The queen huddled closer to the crackling fire as shards of rain poured down from the dark skies. The wind howled as another volley of rain droplets collided against the windows of Windwyrm. No more, prayed Queen Rhaella, covering her ears with her shaking hands. No more.
For nine months, Rhaella had hid in in Dragonstone with her seven year old son Viserys, and a number of soldiers still loyal to the Targaryen cause including the Red Keep's once master-of-arms Ser Willem Darry. When Rhaella learnt of her eldest son Rhaegar's death at the Trident, it had been the old Ser Willem who gently broke the news to Viserys in his gruff, kind voice. Rhaegar had loved the old knight; Ser Willem had taught Rhaegar everything he knew about swordplay. Within the first month of refuge in the island fortress, Rhaella had discovered Dragonstone was no place for a child. Perhaps if my grandchildren Rhaenys and Aegon are here too, Viserys would not be so bored. It was not the first time the queen wished her little grandchildren in Dragonstone. At least for some time, Ser Willem entertained Viserys with stories of valiant knights and dragons.
Rhaella winced as her fingers brushed against a healing scar. She placed her hand over her belly and smiled as the babe in her womb kicked. If it is a son, he will be named Rhaegar after his noble brother who died a hero against the rebel Robert Baratheon. If it happened to be a girl…
"My queen." Rhaella smiled thinly as Ser Willem Darry hovered near the door. He did not smile back. She studied him for a moment. He looked quite strained of late. "Is something amiss ser?" she asked anxiously.
"Aye," said the old knight grimly. His expression blank, he said steadily, "His Grace your husband, is dead."
Rhaella stared at him, her thoughts dancing with happiness and shock. Her cruel husband…dead? "How did he die?" she said calmly.
"He was killed – slew by Ser Jaime Lannister."
"Ser Jaime Lannister! But…but he is a knight of the Kingsguard!"
Ser Willem nodded, contorting his expression to one of disgust. "My queen, he disgraced the name of the Kingsguard! He does not even deserve to be a knight! No matter. He will be punished in time, no doubt about that Your Grace." As if on impulse, he knelt. "Your Grace…with the king's death, you must be the regent for your son, King Viserys Targaryen, the Third of His Name. As your loyal knight, I suggest you deliver the news to the young king himself. He will surely need his lady mother at a time like this."
"Regent…" Rhaella looked pointedly at her growing stomach. "Ser Willem, I doubt I can command the army in my condition."
Ser Willem could not resist a chuckle. "Your Grace, the men know what to do. When the rebels attack, we defeat them. Shall I tell the king you wish to have supper with him today?"
Rhaella nodded. "I will be with him shortly." She stared at her reflection in the mirror as Ser Willem left. She had never thought herself beautiful – if she was, would Aerys had taken mistresses? – with her strands of silvery-blonde hair and violet eyes. The late Lady Joanna Lannister was pretty. She sighed sadly and wondered if she would've been happier if she had not dismissed Lady Lannister from her entourage of ladies many years ago. Lady Lannister had been nothing but kind and an obedient lady-in-waiting…but Rhaella had noticed the lustful gazes Aerys had given her. It was for Lady Lannister's own good, Rhaella told herself as she slowly descended the winding stairs to the Great Hall. Aerys had always been quick to anger as to love; he had tortured one of his once-beloved mistresses to death before.
She wrapped her red fox fur mantle tightly around her shoulders as the wind sliced through her. At least it is cold. I rather icy cold wind than fire burns. The flickering candles could not even bring light as the shadows lengthened in the corners infested with cobwebs. More candles glowed in the Great Hall as soldiers supped over flagons of ale and dry bread as they murmured amongst themselves. Rhaella smiled as she saw her son sit at the virtually empty high table beside Ser Willem Darry staring at a bowl.
"Viserys," she said warmly, embracing him once she climbed the dais. If Aerys was not dead, he would burn me until I am nothing but ashes. She pushed a stray lock of silver-blonde hair behind Viserys's ear. "Are you well?"
Her son nodded. It was not natural for him to have a long, gaunt face at such a young age. Rhaella cupped his chin with her thin hands. "Your father is dead," she said softly. "Do you know what that means?"
Viserys nodded again. "I am Viserys Targaryen the Third of My Name," he said solemnly, "King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."
"Very good my son."
"Why is baby Aegon not king?"
