fear; I do not intend to desecrate Maiden's Day. I wish to pray for my sister's happiness, that's all.' Alayne had a knowing look on her face, smiling widely as the knight knelt, his head to the floor. 'What is it, Alayne?' 'This is a familiar battle, Your Grace. The Septon always loses. She ran over what she had heard in her mind, and, suddenly, she knew who the knight was.
His words caught her attention, earnest and sincere. 'Maiden Above', he prayed. 'Please, I beseech you, keep my sister happy all her life.' He rose and turned to the Septon, as Naerys listened with bated breath. 'My name is Aemon, Septon. Have I not told you before?' Oh, brother, she thought. How I wish things were different.
He turned to her, flashing his dazzling grin. 'Naerys.' Alayne had discreetly moved away, giving them some privacy. Aemon was looking closely at her, concerned. The next thing she knew, everything poured out of her in a torrent of words. Aemon heard her out, as he had been doing since they were children, and held her close to him. Breathing in his slightly musky, citrus scent, Naerys relaxed. Her brother would make everything alright, she thought.
Of course, that was not the case, not this time. Aemon had made all her childish worries vanish, he'd stayed by her side when her frail health failed, and he'd even made Father see sense about her sometimes, but not this once. Not when her life hung in the balance.
He had tried, she could hear that. She had heard every single word of his impassioned defense. 'Father,' he'd said, 'With all due respect, Naerys deserves a better man than Aegon. He would hurt her worse than we could ever imagine. Father, please, I beg you, marry her to someone if you must, but someone who deserves her.' 'You speak from brotherly concern, Aemon, but your worries are unfounded. Targaryens marry brother to sister; we have done so for eons, you know that. Aegon is a young man, he will mend his ways. I will make sure of that.' Father had replied.
Alayne had been at her side when she'd heard them arguing. She had gasped when, for the first time in his life, Aemon had spoken in an improper fashion. 'AEGON is a young man, Father? Aegon? He's older than I ever was! You've always been blind to his faults; you've never seen what he truly is! If Naerys has to marry a Targaryen, her brother, then let us be wed, Father! I'll wed Ryssa. I'll make sure she lacks for nothing. I'll love her, care for her, do anything for her! Please, Father, you can't do this to her!'
Naerys's face must have been a sight to behold, for Alayne gently embraced her. 'Your Grace has a devoted brother.' Naerys nodded dumbly. Distantly, she heard Father say, 'Enough! It is time-honored tradition that the eldest daughter marries the eldest son. I will not break it for any reason at all! Ser Willem, escort my son from here.'
She saw the Kingsguard knight lead her brother out of Father's rooms. He immediately came to her rooms, and broke the news to her gently. He'd stayed through her onslaught of fresh tears and promised to stay by her side always. She didn't believe him. She couldn't.
The day she dreaded dawned bright and beautiful, making a mockery of her grief. She was dressed in the colors of her House, a three-headed dragon adorning her gown. Her handmaidens were all murmuring something or the other, the meaning of their words lost on her.
Mother, have mercy on me. The familiar prayer ran through her mind again and again, blessedly emptying her mind of other thoughts, as she mechanically allowed herself to be readied. She felt like a doll, bandied about here and there. Yet, she felt strangely comfortable, the Gods alone knew why.
The feeling of timelessness suddenly vanished when the door opened and her father stepped in. He gave her an assessing look. 'You look beautiful, daughter.' His voice was appreciative. Beautiful? The very thought was absurd. She didn't feel beautiful. She felt like her life was ending, like she was about to enter the Seven Hells. As she dutifully gave her hand to her father, she felt that, perhaps, even death was better than the mummer's farce her life was about to become.
The crowds massed in the Sept blurred, all becoming naught but buzzing, foggy creatures. Naerys concentrated on her father's hand holding hers. All of a sudden, he let go of her hand, leaving her alone with Aegon. As the High Septon tied her hands to Aegon's, she looked around for something else to focus on. Anything but this. Unbidden, the thought came to her mind that this was to be her lot, her life. Bound to a man who hated her. Was this the only thing she was left with?
Eyes suddenly drawn to the statue of the Mother, her figure haloed by sunlight, Naerys felt courage flow in her veins, even as tears filled her eyes. Mother, give me strength. In that instant, another pair of purple eyes looked into hers, the tell-tale gleam of unshed tears in them, trying to be strong for her. Her brother's. As they gazed at each other for what seemed like hours, another life flashed in Naerys's mind. A life where Father had heard Aemon's desperate plea. A life where she was happy, secure, and loved. A life where the man waiting to marry her was the brother she loved.
The High Septon's droning voice brought her back to the present. 'One flesh, one heart, one soul. If any man wishes to protest, let him do so now, or stay silent forevermore. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw Aemon move, mouth open, and then stop. You cannot help me now, brother mine, Naerys thought. She stood unresisting as Aegon pulled her in for a kiss, solemnizing their union.
When she extricated herself from his grip, errant tears were cascading down her cheeks. As if in reply, one lone drop trailed down Aemon's face. One flesh, one heart, one soul, Naerys thought. It is the Gods' will that she was to be Aegon's. Why, then, did she feel closer to Aemon than before?
The wedding feast passed by in a blur, Naerys going through the motions easily. When the cry of 'Bed them! To bed with them!' resounded through the hall, she started. Aegon had indiscreetly been fondling a serving girl, she noticed suddenly. As he grinned lecherously at her and advanced, he found his way blocked by someone.
'Apologize to your sister. NOW.' It was Father's voice, stern and unyielding. Equally sternly, he tightened his arm around Aemon's shoulder. Aemon, however, was clearly chomping at the bit. Aegon glanced insolently at Father, walked towards Naerys, and tore the bodice of her gown. Shocked, she let out a cry, instinctively crossing her arms over her chest.
Suddenly, she noticed a familiar blade defending her against Aegon. Naerys gasped. It was Dark Sister. All the spectators gaped wide-eyed at the scene. 'Prince Aemon!' exclaimed Ser Stafford Strong, one of the Kingsguard. Aemon remained resolute, shielding her with both body and blade. 'Aemon!' Uncle Aegon and Father admonished her brother together. With a look of regret, guilt and anguish, her brother mouthed the words 'I am sorry,' at her, and allowed himself to be led away by the Kingsguard.
That night, his face swam in her mind, soothing her somehow. My brother, my strength, my stalwart shield, she thought, drifting off to sleep.