6
Rhaenys
"Obsidian," Aegon named the horse, because he lacked imagination.
The beast was black, to be sure, its coat so dark it seemed to swallow the sunlight streaming through the throne room's windows. Its mane had been dyed red, which Rhaenys found more than a little ostentatious. It was a destrier, a steed meant for war, tall and strong and noble in its bearing, not a sideshow at a mummery. What fear would Aegon strike into his foes riding into battle on a steed with a colored mane? She kept her thoughts to herself as she presented the horse to her brother. It was a gift from their mother for his sixteenth nameday, but as she had fallen ill the day before and lay bedridden still it fell to Rhaenys to present the gift in her stead.
A round of applause went up from those assembled to partake in the nameday celebration, over a hundred lords, ladies, and knights who sat arrayed throughout the throne room. The royal family sat at a high table set up beneath the Iron Throne's dais. Aegon sat in the middle of the table; Father, Jae, Dany and Viserys occupied the seats to his right, the latter three joined by their respective partners: Margaery, Robb and Arianne. Uncle Doran sat to Aegon's left along with the rest of Father's small council: Lord Jon Connington, the master of laws; Lord Mace Tyrell, the master of coin; Lord Monford Velaryon, the master of ships; and Lord Varys, the master of whisperers. The Kingsguard stood in a row behind the table.
"A better gift than I deserve," Aegon said once the applause had quieted. Usually stoic and reserved, he sounded more princely than Rhaenys had ever heard him. She wondered if he had rehearsed his lines to make a good impression on the people he would one day rule. "I am truly blessed by the gods to have such a loving sister."
It's Mother's gift, she wanted to shout. Aegon knew as well as she, but to thank their mother before the crowd would be to remind them of her absence. She curtsied beneath her brother's praise and returned to her seat between Father and Jae, receiving a kiss on the cheek from Aegon along the way. Obsidian was lead back to the stables by the Red Keep's master of horse.
Jae rose and walked around the high table to stand before it. He signaled for the throne room's doors to be opened and a man entered: short and portly, brown skinned, bald headed and grey bearded. He carried a sheathed longsword, its scabbard fine black leather banded in silver. When he reached Jae, he dropped to one knee and presented the sword. Jae took it from him and drew the blade, holding it up for all to see. He strode to the high table and presented it to Aegon hilt first. From where she sat, Rhaenys could see the intricate work which had gone into the sword: the crossguards forged into the shape of dragon wings, the hilt into two long, intertwining dragon necks. The heads of the two dragons met to form the pommel, a fat ruby set between their snarling fangs.
Aegon stood and took the sword from his brother. He raised it to his eyes and stared at his reflection in the blade's polished steel.
"It is my finest work," said the man who had delivered the sword in a thick eastern accent. "Only valyrian steel would serve you better."
Aegon accepted the scabbard from Jae and sheathed the sword, the rasp of metal on leather echoed off the walls of the hall.
"I am unworthy of such a gift," he said.
"There is none worthier," Jae said.
A round of applause came from the guests. Jae returned to the high table, receiving an embrace from his brother before taking his seat.
Father rose and came to stand before the high table. At his arrival, the blacksmith stood and clapped his hands three times, loudly. The doors to the throne room opened once again and a dozen serving boys came through, carrying six heavy, wooden chests between them. They lowered their chests to the ground before the high table and opened them. Father reached into the first chest and brought forth a helm, wrought in steel as black as obsidian and crested by a three-headed dragon. Rubies glittered in the eyes of each dragon.
"As a boy you asked to wear my armor," Father said. A titter ran through the crowd. "Now, as a man grown, I give you a suit of your own. I pray it keeps you safe should you ever find yourself on a battlefield."
The serving boys held the rest of the set up for display. Save for the breastplate, it was a match for their father's famous armor, lacking only the three-headed dragon made out in rubies.
"My finest work," the smith claimed yet again. "Better even than the set I crafted for your father."
