CHAPTER IV
Corlys rubs at his aching forehead, feeling as though it's about to split in two given the hours-long round and round the Small Council meeting has been under way, every once and a again a look is exchanged between him and Viserys while Daemon's cheat heaves with breath, having been ordered by his older brother and King to calm down upon his outburst.
Quietly, only feet away but completely unbeknownst to the Small Council, Aenyka Velaryon hides behind the partition she hadn't known even existed until her lover had pointed it out, and eavesdrops while she watches the men quarrel, carrying on about what is the most suitable punishment for her amongst a plethora of technicalities, "what ifs," and details being thoroughly combed through regarding the predicament she has now found herself in after four months of carrying Daemon's child.
"This should be between our families and ourselves, should it not, brother?" Daemon asks as evenly as he can through his ragged breath, once again about to press the dismissal of the other men excluding Lord Corlys, before Otto jumps in, once more.
"This isn't the consequence of you having too much fun with some common whore. This was you deliberately seeking out and seducing a woman who made vows of silence, chastity, and servitude to the Stranger."
"So why is it she who's only to be blamed and punished for it?!" Daemon raises his voice while it is now Viserys who rubs at his forehead.
"She made the vows, and she broke them." Otto states.
"What if she had no choice in the matter?" Daemon recklessly suggests, looking at his brother and Aenyka's eyes widen.
Everyone seemingly holds their breath, glancing at one another as Corlys eyes the table, keeping his focus there while the young man scrambles desperately to keep the Sea Snake's sister from trouble.
"Are you suggesting you forced yourself upon her, Daemon?" Viserys shakily asks.
"If I did, would she be spared the cruel dealing this council is harking over that starving hounds?" Daemon keeps his voice confident, rolling his jaw.
No one answers.
"Would she or would she not?" He asks louder.
"She wouldn't be penalized for such. But you would." Viserys informs him, frustrated. "Severely."
"She's already confessed her sin, your Grace, the story has been cemented and confirmed." Otto points out to the King.
"Then change it." Daemon commands.
"Your heroism is admired, truly, but we are all at risk of facing the repercussions of the Stranger should we sit here and pretend you raped her knowing very well you did not, all for her to avoid her judgement." Otto replies, plucking Daemon's attempt from the realm of possibility.
"She has already been expelled from her duties and excommunicated from her Sisterhood." Corlys points out, finding it punishment enough being it was something his sister truly enjoyed doing.
"That was merely the first procedure of protocol set in place by the Great Sept, Lord Corlys." Lyonel points out.
"And what of the second?" He asks, next, furrowing his silver brows.
Daemon can see the faintest smug look on Otto's face, a sign that the law of the Great Sept for such a crime is far worse than the King's.
"She is to be immured until the Stranger comes to collect her." Lyonel regretfully informs him, pulling a sigh from Viserys.
"Immured?" It barely sounds like Daemon's voice, darker, more sinister, as if daring the word be repeated.
Corlys' own hands ball into fists in his lap at the mention of it.
"The Sept have their own ideals, my Prince." Lyonel says next, cautiously.
"Of which should be clearly separated from the King's law, should it not?!"
"The King's law is built on the foundation of the Seven." Otto declares. "To demand the separation of the two, now, merely for your own convenience — "
" — Convenience?" Corlys interrupts Otto before Daemon can. "She made a mistake. As we do when we're young and think we know everything. Mercy is not just a 'convenient' option, Ser Otto, it is imperative."
"She is very well a woman grown, Lord Corlys. Though even those of the age of five know you don't take vows of virtue and servitude and squander those same vows acting brazenly in a manner unbecoming of a maiden."
"Had this been your own daughter you'd be in agreement with me." Corlys grits through his teeth.
"Alicent will never immerse herself in such debauchery." Otto hisses, defensively. "I'm not entirely sure why this whole debacle has come as a surprise to any of us, now that I think of it. The girl does take the most after her mother, after all." He continues, looking at Daemon directly before he adds, "which we now know includes birthing half-breed bastards."
"She will not birth a bastard." The Prince states his intent to marry her, bringing Corlys to glare at him, the subject being something he has yet to even ask of him, Aenyka just as off-put by the abrupt decision.
"You intend to marry her?" Viserys questions him, raising his brows in utter disbelief.
