Daenerys had wept in those early moons of her pregnancy when Rhaegar first came to her, explaining that it was time that he return to Elia and Lyanna, that they had taken offense at his neglect. It is a difficult life that the gods had chosen for her, he explained, but it had been nearly twenty years since he had taken on a second wife and there was a system that had been established, one which they had to grow accustomed to despite their reservations. She had known it would be so since she first arrived in King's Landing, understood that she could not have him to herself all the time and though he had been gentle when he told her, she felt herself tear up despite herself.
It was the babe she knew, the maester having explained that when a woman was with child her moods were often more heightened than before, but it had been something more too, disappointment perhaps or realization that the cards she had been dealt were just that, something she could not change, only had to accept it.
It had been easy to push it away when he kissed her tears, when he lay her down on the bed and for the first time undressed her himself. He had kissed her between her legs again, the only time he had done so since their wedding night, licked and sucked until she was calling his name and even then did not pull away, touched her with his fingers instead and by the time he finally entered her she had already reached her peak twice. It had been easy to forget, when she could focus on the feel of him instead, hear herself whispering faster and harder into his ears and have him respond in kind, all the while kissing her, all the while calling her beautiful and perfect and wonderful.
It was harder to bear on those nights when he did not come to her, spent them instead with Elia or Lyanna and for the first time since she married she had to sleep alone in her bed. She wept bitter tears then, but he would come to her every morning, murmur to her growing stomach and on most days make love to her, pulling her into his lap as they sat together and it had felt so exciting, knowing they should not, knowing someone might walk in, her moans so loud at times he would laugh, put his hand gently over her mouth to stifle the sounds, though it only spurred her on more.
It made it easy for her to forgive and yet she could not find that same sympathy in her heart when he did not come to her after their son was born.
In truth, she did not think she would love anybody or anything as much as she loved her son in those hours after his birth. And he was easy to love after all, a beautiful babe with silver hair and her eyes, and though he fussed, he would calm when Dany held him in her arms. It was strange to be so fascinated by someone so small who could do naught but sleep or eat, and yet Dany could stare at him for hours, watch as he suckled at her breast or lay in her arms, dream about the man he would grow up to be, imagine what he would look like, which features would be Rhaegar's and which hers, whose temper he would take after.
Her husband said he would come to her rooms as soon as the birth was over and yet even after she had been bathed and dressed, her bed cleaned, he had not come for nearly half a day. It left her with a hollowness that even her son could not fill, an aching that did not lessen even when he finally came to her, looking more weary than she had ever seen him before.
He sat beside her bed in silence before reaching a hand to caress her face, and then down to his son where he lay feeding at her breast.
"I was in the sept," He murmured, as though reading her thoughts, and she noticed the redness in his eyes.
"Did you pray for our son?" She asked, and wanted to find a way to pull him somehow to her, to rid him of the lost look in her eyes, whether to kiss him or curse him she did not know.
She touched his hair but he did not seem to notice.
He smiled but it came out a crooked thing, "For our son and for ourselves, and most of all for the realm. I asked the gods for guidance, for the wisdom to understand when they lead us astray from our path."
"And did they reply, brother?"
She could not keep the bite out of her voice then.
Rhaegar reached for his son and though he cried when Dany pulled him away from her breast, he quieted as soon as he was in her father's arms. Her husband pressed a kiss to his crown as she laced up the front of her shift.
"They have not, though I know they shall," He replied, his voice soft as though afraid to wake up the babe, "Have you thought of a name for him?"
She had thought of several, but it was a husband's right to name his children and though she tasted anger, she did not wish to pain him, not truly, not when he seemed so troubled. He has burdens I do not know of, she tried to tell herself, and he so wanted a daughter, but somehow it did not still the dull the ire rising in her chest.
"Do you not wish to name him?" Dany asked but he merely shook his head and smiled again, and it seemed almost sincere this time.
