A/N: Hey everyone.
Med school starts next week. I've written twelve chapters ahead in this story so there will be updates, but I'm gonna stretch them out a bit so that they'll last while I'm really busy.
Be sure to check out My Best Friend's Wedding, which I finished yesterday!
Read and comment!
Chapter 26: Loss
"For the last time, husband," Ceryse warned, though struggling to bite back her giggle. "I'm fine. You need not help me."
"Forgive me wife, but it is my husbandly duty to carry the woman bearing my babe to where she needs to go."
Staring at Maegor's perfectly insistent voice, Ceryse rolled her eyes. "I do not need your help getting into my bath." She raised her brow. "Are there more lecherous reasons for you to keep insisting?"
He looked away. "I do not know what you're talking about."
"Liar… you're mind is filthy." She shook her head. "Last night and this morning wasn't enough for you, my beast of a husband."
Suddenly he pounced, grabbing her about the waist and lifting her up - Ceryse yelped but wrapped her legs round his hips. "Dragons are insatiable, my love. You should know that." He kissed her senseless, and Ceryse almost gave in and let him ravish her again.
Almost. "No…" She pushed Maegor away. "Keep that dragon cock away from me. I need to get ready for my duties. Holding court and then an afternoon tea with the Queen."
That made him sullen quickly. "I thought you disliked Alyssa."
"I do, but I must keep up appearances." Her gaze softened. "After though… I'm all yours." Ceryse approached and wrapped her arms around his waist. "We still have more to celebrate of our beautiful babe inside me."
He smiled back. "Count on it, my love." Another kiss, this one sweet and loving.
Leaving the chamber moments later, Maegor was greeted by his mother. "My sweet son." Visenya leaned in to kiss Maegor's cheek. "The sweet kepa to be."
"Muna…" Maegor groaned awkwardly. "Must you?"
The Queen Dowager grinned at him. "You know I must, being your dear muna." Letting her hand take his arm - not denying herself the chance to be escorted by a powerful dragonrider - Visenya and Maegor strolled towards the growing gardens of the Dragonpalace. "The place is growing at a fast pace."
"Egg is an able administrator… like Aenys was - still is I suppose." Aenys had more important matters than taking charge of single projects like this. "Hopefully the keep won't be an eyesore compared to the great hall."
"You saw the design, it won't be."
Maegor shrugged. "Sometimes it looks better in conceptualization than in reality." He didn't really believe that, but the Dragonpalace would be House Targaryen's means to project majesty to the world alongside the dragons. Had to be perfect. "You said you had a duty for me?"
Visenya nodded. "Lord Daeron requests assistance from the crown. The right to call his bannermen and armored knights of House Targaryen."
"He controls Harrenhal, the largest keep in the Seven Kingdoms." The land around the God's Eye was fertile and densely populated, so House Qoherys wasn't bereft of troops. "What's got him so spooked."
"Potential Ironborn rebels."
The Prince blinked. "Goren is our ally."
"Not them… remnants of House Hoare's banners and the Salt Wives they took in the Riverlands. They'll be of age which doesn't remember Balerion torching Black Harren and itching for a fight."
"Fools." Maegor shook his head. "Ferocious fools, but fools nonetheless." He thought for a moment about the men he could spare. "I'll have Lord Tybolt send Myles Smallwood and a hundred knights to supplement Qoherys. Ser Myles has been eager to show his loyalty recently."
But Visenya shook her head. "No, you have to go personally."
"Muna…"
"Don't muna me, the arrangements have to be made by the Hand of the King." She turned to look at him closely. "There are things developing, my son, things I have a very malevolent feeling on. From your reputation at Lannisport, Fair Isle, and all the battles of the Narrow Sea and beyond the Wall you are feared and respected. Use that and fix this before it festers."
He held up his arms, conceding to his mother. "Alright, muna. I yield to your wisdom."
Visenya's scowl turned to a bright smile. "Just like your kepa. Always knew when not to argue."
"I'll be sure to take that as a compliment." They both chuckled.
As they made their way towards where Balerion slept, Visenya went back to the budding family of her son. "Have you thought of names yet?"
"I have," Maegor conceded. "But Ceryse wishes not to tempt fate."
"Superstitious when they don't need to be," she dismissed. "That girl is in the peak of health. A strapping son just like his kepa."
"Perhaps a girl wouldn't be unfortunate… someone fierce yet beautiful like her grandmother."
Snorting, Visenya nevertheless blushed. "Another thing you get from your kepa, charming to the point of ire." Without another word, she hugged her son. "You're making him proud, I promise."
Maegor hugged her back. "I hope so, muna." He could only try.
