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A Queen To Be

Chapter 4

Two days later…

"Where are we?" Ronnel Tyrrell asked for about a fifth time in the last two hours.

"We are travelling," Jaehaerys said calmly and sat next to him on the seat bench, pointedly ignoring Ser Duncan's warning look.

"Where are we going?" the other boy inquired further.

"We are being brought to my father," Jaehaerys explained.

"Your father? But the Prince is at war…"

By now, Ser Duncan could recite the conversation word for word. Now, the boy would ask whoever was taking them to the Prince and how the King might be dead, and then remember that his own father was dead and scream in horror as he remembered the scene. Then, he'd fall asleep and in a few hours it would start all over again.

Jaehaerys supported the younger boy's head while he drank some water, then eased him down. Ronnel fell into uncomfortable sleep and Jaehaerys looked at Ser Duncan. "Are we going to leave?" he asked and reached for the door-handle. The knight stayed his hand. "Don't look, Jaehaerys," he said.

The curtains of the windows were dropped. The horses whinnied. Outside, someone was screaming and begging for mercy. One of the villagers who had tried to stop the rebels from plundering their village. Ser Duncan had seen the brigand lords breaking the villagers' legs while Jaehaerys had been tending the sick boy. In any other case, he would have intervened on the villagers behalf but now he had Jaehaerys to reckon with. He couldn't take the risk; a few times he had already stopped Jaehaerys from saying something out of fear that these lizards' anger might turn out against the boy. He had to deliver Jaehaerys to his father safe. How, he didn't know.

At last, finally, the wheelhouse lumbered ahead.

A day later…

Rhaelle's fingernails went dirty and broken before the first day was over; till the end of the second, she decided that there was no way to keep her newly given grey robes clean in the garden, so she just left them drag in the dirt. A silent sister patiently showed her and Alaenys how to tend to the herbs in the glass garden, demonstrating no temper even when the girls destroyed in quick succession a whole row of chamomile, thinking that they were just plucking some rotten roots. Her silence scared the Princess a little, especially when the woman answered to Rhaelle's question as briefly as possible. At the end of the second day, Rhaelle could water the plants without drowning them and actually say bad leaves from those who were just naturally yellow-coloured; with some fear, she realized that she had started adopting their hostesses' custom of not talking when she could not talk. She and Alaenys did not speak much even with each other, even when alone. They were getting used to their new environment so fast that it scared Rhaelle.

Rhae was charged with keeping the first floor of the convent clean. In a few moments, her hands remembered how a broom should be hold and little Aemon was stunned when he saw his mother sweeping the floor with wet rags. Rhaelle's mouth actually gaped when she saw Rhae kneeling on front of a fireplace, sweeping it. Her hair was full of ash, her hands raw and red, and singed. Physical effort was welcome to her because it distracted her from thinking about Aegon – and Jaehaerys. Besides, when she was away from their rooms, she could weep silently for her father without awakening the others' grief anew. When she was away – and when she was in her bed at night, her head buried against the pillow.

Daella was just in that period of her pregnancy when even rising to pour herself a goblet of water was too exhausting, so she sew and embroidered for poor people – and tried to take care of three little boys who were too inquisitive for their own good at each opportunity and constantly tried to explore their new surroundings, only to be returned back to their rooms by stony-faces silent sisters. They didn't scold them but the mute reproach in their demeanor was enough to make the little ones scared. Daella was trying to show then that all was well but they could pick up her concern and that made them worry without realizing it, thus making them even more insufferable. And insufferable they were, thorn away from all they knew, thorn in a stark place and surrounded by grim strangers. They were now prone to fits of anger and crying… and Daella was prone to those, too, discomforted by the pregnancy, scared for all of them and grieving for her father, and unsure what future would bring to them. Her oldest followed Rhaelle and Alaenys like a shadow and felt hurt when they told him to get off. When they got together at the evening meal, no one had the heart to say anything. And there would have been no use of that, anyway. Such were the spirits in their sanctuary…

Alaenys was constantly reminded of her life at home, at the war camp that was the Golden Company. True, there were no rough soldiers here and she did not need to pass through the hallways as fast as she could out of fear of meeting a group of drunken and lewd men but the airs of the silent sisters were not so different from the airs of men in a war camp. She didn't fear them, exactly, but their cold deportment made her blood curdle. If they decided that the chapterhouse would be better off if they left the Princesses and the children into the hands of the first enemy of the Targaryens who knocked at the door, they would do it. So she found solace in working at the kitchens and glass garden and from time to time, talking secretly to Princess Rhaelle. Why secretly, they couldn't say. They weren't explicitly forbidden to speak. But this was the way here and the sisters' conduct somehow showed that no other possibility was acceptable.