She went on, carefully, "I thought of a few. Aelyx perhaps, or Aemon or Jaehaerys. It is your choice, husband."
"All worthy names of a Targaryen prince," He remarked, and it seemed as though he held their child closer, "We have not had an Aelyx in our bloodline since the days before the conquest. The weight of a crown is mighty enough, even for one who will not sit on the throne. Perhaps it will be good for him to grow without living in the shadow of a namesake."
Dany liked the sound of that, though it made her ache to have her child in her hands again. Her husband seemed to sense it, most likely schooled now in the needs of mothers, and slowly moved the child to her hands again. They sat in silence, his eyes not leaving their child, and Dany willed herself to say something that might ease the tension between then.
It would do no good, she thought, for our son to come into the world with his father and mother at odds.
"I know you did not wish for a son," She began, made herself continue even when his eyes flashed to her, the expression unreadable, "But the maester has said it was an easy birth, as easy as a birth can be, I suppose. I should have no trouble conceiving another babe, a daughter this time."
To her surprise, her husband lay his head down in her lap, his face turned toward her. It was so sudden, frightening almost, that Dany froze. Rhaegar was her king in public and her husband in private and yet she had never felt him to be her brother, never felt for him the kind of love she felt for Viserys. In that moment though, he was not her king nor her husband but her older brother and she his younger sister. Tentatively, Dany reached out to put a hand in his hair, smoothing it down, the repetitiveness of the motion calming her some, as well as his proximity to her.
"I will leave King's Landing on the morrow for the Citadel," He murmured, and Dany felt her heart lurch out of her chest, "I do not know how long I will remain. In the meantime you must care for Aelyx and heed Aegon's commands in my place."
Dany wished she had the strength to push him away but instead made do with what she could.
"You would leave your son, leave your wife on the day of his birth?" She hissed and he pulled back from her as though struck, Aelyx waking at her breast.
He became her king again, in just one moment, standing up as though to put as much space between them as possible, giving her that look he reserved for his subjects.
"I do this for my sons and for my wives," He said, and suddenly he felt a world away, "I will write to you and you will write to me, tell me how you and your son fare. In the meantime, perhaps you will school yourself in obedience."
She might have begged for forgiveness then, if she had the strength for it, or reached for him, embraced him as her brother and her husband, kissed the lines from brow but only felt heartbreak.
"Leave, then. What are you waiting for?"
And only when he was gone did she weep, her son's cries drowning out her own.
It was quiet after Rhaegar left and though Elia had asked if she might join him in Oldtown, in truth she did not do it with much heart. In the past she perhaps might have looked forward to the opportunity to have him all to herself, away from it all, but she had grown tired lately, wearier with every day that passed and she watched Daenerys' belly grow bigger and bigger, as Rhaegar grew more and more tender to his young bride. She had been spared the sight of it during Lyanna's pregnancy; though in those long nights after her husband's disappearance she had imagined every possibility, even the most ghoulish, she knew nothing could match the sight of him tending after another woman, dreaming of another child the way he had with her.
If she was a crueler woman she might have rejoiced in Dany's inability to give him the daughter he so desired but her husband's displeasure was not the displeasure of a man, but the displeasure of a king, and that could be a dangerous thing indeed.
Jon was to leave for Dragonstone after he returned from the Citadel she knew, and his mother likely along with him, and though she would not be with her husband she could be with her son at least, could guide Aegon as he sat on the throne alone for the first time, could help her daughter find some joy, free from the constraints her father put on her, the training she underwent. Her brothers could come as well, and though Doran had not left Dorne for many years now Oberyn had left as soon as he received her raven now. I will not step in that damned city so long as that bastard sits on the throne, he had sworn after Lyanna's coronation, and he had kept his promise though Elia did not know who he intended to punish, her or Rhaegar.