Ser Osmund Strong had once made a jape about the office of the Grand Maester - that their entire role was of the male wet nurse for the royal family. After a round of laughs at the jape, Orys Baratheon replied that it was a cheap substitute, considering the best part of a wet nurse was missing. Such a statement obtained even louder howls of laughter, even from the King and Queen themselves.
Miserable harlot.
Grand Maester Gawen forever hated both councilors to the Iron Throne, though he saved his greatest loathing for Queen Visenya. How dare a filthy whore that accepted her brother and other women into her bed dare judge a learned Archmaester of the Citadel? Not for the first time did he sigh, scratching his balding head at the persistent flakes of dandruff there - try as he might, the various concoctions his comrades would send him never helped. Nothing before had existed in Westeros since the First Men were expelled to their frozen wasteland north of the Neck, but dragons didn't care for the opinions of any animal.
Except direwolves it seemed, but now those wolves had dragons of their own. Gawen despised them just as much for it.
In truth, as evident by the stacks of tomes and parchment upon his table, the Grand Maester was a very busy, very important figure within the Small Council. The care for the health of the royal family occupied high status on its own, and Gawen expanded his responsibilities beyond that of a mere court physician to encompass the health of King's Landing itself. More than once did Alton Celtigar and later then-Prince Aenys consult with him on construction matters, keen to build a city that didn't provide a festering ground for disease.
Gawen liked Aenys the most of all the dragons - kind and quite chivalrous in his nature, it wasn't his fault he was born of incest. The King's children were sired from a more acceptable cousin marriage, and it was Gawen's hope that he could convince the King to marry them off to proper spouses as the previous High Septon had with Prince Maegor.
There were many who didn't care about these things, but Gawen was a peaceable man and hoped for the most fortunate of solutions.
However, things that day weren't amenable to those matters.
Immersed in studying the latest texts from the pharmacology conclave back in Oldtown, a knock on the door drew him from his readings. "Yes?" It opened and revealed a slight man in homespun but rather clean and formal religious garb. "Septon Egane. What do I owe this pleasure?"
The official Septon of the royal family and officer of the Dragonpalace sept, he was very often seen among the King's manse and the palace, no one batting an eye at his presence especially since along with Murmison he earned the King's favor. "A dispatch from Oldtown. His Holiness wished that I deliver it to you personally."
"Oh?" That was odd. Gawen took the scroll and read it… his blood turning cold at each new line…
Grand Maester,
My sow is in the most ponderous state of decline. A sort of malignancy grows within her gut, getting larger and larger by the day until what results is a lethargic state where walking grows difficult and the stomach malady is common.
I know you are a treater of humans and not animals, but the zoology conclave of the Citadel are very busy and fail to heed my requests, so as your former patron I was hoping that you could offer up your services and advice for an ametuer husbander such as myself.
Manfryd Hightower
Lord of the Hightower and Warden of Oldtown.
Trembling, Gawen sets the scroll down. "He demands this of me? Does he have the gall?"
Septon Egane's normally gentle face was hard and severe. "The cow is bloated and lethargic, Grand Maester. This is a concern that Lord Hightower wishes to deal with."
"Well then he should've dealt with it himself like he has been. He shouldn't push me into the middle of this, not with my reputation already being challenged by Lord Stark and Princess Rhaenys." At least Osmund and Orys' japes didn't question his competence like the brat Princess - just like her mother, that one.
"His Holiness plans to sacrifice the cow to the glory of the maiden, so you better see that it be done or else." Septon Egane turned to leave.
"Is that a threat?"
A look was cast over his shoulder. "Not a threat… at least not from me, Grand Maester."
Muttering a profanity under his breath, Gawen nevertheless nodded. "Have the servant arrive here before her rounds. I'll provide her what she needs to dispense before the week is out." Egane nodded and left, Gawen slumping in his chair.
By the gods… when would all of this be over.
He knew the answer, and it both made him fearful and filled him with joy to think about.
Rhaena wondered if Tyanna loved her.
The evidence pointed in that direction when Rhaena decided to look distinctly enough. The Pentoshi bastard girl was saucy and fiesty, yet she didn't join Melony, Alayne, and Larissa in teasing Rhaena during their gatherings, instead defending her. She oft made time to spend alone with the Princess, usually just friendly, innocent activities such as pouring over Valyrian tomes or walks through the gardens chatting about court gossip and matters of state. When they withdrew into the bedchamber, her moans were ardent and her touches heavenly yet gentle - never letting go animalistically as Rhaena sometimes did.
Perhaps Tyanna wished to maintain Rhaena's maidenhead, which made the Princess' affections increase once she realized it.