"Yes."
"Daemon, you don't have the will to be in a proper marriage - you've no grasp of the responsibility it calls for." His older brother says calmly.
"She will not birth a bastard." It's repeated harshly, Daemon refusing to shift his position.
"No, she won't." Otto agrees, catching everyone's attention, all them looking at him to further explain.
Once again his attention is on Daemon, all too happy to add, "She can't birth anything in her death."
It unfolds in the blink of Viserys' eye, his brother attacking his Hand, jolting across the table like a madman, striking Otto twice in the face with his closed fist before the two men are wrestled apart whilst the members of the council shout at one another, Viserys' own voice lost in the racket of it all.
Aenyka watches with a hand over her mouth, tears stinging her eyes as Daemon shakes Corlys and Lyonel from him, taking in deep breaths as he calms, glaring at Otto who holds at the split skin of his cheek while Viserys looks between the two of them.
He can't remember the last time he had felt so conflicted, but this is the first time he's being put in a position to choose between what is right by the realm and the Crown, his relationship with his brother, and alliance with House Velaryon.
Looking at his young brother, seeing a mere glimpse of a man who is still a child in many ways, he swallows back the lump in his throat and hoarsely says, "I will reach a decision tomorrow with the heavy advisory of my Hand and the High Septon."
"Your Hand prays upon my sister's death." Corlys hisses.
"His Hand only wishes to uphold the law of the Seven." Otto sharply argues, Viserys glaring at him before he shuts his mouth, the King's line of sight falling back to his little brother and the Sea Snake, his lack of words telling the two men all it needs to.
"You do as you wish, brother." Daemon gravels, the silent promise of, "you'll have to cut through me to get to her," thick in his voice before he's swiftly storming out of the room, Lord Corlys following closely behind him, solidifying that line that's been drawn in the sand.
Heat from the fire cascades across the Sea Snake's face, lighting before him the face of his wife, as well, the two of them just quietly sitting in his Great Hall, enjoying each other's company without a word.
It isn't until Corlys goes to open his mouth that Rhaenys cuts him short, asking, "if you're about to once again make the suggestion of what I think you're about to…"
She doesn't have to explain, he knows very well what she's meaning.
His mouth shuts as he holds back a chuckle, and she meets his eyes with her own.
"Rhaenys, do you not think it smart he at least starts looking to remarry?" He asks, and she raises her brows.
"I think it's something he may not even be interested in, let alone the proposition of the woman who has just recovered from what appeared to have been a possible ever-lasting resentment and hatred of him." She states. "Not to mention you've not muttered a word about it to her."
"When is there time? She's always gone when I arrive home." He points out.
"She's always spending time with her niece and nephew, and dwelling amongst herself on the coast, and flying."
"Doing everything except acknowledging King's Landing." He scoffs.
For the last six months Rhaenys had been secretly taking note of the fact that Aenyka had been shifting more and more into comfortability — something she hadn't been since the death of Prince Daerek.
No more did the Lady wear the deliberately stoic expression to try to ward off conversation or interaction other than that of her family, nor did the stench of a bitter grudge force its way from her pores with every mention of Viserys.
There were even moments Rhaenys had caught her prancing around like a child, as if she weighed nothing.
"She's enjoying herself. Something she probably hasn't done since Daerek's conception." She admits, Corlys huffing out a breath at the exaggeration.
"She's yet to even congratulate her niece on being heired Princess of Dragonstone and successor of the Iron Throne." He points out, raising his brows.
"She's been busy." Rhaenys explains to him.
"Yes, spending time with Laena and Laenor, dwelling amongst herself on the coast, and flying." He sarcastically recalls what she had told him. "Which is something else that stokes the council's curiosity." He adds.
"What? The fact that she's actually enjoying her life instead of being a miserable drunk?"
"She's flying."
Rhaenys blinks at him, blankly.
"And what do they say of this curiosity?" She asks.
"The Smallfolk speak of the myth of Daerek's spirit possessing the dragon." He explains.
"I asked about the Small Council." She reminds him.
"That her fingers are soaked red with Bloodmagic to bind herself to Valor."
Rhaenys can't help but cackle when she hears it, until she sees that her husband is being honest, his expression serious.