"You honor me, father," Aegon said. Rhaenys noticed the tightness of his jaw. He might have dreamed of riding into battle in his father's armor as a boy, but he was a man grown now. The idea of playing dress-up didn't seem to sit well with him. Father seemed not to notice. "And you as well, master smith."
The smith graced him with a bow. "The honor is mine, my prince. My name is Tobho Mott. Come to my shop on the Street of Steel if ever your arms or armor need maintenance."
The serving boys packed the armor back into the chests and hurried out of the throne room, Tobho Mott followed after them. Father returned to his seat.
Ser Arthur came forward next and stood before the high table. "My prince, if you would join me."
Aegon rose and strode around the table, coming to stand before Ser Arthur.
"You have served as my squire these past years, and though I have not always been there to see to your training myself, I have seen your growth with mine own eyes. Today, you have been gifted with a steed, arms and armor. Though it is no gift, there is an additional honor I would bestow upon you." He drew his greatsword Dawn, sunlight danced along the pale blade. "Kneel, if you would receive it."
Aegon knelt.
"Prince Aegon of House Targaryen." Ser Arthur placed Dawn on Aegon's right shoulder. "In the name of the Father I charge you to be just. In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave. In the name of the Smith I charge you to be strong. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maiden I charge you to protect all women. In the name of Crone I charge you to be wise."
With each charge, Ser Arthur alternated taping Aegon on each of his shoulders with his greatsword. "Before gods and men, do you swear to uphold the duties I have laid before you?"
"I do," said Aegon.
Ser Arthur removed the greatsword from his shoulders. "Then rise, Ser Aegon of House Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone."
Aegon rose. The applause was thunderous.
Aegon returned to his seat a sworn knight and the festivities continued. Many of the lords and ladies who had come to the celebration had brought gifts of their own. They showered him with more weapons, swords and shields and spears and bows, by the end of it all he had a veritable armory of his own. Books he received as well, many of which Rhaenys planned to add to her own collection. Aegon cared little for scholarly pursuits and wouldn't notice them missing. Gold and jewelry were laid out before him also, which Rhaenys knew interested him as little as the books. He put forth a gracious facade through it all.
Once the gifts had been delivered, servants entered the hall to take them away. Then came more servants to serve the first course of the celebratory feast. Fifteen more courses followed, one for each year of Aegon's life. Lacking an appetite, Rhaenys was glad when the feast drew to a close. Aegon stood and addressed his crowd of well wishers, thanking them for their gifts and assuring them once again how blessed he was to receive them before allowing them to disperse.
Those seated at the high table filtered out the throne room through a side door, Rhaenys hurried to follow after Aegon. "You should go see Mother," she said, at her brother's shoulder. "To thank her in person for her gift."
"I will see her when she is well," Aegon said without looking at her. "For now, she needs rest."
Rhaenys grabbed his hand, pulling him to a stop. He swung around and met her angry eyes, looking accosted. "What she needs is to see her son on his nameday."
He pulled his hand roughly from hers. "I will see her when she is well," he reiterated forcefully. "Until then I've business to attend to."
"What business?"
"I am newly knighted, in case you've forgotten, and newly knighted squires must hold a vigil in a sept. I am off to the Great Sept of Baelor, where I shall remain until sunrise."
Aegon stalked off, considering the matter settled. Rhaenys stood and watched his back disappear down the corridor. This vigil was only another in a long line of excuses. He never went to see their mother when she was ill. It scared him to see her so, though he was loath to admit it. When they were children it was always Rhaenys' bed he sought, climbing in of a night so she might hold him and tell him Mother would be fine. He was too old to come to her for comfort now, so he buried his fear behind stoicism and excuses.
Frowning, she marched to her mother's bedroom. Ser Rolland Storm stood guard outside the door.
Inside, the curtains were drawn, leaving the room near dark. Grand Maester Gormon sat at her mother's bedside, the wooden chair creaked beneath his ponderous weight. He laid his hand across her mother's forehead, held it there a moment, then pulled away and muttered to himself. His words were lost to Rhaenys, standing near the door.
