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Blood of Dragons, Grass of Red

The Summer Princess

This morning, Naeryne woke up quite late, shivering with cold; remembering her dreams of icy mountains and the freezing contests of her childhood, she realized that she must have been cold for quite a while; a quick look at the hearth showed her that Tyalla had actually forgotten to add kindling before she fell asleep on her pallet. Naeryne did it now, working as quietly as she could, though she knew that the old woman who had been attending her lady mother since she had been a girl younger than Naeryne had recently started going deaf, too. Still, she did not want to take even the slightest chance of making Tyalla realize that she had had another lapse in her duty. Tyalla had recently started to notice that all too often, she forgot what Naeryne had sent her for on the way to the other room to get it.

Task accomplished, Naeryne went into the adjacent chamber to wash and ask how the children were doing. The army wouldn't be back until noon, so she had plenty of time to make herself presentable. She sat in front of the looking-glass to brush her hair out and for a fleeting moment, her mind flew back to the ritual that had been almost a daily occurrence when she and her husband were together – he wielding the brush and wondering aloud what she did to her hair to make it this glossy and she smiling as if she were holding a secret when the truth was, the hair simply grew on her head this way. Despite everything that had happened, despite her aversion to him, the memory stirred something in her that she reluctantly recognized as longing. For the first time since Maekar's departure, she wondered whether he had found a companion among the camp whores that always accompanied hosts. He probably had. This did not bother her unduly, for in their world men were expected to stray. But did he brush her hair out?

A bitter smile touched her lips. No, he wasn't. He preferred silver hair to all other, Naeryne had known it long before it had been announced that they would be wed.

She broke her fast and chose the gown she was about to wear, all the while waiting for Tyalla to awake, for the old woman would be heartbroken if her mistress was attired without her participation. The handmaidens filled her bathtub with hot water and she relaxed there for a while, scrubbing her skin and washing her hair. Finally, just when she thought she would need to rouse Tyalla from her sleep, the old woman appeared, looking apologetic. Smiling, Naeryne told her it was time to start getting dressed, and Tyalla busied herself with the details with her usual practicality.

"Violet," she murmured. "You should dress in violet today, my lady. Violet silks suit you marvelously."

"No," Naeryne said sharply. "Violet makes my eyes dark."

She never wore colours that made her lilac eyes darker. Aelinor Targaryen was indigo-eyed, the colour changing all too often to her mother's Dornish black. Today, she would put on a gown of crimson – a colour of joy and triumph that would make her eyes purple and lend some colour to her pale cheeks. Tyalla pressed some paint against her cheekbones and Naeryne stared hard into the looking-glass to make sure she would not overdo it. With the condition she had been since the beginning of the last, tragic pregnancy, it was too easy to make herself look not pink-cheeked but feverish instead.

Both women saw the Queen's reflection into the looking-glass first. When they started to turn and offer their curtsies, Myriah waved them not to bother. "We don't have this much time," she said. "Keep working."

"We're almost ready, Your Grace," Naeryne said, trying to hide her surprise at seeing her goodmother here. Ever since her arrival from Summerhall, she had been keeping her distance from the rest of the royal family and they were quite respectable to her wishes, although the Queen was the only one Naeryne didn't have anything against. Myriah was not to blame for the taint that ran in Maekar's veins. But she was Maekar's mother and as strong as Naeryne's revulsion for her husband had become, she vaguely felt that she was being terribly unjust, so she avoided Myriah out of shame. Not that Myriah would meddle… overtly. But Naeryne still couldn't forget a conversation between mother and son that she had stumbled on years ago, when they were first married…

"Are you trying to wrap her in a silken cocoon, so she can be happy and content and as less bothersome as possible? I thought I've raised you to know better. You've let her sweet nature deceive you, I see. She won't be happy with a golden cobweb and she'll tear it apart."

"And stifle it in my mouth?" Maekar asked sardonically. "Is this what you long for, or what you're afraid might happen?"

