RHAENYRA
Rhaenyra is no stranger to waking up drowning.
On the night of the last, unseasonably warm day that Rhaenyra, Laenor, and Daemon had ever been together, they got really fucked up on the beach. It's that memory that she clings to as she's ripped away from her husband, and the waves try to wash the rest away.
They'd decided to be responsible adults, and test their glass candles before Laenor faked his death and ran away. After, they laid on the sand, which Laenor claimed was trying to eat him.
"Help, I'm sinking," Laenor had claimed, and he took shelter with his head upon her lap.
She'd already been laying upon Daemon's chest. The world was so dizzy otherwise. The unseasonable warmness had also been washed away by nightfall, but her husbands had kept her warm. But that left one person missing. "Where's Qarl?" Rhaenyra had asked.
"He said it was cold and went inside," Laenor said. "I said he shouldn't fight the sand, but he said he was immune!"
Rhaenyra turned her head upon the sand to confirm his absence, then turned away. The candles still burned, and she had no further desire to look upon that light. It was unpleasantly bright. It did not glow softly like a candle, nor did it flicker. The light did something strange to colours too. Whites were bright as fresh-fallen snow, yellow shone like gold, reds turned to flame, but the shadows were so black they looked like holes in the world. Or mayhaps it was just the tea, though the light felt different and truer than the way the world seemed to move and shine in strange ways just for her.
'So,' Rhaenyra had said as she'd watched them set them alight hours prior. 'It burns but is not consumed. What feeds it?'
'What feeds a dragon's fire?' Daemon had prompted. Laenor then stirred as if to answer, but Daemon pointed a dagger at him. 'No pedantic answers!' He'd then held up the dagger and asked for a volunteer.
"Oh," Rhaenyra said. "He fed the candle. That's why the sand won't feed on him."
Daemon's laugh shook his chest that lay beneath her, coursing through her body. And then he'd turned reminiscent. "You know the Sea Snake wouldn't tell us for the longest time how to light them? He'd make us bring them to him every time like we were children with toys."
"How did he even know?" Rhaenyra asked, only half transfixed on the stars.
"He spent some time at this tavern in Volantis that used them," Laenor said. "They didn't do anything with them, just lit them for atmosphere."
But another mystery plagued Rhaenyra. "I still don't get how you two knew how to do anything with them." As little as that anything had been.
Daemon sighed. "I don't know. I still cannot figure out what substance it was. Not this, clearly." No, all the tea did then was make the sand feel as ravenous as dragons, now that Laenor had pointed it out.
Rhaenyra clung to Daemon tighter so as not to fall into its gullet. "That's what you get for mixing substances," she chided.
"I think it was that blue stuff," Laenor said.
"That was ink," Daemon said. He shifted to speak to Rhaenyra. "Our imbecile husband—"
"You're not our husband yet," Laenor reminded them. Apparently Daemon's language had caught on.
Daemon ignored him. "Insisted we all try this vile blue slime he'd gotten from some Qartheen traders.
"They said it would open all doors closed!"
"They were fucking with you," Daemon said, hands sliding around Rhaenyra's upper body. His hands had been warming her exposed flesh above her neckline, and she objected when they left to merely feel the fabric of her dress. The air was cold without them.
Laenor sniggered, his own hands clutching at her legs to stave off the sand. "I don't think it's your dress he's feeling.
She looked down to track those hands. Oh. "Daemon, what are you doing?"
"I didn't get to see them," he whined. "Or even feel them, really. Laenor claims they doubled after Jace. It's killing me, Rhaenyra!"
Rhaenyra laughed, knowing he was not getting in while she laid down; not through that bodice or her stays. "Do not tear my dress," she ordered, but otherwise did not stop him. But neither did she help him, for she wanted to wait until they had light. She wanted to see if he'd light up with that same comically boyish expression Harwin made upon discovering their growth — like a little boy being surprised with a castle full of candy and toys and puppies, and being told it was all his.
And then she did grow sad, thinking of her lost love who reminded her so much of a puppy. Until she looked down to see Daemon still pawing at her bodice like it's a closed door, as futilely but determinedly as a — "Seven Hells," she'd exclaimed. "How did I not see it before?"
"What?" both her husbands had said, still half lost in their own addled contemplations.
"Daemon… you are no man."
"I know," he bragged, now batting at her chest. "I'm a dragon."
"No. You're a cat."
Laenor gasped like it was the most world-shattering revelation he'd ever heard. He even forgot about the hungry sand. "She's right!"
"I beg your pardon!" Daemon demanded, though he did not seem to care much in earnest. Most of his attention was still directed at her bodice.
"Daemon," Rhaenyra said. "You storm off and wander around on your own. You're standoffish yet also incredibly needy and clingy — but only on your own terms."