He came though, nearly six moons' turn after Rhaegar had left the city, and that was enough for her. Her brother was not as young a man as she had seen on her last visit to Dorne all those years ago but he had lifted her up in his arms all the same, as though she were still the little girl he had let push down in the Water Gardens and not a queen of the Seven Kingdoms. He likely would have done the same with Rhaneys and Aegon if her daughter was not holding her youngest brother at hand and Aegon not sitting on the throne.
In truth, the little boy brought joy to the keep.
He was beautiful, as beautiful as Rhaenys, Aegon, or Jon had been when they were babes, with violet eyes shaped like almonds and his father's smile. Daenerys, likely desperate for company after Rhaegar's departure or perhaps only proud of her son, let whomever wished visit the boy. Elia had been the first to go, for Aegon and for his throne so that there would be naught by good will between the brothers, but for her own curiosity as well, the need to see any child,anything, which had something of her husband in it.
Dany had been smiling, cooing over the child, and when Elia brought up their husband out of interest or as a test perhaps saying Jon had written of Oldtown and its people, she had been pleased, almost proud, to see Dany did not react, save for the tiniest quirk in her eyes. King's Landing was an efficient instructor, though a ruthless one. Elia left her to herself; the girl did not look to her and though Elia pitied her, she would, could, provide no comfort besides an interest in Aelyx.
It was sweet not think, not to worry, and Oberyn had always been good for that, bringing out a side of her she thought had died that day in Harrenhal, mulched and rotted like that crown of blue roses. She had been quick to laugh in her youth, with a sweet wit but a barbed tongue as well, much like Aegon's nature now was. Oberyn breathed life into her again, left her health the best it had been in years, her spirit fortified.
Aegon had taken to carrying Aelyx around and the child, though always eager to walk around now that he had finally learned how, obliged him, doubtless happy for the attention. They found him in the gardens today, Aelyx reaching out with still chubby and clumsy hands trying to catch butterflies, giggling every time he failed.
"Be careful of the fennel," She warned, pointing to the bees that collected around the yellow plant.
The child was coddled as only a Targaryen prince could be. When he first began to crawl, Dany had covered the floors of the nursery with pillows and cushions finer than those decorating the solars and chambers of the high lords of Westeros so that he not suffer any discomfort. Rhaegar assigned Ser Jaime as his personal guard before he left the city and Oberyn could not hide a smirk at the sight, the proud Lannister with a scowl on his face trailing after the toddling prince.
He skinned his knee for the first time a few weeks prior, taking a tumble as he tried to catch up with Aegon in the throne room, and though Aelyx had taken it well enough, barely crying at all, three knights had rushed to him all the same and he had spent half a day with the maester until his mother had been satisfied with his treatment.
It would do no good to have him return to her with a bee sting.
"He knows to stay away from them," Aegon replied, smiling, his eyes not leaving his brother, "He's clever, mother, he'll be clever than Rhaenys even."
Oberyn rolled his eyes at that, his distaste for the father not sparing the son. He had counseled Elia to send the child and his mother away, perhaps back to Dragonstone, while Rhaegar was gone but that was only folly. She had grown accustomed to her arrangement years ago, though she supposed her brother never would be.
"Doubtless he will be, so long as he has you guiding him," Elia said, standing on tiptoes and pressing a soft kiss to her son's forehead before joining Oberyn on the chairs set amidst the rose bushes.
Within a few moments, her son joined them, his little brother sitting dutifully in his lap, small fingers fiddling with some flower petals he had plucked. Elia watched as her brother sat up in his seat and said a silent prayer in her head that all would go well, looking around to ensure that her uncle Lewyn was the only Kingsguard member within hearing distance.
"It is time for you to take your stand, nephew," Oberyn started, "The people are ready for it."
Aegon cooed over Aelyx, though Elia could see he eyed his uncle wearily and remained silence.
Oberyn continued, "Your sister must be told as well, it is past time."
"What you speak is treason," Aegon murmured, and though he spoke with his father's voice it was Doran's words, "My father has intended for me and Rhaenys to wed since we were children. To disobey him would be to cast myself out of his favor forever."