Tyanna did love her, of this Rhaena was eventually certain. Did she love her though?
Mayhaps, though not enough to push Maegor out of her heart. Sometimes Rhaena felt guilty at giving Tyanna the hope that her feelings could be fully requited - they could never be together fully, yet a sham marriage did lean to the possibility - but in her pain over Maegor, she couldn't help herself.
"You do love him still," Tyanna told her that morning, cupping her cheek as they woke together.
Biting her lip, Rhaena nodded. "Do you hate me for it, Ty?"
Surprisingly, Tyanna shook her head. "I cannot. It is easy to know why you love him. If my heart wasn't yours, then I could see myself seeking to be the next Ralla."
Rhaena raised her eyebrow. "Oh?"
A giggle. "Something to think about before you go to your daily training."
"I hate you."
"No you don't."
Scowling, Rhaena nevertheless leaned in to kiss her lover, conceding the point.
Still stiff from sleep and… other things, Rhaena began her pre-sparring stretches in the Dragonpalace's courtyard just as Ser Gawen entered, followed by the other person the Princess expected to see. "Ah, a shocking turn of events. The Princess deigns to arrive early on this fine morning."
His voice dripped with sarcasm, though Rhaena decided to ignore it. "Good morning, Lord Commander," she called over with genuine amity. As much of a hard cunt he was, Gawen Corbray was positively gentle compared to Brandon Snow. The latter had only been in King's Landing for little over a moon, but Rhaena already shuddered at how coldly the Bastard of Winterfell treated Maegor when he went North. Her uncle respected him, yet images of Maegor being left out in the middle of a blizzard for various minor transgressions made Rhaena wince.
No matter how hard she tried, he never left her mind - nor did she ever want him to, regardless of what she told Tyanna.
She shook her head, finishing up her stretches and making for a practice blade that equaled the feel of Dark Sister. Sparring helped clear her mind. "Permission to begin, Lord Commander?"
Crossing his arms, Ser Gawen leaned against the column. "Permission granted, Princess. Wait for your sparring partner."
Flicking a few strands of loose hair fallen from her messy bun behind her ear, Rhaena's eyes fell on the still relative newcomer to the Dragonpalace grounds. Raven-black hair tied back in what she called a 'ponytail,' Jorelle Mormont was almost exactly like Rhaena in every other manner besides looks - though both were objectively beautiful in the same slight, toned appearance. Fierce yet still well-read, Jorelle wielded the Valyrian steel sword Longclaw just as her grandmother Lady Bethany Mormont did.
Rhaena had been eager to face off, Dark Sister against Longclaw, first out of curiosity, then revenge, and then simply for the fun of it, but Gawen never allowed real blades in sparring so for the last two weeks she and the Mormont girl had to make due. From the grimace on her face as she drew the blunted bastard sword, Jorelle had the same feelings. "Ready, your Grace?" she asked, getting into position.
"Whenever you are, Lady Mormont." Rhaena firmed her stance, bending her knees. "I'll try not to go easy on you."
"I figured that was the breadth of your abilities, Princess?"
Oh, she's good. Rhaena narrowed her eyes, twirling her blade into place. Giving the silent challenge towards her first as she had each morning for the last two weeks.
True to her House's words, Jorelle charged. Taller than Rhaena, she used her physical stature to full advantage, seeming to tower over her opponent in a move to overwhelm and strike down. Rhaena had lost the few first spars embarrassingly easily because of that, but had since learned means to counter and thus gave ground - letting Jorelle assault forward for several paces until she counterattacked, lashing out a blow that forced Jorelle to parry.
"Quick feet," Ser Gawen called out, his tone chiding. "Fluid… move. Use your speed."
A woman, slight at that, no matter how hard she trained Rhaena would be inherently unable to overpower the taller, stronger opponents she would undoubtedly face. Quickly slashing again and again, twirling and spinning the blade in hand with dexterous wrists, she made up for it in both ferocity and agility. Many a larger opponent had fallen to such tactics and each one vaulted her confidence to a height she usually needed Dreamfyre to reach.
But Jorelle, though half a head taller that Rhaena, was just as agile having learned similar lessons from her instructors on Bear Island. Just strong enough to power against Rhaena's attacks and take the initiative, her own furious slashes and thrusts only barely parried.
Blunted though they were, when the training blade poked her side Rhaena cried in pain. "Non-fatal hit!" Gawen clapped his hands. "Keep going."
Gritting her teeth, the Princess stopped a downward lunge with her sword and kicked forward - missing Jorelle but sending her reeling back. Resuming the offensive, Rhaena felt the sweat soak her clothes and mat her hair to her forehead. Determined, pushing her endurance. Three feints were countered by powerful parries, easily bashed aside and almost sending Rhaena off balance but her firm yet flexible stance held.