"You refuse to be told what to do," Laenor added. "You're always throwing tantrums and knocking things off tables. Not to mention the grooming." Rhaenyra kicked him, but only softly.
"You seek out heat," she continued. "You were always exploring the caves at Dragonstone when I was young. Hunting for eggs." And she had accompanied him, once upon a time. "And you're always either lounging in an obnoxiously informal manner, or lurking in and watching from the shadows."
"They called you Lord Fleabottom," Laenor said.
She gasped. "You keep company with rat catchers."
Laenor picks up as soon as she's finished. "Even Caraxes has a cat-like personality compared to other dragons. He—"
"Enough!" Daemon declared. "I draw the line at involving Caraxes in your slanders."
And then Laenor presented the strongest evidence yet. "Caraxes? Or is it... Purraxes," he'd asked as if solving arithmatic.
Daemon decided to fight mathematics with semantics. "I'm afraid that in an attempt to make sense of the chaos that is my existence, your low tolerance for mind-altering substances has led you to seek out patterns that do not exist."
"Now whose being pedantic," Rhaenyra taunted.
Laenor sprang up as far as he could without actually sitting up. "Wait! Pet. Antic? Daemon engages in pet antics? Like say… cat antics."
Rhaenyra gasped.
"This is absurd," Daemon declared. "You're stringing together completely incidental—" and then he realized his mistake.
"String, Daemon?" Rhaenyra had said.
Daemon had sighed in defeat, though he did not concede with words. "I will no longer indulge your sport," he'd declared as he continued to paw at her bodice.
Laenor claimed their victory. "You know what that sounds like? Something a cat would say." Which made no sense, but still made sense to them. Toadstool tea makes everything make sense that doesn't, after all.
"New plan," Daemon snapped. "I just kill you for real; no one knows the difference."
Rhaenyra looked to Laenor in alarm. "Cat!" they both declared. And then her laugh had been so sharp that she'd thrust her chest into Daemon's still-pawing hands. Too hard, and too suddenly, hitting the exact wrong spot against her stays.
"Ow!" Oh. Fuck.
Daemon retracted his paws. "What's wrong?"
She should not be that sensitive. She's not that sensitive. But it wasn't the tea, because she'd felt that exact sensation before. Oh. Fuck. "I think I'm pregnant." And then she laughed. And then her husbands laughed.
No one wanted to venture too far into the hungry sand, so they'd stayed there for a time. Rhaenyra had even fallen asleep. It was cold. But her husbands had kept her warm.
Until she woke up drowning.
"Laenor!" she yelled, scrambling to grab their supplies. "You said we were fine! You're supposed to be the tide expert."
Laenor had at least thought to grab both candles before they were swept away. "Well, I didn't know where we were. Or when we were."
Daemon observed uselessly from the sidelines — like a cat afraid of water. "Well done, Cousin. You finally got Rhaenyra w—"
"Daemon," they both yelled. Not only because of the bad jape, but because he was completely dry and had therefore woken up before them to watch the waves roll in — onto them.
Truths discovered on toadstool tea are often no less true. Nor are they less memorable. For even after that night, Daemon remained a cat. Much to his annoyance, and Rhaenyra's delight, she'd often look to him and see a cat in his mannerisms. But now she sees sharks and squids and vipers.
And leeches.
Wait. Actual leeches.
"The fuck!"
The grand leech stumbles back upon seeing her awaken, and approaches once both of their shock has subsided. And then he says those farcical words, the only two words that have become even more intolerable in their hollowness than I'm sorry. "Your Grace?"
"Why, the fuck."
"The… cold air from last night. You have the chills."
She sits up and hacks. "Right" she sniffles, "all that cold 'air' I inhaled." She feigns wiping her nose with her hand to indicate he should pass her a handkerchief, which he is at least smart enough to do.
"Your Grace," he says once again, and she decides she prefers the intentionally mocking way the shark and the old viper say it. No, Old Viper. If she's going to be here for a while, might as well start handing out proper nouns. Except for the shark, she feels like it would offend him more to be left out — if he even understood. "If your nose troubles you as well," the Grand Leech continues, "perhaps I should add—"
"Absolutely not! Have you people not had your fill? Can you leave nothing to metaphor?"
"Valyrians used leeches for all manner of remedies," the Andal explains.
"Misconception. They're an easy way to draw blood for magic. Depictions neglected to include the context."
"Your father—"
"Yes, my father. My father the King. The King who was my father." She coughs yet again. "Acquiescent to a fault, and did not know when to tell the leeches no." Rhaenyra rattles her ankle chain to make a point.