Oberyn looked at his sister beseechingly but Elia would not speak. This was his plot, since Rhaegar first took Lyanna as wife, and though it was for her children's good, she knew, it would be for Aegon to decide should he choose this path.
"The Faith will not stand for another incestuous marriage," Oberyn explained, though he son flinched at the word, "Incest it is, Aegon, whether it is between commoners or princes and princesses. My friends from Oldtown to the orders of the Most Devout say it is so. They withstood your father's marriages because the realm had bled enough and the favor of the smallfolk was with him but there has been peace for many years now. Dorne will not suffer it, neither will any other corner of the realm."
There were other considerations as well, but even Oberyn would not be privy to those, and though Aegon said nothing she could see it all with a glance. Aegon was not to marry only Rhaenys but the Visenya who had not yet come. Rhaegar had waited to long already; their son was in his eighteenth year and their daughter in her twentieth. How much longer would they wait? How much longer will father remain blind, Aegon had asked her once.
And what of her children's happiness? Though there was devotion between them and though there was love, it was not the kind Rhaegar shared with his sister nor the type the Targaryens sustained generation through generation. It would be an unhappy life for both of them, and though she tried to stifle the feeling, the thought of her children laying together as man and wife left her feeling ill. Likely it did the same for them.
She could not damn her children to life like her own, least of all her daughter. Aegon was kind and gentle but the crown did queer things to those who wore it. He could take lovers if he wished to give him what his sister could not and whether they remained in his bed for weeks or years, Rhaenys would not be spared that humiliation, would have to suffer in silence, never to love, never to know of the pleasure and happiness that could be found between a man and a woman.
"And who do you propose we wed, uncle?" Aegon asked, and Elia did not know whether to be pleased or frightened that he seemed to consider it, though he kept the bite in his voice.
"Willas Tyrell is to be Lord of Highgarden, Edmure Tully Lord of Riverrun, neither are spoken for. There are houses in Dorne as well, should she wish to look there, Qorgyle, Gargalen, Dalt. I would choose Starfall and Arthur's nephew for her, though the boy is young yet, but a few years would make no matter," Oberyn recited, leaning forward in his seat, "You would have the pick of any maiden in Westeros."
All alliances to be made, all ways Aegon's reign might be strengthened and powerful families tied to the throne. If Lyanna managed such a match for her son, what would it mean for Aegon's position, to have nothing but House Targayen and House Martell beside him when Jon might have Targaryen, Stark, and Tyrell or Velaryon or Baratheon?
"I will think on it," Aegon said quietly, standing up with Aelyx again in his arms, "Though Rhaenys will need to be wed first. I suggest you speak to her before my father returns, uncle."
His father had asked him to go with him to Oldtown, and Jon had been careful to school his features so as not to show his surprise. It pleased him beyond words to be chosen, not to be left behind in King's Landing but to be trusted enough, loved enough, to accompany his father, him alone out of all his siblings. His mother had not taken it so well, warning Jon with a panic he had never before seen in her eyes that if it was a maester's life his father had chosen for him, she would not stand for it, that he must write to her if he suspected as much and she would come herself.
Those were not his father's intentions, Jon soon learned, after arriving in the city. The king spent most of his days in the Citadel, poring over musty books and old manuscripts when he was not engaged with the managing of the realm, but did not seem particularly invested in Jon's interest or lack thereof in the order itself. Jon suspected it might have something to do with the Old Man of Oldtown's granddaughters, a new one arriving everyday in Hightower it seemed, but his father did not speak to him of marriage either, hardly seemed to notice them indeed.
Instead, they settled into a routine not unlike the one they had established in King's Landing. Jon would train with the members of the Kingsguard who had accompanied them to Oldtown while his father met petitioners and talked with the Hand, and afterwards Jon would join him in the evenings to read by candlelight and discuss whatever histories and matters his father thought he must learn.