Another swing was caught, but as quick spin around found a chink in Jorelle's defensive position and the cold steel slid through until the tip impacted with the she-bear's chest,
"Kill blow," Gawen announced. "This morning's match goes to the Princess."
Without hesitation, Rhaena grabbed a large flagon of water and downed much of it, pouring a bit on her face to cool down. It was uncouth as her muna would say, but refreshing. "Here," Rhaena said, handing it to Jorelle.
"Thank you." The she-bear dumped it all on herself, soaking her leathers and head, emphasizing her fierce, pale beauty all the more. "You've improved greatly."
Rhaena smiled. "You've kept me on my toes, Lady Mormont." The Princess had grown fond of Brandon Snow's granddaughter in the weeks since she'd arrived - enough to determine that this girl was one she wanted by her side. The warrior woman to round out her circle of friends. "If it wouldn't be a bother, perhaps you would like to take lunch with my ladies and I today?"
The invitation didn't seem to surprise Jorelle. "Why thank you, Princess. I would be a fool not to recognize such an honor." Dropping the sword into its stand, she nonetheless shook her head. "But I'm afraid I have to decline."
Rhaena blinked, utterly shocked. "Decline? What?" No one declined an invitation to join her circle. Ever since Larissa and Samantha were the first, Lords and Ladies often sent their daughters to jockey for a place among her favorites, but Lady Jorelle simply declined,
Jorelle chuckled at Rhaena's surprise. "Not used to the southern prisses turning you down, huh?"
"Prisses?" Rhaena narrowed her eyes. "Insulting my friends is not something I can tolerate, Lady Mormont." Her brash attitude was till now frustrating but endearing, but if she had this much of a chip on her shoulder…
"Look," the she-bear sighed. "Forgive me if I disrespected you, Princess and I am sure those you wish to be your friends aren't the fake flower cunts that merely giggle and talk about prissy shit, but I am a warrior. I don't play courtly games and even your friendship is good worth it… I'm sorry."
Tilting her head, Rhaena studied her. Jorelle seemed genuine, and once again it was something to admire. While there were free spirits among her favorites, none were as tough or wild as Jorelle Mormont, granddaughter of Lady Bethany Mormont and Brandon Snow.
"Alright, what would it take for you to join my circle of favorites?" Jorelle raised a brow. "I happen to be fond of your company, and dragons don't take denial as the end. Name your price."
Laughing, Jorelle was pleasantly amused at Rhaena's words. "You have the spirit of a northern woman, I'll give you that." From her, such was not faint praise. "Alright, a ride in the Kingswood."
Rhaena raised her brow. "If you think that would be the best place for them to deem if they should accept you.."
"You misunderstand. It's the best place to see if I should accept them into my company."
There was a pregnant pause before Rhaena's lips tilted upward. "You're on." Yes, she truly wanted this girl as a friend.
Hand over her stomach, Ceryse gulped uncomfortably at the sour taste and unsettled disposition she suffered from. Easy, my love. Be gentle for mama. Her current pregnancy wasn't as difficult to her cursed past ones, but that didn't mean the discomfort wasn't real and quite irritating.
Luckily, she had proper company to pass the time away with. "I must say, your Grace, most of my ladies do not enjoy playing cyvasse. Much… too masculine for their tastes."
"Men do enjoy this more than women do in general, I suppose," Alyssa replied back, moving a piece into a threatening position - a game of strategy and tactics, there were many that described it as the 'Game of Kings.' "I wasn't taught it by my parents for that very reason."
"So who did teach you?" Her uncle taught her to play within the High Septon's palace - he'd always been sentimental.
Memories of her teacher - of the various… side games that they played alongside cyvasse - were not ones she wished to think of. "No one in particular. I was self taught." Ceryse didn't pry, instead continuing the game.
"Excuse me, your Graces" the maid curtseyed. "I've brought your tea."
Ceryse smiled. "Ah, thank you Falina." The girl - a woman now - had been one of the many servants that had been bound to her family in the Hightower that journeyed with her to King's Landing and across the known world as part of her and Maegor's household. She was rather sweet and shy, one that Ceryse enjoyed the company of. The wafting of the hot, piping brew that Falina placed in front of her brought a sigh to her lips. "Jasmine?"
Falina nodded, eyes planted to the ground as she always was - ever deferent, as her father instructed all smallfolk to be among their betters. "Aye, as requested."
"Good, good." Ceryse sipped the liquid, feeling its warmth spreading through her body - calming her stomach. "Imported from Yi Ti, goodsister. Expensive, but worth every silver wolf."