Much to her satisfaction, her point then rattles the Grand Leech. And he looks away with that familiar discomfort the sea monsters — or… water monsters? No, stop being so pedantic — use to hide from guilt. "Very well," he actually says. "We will try another remedy." Perhaps he's rattled from her point, or at least from the guilt of letting her take ill. And then she does recall that there was nearly a score of men on that pyre, and not one objected. But she's ill, and decides to regain her energy before deciding who gets tortured and in what manner.
She looks to him expectantly, but he makes no motion to remove his spawn. "It would be a waste of time to pry them off," he explains. "They should have their fill in a quarter-hour."
But Rhaenyra has been metaphorically inclined, as of late, and does not like the idea of leeches sucking her blood until they've decided they've had their fill. And Rhaenyra's not the only one in chains, so she twists the ones that dangle from the Grand Leech's neck and pulls him down to face her. "Get. These. Off. Of. Me."
"I'd do as she says," Aegon's voice advises. "She doesn't have much to lose from strangling you, and I'd be too busy laughing to stop her. Where do you want this? Mother doesn't want to look at it any longer."
Rhaenyra turns from the Grand Leech to find Aegon standing at the curtained entrance. Honestly, it felt like just anyone could come and go freely from her room — aside from Rhaenyra, of course. But she pushes her reflexive annoyance away, because Aegon comes bearing a gift.
Beneath the childish artwork, there's a glass candle in Aegon's hands.
I need my blood for the glass candle, but I cannot cut myself without other noticing. Leeches live off the same feeding for months.
She releases the trembling, robed leech into the waters. Trying not to look too enthusiastic about the development, she reaches for anything else. "I'm thirsty. Get me water," she orders the Grand Leech. He retreats to a table of supplies a few yards away.
She turns to Aegon. "Next to the bed is fine," she says, remembering that Aegon had referred to it as a reading light. Ugh, Aegon and Aegon, that was getting confusing. Daemon had no doubt meant it as a slight they'd named their son — the son they'd conceived on the night the Green Viper stabbed her — and so had Rhaenyra, to an extent. But she'd also meant to make a statement that, henceforth, Aegon was to be treated as a common family name, rather than an indicator that such child will one day ascend — which had no doubt been the Old Viper's intention. But without bynames it was quickly becoming confusing.
Aegon sets the dragonglass pillar down on the floor, as it's too tall to comfortably light atop a table. "Oh," he says, fishing into his pockets. "Lord Beesbury handed this over separately; said it was expensive. They'll bring in the rest of the items altogether, but Mother already cleared this too. Actually, she was wanting to do it herself, but she annoyed me so I took it." And then he dangles the necklace by its chain. He's right, it is expensive.
Because it's Valyrian steel.
She does let one sob escape before masking it as a cross between a sniffle and a cough, but she's not fooling anyone. She takes the necklace to wrap around her hand and thanks the Green Viper's gods that Aegon's dissent brought this here before his mother could slither in to comfort her with this most generous gift.
The Grand Leech returns with a cup, which she eagerly snatches and upends. But then she gags and spits most of it out. "What is this?" she demands. "Seed?"
"It wasn't me!" Aegon promises.
The Grand Leech trembles yet again, as if she is not the prisoner chained to a bed. "W-w-w-we thought it best to thicken your liquids until your throat—"
"Get the fuck out," she snaps, both annoyed at his cowardice and embarrassed that her tears spill in his presence. He actually does leave, likely less out of respect for her space, and moreso to change his underclothes. He does send in a gargoyle to stare them down, however. She sticks her tongue out as it settles into the corner, then promptly tries to ignore it.
She sets the cup upon the bedside table, and Aegon eyes it curiously. "Ugh," she says, wiping away the tears, "do me a favour and warn me if your mother has any more small mercies planned. I've cried quite enough in front of my enemies."
"I wouldn't worry about crying in front of the Small Council," he says, taking the discarded cup. "We've all been there. Last year, I inhaled a lot of… something. And I woke up only in time to be late for this group supper Mother threw. And I sat down at the table and there was only one slow-honey-roasted chicken leg left, but it was on Aemond's side of the table, and Aemond knows it's my favourite and that I hadn't eaten all day. And it's not even his favourite; he prefers mutton to begin with and doesn't even have strong feelings about chicken and there was also mutton next to him and beef stew and other kinds of chicken and goose, but he looked me in the eye, snatched it, smiled, and he ate it!" His eyes bug in indignation at the memory. "And then I cried at the dinner table," he actually brags, likely due to the disruption.
He swirls the suspiciously viscous liquid. "Mother was furious, at me! For 'making a spectacle over chicken.'" And then his words turn bitter. "But Aemond makes a spectacle and cries and it's oh, better spend all day doting on him and cutting his favourite foods for him and reading to him and brushing hair and rubbing his back to get him to sleep while telling him it's all going to be better some day."
