The Queen Who Should Have Been and the King Who Was
A King's Choice
The bright lights in the room gave him a headache and the drunken merriness of the guests looked outright indecent. Only a few months ago, those people had been bowing to Rhaenys, currying favour with her for the time she would be the King's heir; now, they all looked quite eager to forget that she had ever been that. It's politics, Viserys reminded himself firmly without much effect: it still looked indecent.
"Thinking of escaping?"
Viserys startled and looked up. His father's eyes were harsh, not asking a question but merely expecting a confirmation. "Why would I?"
"That's what I'd like to know," Baelon Targaryen sighed and wondered what in the name of the Seven should he do with this peculiar boy. Viserys was pleased that his father would be King, no doubt, yet at the same time the boy's sadness on Rhaenys' behalf was downright troubling. It was more than what was merited. A merciful king was a blessing but Baelon had the feeling that Viserys would be way too amiable and sensitive one. Once again, he felt that he had made the right decision when he didn't even contemplate Rhaenys as a match for Viserys. The girl was so forceful that she would have walked right over her cousin. No, gentle Aemma was a far better choice… despite her disturbing failure to stay with child long enough for it to be born alive.
"She'll come around," the King spoke suddenly, startling both of them with his soundless appearing. His bright eyes held them in place. "She's a smart girl. I'll send for her tomorrow. She'll see reason. I have something for her to sweeten the bile. She has always loved rubies, has she not?"
Viserys held his tongue although he didn't agree. For all his wisdom, Jaehaerys Targaryen had forgotten what it was like to be young and feel wronged. Rhaenys was hardly one who would sit patiently and let someone explain to her why it was all good and right that she be deprived of what everyone had assumed would be hers one day.
"Your Grace," Aemma said, coming to them with a smile and a curtsey. Her brown hair was decorated with pearls that attracted the light of every candle nearby. Her expression was as serene as ever. "May I have a word with Viserys?"
Jaehaerys waved a hand; quite relieved, Viserys took his wife's hand and followed her to a corner.
"Vultures," Aemma murmured, staring at a very particular group of people – officials who had once crawled at Aemon and Rhaenys' feet and rushed to Baelon as soon as it became clear what the end would be.
"Quite right," Viserys agreed. These men did not belong with his father's people, did not deserve to share in the joy of having Baelon proclaimed the heir. "I thought you wanted a word with me?"
She did not answer immediately, her purple eyes staring at him thoughtfully. She shook her head. "In fact, I didn't. I just thought there might be many words you wouldn't want to have with them."
He kissed her hand, grateful and slightly ashamed that he had needed her help. But he had never been the one for quarrels. Daemon, though, more than made up for that.
"Would you care for a dance, my lady?" he asked. "As soon as I come back. I have to take care of something."
Aemma smiled at him with the same affection that he had for her. "I can't wait," she said. "And, Viserys?" she added when he was already a step away from her.
He turned back.
"Tell her I hope to see her soon."
He nodded and went to the door, wondering when on earth had she learned to read his mind.
In the stable where the royal dragons were kept, Meleys looked at him and roared before her mistress even saw him. Not a good sign: he had always been in the she-dragon's good books, ever since he and Rhaenys had come here together as children. Of course, he had been in Rhaenys' good books then as well…
"What are you doing here?" she snapped as soon as she saw him; with some relief, he saw that there were no tears in her eyes, just fire. Fire and blood, their words were and fire and blood she was. That was good since Viserys could usually solve any situation with his humour and good nature. Anything but a woman's tears. "Have you come to gloat?"
He made a step towards her. Meleys hissed out a small flame. He did not stop and Rhaenys raised a hand, absent-mindedly, and patted her on the scales to calm her down. Viserys took it as a good sign: clearly, his cousin didn't want him to end up as roasted meat. "Where are you going?"
She shrugged, avoiding eye contact. "I am leaving," she said. "I asked what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at the celebration? You love those."
"Not this one," he said. He could never enjoy such a festivity knowing that it caused her pain.
Rhaenys turned her back at him and went back on saddling Meleys.
"I won't cause any problems," she said. "If that's what worries you. His Grace made his decision and I will not bring destruction to Westeros fighting it."
He felt hurt and offended. Was that what she really thought, that he had come here just to make sure she wouldn't threaten his father's succession?
"Have you forgotten?" he asked and once again, Rhaenys looked away, the silence and torchlight between them bringing to life their childhood, their shared fascination with dragons, the moment each of them bonded with their beast, his coming to the rescue when she was stuck with a bunch of girls, she rubbing his back and shoulders when his pride wouldn't let him show that practice with arms had left him aching and exhausted, the explorations of the tunnels beneath the Red Keep, the roaming of the land on their dragons…
All of a sudden, she let the saddle clatter down and reached for his hand. Her nails were carefully shaped and painted… and broken here and there from her activities with Meleys. It was always like this with her. Unlike Aemma who was a lady in every situation, there were two persons dwelling under Rhaenys' skin: the refined princess and the wild child. That was what their grandfather had seen, that was maybe the main reason he had chosen Viserys' father.
"You are a good man, Viserys," she said, her voice now softer. "Always willing to please everyone. But there are hurts that are hard to heal. I cannot stay here. Corlys will join me any minute now and take me away."
There was a rare note of tenderness in her voice that made Viserys look at her, surprised. But she loves him, he realized, stunned. Aemma had always claimed that it was the case but he had never believed her. Corlys Velaryon was many years Rhaenys' senior, wed to her as politically as Viserys had been wed to Aemma. What could a woman of fire like his cousin find in an old sea snake? This marriage should feel like chains to her. Strength, he thought. Rhaenys had always been drawn to strength, for she is strong herself.
Not that it mattered. Lord Velaryon's strength hadn't been enough to give his wife what she wanted and believed was hers.
"No one wanted to hurt you," he said. "My father and the King least of all."
She dismissed his words with a derisive gesture. "What do intentions matter? Actions are what we leave behind. At the end, your father and you will have it all and I'll be left with nothing. I think His Grace believed he was doing what was best for the realm. I respect his right to choose his heir. But you cannot expect of me to rejoice in it."
This time, it was he who looked away. Why had he come? Hadn't he known in advance that would be an exercise in futility? There was no way for Rhaenys not to realize that she had been judged and found lacking, no way for her not to seethe with resentment and anger against the injustice she believed had been done to her. She had lost a crown and her place in life.
Grandfather wasn't so wise, after all, he thought not for a first time. He's a man of logic and expects everyone to follow it. He expects that she'd be pleased with a new necklace he presents her, as if she were still eight. He has forgotten what it's like to be young.
But in fact, it was more than that that the King had forgotten. It was true that Baelon was a man of many makings that Rhaenys did not possess. But Jaehaerys seemed to turn a blind eye to the fact that his son had not been born like this. He was judging Baelon for the man he had become and Rhaenys for the girl she still was, not the woman she would grow into. Viserys had no idea what his father had been like in the nineteenth year of his life but he remembered him at twenty-odd. Baelon had not been this different from Rhaenys.
"I don't expect it," he said. "Just come back. Aemma said the same thing."
His cousin smiled tightly. "I expect that I will, finally. There are formalities to be observed. Until then, tell the King that Aemma can have the trinket he undoubtedly means to placate me with."
Somehow, those calm words conveyed her heartache and betrayal more than her angry welcome of him. He looked down, not willing to watch her saddling Meleys fully, leading her out, leaving the stable and joining Velaryon who no doubt waited for her outside. Always cheerful and good-humoured, Viserys Targaryen did not lack for perceptiveness and he could say that a period of his life was over – in more than one way.