"Oh?" Alyssa's tea was of the same, the smell pleasant but strange to her nostrils. "How so?"
"It's manifestly calming, better than wine. Also settles the stomach, which is a lifesaver during pregnancy."
Taking a drink, Alyssa moaned. "Gods, if only I had been told of this when I was pregnant with Aegon and Jaehaerys. Perhaps I wouldn't have snapped at my dear husband so powerfully?"
Greedy for the tea, in spite of the heat that came close to scorching her throat Ceryse swallowed the whole cup. "Only two difficult pregnancies out of five?"
"Aye, to which our goodmother happily informed me that those would be the children to drive me the most distraction. Alysanne and Viserys were very little in discomfort, while with Rhaena I had nothing bothersome. Hers was smooth as silk."
The mention of Rhaena made Ceryse frown momentarily, though it was just a moment. "Yes, the Princess Rhaena." She had nothing against Rhaena, and the girl was pretty much the darling of the capitol - Ceryse would've loved her as her dearest niece if not for… the way she looked at Maegor. Some may be ignorant, but not she. "Hopefully such lack of difficulty will extend to her betrothal."
Alyssa snorted. "Not that I'll have any say on that. My husband won't allow me to begin negotiations for it - only he can, which I find ridiculous. I am her mother." She sipped at her tea, moving another piece into place, challenging Ceryse' defensive line.
It was a move that stumped her for a moment, but eventually the Princess countered the Queen, throwing the game back into balance. "Maegor and I discussed the matter a few weeks ago. Whether a boy or a girl, both of us will need to agree on a match before it is made - he wishes not to have the same process that allowed our betrothal given his mother's initial objection, however well it turned out in the end." Another piece charged forward in challenge. "And I agree with him."
A look of disgust crossed Alyssa's face, one she barely bothered to contain. "Ah yes, my dear goodbrother." The way she spoke those words, they could've been the blackest of epithets. "I am more than sure Queen Visenya was confined to sickbed while she was gravid with him." A chuckle, one mirthless but biting.
Ceryse narrowed her eyes, moving another piece into place. "Your Grace," she began. "When my uncle the then-High Septon informed me that he was to seek my marriage to Maegor, he warned me of you."
The Queen raised a brow, clearly disinterested. "And what did the late Gerold Hightower have to think of me, a Princess of House Velaryon?"
Such haughtiness greatly irritated Ceryse. Once she had been similar - though her miscarriages had brought her a certain humility and appreciation of things, for it had been the loyal servants of House Targaryen that treated her with the most kindness - though Alyssa took it a step farther. She acts as the most arrogant of dragonriders but rides no dragon. Her family were descended from Valyrian sea traders, common merchants. Only the Doom and House Targaryen elevated them and she wished for them to know that.
"That you hated Prince Maegor, that you were likely besotted with him only for your advances to be spurned." The latter weren't what uncle Gerold told her, but her own suppositions based on how Alyssa acted. Let's see how you react, goodsister.
Ceryse didn't have to wait long. Alyssa reddened like a ripe beet, face contorting in anger… one she struggled to control, but to her credit did. "My marriage to his Grace has been both faithful and fruitful. Five healthy children of his sire, which I can attest to since I do not stray like some harlot… nor does he stray." Her lips curled into a vicious smile. "Imagine, not being able to satisfy one's man to keep him out of another's bed. I pity any woman in such a situation."
Now it was Ceryse's turn to burn in anger, though she wouldn't give Alyssa the satisfaction of showing it. Eyes narrowing, in eleven moves crushed the Queen in the game, letting out her rage in the humiliating victory. "Good game, your Grace," she ground out emotionlessly.
Alyssa's lips were pressed thin, but nodded. "Good game." With that, she rose and summoned Jeyne Westerling to lead her out, door shutting.
"Bitch," Ceryse murmured. If Maegor did have her, then how could he have stood it? Well tough luck, you cunt. Maegor is mine and I am having his babe. Our problems are over and there is nothing you can do about it.
He is mine, not yours. The thought put a grin on her face.
As Della walked into the chambers, Ceryse stood but felt a twinge in her belly. "Ooh…"
Stepping through the doorway, Della Peake noticed her lady stumble and cringe. "Princess… are you alright?"
"Yes," she murmured. "Just a little tired. Perhaps the babe needs a nap."
"Alright, let me take you to your bedchamber. Should I fetch his Grace?"
Ceryse shook her head. "No, there's no need to bother him from his duties." The Princess loved her husband, and knew he needed to go about his responsibilities as Hand. "I'll join him for supper later."