Hearing her enter, Gormon looked to her with kind green eyes, almost patronizing in their sympathy. He had a plump, cheerful face to go along with his plump, gluttonous body. His head was completely shaven, but he allowed himself a beard: short, bushy and grey. He rose with some difficulty and came to stand before her.
"Fret not, princess," he said in his grandfatherly tone. "Your mother needs only rest. On the morrow, she will be hale enough to stand and see you wed."
You said much the same thing yesterday, Rhaenys thought.
"Thank you, Grand Maester," she said, because she wanted him to leave.
He offered her a small bow. "If you have further need of me, send word."
The door swung shut behind him. What need would I have of you? You who has seen to my mother's health for near fifteen years and never been able to make her truly healthy.
She knew she was being unfair, there wasn't a maester in the world who could fix what ailed her mother. Born a month premature, it was a miracle she lived to suffer from poor health considering she had barely survived infancy.
Stepping gingerly, she came to her mother's side and found her with her eyes closed and her hands clasped over her midsection. Seeming to sense Rhaenys' presence, her eyes flickered open and she stared up at her daughter with a tired, half-lidded gaze. A pained smile came across her face.
"I feel as though I spent half your childhood abed with one sickness or another," she said, her voice weak. "Yet every time you come to stand at my bedside with the same look on your face, fraught with worry. It's as if no one ever told you it's the mother who should worry so over the daughter, not the other way around."
"It's worry which lead to you this predicament," Rhaenys said. Her mother had been seeing to last minute preparations for her and Aegon's wedding when she collapsed from exhaustion, saved from dashing her head against the floor by the timely intervention of Ser Jaime Lannister, who had been standing guard. She was rushed back to the castle in a litter and the Grand Maester called for. Rhaenys, lunching in the castle gardens with Arianne and her children, had rushed to her mother's side as soon as the news reached her.
"And where will worry lead you, daughter? Will you spend your whole life worried about me?"
"If the gods are good."
Her mother chuckled. "If the gods were good I would have been born robust and healthy."
"But you are not." Rhaenys took the seat the Grand Maester had occupied and held her mother's hand. "So, please, stop overexerting yourself."
"It is a mother's duty to see to the preparations for her daughter's wedding," her mother said, offended. "Since I've only the one daughter, I don't intend to lie abed while someone else performs my duty."
"Even if it kills you?"
The queen patted her daughter's hand, almost condescending in nature. "When you're as weak as I am, you attain an intimate knowledge of your limits. I know what it will take to kill me, daughter, and preparing for your wedding…" she trailed off, her eyes drooping closed. Rhaenys feared she had slipped into unconsciousness, but after a brief moment she reopened her eyes. "I've survived worse. Much worse."
Rhaenys understood the implication of her words. How taxing could planning a wedding be to a woman who had watched her husband run off with another woman, starting a war in the process?
Still, it pained her to hear her mother speak of herself so. "You are not weak."
Her mother scoffed. "Weak of constitution, of that there can be no doubt."
"But strong of mind and will. There are many types of strength, after all."
"Of course, do you expect me to forget? It was I who taught you that lesson." Her eyes began to slide closed again. It was several long moments before she spoke again. "Did Aegon enjoy himself?"
"As much as Aegon is capable of enjoying himself. He adored your gift. He named the steed Obsidian."
Her mother breathed out a quick laugh. "He always did lack for imagination." The mirth fell from her face as quickly as it arrived. "I should have been there to deliver the steed, to see him knighted. Your father and I discussed it with Arthur weeks ago, we both knew he was ready. Had long since been ready."
A single tear slipped down her cheek. Rhaenys wiped it away. "He knew you would have been there if you were able. He wanted to visit you, but Arthur insisted he go to the Great Sept to begin his vigil."
"Of course." Her mother's eyes opened again and found her own. "You lie so prettily to me, daughter."
Rhaenys swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. "You should rest."