"Oh, gods be good, Corlys. That's absurd." She stands, unable to stay seated as anger infiltrates her. "Are they truly that unruly in their hunger to see her head being paraded on a spike?"
"I reminded them of her possible lineage to the Targaryen bloodline as our families have intermarried through generations." He reassures her. "Viserys dismissed the claim as utter slander. It's mainly Otto Hightower that is so persistent in his intolerance of her."
"She's not seen any of them — hasn't stepped foot off this island, aside from flying — for six months. Yet he is still so obsessed with latching at her throat and tearing her to the ground."
"I believe there is much animosity toward her since her departure those years ago. The King, myself, and Daemon were the only ones of the council that didn't want her blood for her insults and berates, after all. Others feel she shouldn't have been allowed back in Westeros at all."
"Well, she was allowed back. She and Viserys have gotten on a better foot with one another and Aenyka has been behaving herself. Staying out of trouble. You can tell them that." The Princess states it, matter-of-fact, and Corlys finds security in her certainty.
Wind from the window coils its way around the curls of Aenyka's black hair, tickling at her face, pulling her eyes open for a brief moment as her arm drops to the empty space in the bed beside her.
Once she gathers her thoughts, she's sitting up on her elbows, seeing his silhouette standing in the moonlight on the terrace.
A small smile tugs at his lips upon hearing her tear from the bed, shuffling to him with nothing but the mere bed sheet around her.
He awaits her warm arms wrapping around his bare torso, the soft skin of her cheek resting against his back, feeling her long lashes against his skin with the slow blinking of her sleepy eyes, as his own eyes close for a moment.
"…Would I be at the mercy of Dark Sister if I said I missed our son?" She whispers, his grin widening, and even lets out a single chuckle.
"I'm sure he's not even thinking of us." He replies, looking at her over his shoulder. "He's probably too busy running your brother all over Hightide."
"You sound as if you have great confidence in that." She raises her brows.
"Well, he's always done as I've told him to." He informs her, having half-jokingly told Daerek not to give his uncle a moment's rest. She giggles, kissing his skin before he turns to face her, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips as she tilts her head up to look at him, his hands moving her hair from around her face before placing one hand on her forehead and one against her mouth, covering her nose as well, just seeing her eyes.
It's something he had done from time to time to remind himself of her when he'd first seen her in her grown age, covered head to toe in the grey garbs of that of the Silent Sisters, only showing her eyes.
He feels her smile form under his palm, moving his hands to view her fully before resting his forehead against hers, closing his eyes once more.
Now he stands, opening his eyes to reality, sleep having evaded him as he stares off to the sea, glaring southwest, hearing Mysaria turn in the bed several feet behind him before he fumbles with the sheet of paper in his hand with his blasphemous wedding announcement to be sent to his brother.
He blows out a breath and steps back into the room, rolling the paper as he walks, reaching the table he had written it at, reaching for the small string to secure its closure.
Not far from Dragonstone, some miles southwest, Aenyka tosses and turns in her bed, growing restless by each minute that passes before she gives up and walks downstairs.
The fire that once lit up the Great hall is dwindling, but it still lights the large room filled with majestic treasures of Corlys' adventures, the Sea Snake himself still dwelling in front of the fire in thought, only breaking the comfort of his own mind with the sound of his sister clearing her throat.
He looks at her.
"What are you doing awake at this hour?" He asks as she sits in the chair across from him, crossing her arms over her torso, the mane of tight curls spilling over her shoulders.
"I rarely sleep at night." She informs him. "Ever since we'd have to prepare bodies all through the night, sometimes multiple nights, it off-put my sleep schedule and turned me into a Nocturn."
"Mm." He stares at the dwindling flames of the logs. "I was thinking about that, earlier today." He admits, next, opting her to furrow her brows. "When my time has come, I think I'll give you one last thing to be mad at me about by wishing for you to prepare my body for its final sail."
It's an odd thing for him to bring up at the moment, feeding more and more into the whispers that have been scurrying around Hightide these last several weeks…
"If that's what you want." She agrees, not even necessarily wanting to think of having to strip her dear brother of his organs and blood before preserving his body and dropping him at the bottom of the ocean.
"If you still remember how to do it, that is. Spending six years as a Princess Consort might've uprooted that humble beginning and knowledge."
She has to laugh at this.
"Oh, please." She grumbles. "Though there are things I do miss about that little power trip."