Della nodded. "As you wish, your Grace." Letting Ceryse hold on to her arm and shoulder, the Lady in Waiting guided her towards the bedchamber she shared with her husband.
The nap was just the thing that she needed. Breathing deeply under the sheets, Ceryse stretched out languidly, feeling the gentle sea breeze waft through the gossamer curtains hours later - it was a beautiful day, and she had the urge to call over her husband to spend the evening with her. Them doing more… pleasurable things than the duties of the moment…
"Ah…" Another pang like before, this one more abrupt and… "Oh, gods…" It was more painful, followed by a gush of wetness. Did she lose her bladder? Ceryse pulled back the sheets and suddenly gasped - then screamed.
Blood, a pool of blood that soaked the bedding underneath as well as the bottom half of her shift.
"NO!" Her scream was shrill, drawing in maids and servants and guards. "No no no no no!"
"Your Grace… your Grace, please!" Hands were on her, trying to calm her down.
"Make it stop!" Ceryse screamed further. "This can't be happening! Not again! NOT AGAIN!"
"Fetch the Grand Maester!" yelled one of the Kingsguards… Olyvar Bracken she thought.
Ceryse shook. "I want Maegor! I need my husband!"
"Milk of the poppy! Milk of the poppy!" Suddenly a tiny bottle was placed at her lips and the sweet liquid poured down her throat. Ceryse didn't remember much after that…
"Muna! Muna!"
Pulling up her skirts enough to run without tripping all over them, Ceryse followed an eager, brown-haired little girl. Her giggles filled the halls of a massive palace of black stone that clearly wasn't Dragonstone. "Alicent! Stop! Wait for muna!"
There was no stopping her though. She was as energetic as her father. "I rode him! I rode him! I have to show you and kepa!" The girl twirled in her riding leathers, waving Ceryse to follow her. "Come on!"
"Wait… just wait!" The girl disappeared behind the corner. "Daughter, wait..."
"She's resting, your Grace."
"And you haven't told my brother?" The voice was of the King, not her husband. Groggy, Ceryse didn't know what was going on.
A tired voice replied, that of the Grand Maester. "Her Grace has lost a lot of blood."
"The babe? My niece or nephew?"
Ceryse drifted off again, only hearing the Grand Maester sigh… not a sigh of relief.
Eyes rimmed red and face pale, the King of all Westeros exited the bedchamber to the instant expectant looks of his family. From the bored but concerned glances of Alyssa and Aegon, the greatly apprehensive fear on Jaehaerys and Alysanne's faces, and the pure tearful horror Rhaena exhibited - he sighed in fatigue but nonetheless faced them. "She's alive and awake, though I suspect she doesn't wish to be at the moment."
"What happened, kepa?" Jaehaerys asked, pleading with his father for answers.
It was like yesterday that Aenys remembered holding this little boy in his arms when he was pink from childbirth, and now Jaehaerys was growing into a man - something Maegor wouldn't experience with this current babe. He sighed. "Your aunt lost the babe."
Rhaena gasped, clasping her hands to her mouth. Aegon muttered something under her breath, while Viserys and Jae looked pained. Alyssa pressed her lips together, though Alysanne was confused in her youth. "What do you mean, kepa? No more cousin?"
He knelt before her, cupping his youngest's cheek and kissing her brow. "Oh my dear… how can I explain this to you?" Aenys wished that he could keep his children as innocent as he could. "Sometimes, a mother can lose a child in their womb… your aunt suffered this just now."
"No… N'cle said I'd have a cousin, like Eggsy and Alaric." Tears welled in her eyes, causing Aenys to hug her close.
"I want to see our uncle," Rhaena demanded, clearly the most affected of all of them. There was a desperate longing in her voice.
Alyssa placed a hand on Rhaena's shoulder. "Daughter, you should not bother your uncle in his time of grief."
But Rhaena was stubborn. "I have to see him."
"Perhaps later, child." Queen Visenya arrived, her face placid but a hollow grief in her purple eyes - which had lost their luster. "Gooddaughter, please take the children somewhere. They won't need to see their uncle in this moment."
"Grandmother, I want to see him…"
"You will, I promise, but let him mourn for now." Kissing Rhaena's brow, her eyes shifted to Alyssa. "Now, please."
While there was a slight affront at Visenya's tone - Alyssa did hate Maegor, but never would wish this on him, having lost her own child once in the same manner - she nodded. "Come children, let's get you some supper." Rhaena and Jaehaerys made to complain, wanting to see their uncle, but were eventually coaxed into leaving.
That left four outside the chambers - Visenya, Aenys, Brandon Snow, and Lord Commander Corbray. The King slumped against the wall, exhausted mentally and emotionally… gods imagine what Maegor would feel. "Does he know?"