Myriah raised her chin. "Does it matter? I do not presume to tell my children what to do and it's quite a relief, I might add. Between the day of Baelor's birth and the day you were finally grown up, I could outmatch any lord commanding his army in the giving orders department and it was terribly exhausting. I was merely curious as what you intended to do."

He looked irritated. "Please don't talk nonsense. Join the Silent Sisters, and then I might believe you truly intend to leave us alone. But while you're still around, I know it for sure that I'll be hearing how disgracefully I'm treating this lovely girl and how I am ruining my life but being so foolish, I cannot really see it."

"Very well," Myriah said calmly. "I'll admit that I am concerned about the mull you're intent to make out of it. I'd like to see this marriage bringing you peace of mind, if not happiness."

With time, Naeryne had realized just why Myriah had accepted her so readily. With more time, she had come to realize that no matter the Queen's initial motives, she had come to genuinely like and trust her. But that was because Naeryne had proved to be good for Maekar. Now, when she was downright unjust, she could hardly expect understanding on his mother's part.

"What jewels are you going to wear?" the Queen asked. With a smile, Naeryne realized that the end of all of it and her sons' anticipated return had brought the old Myriah back, with her expressive face and quick smile. Everyone in the Red Keep looked renewed – everyone but Daenerys, that was it. Naeryne herself was incredibly grateful that Maekar was safe and that it was over but at the same time, she expected his return with more than relief. There was fear, for the things between them were festering badly. She had never seen the poor thing that had slipped out of her womb but they both knew whose fault it was – if there was such a thing as a fault at all. So she kept her distance and he wasn't really trying to shorten it. I am the reason, Maekar thought. In his blood, Naeryne told herself. Unjust, so unjust. They both knew how unjust it was but they could not help but think so. So she was politely dismissive, he was willing to be respectful to her wishes, and the scent of burning bridges in the air was becoming strong enough to suffocate everyone around.

"I don't suppose I could borrow your rubies, my lady mother?" she asked without much hope, despite the fact that the Queen rarely wore them – she preferred emeralds and opals.

Myriah did not disappoint her. "I know you are not quite willing to flaunt jewels taken from a woman in Silviana Blackfyre's plea. But her side lost and everything that was hers is now ours by right. Her husband set it up this way, not you. You were granted those jewels as a sort of compensation for the ones you gave away. You'll be expected to wear them at the army's return. Such is the way of the world."

Naeryne sighed. She knew that even without her goodmother saying it. Silently, she reached in the casket and took a garnet necklace out. Red like blood, she thought. Like the grass Daeron won't stop talking about. Still, she was a bit offended by the presumption that she needed Myriah to teach her the ways of the world. Despite her gentle nature, she was not unversed in those. And while she would not cherish wearing those jewels, she would do what needed to be done. It wasn't the moment to show how gentle and generous she was. That would be behavior fit for the little trifle Maekar had first mistaken her for.

A few hours later…

Till her dying day, Naeryne never forgot the shock she felt when the carriage door opened and the woman came out. The exuberant shouts of the crowd turned to mocking jeers; in this moment, Naeryne realized why they had transported the captive in a closed carriage. It had not been a mistake by omission that would be so typical of Maekar and less – of Baelor. No, it had been a kindness, a way to protect her from the gleeful scorn that was now being casted her way from all sides. Had the smallfolk been able to have even a glimpse of her face, she would have been literally spat upon.

Next to Naeryne, Daenerys' breath hissed between her teeth.

Silviana Blackfyre slowly crossed the short distance, accompanied by two men-at-arms who shielded her from the scorn of the crowd; with her eyes brimming with tears of sympathy, Naeryne saw her sinking into a deep curtsy before Daeron and Myriah.

Again, Daenerys gasped. Aelinor caught her hand. "Control yourself," she hissed under her breath. "It isn't the moment to fall apart now."