"Demanding people around?" He takes a guess.
"Only asking that they tell me any gossip running through the halls." She replies. "I walk around here and all I can piece together from what your staff and your wife refuse to repeat to me, is that there is some conflict in the Step Stones."
His peaceful smile falls, Aenyka's expression meeting it, too, the both of them looking at one another, solemnly.
He feels as if he's been caught hiding something.
"Corlys." She says it as if demanding that he tell her what is going on, and he hesitates. "I could go to Dragonstone, ask Daemon about it, and he would tell me the truth of it. All of it." She points out, the two of them knowing it's true.
"Then why haven't you?" He asks, almost wishing she would've already so he wouldn't have to have this conversation with her.
"I don't want to hear it from him. I want to hear it from you." She states, shakily.
He, again, hesitates, before sighing out and confessing.
"There's been an alliance formed in the Free Cities — The 'Triarchy' as they've been calling themselves — headed by a Myrish Prince they've called 'The Crabfeeder'." He says. "He has a unique way of killing his enemies, and unfortunately, those enemies as of late have been one of my ships, along with three others."
She can tell by his tone he's attempting to downplay it, to make it seem not so bad, because she knows if it is bad enough he'll intervene.
"Surely you can speak something of it to Viserys and — "
" — He refuses to get involved, directly." He says to her.
"Oh." She flatly mumbles.
"But if it persists it could — more than likely would — ruin our imports of goods." He adds, hoping that this in itself is enough for her to understand that he fully intends to intervene with his Navy should Viserys choose not to.
"So…there is a chance you may have to go fight?"
"I didn't say that."
"No, but should you send your men to intervene, you'd go as well. Which implies that you would be fighting."
"Nothing is set in stone, Aenyka."
"But it's not long before you're hauling it away to the stone masters to do so, Corlys, I know how you work. Tip-toeing around the truth instead of speaking it clearly, hoping I'm daft enough to brush it off as nothing to worry about. But I'm not daft. And I am worried."
"Yes. If the conflict grows any more than it has, I will be going against King Viserys and interjecting myself and my men into the effort." He speaks it clearly, just for her.
They stare at one another, and he watches as her stoic expression shifts to that of sorrow, her eyes welling with tears as she closes them, her shaking fingers wiping at the beads of liquid.
"I wish you wouldn't have told me that." She admits and he chuckles, standing up to walk to her and kneel at her feet, still tall enough for her to have to look up at him.
She's leaning forward to reach up and squeeze her arms around his neck, and he gives her a reassuring pat on the back.
"It's not a death sentence, Aenyka, if it even comes to a fight." He pulls away to cup her face in his hands. "I'm insulted that you don't think your dear brother tougher."
"It's nothing to do with how tough you are. It's my luck. I've laid to rest a son, and a husband within the last four years, and I refuse to do so to my brother."
He grabs her shoulders, making her look at him.
"It's going to take more than some depraved Prince acting out to be of any threat to my life. The problem — if in need of intervention — will be taken care of in a matter of weeks." He says, sounding as sure of it as he can be to better ease her distraught mind.
It works well enough, giving her space to clear her thoughts and take in a deep breath, but it's short lived as she sees the look in his eye.
"Is that all you have been keeping from me?" She asks it knowing fully well it isn't, her voice carrying a grit to it that pulls him from his kneel to stare down at her.
"I want you to accompany Rhaenys, Laena, Laenor, and myself, to King's Landing tomorrow."
"Whatever for?"
"To see your niece whom you've yet to even congratulate on being appointed heir to the Iron Throne." He states.
"Congratulate her on the target strapped to her back?" She raises her brows, glaring up at him.
"You were awfully proud when it was your own husband who wore that target that was to eventually be passed down to your son."
"Because Daemon was Daemon. And Daerek was Daerek. Both male. Both acceptable." She stands.
"You won't accept Rhaenyra as Queen because she's a girl?"
"I will. But they won't." She clarifies. "So I'll go with you all, to offer my sympathies to the Princess, instead." She adds, patting her brother's shoulder before dismissing herself back to her bed chambers.
He watches as she leaves, rubbing his forehead and exhaling heavily as he dreads the coming days because she'll inevitably find his motivation for getting his daughter and sister within visibility of the King.