"I sent a raven to Harrenhal hours ago. He flew there on Belarion so should be back any time now." The gruff Brandon Snow, having lost much in these recent years, felt this loss as hard as the Targaryens - Maegor was like a nephew of his own, and children were the sort of matters that were proper to be sentimental and joyous with. He certainly did so with his own grandchildren.
"What was the child?" Gawen Corbray asked.
A tear formed on the King's face. "A boy."
"He must not know," Visenya insisted, hanging her head. "It'll be too painful."
"I know, mother."
Speaking of the great other… he did appear. "Muna! Brother!" The Hand of the King's face was frantic, hair mussed and clothes rumpled from a rushed dragonride all the way from Harrenhal. "What happened?! Where is Ceryse?!"
Lord Commander Gawen stepped into his way, hands out. "Your Grace, please calm yourself."
"Don't tell me to be calm, Corbray!" he spat. "I demand to see my wife!"
"Maegor, my son." Visenya's touch calmed him, his mother hugging Maegor close. "You need to be calm for her… for your own sake."
Her voice made his heart clench in worry. "What happened, muna?" he pleaded. "Please tell me."
"Your child… it didn't make it." Visenya watched her strong son fall apart in front of her - all the light going out of his eyes. "I'm so sorry, my son."
Holding tightly to his mother, Maegor tried his best to keep from collapsing entirely by holding back his own tears that were threatening to fall. You must be strong… think of her… This had happened before, each one all the more painful than the latter - this one was likely to destroy Ceryse if she didn't have love and support. The Prince knew that he needed to be strong for his wife, even if his heart felt like it had been ripped open.
"How…" he finally stammered. "How could this happen? She was healthy… the babe..." Our babe...
Aenys, behind their mother, gave a sympathetic look. "The Grand Maester… he simply fears that the Princess cannot carry a babe to term. I'm sorry."
"No, that's not true. She was healthy, as was the babe." His tone grew angry.
"Shhh… shhh," murmured Visenya, stroking his back. "Please, my son. You need to see her and be strong for her."
"We'll have more time to discuss this and heal, my Prince." Brandon was gruff but Maegor could tell that the old bastard was sympathetic. "Go to her."
Nodding, Maegor bit his lip and took the latch of the door, entering the dark chamber before closing it. "Wife?" he asked, making sure to sound as loving as he could - not much of a hassle, since he did love her greatly. "Ceryse…"
"I'm awake," came a croaking voice, making him wince. She sounded like a crone rather than the beautiful, young woman he loved.
Approaching the large bed, he could make her out in the darkness. Ceryse had curled into a ball, bunched up in the corner of the bed - the same bed they had shared so many passionate nights that ended with him spooning her, hand over the swell of her belly. The memory felt like dragonfire. "My love," he murmured, sitting next to her as best as he could. "I'm here for you."
Ceryse said nothing for the longest time. Her skin was pale, expression hollow and eyes nearly dead. As dead as she felt inside. "Go away, husband," she finally said.
The words felt as painful as learning of their babe had been. "My love, please don't push me away. Let me… let me help you heal." Perhaps helping her would allow him to heal as well.
His kindness and love nearly made her tear, but Ceryse couldn't… it was simply too painful. She blamed herself too much. "I am a cripple." There was no emotion in her voice, so dead she was inside. "I am useless."
"Don't say that."
"It's true! Don't deny it!" She almost screamed at him, so pained was she that the first she could lash out at was targeted. "Four babes, Maegor! Four babes of mine that I loved with everything inside me, but all died before I could even birth them!" Ceryse trembled. "My babes, dead because my womb is poison!"
Maegor's fists clenched, angry at the very gods above that did this to them. "You are not poison! I won't have you say this about yourself…"
It was too much… all too much. "Fuck you! How in the fuck do you think to know how I feel?!"
"They are my babes too and I loved them too!" he bellowed back, drawn to the breaking point himself. "Don't try to claim I have nothing here!"
"Get out!" she screamed shrilly, grabbing something off the bedside table and throwing it at him. "Get the fuck out! Leave me and my poison!" The screams echoed for moments - feeling like hours - before Maegor simply stood and left, door slamming behind him.
Ceryse collapsed into her pillow, sobbing uncontrollably.
"He needs support, go to him."
"No, do not intrude on a man mourning - especially someone as strong as he."
"Your uncle won't want his niece to see him weak."
"Prince Maegor will want someone he can trust to expose his feelings to."
"He'll try to keep a brave face to you."
"Stop being an idiot and fucking go to him."
