Silver Tears of the Moon

Two Faces

Kiera of Tyrosh had arrived in a brilliant day of pearly spring unfurling wings of growth and hope; at her leaving, a glaring summer sun beat cruelly into eyes and turned clothes damp with sweat in less than an hour, the houses and septs bleached with heat, the fields beyond scorched and black as peasants rushed to harvest while it was still eatable. But the leaving young woman did not look as affected as the rest of the court and for the first time since the earliest days of her arrival, Baelor was reminded that she came from lands that were much hotter, that this was what she had grown up with. She wore proper mourning to suit the occasion but Baelor knew that mere weeks ago, in the Tyroshi retinue that had come to take her, there had been seamstresses hurrying to make her as many attires in her native style as they could. Her olive face was no longer as pale as death and there was spring to her step. She had wept bitterly at Valarr's death and even more at the perfectly formed but dead babes that had been barely wrenched out of her womb in time to save her life but youth had done a lot of healing, Baelor thought as she swept him a final curtsey.

"I wish you a better fate than the one you found here, child," he said, sure that this would be the case. After all, what could be worse?

"Thank you, Your Grace," she said. "On my part, I'll do all I can to neutralize any influence Lady Rohanne and Aegor Rivers hold in Tyrosh, you have my word." She paused. "I have to admit I was concerned about you, since you've always been so good to me. But I can see you're in good hands now," she added, looking from Astrea to the girls. When her gaze fell on Daeron, though, her face went dark. He shrugged apologetically.

Maekar had seen it as well. "What did you tell her?" he asked when Kiera's retinue had left the Red Keep and the court was dispersing.

Daeron shrugged. "I dreamed of a blizzard chasing after its own tail. She seems to take this to mean that she'd return here one day and she quite dislikes the notion." He glanced at Aurelia Dayne. "For some reason, she holds it against me and not the one who actually opened her mouth and told her."

Aurelia looked mildly apologetic. "I had no idea she took your dreams seriously." Now, she looked abashed. "And it never occurred to me that she would decide this one was about her. That's what I am – a babbler. I just didn't think that she…"

Daeron grinned. "But you're my favourite babbler," he said magnanimously and she smiled back.

Baelor, however, paid little attention to their antics. His thoughts were on his gooddaughter and her clear recovery and his mind made an unwelcome, shameful comparison to how Maekar had looked for well over a year after Dyanna's death – not dead, just not quite alive. It was true, then, that people painted different people with different strokes. He had wanted Kiera to recover and yet when she had done so, he felt something akin to resentment. He wanted her to be happy and still, this prospect saddened him even when Astrea's presence in his life made his day brighter. Joyful. So, he found it just right to be content when Valarr was dead but he refused to grant Kiera the same courtesy? Am I applying different standards for myself and my brother, on one side, and Kiera, on the other, he wondered and had to admit that yes, he was.

"Did you get it off your chest?" Astrea asked a few hours later as she watched him hone his blades obsessively, one by one, check the tips of his spears, examine his armour.

He looked at her and snorted a grim laugh. "I'll have to do a lot more work to get it off my chest," he said. Today, he had left the Small Council deal on its own. Instead, he had found active things to do – letting his queen with the already curving belly with him watch his not quite calm behavior. "You don't have to sit here and hold my hand, you know," he added, angry with himself and with her for being so careless. Surely it could not be good for the babe to have his mother watching his father doing… what? What did Astrea think of him and the way he was behaving? Nothing on her face showed it.

"You've done it for me so many times," she replied. "Don't tell me what I have or don't have to do," she replied. "I'm the one who makes this decision. And I happen to know something of fretting and fuming over other people doing better while you're still trapped in a spring that you can't escape…"

Baelor left the sword on the carpet, carefully. "Is this what I'm doing?" he asked.

She nodded. "She was happy that she was leaving, I think," she said. "Truly happy . She had left the past behind. And everyone could see it. It's only natural for this to irk you."

Was it? Baelor supposed that the girl had never been happy here but then again, Valarr had not been wildly happy with her either. He had never been in love with her. Leaving such a marriage behind was a natural thing to do but for Baelor, it was another thing making his son unreal. A pale wraith that only came back in dreams – Baelor's.

Astrea did not wave him close and he was grateful. Right now, he did not want to touch her… or the child already living under her skin. It was enough that she was here, with her parchments and pens.

"What are you doing?" he asked, just to keep the conversation going, but her answer surprised him.

"I'm examining the projects that the architects created for me. This lot near the Great Sept that you gifted me upon our wedding? I'm thinking of building a school. A home of learning – no, I don't mean a school for children," she added quickly. "As I was growing up, I was a little disturbed that the learning in Starfall was so very dependent on what the Citadel decided to send us – who the Citadel decided to send us."

Baelor gaped at her. "You intend to create competition for the maesters!"

She smiled in a veiled way. "No, no. How could I ever hope for my little institution to compete with the might of the order? I only want to have someone else to rely on as well… someone closer to us… an institution whose procedures will be clear and not veiled in mystery…"

"In other words, competition for the maesters," Baelor concluded. "This is… this is the maddest idea I've ever heard of! Do you want to push us into a war like the one that Aenys and Maegor led with the Faith?"