Her mother nodded and closed her eyes again. "I should. The maester's tonic is imposing its will against mine. He told me that upon waking my strength would be returned to me, what little of it I own."
She let her mother's self-deprecating remark pass without issue. "Then I'll leave you to it."
"Fear not, daughter, I'll see you wed on the morrow." Her mother's speech began to slur. "I'll be wheeled to the Great Sept in Doran's chair if need be. It's not the match I wanted for either of you, but I wouldn't miss it all the same."
Eyes closed, she seemed to sleep. Rhaenys remained, letting her tears fall in silence. How many times had her mother fallen ill throughout her youth, yet the sight of her sickly and bedridden still drove her to tears.
After a long moment, her mother said, "I hope not to see you when I next open my eyes."
Rhaenys laughed. "And where else would I be?"
"Elsewhere. Worrying about yourself instead of me."
Her mother's hand slackened then, and Rhaenys knew she was truly asleep.
Not wanting to disappoint her, Rhaenys left. Her feet trod the path to Jae's room with little thought. Though Aegon had always come to her for comfort when their mother fell ill, she had always gone to Jae. He had always found ways to take her mind off her mother's illness, with play and games when they were younger, with kisses when they had grown older. They had spent little time together since she had spurned his affections months ago, exchanging only curt pleasantries when chance brought them together, but she needed to see him now.
She found his room empty. Is he with Aegon, accompanying him on the first hours of his vigil? she wondered. Or is he with his pretty little betrothed? She stamped down the bitterness which rose up with the thought. Jae and Margaery had been spending more time together in the past few weeks. To most observers they looked like the picture of young love, straight from a song. They reminded Rhaenys more of the mummeries she had adored as a girl: Jae played the part of the gallant prince, his every word a flattery, while Margaery played the blushing bride-to-be, pretending for all the world as if every word out of Jae's mouth was the wittiest thing she had ever heard. It was a romantic sight to behold until you realised it was all an act.
Jae's dragon egg sat out on a red velvet pillow, its green and bronze scales glimmering beneath the torchlight. She kept her own egg locked in its chest. Father had called the eggs their destiny, but Aegon had the right of it: they were naught but fossils. Would that they were more, she mused with a sour twist to her lips, I would have a dragon to ride, but more importantly. Father's talk of destiny would prove meaningful for once. And if Father were proven right about the dragon eggs it would lend credence to his other questionable decisions, such as marrying her to Aegon. It would be much easier for her to hold hands with her brother and say the holy vows if she knew there was a reason for it all. At least she imagined so.
She ran her hand along the egg's scales, feeling naught but cold stone. That was how Jae found her. He showed surprise for a moment, but made no protest, quietly shutting the door and leaning against it with his arms crossed.
"Sneaking into another man's room the night before your wedding?" he teased, though there was little mirth behind it. "Tongues will wag, sister."
"Let them," she said quietly, her hand and eyes remaining on the egg.
He was silent for a long moment. "How fares your mother?" He and her mother had a cordial relationship. She treated him kinder than most women treated their husband's bastards (legitimized or otherwise) but had never been a mother to him.
"As well as can be expected." Her hand clenched, her nails scraping across the egg's scaled surface. "Which is to say: not very well at all."
He strode across the room and placed his hand on her shoulder. "She always recovers."
"She always recovers." It was a refrain from their childhood, always followed in her thoughts with: but what if she doesn't?
She turned around and threw her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. Her tears flowed freely onto his doublet, her shoulders heaving as she choked out sob after sob. He gently wrapped his arms around her and held her until her sobs stopped.
"I miss this," she murmured against his chest once her tears had passed.
"It was you who spurned my affection."
"Your affection as a lover." She pulled away from him to look up into his eyes. "I didn't realize in doing so I would lose my brother."
"Lover and brother, the two are one in the same."
"Does it have to be that way?" It pained her to hear the pleading tone of her own voice. "Can we not go back to the way things were? Before the godswood, before we fell in love?"