Rhaella stared at him uneasily. "Aegon and Rhaenys are still in King's Landing with Princess Elia of Dorne. Aegon is too young to be king, and we are at war; no one will support an infant king."
"I am still a child."
Rhaella kissed his pale cheek. "You are older than Aegon, are you not?" She took his hand and pressed it against her belly. "Do you want a baby sister or baby brother?" She chuckled as Viserys frowned gravely.
"A brother," he decided, smiling at the growing bump. "He will be my heir. If Father is dead, are Aegon and Rhaenys prisoners?" Rhaella looked at Ser Willem with alarm. The thought of her little grandchildren as the Usurper's hostages had not occurred to her…
Hesitation flashed in Ser Willem's eyes. "They…" he said finally. "They are both safe. The eunuch Varys has smuggled them away before King Aerys was killed. If the gods are with us, they will sail to Braavos and be under the care of loyal men until we…we join them."
"Join them?" repeated Viserys, his purple eyes swivelling to him. "Ser Willem, the Iron Throne is mine by right; that is what Father always said to me." Dread cut through Rhaella like a knife. What had Aerys been telling him?
The thunder rolled and bellowed like an angry bull. For two nights, the storm raged and the sea seethed; there had been no improvement. The Targaryen fleet anchored to Dragonstone tossed and turned like the wooden ships the Redwynes had gifted Viserys when he was born. It was a pity Viserys never had a chance to play with them; Aerys had them burnt with the rest of his presents.
Rhaella winced as the babe kicked for the third time this morning. He is a strong one, she thought, patting her stomach gently. So much like Rhaegar. It is only fitting if I name this little one Rhaegar too. She dreaded the nights Aerys visited her chambers. In the mornings after, she would be covered with burns, bite marks and new blossoming bruises. A month or two later, Rhaella would discover a dragon seed growing inside her womb. She had endured a number of pregnancies that resulted in children: first Rhaegar, followed by Shaena, Daeron, Aegon, Jaehaerys…and finally Viserys. Shaena was stillborn whilst both Daeron and Jaehaerys died in the same year of their births. Her Aegon fared no better. Not only did he die within a year, but he was two months premature.
"It won't be long before I hold you in my arms," Rhaella told the babe in her stomach. "You will be a son, would you not? Only sons kick so strongly!" Only Rhaegar had kicked as vigorously during her pregnancies.
She missed cradling a babe in her arms. When Viserys was born, Aerys had forbade her to touch him let alone carry him. Any other mother would have wept and begged; Rhaella knew too well of Aerys's cruel and unpredictable temper to either weep of beg. Rhaella could not wait until the maester places the babe in her arms. There will be no Aerys to inform; no arguments and tears over names; best of all, she will be able to hold the babe as long as she likes. She brightened at that thought and settled comfortably on her soft bed for the last day or two of confinement. Viserys visited thrice a day – he insisted it would be his right to hold his baby brother first – and Ser Willem Darry kept her well-informed of the precarious situation her family was in.
"Have you heard from Elia?" Rhaella questioned as Ser Willem appeared. "Are her children well?"
"They are still travelling to Braavos Your Grace," Ser Willem responded. "It is not safe for them to send letters at a time like this." His eyes shifted to the tall windows dashed with pelting rain. "Dragonstone will not be safe for long Your Grace," he said honestly. "The Usurper will be turning his attention here once he is crowned. Perhaps he already sent a fleet to attack."
Rhaella struggled to sit up. "I cannot flee! It is almost time…"
"My queen, we must leave-"
"Ser Willem! There is a storm raging outside the windows as we speak! That is what will protect us! If we try and flee, we will die. We cannot leave. Look at the sea, Ser Willem. We will drown if we try and sail away. Equally, the Usurper and his men cannot sail to Dragonstone in risk of perilous deaths. The Redwynes own the most powerful fleet in the Seven Kingdoms yes? They will not risk their men to come here in the name of the Usurper." Exhausted, she rested her head back against the pillow (more threadbare than before). "We will leave once the storm is over," she murmured more to herself than to Ser Willem. "Either way…Viserys and this little one must be safe."
She could see that Ser Willem was sceptical. My child will not survive whether we flee or not, she thought unhappily. If not by the Usurper's sword, then he will drown at sea. The gods have abandoned us.
"Shall I summon the maester, Your Grace?" he inquired.