"Of course not," Astrea replied. "And I have no intention to have my school try and displace the Citadel. In fact, I intend to invite maesters to teach there – both ones sent by the Citadel on its own choice and some that I will negotiate with the Citadel to send me because I want them."

"Why?" Baelor asked but even as he spoke, he wondered why it had never occurred to him that the maesters were as much of a unity within the unity of Westeros as the Faith was. He really needed to rethink his instinctual rejection of Astrea's idea. Perhaps it could work if implemented carefully?

Her expression became subdued. "Because I don't trust them to make objective assessment of which learning is worthy to be studied," she said straightforwardly. "When my sister – one of the highest-ranking ladies in the land! – became so ill, it was not a maester who helped her live for eight more years. Because maesters did not deem these women's ailments important enough to study excessively. And the maester at Starfall… the three of us were good at what he was good at and we still have lapses where he did. I like it not. I think we depend on the maesters much more than we ever did on the Faith and I… I'm no longer trustful. Of anyone."

He felt this like a pang in the heart – for her, for himself. He came over and took her hand. "Do you not trust me?"

She looked up. A faint smile lit her pale face. "I do. I think you're the only one I trust with… everything."

He knew that she meant the bed, for leading her body to trust him was not something he could do on the same level as he could do with her mind. He considered his success a real, deeply felt triumph.

"Then why didn't you tell me you've hired architects already? Why this is the first time I hear of this project at all?"

Astrea looked surprised. "You never asked."

"That's true," he admitted and while he found himself thinking of her idea in more and more positive light, he was relieved that there was no way for it to be realized within the next few years. Not with the funds she had at her disposal.

The further Astrea's belly swelled, the greater her fears became. She tried to keep them hidden but Baelor could see them – and the vultures could smell them, it seemed. The old story about Astrea's smothered babe spread just around the time her belly went lower and the preparations for the birth started in full force. Baelor wanted to strangle the words in everyone's throat as he watched his tiny daring queen get paler and more reckless, plan obsessively how many people would stay in her chamber all the time and relive the shock of her past almost every night and increasingly often, during the day as well – and that was if and when he managed to ignore his own fears and memories.

"She doesn't look good," Maekar only said when Astrea's absence from the evening feast was discussed and the moderate words scared Baelor even more because those were the words of a man who had watched his wife go through childbearing and childbirth when she had been already very unwell to start with.

Astrea wanted the children around her constantly, plagued by unreasonable panic about their wellbeing and the girls showed remarkable maturity for their tender age by staying with her for long periods of time. But they were now a little scared of her, Baelor had heard. Heard and not seen because, as unfortunate as it was, he had little time for Astrea and even less for the girls. One of the few times he did, he had his first marital discord.

"You ended the year with balance in hand?" he asked, incredulous. "How did you do it?"

"I told you I would," she replied. "Limiting the number of gowns and yes, the offices and wages in my household worked wonders."

And also explains the scale of the attacks against your character, Baelor thought. Losing profitable offices and part of the money they had received under his mother would certainly breed bitterness in those accustomed to Mariah's largesse. He was not sure how he felt about his new wife suddenly exhibiting traits that were more common for a parsimonious merchant's wife than queen. Her bold plans had endeared her to him – this certainly did not, especially when…

"And you didn't think to help me?" he demanded. "You knew the treasury was struggling!"

Astrea looked at him, unabashed. "I thought a Queen's income was just this – a Queen's. Did you not give it to me to meet my needs? Did I not manage to fit all my expenses, including the charities and the foundation of the school you thought I would not? Why should I give anything back to the treasury when you had decided that this was the sum the treasury could do without? When you managed to avoid taking a loan?"

"Because it would have been nice to know I had funds I could rely on!"

"Well, you now have them," Astrea snapped back, her hand trembling nervously next to her body. "Did you somehow miss that I have returned the extra to the realm?"

"I am not talking about this!"

"Then what were you talking about? Did you mean that I should have given back everything that was not needed for my personal expenses? Do you think I should have given up on my plans to further yours? I thought you wanted a queen, not another limb attached to your body to use on your convenience!"

She had turned deathly white, her breathing had quickened and the pulse was dancing in her throat, almost like a man's Adam's apple. She looked like an enraged little man at-arms… or a panting whale. Deep inside, Baelor understood her reasons but he had been truly pressed. If she had failed to meet her expenses, he would have smiled affectionately but her business side and her striving for independent plans felt like a blow. He had wanted someone to protect and he had expected that he'd get full loyalty in return. Support. Aligning her plans with his. Instead, he would likely get problems with the Citadel because he had foolishly told her she could go on with her school, reckoning that he'd have a few years to think it through before she could raise the funds…

Her face twisted and he stopped his angry pacing, crossed the solar in two strides, took her hands. "What is it? What's going on?"

She did not answer at once but when she did, the anger had left her face just like it had left his heart. "What's going on, my lord? Why, I think it's your son's birth."

And for a moment, just for a moment Baelor wished she had not tempted fate so.