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The Queen Who Was

Chapter 7

Many women claimed that birth was the thing that scared them most in the world after having experienced it once. For Rhaenys, it was her first time going to the privy that she dreaded – she was sure that she was not the only one but refinement would not let them say so. She squirmed and delayed as much as she could but finally, the needs of her bladder could not be ignored anymore… and her bowels had yet to have their word.

She struggled out of bed, grateful for the few candles left to light the chamber dimly. She was trying not to wake Viserys up; she wanted him to have some sleep since it was evident that he had been awake since yesterday morning – his exhausted face told her this much. Their reconciliation, as sweet as it had been, had carried the sharp taste of bitterness, pain of the loss that had been finally shared and this had exhausted him additionally. Let him sleep.

The walk to the privy was a very long one and the moment she sat cautiously, Rhaenys knew what would happen. The floor rose to meet her.

"What happened?" she asked faintly when she woke up. It was getting dark again now and she dimly realized that she had slept all day long.

"You swooned right there," Viserys replied. "You silly woman, why didn't you wake me up? I thought I would die when I heard the crash and saw you lie there…"

Her head was throbbing. She raised a hand to it gingerly and frowned, feeling the bump. "Why?" she asked. "I hadn't even…" She blushed.

Viserys decided against telling her that when he had leaned over her, he had found her in a tiny puddle of her own piss.

"I didn't get around to telling you," he finally said. "You started bleeding immediately after delivering the second afterbirth. They couldn't get you to stop. It was…" He shuddered. "I thought…"

Rhaenys instinctively knew that he had entered after hearing the commotion. She knew the panic reigning in a birthing room when someone was dying all too well – her mother had died like this, with her babe still half-stuck inside her. But it was Aemma that he was thinking about. Somewhere along the way, she had become complacent, her fear of birth fading a little after each successful one. Had he never stopped harbouring this fear – that had almost turned justified? In the haze of her tiny shreds of memory, she saw his face, felt his hand – he had not let go off her for a moment. She had actually seen him drowse like this.

"You were very ill, Rhaenys," he finally said. "You slept for a night and a day after giving birth. I am sorry I did not tell you. I should not have let you go to the privy on your own. I will not repeat this mistake."

And he did not. For two weeks, Rhaenys would not be left alone for a moment, no matter sleeping or awake. There was someone always accompanying her to the privy, although the humiliating accident did not repeat. In the beginning, they fed her like a child since the second bleeding had left her unable to raise the spoon to her mouth. Sometimes, it was Viserys who did it – he came to her after the evening feast and to the horror of everyone around spent the night with her. Rhaenys wondered why the outrage. Surely no one would think that he demanded his conjugal rights? Once or twice, he offered to return to his own bedchamber but she said no. She might feel more uninhibited in her movements without him but her close brush with death had shaken her more than she cared to admit. She wanted someone close when she woke up, gasping for breath at night, and she could not expect of her ladies to hold her like he did.

The babes were put to her breast on the second day, for her mostly, not to let her breasts plugged. But there was no milk to be had, no matter how vigorously they sucked, and Rhaenys felt guilty for not enjoying them. She wanted her boys with burning as searing as a true fire in her veins while the tiny helpless girls only awoke some protective instinct in her. Joy was so faint.

"Aenor," she said in the second week of their life when they could no longer stay nameless. Alysanne's name had been a given but the second one was proving surprisingly hard. "I like the name Aenor, Viserys." If that's even a name, she thought. But she liked the sound of it and he did not mind.

It was more than two months before she was able to return to the chamber of the Small Council and by this time, she had already been besieged by the pleas of women left without the breadwinner of the family – because Daemon had returned to his stark ideas of justice when he had no right to execute any.

"What use is there to have a family dying of starvation because the father had had his hand cut off?" she demanded.

Daemon seemed unimpressed. "Perhaps that the children will learn that stealing is no way to support a family?" He shrugged.

"It'll be hard for them to learn if they die young," Rhaenys retorted and it was a sign of their dislike for Daemon that most men started nodding when none of them cared overly much if the family of a thief would die or not.

"You are not about to disperse justice, Daemon," Viserys said harshly. "You are not entitled to do so. You are no longer Commander of the City Watch and even when you were, you knew damned well that I did not approve of your punishments!"