Rhaella shook her head. "Not yet. When I need him, I will call for him. I think I might rest now." Yesterday she felt ready to fulfil the role as regent; today, she could hardly lift a finger. Please Warrior, give my child strength. If not in arms, then in health. Please Mother, have mercy upon us. Let this child live. Let him have a good life, a happy life. Innocence is the most precious gift a child can have. Let my child believe in peace and not be told of this bloodshed. For a second, she wondered if the child would be a girl. If it is a girl, she will be a septa, Rhaella decided on sudden impulse. It had been quite some time since a Targaryen chose to embrace the path of the Faith rather than matrimony. "If a girl, she will be a septa," she said aloud. "Mother, have mercy upon us all."
Tears streamed down Rhaella's face as her handmaids clothed her in a gown of white laced with at least a dozen pearls. Around her slender neck was a pendant bearing the Targaryen sigil – a three headed dragon wrought from rubies as red as blood. This had belonged to your mother, her father Jaehaerys had said to her. All Targaryen queens had worn this when they wedded their Targaryen brothers or cousins. Only a Targaryen queen can wear this like how your future daughter will when she weds your son. His sickly face had flashed with a smile. Rhaella had been too upset to even feign a smile.
"I do not love him," Rhaella tried to explain. "I do not want to be his wife…"
"Rhaella…it is for the good of our family. There was this – no, you are still young. All you must do is be happy, wed Aerys and continue our the Targaryen lineage. One day when you are a mother and wiser, you will understand the reason for your marriage to Aerys. You are brother and sister – loving him and bearing his children should be easy." He kissed her on the forehead. "Wipe those tears away," he advised, handing her a piece of clean linen cloth. "A bride should not look so unhappy on her wedding day my dear."
The wedding ceremony flew by in a blur: her father walked her to the altar; she and Aerys said their vows between the two towering gilded statues of the Father and the Mother in the Great Sept of Baelor; they received their wedding gifts; they feasted and danced…until the bedding.
"Time for the bedding!"
"The bedding!"
Rhaella found herself lifted from her seat and carried towards Aerys's chambers, her clothes shredded off by the guest lords. Her gown…a shoe fell…the other shoe… by the time she reached the bed, she was stark naked. When Aerys appeared, he too had been stripped of all his clothes. He had drank a great deal of wine during the feast yet he maintained a disgruntled expression.
"Get on the bed," he said flatly.
Shivering with fear, Rhaella obeyed, praying for Aerys to be gentle. He had never been the brother she wanted. Kind, loving, protective…Aerys Targaryen was none. She closed her eyes as she felt him shift on top. Gentle he was not. She whimpered and cried as blood trickled between her legs…
Another boom of thunder jolted Rhaella awake, her forehead clammy with sweat. Trickling between my legs…she lifted the blanket. Her mattress was damp – her water had broke.
"Maester!" she called out as loudly as she could. Compared to the rumbling thunder, it was no more than a whisper. Fortunately, the maester had heard her call. "Your Grace?" he said, hurrying in.
"My water broke." For the last time.
"Ah. Stay calm, Your Grace. I will gather towels…" He left as quickly as he went in. Rhaella wondered if he had ever delivered a baby before. Aware she would face tighter contractions very soon, she summoned Ser Willem and Viserys. The old knight remained as calm as ever, her son frightened. His violet eyes darted here and there as they approached her. "My son," breathed Rhaella, caressing his soft hand. "My king…you will be a good boy, now will you? Will you be a good brother to the baby?"
Viserys nodded worriedly. "Will you…"
Rhaella shook her head vigorously. "The Stranger will not take me now," she said firmly. "If the Seven were kind, they would have granted life to your older siblings who did not live over a year. You hardly saw Rhaegar…once we are safe, I will tell you all about him."
"What do you mean Mother?"
Rhaella reached for her crown – silver studded with rubies and onyxes – and gave it to him. "Your lord father forbade me to bring all my jewels here," she said, cringing as the first contraction stabbed through her. "He said if I took all my jewels, I would sell them and escape to the Free Cities with you. He did not trust me." She laughed softly. "Your inheritance is the Seven Kingdoms my son, but all I can give you is my crown!" Another shot of pain jabbed her. If my Shaena had lived, I would gift her with my pendant, she thought. "Promise me you will rid the realm of the Usurper and his traitorous dogs," she insisted. "The dragons will rule until the end of time. Say it."
"The-the dragons will rule until the end of time," Viserys stammered, almost shaking with fright.
