A/N: Back to back Laenor chapters! Whooo! Also, please check out the A/N at the end. May be important to some people.
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Early in the morning, as the first slivers of light creep over the horizon, Laenor saddles Seasmoke and flies to anywhere that isn't Dragonstone, mind foggy from lack of sleep. His dragon's silver-grey scales glimmer as he floats upon the wind, the sound of his wings beating the only thing Laenor can hear when they are this high up in the air.
He cannot be around Rhaenyra right now. The sight of her- the thought of her- has his blood boiling. And though he loves the children, it will not do them any good to see him like this, harried and stressed and at odds with their mother.
I will return before the sun sets once more, he thinks, And then Rhaenyra and I will address this mess.
The thought of that makes him wants to crack Seasmoke's whip and fly to the ends of the earth, as he and Laena always said they'd do when they were little. At the reminder of his sister, pain shoots through Laenor, so fierce it takes his breath away.
Beloved Laena. What would you say now, if you could see the dearest friend you had in this world and your husband disgracing you as such? He knows what she would do. She would take Vhagar and turn her on Daemon and Rhaenyra both, no matter how much she loved them, and fill the sky with dragonfire until ashes rained down on those below. Should I do so for you, sweet sister? Should I show them that we too are descendents of the Conqueror? That it is not just Targaryens who can bring fire and blood?
The thought fills him with unease. Daemon- that miserable cur- fills him a terrible rage so fierce his chest twists into knots. But Rhaenyra- wroth, proud, spiteful, bold, charming, determined Rhaenyra, who is an utter mess of contradictions, gentle one moment and furious the next... the thought of harming her makes him ill.
Enough of this. I left to clear my mind, not to think.
Laenor cracks Seasmoke's whip lightly, drawing them higher and higher until they plunge down sharply. He remembers doing this with Laena many a time, though he never did love flying as much as she, and tears well up in his eyes, both from sentiment and the rush of stinging, salty air, as the wind whips through his hair and he laughs through his sobs.
Laenor repeats the pattern once, twice, too many times to count, until Seasmoke groans in protest and his own arms ache. Guiding his mount to a patch of grass large enough for the both of them, the heir to High Tide mutters an apology. The place is quiet, nestled within the grassy rock hills of… wherever they are. He is not sure exactly. The sun is higher than he would have expected. It is around the time Rhaenyra and the children would be breaking their fasts. He has left a note saying he will be gone for the day, lest they worry, and orders for a few men to find the Braaovsi from yesterday. Yesterday.
Laenor lies on his back across the grass and feels the sun kiss his face. Seasmoke settles beside him, a warm, comforting presence against the chilly autumn air, and he closes his eyes. His dragon will warn him if there is danger, and he is waried. He did not sleep well last night, mind consumed by thoughts of Daemon and Rhaenyra, and it is taking its toll on him. A bit of rest will do him no harm, especially if he is to speak with his wife again soon, he thinks, so he tries to sleep.
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Sleep does not come. Every time Laenor closes his eyes, the image of Laena, demanding vengeance flashes across his mind. If it is not her, it is Rhaenyra, accusing him of not caring for their children, or Mother and Father spitting blood.
He twists on the ground, trying to find a way to get comfortable, before eventually giving up. He pats the dirt and leaves off him and paces around the clearing. Seasmoke stirs from where he is resting and gives him a look as if to say, "What in the seven hells are you doing?"
In a fit of emotion- all his pent up hurt and frustration and regret- he punches at a tree. The bones crunch and he curses as pain shoots up his arm. Anger is clouding my judgement today. No sooner does the thought come to him that he freezes. Clouded judgement. Things I would never do without-
Laenor suddenly wishes he had a quill, ink, and a roll of parchment. Slowly, understanding forms. Things are beginning to make sense. He is still riddled with anger and hurt, still resentful, but he knows what he can- what he will- say to Rhaenyra now. Mounting Seasmoke, he flies to Dragonstone before he can forget his thoughts.
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Rhaenyra stares at him, eyes burning with bitterness and defiance, but in them, he thinks he can see guilt as well. She is twisting the rings on her fingers, a tell of her anxiety, and he taps at his arm.
"Why have you come to me, Laenor?" his wife asks. The heir to High Tide squares his shoulders.
"We need to speak about yesterday."
Her eyes flash.
"You made your disgust known well enough then."
There is hurt in her tone- the same hurt he can feel in his heart- and he thinks he will have to sit for this. Motioning to a chair in her solar, he says, "May I?" She is silent for a moment, unmoving, and briefly, Laenor thinks that she will turn him down. Then she nods sharply and he holds back a sigh of relief.
"I will not apologize for my words," he says, "Though they were harsh and brought you pain, that was how I felt in the moment, and how I still feel now."
"Then why are you here?" Rhaenyra's tone is waspish and biting, but it is also strained.
"Because-" he hesitates. His wife's lip curls and her fists tighten. "Because though I do not like it, I can understand it." Rhaenyra's mouth drops open. Slowly, she leans forward until her eyes are looking directly into his own.
"Laenor?"
She says only a word, only his name, but hope is there, tentative as it is. He stamps down the anger which rises within him at that.
"You missed my sister. You are still in mourning, as am I. Powerful emotions cause us to act foolishly. To add onto that, you were drunk. These two things combined addled your mind when you brought Daemon to your bed, just as they addled mine when I chose to bed you."
Rhaenyra goes still for a moment, working through everything she has heard. Then she says: "I should not have bedded him. To do so was in poor taste, and I regret disgracing Laena. I do." Her hand finds his, but he gently pulls away.