Alone in the corridors, Dark Sister tied to her hip and adding to the nature of the black and red dress she wore, Rhaena reflected on the words of her friends and semi-lover - biting her lip and thinking of all the advice they'd given her. Tyanna, Alayne, Elissa, Larissa, Alys… all were gentle in their words if firmly trying to get them across. However, it was her new friend Lady Jorelle that proved the tip of the scale. Her bluntness spurred her to go to his chambers.
If Ceryse was too hurt to be the one to comfort him, then she'd do it. The man I love deserves someone to love him.
As she expected, there was no Kingsguard at the door. Well… no white-cloaked Kingsguard to be sure. The dark fur of Syndor was curled up beside the door to Maegor's private chambers - usually where he had slept before he and the Princess reconciled moons ago. Hearing Rhaena, she quickly jumped to her haunches with ears up… only for her furry tail to wag at the sight of one of her favorite people.
Rhaena smiled, reaching out to scratch her fur. "Hi girl, protecting my uncle?" Syndor's tongue fell out, preening at the touches. "Good girl, good girl." She didn't begrudge Maegor for being alone or wanting to be alone - it had taken a while to convince Ser Dick to leave her be, only Dark Sister managing to reassure him of her safety. "He inside?"
The direwolf bobbed her head.
She sighed. "Wish me luck, girl." There was no doubt that if Maegor was here, then he and Ceryse hadn't found comfort in each other… Rhaena didn't blame the Princess since her pain was undoubtedly worse, but there was still ire that she didn't give her uncle the ability to mourn together.
Witnessing her uncle, an empty flagon of Arbor gold discarded on the floor beside the bed, sobbing quietly, her heart broke. He didn't deserve this. Neither of them did, but Ceryse should've… she should've…
"Bugger off, Corbray!" he belted out. "Leave me in peace."
But Rhaena was here, and she could give Maegor the love he needed. "Uncle?"
Groggily, he lifted up his haggard face, eyes bloodshot with alcohol and tears. "Niece… go away…" His words were slurred. "Don't see me like this…"
She wasn't so easily pushed away. Taking off Dark Sister and setting it on one of the tables, she went close to him on the bed - ignoring the pungent smell of wine - and sat down. "You're hurt, uncle." Rhaena struggled with her own tears at his state. "You need someone to care for you."
"No… not you…" But he didn't resist when she hugged him. "You don't deserve my shit."
"You deserve love, and I'm here for you, dearest uncle." She held him tightly, slowly feeling his resistance crumbling. "I don't know what it's like to lose a child, but just know you can mourn to me. I won't judge you or think less of you." She needed him to let go, and let go he did - bawling into her dress. "Shhhh… it's alright. I'm here, uncle…" It felt intimate, but she didn't feel shame from it. He needed this.
Eventually, his sobs died to but whimpers. "Is… is there something wrong with me, niece?" He trembled, the strong persona he had earned through war and struggle utterly absent - leaving a broken and weak man as many would decry him as.
Rhaena was not one of them. She could never think him weak or useless, especially since he hadn't cowered but lost a child. "There is nothing wrong with you, uncle," she said, hugging him closely - hoping to provide the comfort he so needed. "You are the greatest man I've ever known. A mighty dragon."
"What sort of dragon could I be if I can't protect the ones I love?" He hugged her back as if on instinct, seeking out comfort. "I am worthless… I deserve to die."
"No! Never say that!" Tears filled her own eyes at the man she loved being so broken. "Please don't say that…"
"I'm a failure… just let me die, Rhaena… please…"
"Never! I'll never let anything happen to you!" It was now she that cried, clutching him, rocking him. "I'd be nothing without you, uncle…" Rhaena murmured, not sure if he even heard it, but heard it he did, his sobs petering out and eyes locked on her. Staring into her very soul and prompting her to gulp and continue. "I… I was weak, and you gave me Dreamfyre's egg. You made me who I am, you did. I owe you everything, uncle. If that was just all you did, then you would never be a failure."
Seeming to take in her words, something in his eyes changed. The way he looked at her… Rhaena could sense a difference. It was both soft yet intense, one that made her breathless.
It was almost like the looks her grandparents shared when she was on Dragonstone…
But as soon as it happened, it was over. Maegor lowered his head back onto her shoulder, simply trembling and sniffling. "Shhhh… rest…" Rhaena whispered when she recovered her senses. "I'm here… I'm here…"
In that moment, she could close her eyes and dream that it could be herself that fully healed him.
A/N: Very tragic, poor Ceryse... though even in her tragedy her dream portends the future, perhaps.
Rhaena and Maegor's bond grows stronger in spite of the pain.
Read and comment!