Was that pity she spied in his grey eyes? "Don't play the fool, Rhae, it's unbecoming. You know as well as I, once the song has been sung it cannot be unsung."
He kissed her, proving his words true. She pulled away after a while, fearful of losing herself in the moment.
"If we cannot be siblings and we cannot be lovers, what else is left for us?"
"You know where I stand."
He leaned down to kiss her again. She moved away from him, walking past without a word and leaving the room. The hour was growing late and she intended to be well rested for her wedding.
The wedding procession left the Red Keep at noon the next day, ambling down from Aegon's Hill on a journey to the Great Sept of Baelor. The most venerated members of the Kingsguard rode in the lead: Ser Arthur, Ser Barristan and Ser Oswell. They made an impressive sight with their white armor, white cloaks and white steeds. Rhaenys and Aegon rode after them. Rhaenys had been laced into an ivory silk gown by her handmaidens, her ruby studded tiara resting on her head, her mother's maiden cloak flowing from her shoulders, the sun of House Martell faded and worn. Aegon wore their father's cloak, stitched with the sigil of their house, his head adorned with an unornamented silver circlet. Father rode behind them with Jae, Dany and Viserys, each of them crowned and dressed in their finest clothes. Father's small council rode behind him and the remainder of his Kingsguard rode behind them. The rest of the procession consisted of honored guests, lords and ladies from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms, some ahorse and some afoot.
Rhaenys kept her head held high as they descended Aegon's Hill, trying not to think of her mother's absence. Her mother and the Grand Maester both had been proven liars. When morning had dawned her mother had been unable to rise from her bed despite her best efforts. Gormon clucked his tongue and decreed she must spend another day bedridden, barring her even from attending the wedding ceremony in a litter, fearful that her condition might worsen outside the castle and he would be unable to properly treat her. Mother had taken the Grand Maester's prognosis with the dignity of a queen, shedding not a single tear. Rhaenys had not yet developed such dignity and had fled her mother's room as quickly as possible after hearing the news, not wanting to be seen crying on her wedding day.
The streets were lined with smallfolk, kept at bay by a wall of gold cloaks. More still hung from open windows, a brave few had even managed to clamber to the rooftops. They waved and cheered as the procession passed, tossing flowers and copper pennies to be trod on their path. Rhaenys smiled and waved as they passed, trying to seem as gracious as a bride on her wedding day should, hoping her outward appearance belied the dread which lurked beneath.
They arrived at the Great Sept of Baelor, a great marble structure with a dome of multicolored glass. Bells ringing in the sept's seven crystal towers heralded their arrival. Passing by the marble statue of Baelor the Blessed, they entered the Great Sept. They proceeded through the Hall of Lamps, walking beneath lamps of colored glass, before passing through a towering set of double doors etched with the seven-pointed star to enter the sept proper. Light streamed through the stained glass of the dome, painting the white marble floors in colored light. The tall stained glass windows of the sept depicted Andal heroes who had brought the Faith to the Seven Kingdoms. Seven altars were set up throughout the sept, each accompanied by a statue representing an aspect of the Seven, wrought in marble and adorned in gold and jewels.
Rhaenys and Aegon were lead to an altar between the statues of the Mother and Father. There the High Septon awaited them with a bevy of white robed septas, a reedy old man dressed in white robes trimmed with gold, his head bedecked with a crystal crown. The guests took their seats in the rows upon rows of chairs which had been provided. Rhaenys and Aegon stood facing each other before the High Septon. Their father stood at Rhaenys' side, there to give her away to her brother.
The ceremony began with a beautiful song from the septas, their voices reverberating throughout the sept. The High Septon said a prayer, beseeching the Father and Mother to provide them with a long and bountiful marriage. He then gave a long, winding speech about the importance of love and faithfulness, his voice dry as old parchment. Bored, Rhaenys' eyes wandered. She noticed more than a few women in the crowd wiping tears from their eyes, Dany among them. Would that it were you instead of me, she thought, but Dany would be allowed to marry the boy she loved. She spotted Jae sitting cross armed and sullen faced. Would that it were you instead of Aegon. She averted her eyes.