"I said I could understand your actions," he replies, "Not that I could like or even accept them. In time, I will forgive you. But I need space now, and a while to think."
She flinches back as if she has been struck and Laenor swallows hard. Her fingers twitch, almost as if she is prepared to reach out for him again, but then she twists her rings.
"If that is what you wish- If that is what you wish, I shall give you the time you need. But Laenor-" and here Rhaenyra hesitates, voice sounding small, eyes searching his with a kind of childlike desperation, "You will forgive me, yes? Your wounds will heal over time?"
He purses his lips. "You are the mother of my children, my future queen, my friend, my confidant. I am furious now, and injured, but I will move on. I loved Laena, but I love you as well, and your crime is not so terrible that I won't be able to forgive it eventually."
With that Laenor bows at the waist and leaves her, feeling both heavier and lighter than before.
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Much to her credit, Rhaenyra tries to adhere to his wishes. This is her seat of power as the Princess of Dragonstone. She does not have to respect any of his requests, but she does so anyways, perhaps understanding that if they are to repair this void between them, this is vital. Laenor sees her when they spend time with the children and when they break their fasts, and at supper, but besides that, they keep their distance. It is awkward and stilted, but the children do not seem to notice. At least, not besides Vissie, who looks between them worriedly.
Mother and Father have noticed, and the latter pulls him aside to tell him he'd best fix whatever has broken, and he nods his head while letting his mind travel. The trail of the Braavosi has gone cold. They went to the mainland, his men say, but they'll return to Driftmark once their journey is over with. Vissie will have to wait, but once they're back, she'll have good teachers.
Life continues at its awkward gate while Laenor allows himself to heal, and he slowly spends more time around Rhaenyra. It is not much, just a few more moments here and there, but it is progress.
Then Harwin Strong dies along with his father at Harrenhal, and Laenor can't bring himself to leave her alone in her sorrow.
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Laenor can hear Rhaenyra's sobs from the other side of the door. They are terrible sounds, full of heartbreak and suffering, and he grapples with indecision as he leans against the wall. Should I go and comfort her, or should I keep my distance?
He has not forgiven her yet, not completely, and he does not know if it is his place to help her, if he even wants to. She continues to cry, but then she wails, and his hand twitches. He cracks the door open. At the sight of her, a dishevelled mess with red eyes and a puffy face and hair strewn about, he makes his decision.
How could I simply leave her like this?
He walks to her, still wary, and settles next to her on her bed. Spreading his arms, he waits for her to decide how she copes. He is here should she need him, but he can leave should she wish to be alone. Rhaenyra flies into his hold, her sobs reverberating against him.
"There there," he rests his chin atop her head, "It's alright. We'll get through this."
"It's not alright!" she cries, "Harwin is dead and he never got to be a father to his children, even if you're the best they could have asked for, and I'm with child!"
Laenor freezes. He goes rigid, his arms and legs locking, and his wife must be able to tell because she looks up at him through tear-filled eyes and wrings the fabric of his doublet with her fingers.
"Laenor?" Rhaenyra trembles, "Laenor, say something."
"I will love it," he says, and realizes he means it, "The lad shall be mine. Not Daemon's. Mine. He will be brother to my children and son to my wife, and the Rogue Prince shall never be his father!" He is surprised by the ferocity of the last statement. Taking Daemon's child and loving him, being the best father possible- that may just be the best vengeance I can ask for, he thinks, And it is beyond cruel besides to hold a child's birth against him. Such things are beneath me, and I will not stoop so low.
"It could be yours," Rhaenyra says quietly, and gods, he prays for that to be the truth. But he is realistic; the chances of that are little to none. He does not say that, does not crush their hope, and instead, he draws her closer. That seems to be all she needs to break out into tears again. Laenor rocks her gently, kisses her forehead, and dedicates himself to comforting other worries- concerning as they are- will have to wait.
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The child is born during a winter storm, rare in both its appearance and ferocity, and Laenor prays. By the Seven, he begs, If he is not mine, at least do not let him have too much of Daemon in him.
Rhaenyra screams and curses and screams more, but by the end, both she and the child are healthy, Maester Gerardys says. His wife is holding the boy, as it has been reported to be, and she's crying. His heart sinks.
He must look like Daemon.
Summoning his courage, he approaches, repeating the promise that he will love this child no matter what over and over in again the brief few seconds it takes to reach them. His mouth feels dry and his heart beats so loudly he can feel it roaring in his ears.
Laenor sits beside his wife and the babe and leans over her shoulder to see their new addition. His eyes fly wide open and he laughs through his sobs, giddy with relief.
Because the child sports a light cap of midnight-black hair and pale violet eyes are peering up to meet him, and everything about his features screams of Mother.
"Aemon," Rhaenyra says, "In honor of your grandfather, and in honor of my mother."
"Prince Aemon Velaryon," he presses his forehead to hers, "I like the sound of that."
(So delighted are they that, when the children enter to meet their new brother, they don't even notice their eldest do a double-take and confusedly mutter, "What the fuck?")
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A/N: Soooooo? How'd you guys like my twist? Some of you saw it coming, I'm sure, but I hope I surprised at least a few people! The thing about Vissie and Vhagar will be revealed soon! Like next chapter or the one after that soon, so don't worry!
Speaking of Vissie: I have the ending for this fic roughly planned out, but I don't have an endgame for her yet. She's gay. Like 110% gay. If you guys have any suggestions for pairings, I'm open to them. Can't guarantee that I'll go through with the most popular ones, but I'll at least consder what you guys say.