She felt a little nice stir of warmth in the night, when, thinking that they were all asleep, Princess Rhae checked on everyone. She leaned closer, tucked them in and placed a kiss on their temples. The first time she did it with Alaenys, the girl almost opened her eyes, showing that she was, in fact, awake. Her mother had died in childbed when she had seen only two namedays and she didn't know what it felt like to get a kiss for goodnight.

Five days later…

In the falling darkness, Harrenhall looked even greater – and more crumbling. A piece of ruin, a place of death. Jaehaerys almost looked up for the first Aegon's dragon, coming to bring destruction upon the remains of Harrenhall – and all of them. Not that there were so many of them still. On their way here, the stream of lords and knights who had been so keen on extracting riches and privileges from his father in exchange of him had been steadily declining – some were sick, others were suddenly called on urgent family business, third needed to pay attention on their own affairs. But those who left were still numerous – and they were the most determined ones.

In front of the main gate the wheelhouse stopped. Straining their hearing for the opening of the gate, Jaehaerys and Ser Duncan heard nothing. From the walls, the guards called out the standard question of who was there but got no answer.

The sickly boy and the huge knight exchanged a look. On their way here, they had heard all sorts of rumours about the fate of the treacherous Lothstons who had betrayed their rightful King and joined the Blackfyres in their latest rebellion. It seemed that the very first thing Prince Aegon had done after his father drew his last breath was to honour the dead King's promise to his troops, made before the battle: the Lothston line had been extinguished, that much was ascertained. Rumours differed only by the details of which this was achieved. Jaehaerys did not give much credence to the claims of tortures and cruel deaths but it seemed that his cordial father had shown surprising ruthlessness in dealing with the aftermath of the Rebellion, this winning himself quite the reputation. He was not someone who could be easily trifled with – and the rebellious lords could hardly get rid of Jaehaerys to keep the secret of taking him as a prisoner. Someone would tell. Someone always told.

Maybe their best bet was leave now, while they still could, and take Jaehaerys as a hostage.

In the pale moonlight and dancing shadows of people hesitating and dragons from the past looming all over the place, the Prince and Ser Duncan were trying to determine their best bet.

"Do you really believe my father is here?" Jaehaerys asked in a low voice.

"I think he is," Ser Duncan said. "But I… I am not sure."

Jaehaerys wasn't either. But waiting for their captors to do something was absolutely the last thing he needed to do. Even making a mistake was better than doing nothing. He opened the door and poked his head out. "What's wrong, my lords?" he asked. "I thought you wanted the Prince to address your grievances, or maybe to make things clear with the Master of the ships. Could it be that your courage deserted you at finding yourselves so close to them?"

The not so veiled insult made the men cringe. They could not take the risk to harm the sickly abomination, of course. He looked as if he couldn't even take a single whipping. They could turn their horses and go back, forcing Jaehaerys to accompany them. Or… they could prove this insolent Targaryen spawn that he was wrong and they did not fear his father or the Dornish bastard.

They opted for the latter.

"We're bringing Jaehaerys Targaryen to his father," one of the loud-mouthed ones called. "We seek an audience with Prince Aegon."

Now that he was looking outside, Jaehaerys realized that the number of guards who manned the wall was too scanty. If the entire Targaryen army was sheltered between the walls, why weren't the gates better guarded? The brigand lords started muttering and looking around alarmed, arguing what they should do now. Was this a trap? But the gate was already opening and after their pronouncement no one would let them just leave with Jaehaerys without giving a chase, so they entered and dismounted.

Many times, Jaehaerys had imagined his reunion with his father, brother, and grandfather. After the news of Maekar's death he had started picturing his meeting with his father and Duncan alone. Neither image had included the chaos of an inheritance crisis and arriving as a captive to someone's ambitions and thwarted expectations.

Prince Aegon stood in the great hall of Harrenhall – and it was a great one, about five times bigger than the chamber holding the Iron Throne. He was magnificently attired in Targaryen red and black, the cloak with dragons clasped at his shoulder. He had his arms folded and his face set in a hard expression that very few had seen. Next to him, Duncan looked equally grim. At the head of a long table, Jaehaerys' uncle Aemon smiled reassuringly at him.

Jaehaerys went to his father and spoke. "Father, Ronnel Tyrell needs help. He's been with fever for days and the way these lords dragged us this way and that was not much of a help."

"I'll send my own maester immediately," Aegon assured him and looked at a servant who left hurriedly. Then, he looked at the lords and smiled. It was not his usual friendly smile – it was something colder and more distant, something that Jaehaerys didn't like at all. Against the far wall, servants were taking hangings with the Lothston bat down and replacing it with the Targaryen dragons. "So, my lords," he said. His tone was all amicability, his eyes – pieces of purple ice. "I think it's time for us to talk."