"How?"
"With…with fire and blood."
Rhaella smiled, content. She looked at Ser Willem Darry. "You were right ser," she said quietly. "I was a fool to think the storm would save us from the Usurper and his men. His dogs are all rabid, the lot of them. You must take Viserys away from here. Take him to Braavos where Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon will be. Ensure he is safe from harm and when he is a man grown, wed him to either Rhaenys or a suitable princess or highborn maiden whose family is loyal to the Targaryens. Until he sires a child or two, do not reclaim his birth right. There must always be another dragon waiting in the wings."
"I understand Your Grace," said Ser Willem seriously. He hesitated. "What of yourself, Your Grace?"
"You said the eunuch smuggled Elia and my grandchildren away," Rhaella said thoughtfully. "I'm certain he will be able to smuggle me and the babe to Braavos as well. In a few months' time, we will all be safe in Braavos. If I die, I charge you Ser Willem Darry, to be King Viserys's guardian. There has never been a knight more loyal than you." She hissed as a third contraction twinged. "Ser Willem…go. Please. Take Viserys to safety. Raise him to be the prince Rhaegar was. It is not too late for him…"
Ser Willem bowed. "Aye Your Grace." Trembling, he kissed her hand for what seemed like the last time. The gloominess of this place is effecting you, Rhaella told herself as she breathed deeply. Think of the babe…think of the babe. Viserys followed suit and kissed her hand.
"I love you my son." Rhaella gritted her teeth as more pangs shot through her body. "Ser Willem. I believe it is time for you to leave with my son." It pained her to make the decision for Ser Willem to smuggle Viserys away with a few devoted men. As much as she wanted to believe her House still had a chance to regain the Iron Throne from the Baratheon usurper, she knew the Targaryen cause was all but lost. The Tyrells had bent the knee as did the Darrys, Rygers, Mootons and Goodbrooks. She suspected the Martells would've withdrew their forces by now – Prince Doran Martell, the Prince of Dorne, was too cautious to keep fighting for the Targaryen cause.
The maester returned, struggling under the weight of a stack of towels. Two servants accompanied him holding a basin of clear water. Rhaella breathed again and closed her eyes.
It was almost time.
Her vision blurred as she opened her eyes. For hours, she toiled and screamed before blackening out. Did the babe cry? Rhaella groaned as pain prickled all over her. Why does it hurt so much? She blinked. Her vision was still hazy.
"Your Grace." The maester's voice. She squinted and saw the vaguely familiar shape of the thin maester hovering near the side of her bed.
"Where…where is my child?" Her voice was weak. Too weak.
"King Viserys, Your Grace? He had already left Dragonstone under the care and protection of Ser Willem Darry, a wet nurse and four soldiers." The maester gently placed a damp linen cloth on her forehead. It is cold…why am I feeling so warm? It is never warm here in Dragonstone…especially with another storm brewing outside…
"No." Rhaella tried to move. More agony. "My…my baby…" Feverish, she closed her eyes again. She was so tired. She needed rest…
"Your Grace! I see fleets from the watchtower! They all bear the Baratheon flags!" A soldier ran in, despair breaking in his voice. "Your Grace! You must sail away! Dragonstone will be overrun with the Usurper's men by dawn!" So it is still midnight…or a little after that.
"Where is the fleet?" Rhaella croaked. Why is there suddenly light? Bright light flooded in the room.
"Destroyed! Another storm hit over the night Your Grace, and the entire fleet was destroyed! Whilst anchored! You must sail away!"
But I am so tired…"Rhaegar?" she murmured, the figure of her eldest son, the silver haired, dark indigo eyed Crown Prince Rhaegar approaching her, holding out his hand. Following him with a scowl was Aerys, blood dripping everywhere he went. More familiar faces appeared. The Sword in the Morning…the White Bull…Prince Lewyn Martell…Ser Jonothor Darry…Ser Oswell Whent…Elia? She stood beside Rhaegar, a wailing babe in her arms and…Rhaenys standing – no, hiding – behind her. No. Ser Willem said they…
"My child," Rhaella choked for the final time before her beautiful Rhaegar touched her hand. A content smile, she went with him willingly.
Thanks for the reviews! Excellent fuel for me haha! So...anything could happen. All guesses welcome :) Coincidently there was a storm raging when I was writing the end of this chapter! Exam season is approaching, so I won't be able to update as frequently, but I'll try my best :)
