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A Queen To Be

Chapter 7

Three months later…

Rhae woke up to someone shaking her shoulder. A moment later, her sister's pale face emerged from the faint light of the only candle she held in her hand.

"What?" Rhae asked, sleepily. "What is it? Do I need to get up already? Is it time?"

"No," Daella said. "I am sorry for waking you up. It's just that… I think I'll give birth any moment now."

As tired as she was, Rhae was all awake all of a sudden. "Are you sure?" she asked, cautiously, as not to scare her sister off. Daella herself knew that it was too soon, that she still hadn't entered the last month of her pregnancy… "Sometimes, women have pains for weeks before the real labour starts," she added hopefully, trying to sound encouraging. "I was like this with Rhaelle."

Daella shook her head, trying to contain the horror that had been building in her heart for the last month, the fear that she'd die here, in the birthing bed, along with her child, and Rhae would be left here, alone, guarding the children. The terror had reached a pitched level in the last hours, while she had been trying to convince herself that she had not gone into labour. "No," she breathed. "My water broke up. I am starting to give birth."

There had been no confinement, no grand preparation but Daella would not have planned for those anyway. Her first child had died weeks before the birth and she still remembered the stench of the rotting little body she hadn't been allowed to see; her second had strangled himself into his cord minutes before birth. She didn't want ceremonies, she just wanted a healthy baby… and some proper care. There was no maester here, no midwives. Just Rhae and the silent sisters who knew much about dead bodies and next to nothing about caring for living ones.

Rhae helped her sister lie down, then went to the door and popped her head into the adjacent chamber. "Girls," she said. "We need some clean sheets. And hot water. Lots of hot water."

The next day…

Pale and dressed in red and black, Aegon came back from his everyday ride, impatient to go back to his own rooms, as far away from the tension and silent question in the streets, the same streets he had passed hundreds of times, the streets that had been full of people when he had returned from Dorne at the end of his exile, all those years ago. People had cheered him then; now their silence was palpable as he rode past, one of the men who held their future in his hands, one of the pretenders for power, one of those who could make them bleed once again if he decided to uphold the claim he supported by the power of weapons… whatever this side was.

In the Red Keep, many of the servants had run away in the first tumultuous days after Maekar's death. It looked eerily, abandoned. For a moment, Aegon paused, looking at the officials hanging banners in preparation for the Great Council, the quickly named gathering that had been the compromise they had reached. The most powerful lords of the realm would gather and decide who would wear the crown of the Seven Kingdoms, what should be done with the succession. The looming war had been prevented, for now. If they could reach a peaceful decision, Aegon would thank to the Seven heartily.

He entered his chambers and headed for the table in his solar, where his dinner was served. Of course, it was cold – the kitchens were so far away that food often arrived cold, let alone the fact that with the recent shortage of servants, the inhabitants of the Red Keep had reached something like a silent agreement: food would be served when someone had a minute to spare, or not at all. Aegon had started meeting various members of his household, as well as his father's household, in the kitchen when they were so hungry that they could not wait and went there to snatch something.

"Well?" someone asked. Aegon almost jumped. "How did it go?"

"You really need to stop doing this!" the Prince exclaimed. As used as he was to servants and handmaidens moving noiselessly, he was always quite startled when he actually didn't hear a whisper of someone's coming.

The older man did not look all that impressed. Of course! Father must have told him the same thing about a hundred and two times. "So?" Ser Galend asked again. "How did it go?"

"We're making some progress here," Aegon said, not quite convinced. "We all agreed that if the crown passes to Rhaegar, a Regency Council should be formed."

Ser Galend grimaced. "A bad idea," he warned. "A very bad idea, this is."

Aegon paused. The knight's words only served to confirm his own reservations.

"So, that's why Lord Blackwood looked so smug today," Ser Galend said. "A shame it is that your father imprisoned Bloodraven. He would have dealt with his family's ambitions months ago."

Aegon sighed, reminded that the former Hand still remained in the black cells, thrown there by Maekar for a crime that existed in Maekar's head only. Maekar had blamed the sorcerer for Queen Aelinor's death when he must have known that it was not so, that the only one to blame – if such a blame should be laid at anyone's feet – was Aelinor herself. "I tried to make my father see reason," he said. "He wouldn't listen."

"He wouldn't listen to me either," Ser Galend agreed. "And here we are."

Aegon looked at him curiously. "What did Lord Blackwood tell you?" he asked.

"Oh, he didn't speak to me at all. He just cocked his head and marched off as soon as he saw me. I'm starting to think that the man dislikes me somewhat."

Now, Aegon laughed heartily. He could easily see why his ever so morose father had kept Ser Galend around, preferring him to all others. The man's dry sense of humour and caustic and truthful language was just the kind that would make someone like Maekar brighten. "I can't imagine why," he said and then became serious. "Ser, you've been with my father for a long time. I've heard that you've been in his entourage for years before the Blackfyre Rebellion."

Ser Galend nodded. "For eleven years, if you count the two I spent in captivity. I came into his service when I was twelve. Yes, I served him for years."

"So you were around when my brothers were born."

"Yes, I was."

Aegon took a deep breath. "Do you think Rhaegar is mad?" he asked. "Like Aerion was? I think he was mad and cruel even in my oldest memories but I cannot be sure."