A pang of pain touched Rhaenys' heart. While she had rejoiced watching Viserys get more confident, have his way with the Small Council and others and not be afraid to cut where cutting was needed and she enjoyed watching Daemon have the reprimand he deserved, it was not in her lord husband's nature to be brutal. Especially not to those he loved and she knew that he still loved Daemon despite the disappointment his brother was turning out to be again. The last pain had made something in him snap and sometimes he was turning into a man Rhaenys did not recognize. Behaviors that would not bother her in other men did so in him.

"Soon, I'll be well enough to try again," she said that night in a vain attempt to return some semblance of the happiness he had enjoyed with her. Yes, they had been happy. Or happy enough. Now, everything was changing. For the first time in her life, she felt her body as an enemy and he was growing into a man she did not recognize – indeed growing.

Three months after the twins' birth, Rhaenys felt recovered enough to accept him back and while she was prepared for the pain of joining that was varyingly hard after each birth, she was not prepared for him to get tired so easily. Just a few months ago, that would not have been the case. While she was a little relieved because it was easier to cut it short when he desired it as well, that was the night of her first awareness that he was heading down a dangerous path. He had had some trouble with his knees for years but now it had become worse – as she had seen in this very bed! Back pains, shortness of breath, aching joints – all the things she had witnessed in men with too great a girth rushed through her mind as she lay cuddled against him, anger filling her as she felt him sleep so soundly. How could he be so calm? Did he not see what he was getting himself into?

The answer from Dorne had been no surprise for her and yet announcing Laena's betrothal panged her in a way that had to do with more than just letting her daughter go. This announcement all but proclaimed her failure for all the world to see. The flatterers around young Rhaenyra grew overnight – that same night that she and Viserys spent awake, holding each other, reliving their loss with new intensity.

Part of her feared that Laena might refuse to go. She was as unpredictable as Corlys and while a younger Rhaenys had appreciated it in her husband, the mother could not like such a thing about her daughter. But Laena never said a thing despite still following Daemon with longing eyes. Rhaenys' heart clenched when she sometimes caught Daemon looking back as he thought himself unobserved. There was something in his eyes, the way his face softened that made Rhaenys think that there might be some genuine affection there, instead of the lavish, courtly phrases he drowned Rhaenyra with. But she knew that should she ask, Laena would never tell her. Her daughter's pride knew no bounds, so Rhaenys could only wait anxiously whenever Vhagar and Caraxes happened to be missing at the same time, wait for them to come back.

She hoped that by paying court to Rhaenyra as obviously as he did, Daemon would feel obliged to stay away from Laena but to Rhaenys' amazement, Rhaenyra who had never taken well to being insulted showed no dissatisfaction with the situation. She still blushed under Rhaenys' probing and sometimes direct questions but her game became bolder with each match they played with the marble figures. Talks arose that Daemon wanted to take her as his second wife and Rhaenys barely managed to calm Viserys down enough to stop his impulse to have his brother flogged. Only her persuasion that it would hurt Rhaenyra's reputation by basically confirming the rumour made him come to his mind. Then, he sat down on Rhaenys' couch because the angry pacing had left him short of breath and she silently pushed a cup of tea towards him. Lately, her chambers had turned into a veritable master's study with all the potions and ointments meant to relieve one or another ache of him. She did not mind caring for him but she was angry because he was doing this to himself – and he knew she was right, else he would not have gone along with her discreet attempts to limit the number and size of his meals during the day. At the evening feast, though… She hated sitting there and watching the efforts of a day disappear into one plate after another.


Six months after Daemon's return he got himself exiled again which should have pleased Rhaenys but it was under such circumstances that it was impossible for her to feel joy. Her only comfort was that there were only talks of him taking Rhaenyra's maidenhead. No one had seen, no one could say for sure. Even she. Viserys paced through her solar, his face so grim that even the girls who usually started smiling the moment they saw him looked confused, snuggling up to their wetnurses. Laena was sitting on her terrace, Rhaenys' servant-maids had told her, playing her harp as usual. Rhaenys was sitting near the fire, enjoying its warmth and recovering after the uncomfortable anticipation of Rhaenyra's angry protests that had not come at all. The girl was getting smarter by the day.