His mother had once told him that as a child she had been hungry for the attention of her father, one child out of four, and could only get it when she was misbehaving and in need of disciplining. Jon found himself doing much of the same and as it was not in his nature to misbehave, he would stay in the yard twice as long as Aegon and Rhaenys, ride twice as far, read as many books, sometimes by candlelight in his chambers when the castle was asleep. And still it was difficult to catch his father's interest, not when he had two (now three) other children and a realm to care for.
In Oldtown there was no one to compete with and though Jon missed his siblings and his mother with an almost physical pain at times, it was sweet to be alone with his father, if only for a while.
His father had grown more distant as time went on, however, thinner and paler, and though he still called for Jon to join him the conversations grew shorter and more trivial until a day close to the end of their first year in the city. His father asked for him after sunset, as he always did, but his chamber was cleared of the books that littered the desks and were stacked upon the floor. Instead, his father held a single letter in his hands.
Jon sat at his father's side as he had been accustomed to do, resisting the urge to look at the paper he held. He had been prone to doing that as a child, climbing into his father's lap and grabbing whatever he held, at first pretending to read though he did not know how but when he was older reading it in truth, and his father would shoo him away laughing. You have curious eyes, he would say, but you must learn to grow subtle about it.
After a while, his father spoke.
"Would you like to remain in Oldtown?" His father asked, his eyes finally fixed on him, the expression kind.
Jon shrugged, "As you wish, father. I would not choose to stay here without you, however."
He wished to ask if his father planned to leave but knew that would only earn him a chiding. It was not his place to ask after the affairs of the king, not unless that information was offered to him.
"You have done well here," His father said, "You have done everything that I have asked, your mind grows sharper and Ser Arthur told me so had your sword. I had thought to stay longer for your sake, it has been good for you, but I believe our time here is over.
Jon knew they would leave Oldtown eventually, that his would have to return to his duties in King's Landing and a life for him in Dragonstone, but it did not make the disappointment at being parted from him any easier to bare.
He continued, "Your way is North, however. I should have sent you years ago, in truth, when your mother first asked me but I see now that you are ready. Would you like to go to Winterfell, Jon?"
Winterfell. He had thought much of it in his youth, of the cousins he had known of but never met, the family he might have known but his mother had talked less and less about her home as time went on, after it became clear that she would likely never return there. It seemed almost to pain her at times and so Jon had not mentioned it as he grew older, kept whatever dreams he had of visiting to himself.
It seemed as though they were no longer dreams.
"I would like that very much," He said, and though he was careful to keep his tone even he could not hide the smile.
His father smiled too, though weakly, "You have blood on the Wall, your uncle Benjen as well as mine own great grand-sire's brother Aemon. I will send books and letters with you, for yourself as well as for Aemon, and with time it will all become clear. You may visit Winterfell for as long as you wish after, acquaint yourself with your cousins before taking your place in Dragonstone. Does that please you?"
"It does, father," Jon replied, and whatever confusion he felt he kept deep down, beneath the excitement.
It seemed as though his father was lost in his thoughts once again and Jon made as though to leave. He was stilled with a hand on his arm instead.
"Today is your brother's nameday. His mother brought him into the world a year ago and yet I was only there for a day of it," His father murmured, "Your presence here has made it more difficult for me to forget that."
His father stopped as though to let him speak but Jon could say nothing. In truth, he did not know if he wanted to hear the rest, not when Rhaegar's eyes looked as though they were somewhere so far away.
He has come undone.
Rhaegar continued, nonetheless, "I felt much the same after your birth and to my shame, it took me years until I learned that though the gods do not give each man a clear path, one can be made for him. Your brother will have a role, as you have had, in what comes next."
"So you will return to King's Landing?" Jon asked, because it seemed the only thing he could say when the room seemed to grow so cold.
His father nodded, "I will return. Gods willing, Jon, in some years Aegon and Rhaenys will join you at the Wall with my last little princess."