Right now, Naeryne had little patience for Daenerys' anguish but it would not do to let her make something to shame all of them. So as soon as the ceremony was over, she and Aelinor took Daenerys aside and headed for the nearest door. Naeryne could feel Maekar's eyes on her. No doubt he thought she was avoiding him – in the light of their recent exchanges, there was no other conclusion he could possibly draw. But there was no time for explanations. And he wouldn't understand anyway. He didn't have it in him to be sympathetic to carelessness – with him, it was either doing what was right, so there was no need of pangs of conscience, or doing what turned out to be wrong, so he could berate himself over being such a fool. But conscious carelessness and sorry for having been careless he would never fathom.

Aelinor's chambers were the closest ones to the great hall. As soon as they reached the bedchamber, Daenerys slumped over a coffer, as if she could not reach the bed.

"She looks like nothing, did you see?" The face she raised to them was wet with tears. "I remember when they first wed, what a great beauty she was. But I saw none of that today. I didn't know, I didn't realize…"

"What?" Aelinor snapped, tired of all those pretensions. All of them knew that Daenerys had wanted to marry Daemon without ever sparing a thought of the wife he already had. Aelinor's own predicament lay in another scope of life, entirely, and she had chosen another path, one that led to many anguishes and sorrows – but at least there were no pangs of conscience when it was too late for them to be any good at all.

Daenerys bit back a sob. "That she gave him all she had," she said softly. "That she has been facing the dangers of the birthing chamber for years while he flaunted his relationships at court for all the world to see – and yes, his love for me included. She was so beautiful once," Daenerys said again. "She isn't anymore. She's just a haggard, careworn woman who was grievously hurt by a war that was not hers and before – by the things I've done. I've encouraged him, you see. I wanted to marry him without ever giving a second thought at how she would take it. All the while, she had been destroying herself to do her duty by him while he flirted with me and had me convinced that I was entitled to his greatest love and care. Not once did I think that I was a complicit in ruining her. And now, Aegor has left her behind as if she is worth nothing – and never was."

Aelinor sighed and shook her head. "Ah, so you've finally seen," she said but there was no malice in her voice, just calm reality. She went on saying something else but Naeryne barely listened.

She has been facing the dangers of the birthing chamber for years while he flaunted his relationships at court for all the world to see.

If Maekar was a different man, it might have been very well been Naeryne's own fate – constantly heavy with child, vulnerable, a stranger in her own body while her fickle husband chased after other women in front of everyone. She was well aware that he had not wed her willingly, that she had taken a place he had meant for another. He could have easily expected of her to turn a blind eye to his public straying, to content herself with the nursery and her embroideries. But he hadn't. He had stayed all those moons when she had been losing herself, losing her grace, sharing her body with strangers. If he had affairs, he was circumspect enough not to flaunt them. As to what hurt her most, his emotional attachment to Aelinor, now she saw even that in an entirely new light: it was a well-known fact only for those who cared enough to remember of how things had used to be – before he wed Naeryne. Since then, he had been guarding his affection faultlessly, had cared about Naeryne enough not to let it show. And the rumours had slowly faded. Even today, he had barely paid any attention to Aelinor, no matter what he felt. He was careful to never be hurtful to Naeryne – and he cared enough to actually take the time to know what would hurt her.

He had never actually tried to force himself upon her or punish her bodily after the last birth, even when she deliberately provoked him into it – but then, she had known all along that he wouldn't, hadn't she? She had thought herself so brave when the reality was, she was just lucky. Not because Maekar was faultless. Just because being casually dismissive of his wife was not one of his faults.

She looked at Daenerys and felt sick. The thought of being pitied by someone like her was too much to bear. "Rise," she snapped. "Rise and wash your face. Then, we'll go to back to the hall and you'll smile and act happy, and be as charming as you know how. And oh, you won't show any pity towards her. In fact, it would be best if you don't look her at all."

She knew how hard the last one would be but well, everything came at a price. She, Maekar, Aelinor, the poor woman in the hall – they had all learned that. Daenerys had been given the luxury of being a woman when it suited her and a petulant child when it did not. Now, the price was exacted.

Daenerys did what she was told, Aelinor applied some paint to her newly scrubbed face, and the three of them headed back to the great hall to face their duty.