The High Septon finished his speech and it came time for them to exchange vows. Before gods and men they swore to love each other, to stay faithful to one another and to support each other through sickness and all strife until their dying days. Then came the fateful moment, the point of no return. Aegon removed their mother's maiden cloak from her shoulders and replaced it with his own.
"With this kiss I pledge my love," he said as he buckled the cloak into place.
"With this kiss I pledge my love," she repeated.
They kissed, a brief, chaste thing, so unlike the kiss she had shared with Jae the night before.
The High Septon proclaimed them husband and wife. The septas raised their voices in another song, the crowd cheered.
Rhaenys felt a sinking feeling in her stomach.
Another procession followed, back to the Red Keep where a feast awaited in the throne room. Rhaenys and Aegon sat at the center of the high table surrounded by their family. Only seven courses were served, thankfully. Mace Tyrell had proposed seventy-seven, but Father had been prudent enough to deny him. Gifts were delivered throughout the feast. Aegon received more weapons to add to his personal armory while Rhaenys received books and gowns and jewels. Her favorite gift came from her father, who had his high harp brought to the center of the throne room and played a beautiful song he had composed. She couldn't remember the last time she had heard him play. The sounds of his beautiful melody filled every inch of the throne room and for a moment she was lost in the music.
She was thrust back into reality when the song ended. A less talented troupe of musicians picked up their instruments and played a jaunty tune. Aegon lead Rhaenys to the floor and they shared their first dance as husband and wife. As the night progressed, she danced with dozens of different men, each of whom commented on her beauty or how great a queen she would one day be. She never found herself in Jae's arms, for which she was thankful. She couldn't bear to face him. By the end of the dancing she was tired and wanted nothing more than for the day to be over. That was when the bedding was called for.
A tide of drunk, groping men washed over her and carried her to the chambers she and Aegon would share as husband and wife. They clawed at her gown and made ribald jests. Some pinched and twisted at her flesh and she slapped their hands away. They were only encouraged by her defiance. By the time they delivered her to the bedding chamber she felt more than a little violated, stripped down to nothing but her small clothes, her tiara still gracing her head. Aegon had fared worse than she, awaiting her on the edge of the bed stripped of all clothes, covering his nakedness with a blanket.
Ignoring the lewd jokes shouted through the door, Rhaenys sighed and sat on the edge of the bed next to Aegon and leaned her head on his shoulder. "Did you ever imagine we would find ourselves here when we were children?"
"It was always a possibility."
She couldn't deny that, given their family's history. Maybe she had been a fool to think it would be otherwise.
After a while, the guests outside their door grew bored and left. Rhaenys lamented their departure, for now they had nothing to keep them from their marriage bed. Her heart beat so loud she was sure Aegon could hear it.
"What do you want to do?" she asked, hating how her voice wavered.
Aegon was silent for a long moment. When he spoke, it was in a measured tone. "Father is young yet. We will not need to provide an heir for some time."
She tried not to let her relief show too plainly on her face. "Thank you," she said, placing a kiss on his cheek.
He did not turn to face her, staring into his lap instead. "I'll never love you the way Jaehaerys loves you, and I don't expect you to love me the way you love him."
Few knew of the indecent nature of her and Jae's relationship: Ser Barristan, who had stumbled across them kissing in the godswood, and her mother, whom Ser Barristan had taken them to after the discovery. Mother and Ser Barristan had not spread the tale, she and Jae had told no one. Not even Father knew. She should have been surprised by Aegon's knowledge, but oddly she wasn't.
"How long have you known?"
He shrugged. "Since the beginning, I suppose. We've barely spent a day apart since I was born, there's not much either of you can hide from me."
"Does it bother you, to know I would choose him if given a choice?"
He looked to her then, his indigo eyes sad. "No," he said. "Because I know you've never had a choice."