Ser Galend did not hesitate. He had obviously given some thought to the matter. "I think it doesn't matter," he said. "I think that we can't wait to ascertain his condition, whatever it turns out to be." He paused. "And I know it was not your father's wish for Rhaegar to ascend the Iron Throne, either way. He just let the matter to rest for a while because after the Queen's death he knew he wasn't able to think clearly. But he still intended to change the succession. The Targaryen madness is something that cannot be predicted but my lord wanted to eliminate the most immediate threat of its recurring. Personally, I don't believe the Prince is mad. But the Great Council must be convinced that he is."

Aegon listened to him silently. What they were talking about was against the laws, against what was considered right and just. They were talking about disinheriting a child on the basis of fear of how he might turn out. That could not be right, yet upholding Rhaegar's right might soon lead to plunging the Seven Kingdoms into a bloody war once again, even if he turned out to be sane.

"You think we should offer the crown to Aemon," he finally said, tired of pretences and ambiguity. This was the best solution. If someone could make this kingdom run, it was his cool-headed brother.

"No," the old man said and gave him a piercing look. "I don't."

A day later…

The sun should not set over a labouring woman twice. Who had said that? Some of the handmaidens, maybe. Rhaelle flicked her hair aside and decided that her state of mind was taking a decisive turn for the worse if all she could think about was the question: whom had she overheard saying it?

The sun had already set twice over Daella, and there were still no signs of the child being born soon. In their calm, effective way the silent sisters had provided a midwife and a maester - where from, Rhaelle had no idea – and gone on with their usual business. Rhaelle and Alaenys now greatly wished that they could also go on with the usual business with the same calm acceptance that sometimes, things happened and women were born to suffer all the way through their children's births. Even embalming corpses would be preferable to the sight of Daella's white face and swollen body contorting in impossible positions while she was biting her lips and trying not to scream. Rhae was trying to keep the girls as shielded as possible but the truth was, they needed their help with bringing hot water, changing the soiled sheets, and helping Daella walk. At one moment, Rhaelle had felt her aunt's belly actually shaking and bumping into her own side. I'm never having children, she vowed as she paced around the meticulously kept garden with Alaenys, feeling like a war veteran.

Suddenly, the Blackfyre girl caught her by the hand. "What was that?" she hissed.

Rhaelle strained her hearing, heard nothing. "I don't hear…"

"I'm telling you that I just heard a noise!" Alaenys hissed again. The months of shared imprisonment had finally brought down the wall in rank and family loyalty; they all needed each other if they were to survive with their sanity intact.

They tiptoed to the building and were just about to slip back inside when Rhaelle's nails bit into Alaenys' hand. "You were right," she murmured. "There is someone… quick!"

They barely managed to remove themselves from the door and crouch when a tall frame hurried past, not even looking around, his cloak billowing. Billowing? There was no breeze this night. Certainly not enough to billow the cloak this much.

He was carrying something. While the girls were still trying to decide what to do and Daella's screams from inside drowned every other noise, he headed straight for the gate that was left ajar – now they saw it.

And then, a sudden cloud shifted, revealing the moon – and a flash of what the man was carrying. Rhaelle gasped. All of her mother's warnings, all of her aunt's fears, all that she had ridiculed and dismissed now crushed over her in full force; without thinking, she rose and whispered to Alaenys, "Go! Call someone!"

She ran after the shadow, intending to jump him from behind. Taking him by surprise was the only chance she had – he was twice as tall and thrice as wide as her.

All of a sudden, Daella's next scream was cut off, as if by a knife. Startled, the man looked back over his shoulder, right at Rhaelle. And cursed.

She lunged at him, trying to pull Rhaegar from his arms. He casually swiped at her with his right hand and she fell to the ground, the world turning red with pain. Through the cloth in his mouth, the little boy whimpered.

Rhaelle spit blood and drew herself to her feet but the man was already running for the gate. There, a dark form stood, trying to pull the latch down. Alaenys! The man approached her but she grabbed the iron spike that lay nearby – she needed to hold it with two hands, it was so heavy – and pointed it straight at his face. In the brief moment he took to assess the new situation, Rhaelle came down on him again, kicking and biting.

"Pull back!" Alaenys cried and aimed a kick at the intruder's head. "Pull back, so I can hit him!"

Rhaelle tried but the man seemed to know that she was his only defense – she and Rhaegar, so he constantly put one of them between himself and the spike. Finally, Alaenys threw her weapon aside and started circling them, preventing him from rising and stepping on his hands and arms at each chance. He grunted with pain and grabbed her foot, trying to trip her up.

Suddenly, a shining blade found its way to his forehead. "What's going on?" an unfamiliar voice asked. "Why are you fighting the women? What are you doing to the child?"

"He's trying to abduct him!" Rhaelle cried and lumbered to her feet, then leaned over to grab Rhaegar who clung to her, sobbing, his eyes wide, his mouth forming a constant 'No, no,no!'.

Alaenys also scrambled to her feet and looked over her shoulder at the gate that was now wide open. It was a good thing she hadn't managed to latch it on!

"Thank you… for your kind help," Rhaelle splattered through her thorn mouth. "How…?"

Between fearful looks at their enemy who was lying on the ground with the sword still touching his forehead, she saw that their savior was actually a boy, no older than Duncan, dark-haired, broad-shouldered and… utterly confused at what he had just taken a part in. He inclined his head and Rhaelle approved, since a gallant bow would take his aim away. "My lady," he said. "I am Robar Baratheon. I was on my way to King's Landing to take part in the Great Council since my father fell suddenly ill and summoned me."

"Very well," the Princess said. "As for me, I am Rhaelle Targaryen. Now, if you'd be so kind? Stay here with this villain until we bring some rope to tie him down."