She nodded at the wetnurses to take the children out but Viserys stopped them. With the utmost effort, he forced the anger out of his face. When he reached out to take Aenor who seemed more impatient, Rhaenys already knew that the storm was over. In the split of a moment, she decided to use the restored peace, go and check out how the girls were doing. Laena was indeed playing the harp like she'd never stop; in Rhaenyra's chambers, a servant-maid dropped the vase she was holding upon seeing the Queen. Slightly surprised, Rhaenys went on her way, still not thinking anything… right until she saw them, in the far end of the gallery leading to Rhaenyra's solar, among other rooms.

The man drew a hand down the fall of silver curls. His face swam in shadows and Rhaenys could not recognize him but she'd know Rhaenyra everywhere. Still short, she looked positively tiny next to his big muscular form. He stroked her hair again and when he took his leave, Rhaenys recognized him. Harwin Strong!

She stood where she was, finally putting the pieces together, realizing the ruse of the girl who had encouraged Daemon almost openly, returned his supposed affection, used him to divert attention from the true scandal. What was she hoping to achieve? Rhaenys feared that she knew. Staring after Harwin long after he had disappeared, Rhaenyra finally turned to go to back inside but Rhaenys strode over.

The girl gasped. Rhaenys took her hand. "We need to talk, Rhaenyra. Now."

The fear in her stepdaugher's eyes was immediate – and disappeared just as immediately. "Must we really?" Rhaenyra asked, raising her chin.

Rhaenys remembered her own youth, herself – just as defiant and full of desires and passions. How she had hated being talked to by her father and septa, instead of talking with them! Was she able to talk with Rhaenyra right now? Listen to her without trying to impart her own will blatantly?

"No," she sighed. "But tomorrow, we will. I insist."

Rhaenyra nodded. "It will be my pleasure," she lied obviously.

When Rhaenys returned to her chambers, the babes were getting tired. She took each of them in turn, moved the brightly painted wooden toys in and out of sight, talked to them but was ultimately relieved when Alysanne started yawning and she had a reason to send them back to the nursery. The day had been so long and full of new developments that she had no patience for anyone, even those she loved most.

"I'll talk to her tomorrow," Viserys suddenly said. "If she thinks she can turn this court into… into…" Words failed him and Rhaenys rose to go to the bedchamber, thinking that she'd better rise before Viserys. She needed to talk to Rhaenyra before he did but since she had last gotten with child, she had started oversleeping. If she tried to rise earlier, she became faint around noon. Never mind, she would do it.

In the morning, Rhaenyra met her in front of the board with their unfinished game from yesterday. Rhaenys looked at the figures, realizing that she had forgotten their last moves.

"I know everything," she said. "I want to hear it from you too."

"If I had not let Uncle Daemon court me and give fodder for gossip, you'd have never let me wed Harwin."

Rhaenys startled. She had not expected such quick, shameless reply. Her hand itched to slap the brazen girl but she stilled it. "You will not wed Harwin Strong," she said. "All you gained is earning yourself a reputation that will follow you to the end of your days as Queen."

Rhaenyra's jaw dropped. "Queen?" she croaked and Rhaenys stared, unable to believe that the girl had not done the simple counting.

"Of course you'll be Queen!" she snapped. "I am nine and thirty, Rhaenyra. Look at me! How many more babes do you really think I am going to have? And I'd rather not discuss the chance that I die soon and your father takes a new wife who will give him sons if you don't mind."

She was not about to discuss with Rhaenyra the most intimate side of her marriage, that Viserys' desire for her – and any other woman – decreased as his girth increased. Even if this had not been the case, she still felt too weak. There was no way she could carry a child, even if her age and the state of her marriage allowed it.

Rhaenyra seemed to shrink. "I thought this would make you and Father accept," she finally said. "And well, I thought if I were to become Queen, he'd be my husband and what ill could come of it? He's well-liked by all; his father has served admirably as Master of Laws…"

"By debasing yourself and making yourself ineligible for any worthy match?" Rhaenys asked. Anger had gone out of her and she now only felt fear for Rhaenyra. "Do you realize what you did, child? No man would pass over the chance to wed the future queen – and no man will ever forget that you went to his bed tainted."

"I am not," Rhaenyra declared, wrapping one of the luxurious shawls Daemon had given her like a shield. Her fingers were turning and twisting her rings as quickly and rhythmically as if she were knitting. "I – we haven't done anything."

"It doesn't matter," Rhaenys said. "In the eyes of the world, you did. Or do you think I was all the things the lords called me twenty years ago?"

She rose. "Now listen to me," she said. "That's how it will be. You will not be declared Princess of Dragonstone, not now. That would be a blow to my pride that your father will not allow. But you will join him in the Small Council with or without me. You will listen and learn until you're ready to sit in judgment. You will comport yourself in a way that will make them talk about your makings and not your sheets."

Rhaenyra gaped but Rhaenys went on without choosing her words. There was no room for double meanings and misunderstandings now. "This far, you've been more than discreet about Ser Harwin. I want you to keep it this way. You will not be wed to him so you can forget about resorting to another shenanigan of the kind right now. You can be either a queen or whore. Not the two together. It's unfair and it's sad but this is life, Rhaenyra. Take it from someone who knows. And over time, you will be made Princess of Dragonstone in preparation to ascend the Iron Throne one day – do not think it will be a comfortable place to occupy."

Rhaenyra tossed her head to one side. Gleaming purple eyes sought Rhaenys' and found them with stubbornness that was not so different from a young Rhaenys'. Her stepmother's words had went past her. "It won't happen like this," she said angrily.

But it did, at least in the beginning.


They had placed the children apart, for Alysanne was sick but when Rhaenys went to see them before she went to bed, the little girl was already livelier, the fever having broken. She was now wide awake after sleeping throughout the last three days. "Mama… Mama…" she said, licking her lips.

Rhaenys laughed and took her in her arms. "Very well, little one, tell me what do you want?"

The wetnurse hid her smile. Everyone in the nursery knew that both girls, now a year and a half old, constantly talked about their father, their mother coming to their mind mostly when they were ill. This was because they saw more of her, of course. Rhaenys visited them a few times a day while they only saw Viserys before the evening feast.

"Mama!" Alysanne repeated and fell asleep, just like this. A healthy, recovering sleep. Rhaenys returned to her chambers with the light step of one just released from prison. Viserys had not come yet, though, and she went to sleep before he showed up and did not stir when he slipped in bed.

The marked candle at her bedside showed it was still before midnight when he woke her up. "Rhaenys, I feel very ill."

She startled awake, sleep immediately flying away. He never woke her up. Never. "What's going on, Viserys?"

"My belly hurts. I think…"

Rhaenys rose, snapped the cover away, lifted his nightshirt cautiously and bit her lip. Despite his rapid gain of flesh that had let to stomach upsets ever so often, she had never seen his belly this bloated. She touched it. Too hot. "Does it hurt all over?" she asked.

"In my right side, mostly," he replied.

Her hand froze on his skin. She pressed a little, hoping to hear a murmur of displeasure but instead he winced, as if the pain was unbearable. "I'll send for the maesters," Rhaenys said with her usual calm voice, hoping that he would not hear the fear. Pain in the right side, that was how his father's agony had started. He had died within days. No, this will not happen to him. He just had too much at the evening feast, that's all. But when he threw up and it did not relieve him, her fear rose like fever, drowning her with all she knew about burst belly. He held out a hand and she sat on the edge of the bed stroking his forehead. He felt very hot to the touch which he was not usually, overindulgence or not. She wanted to say something, alleviate his apprehensions and her own but she was not sure she'd be able to control her voice.

The Grand Maester was no good either. Viserys gripped the cover and squeezed as the old man manipulated his belly in a much more forceful mimic of Rhaenys' gesture from before. But all he could tell them was that they had to wait and see it if was just a stomach malady… or a burst belly indeed, upon which they dismissed him. They could wait for the next development on their own. Rhaenys ordered some fennel tea and helped Viserys lean against a few pillows to drink it, thinking darkly that if things kept progressing, he'd soon have to start sleeping like this. Shortness of breath seemed to visit him more and more often at night. If he survived this long, of course. She wanted to tear her hair out.

"Will you warm a towel for me?" Viserys asked and Rhaenys shook her head.

"Not now." She was used to making warm compresses for him but while they might feel good on his belly, they might be the end of him if he turned out to have… what his father had had.

He nodded. "I see."

His self-possession was admirable. He laced his fingers through hers and Rhaenys leaned back against her own pillows to wait. Please let it be gluttony. Please let him be fine, she prayed. Let him live. Please, I beg you! But of course, she said none of this aloud.

It was almost dawn when the pain finally spread all over his belly, receded, became more bearable. Not a burst belly, after all. They did not know what it was but it was not this. They slid down in bed and fell into exhausted sleep and when they woke up some time after noon, they realized that he was locked in her arms as if she had been afraid to let go of him even in her sleep.