Cackles manage to escape her sore throat. "Thank you," she quickly runs through the options she'd been turning over, "Valonqar."
He tsks. "Mother and Grandsire won't like that, Mandia." But Aegon certainly does, because he smiles into the cup he studies. He then braves a test sniff.
"Well," she says, returning to studying her necklace, "I'm not calling you Good Brother, Brother is too general with our baby brother around, and the others don't understand when I'm differentiating you from my son by using that mangled Andal pronunciation that makes you sound like an egg on top of whatever word comes next, because they all do it too."
Aegon gasps. "They do! How did I not notice? And to think of all the puns I've been missing out on…" He finally goes in for the taste. He gags after half a sip. "Bleh! What is this?"
Rhaenyra starts to tell him it's probably just a type of thickened bone broth, but another cough comes out instead. She motions to rub her chest, but recoils from the forgotten leeches at the last moment. "Ah!" she coughs out. "I hate everyone." At the least she does not seem to have a fever. And yet she's still sick enough to justify putting off her… planning until her recovery. Truly the best of both worlds. Two terrible worlds.
Aegon appraises her. "Oh… so Cole and Tyland really did it, huh?"
She sniffles and rubs her forehead. "Ugh, so that's who the squid was?"
"What?"
"Nevermind. I know it's silly to ask why at this point. So I'll settle for why specifically throw me into the ocean?" Has she been speaking her metaphors aloud? Was it some kind of irony they intended?
Aegon pulls up a seat next to her bed. "I imagine it has something to do with Prince Daemon's parting words. Well, some of them. That man said and did a lot after you were out." And he then proceeds to summarize all that Daemon said and did, and how he took her idea way too far, for a stupid jape he'd already tried and failed no less
Still eager for distraction, she's already planning out how she's going to throw Daemon into the ocean, but then Aegon gets to the message, which she quickly realizes is also a valuable test that he's handed her, and she decides that having Jace throw him into the ocean just once will suffice. Two vengeful birds, one cat in water.
It wasn't fair to set him up like that. Seven Hells, he might have a point. For the future, that is. She makes no concessions for the past. Fine, she'll do it herself. After he kills the sea monsters.
She gives Aegon a response that will hopefully start the test, then puts the message hidden within the message away for a while, though she does worry that the corner of her mind where she puts things away for later is turning into Baela's exploding wardrobe. And then she puts that thought away too; she can only handle so much at once, and she'd best start with her physical well-being — which was not fairing too well at the moment.
A thin layer of salt coats her hair and skin, which is at least better than waking up to discover she'd been mysteriously bathed in her sleep, so, that's a positive. And she's apparently not with fever. But her chest is not only covered in leeches, it's full of cobwebs. Her voice comes out hoarse, her nose burns, her hair is yellowed from the fuel and as dry that fucking straw, and her head pounds from within. She's unsure if the last part stems from the cold or the water or when the shark tossed her over his shoulder and 'accidentally' hit her on a few doorways. "How long have I been down, and what did the Grand Lee— Grandmaester do to me?" she finally asks.
Aegon shrugs. "I don't think he gave you anything, after the venom. And not too long, it's only late afternoon, and we were all out late to begin with. Mother woke up early, but she's… had a very different week than you've had."
Rhaenyra sniggers. "Oh, right, I poisoned her." She glares at him. "Talebearer."
He turns serious. "I never said I'd keep it secret," he reminds her, and they exchange a look for one brief moment, in acknowledgement that they are probably the only two in the Red Keep that are not fooling themselves. And then he pouts. "But I should have. Grandsire has no sense of humour. He took away all my fangs. I hadn't gotten to him yet! And I already did all that work for the Grandmaester."
Thinking of the Grand Leech, and the leeches, Rhaenyra looks down. Ugh. But they also present several opportunities. She needs to save them. Time to test Aegon's Valyrian. "Can you get me a container of water and something thin to pry these things off with? And while you're doing that, look for a place to hide it later." she asks. She already noticed that these 'maids' did not know much about being a maid beyond what a few days of training could offer. If she didn't instruct them to clean certain crevices of the suite, she suspects they won't think to do so.
"Why?" he asks.
"The next time your mother tries to comfort me, I'm going to drop one down the back of her dress," she answers honestly. She doesn't need all of them for the candle, after all. And it was just petty enough that they wouldn't be able to justify hurting her or the dragons. Hightowers do love their justifications.
He stands. "Alright, I'll help. But only if you do Grandsire first."
Perfect. That would be more difficult, so she could justify holding onto the leeches for quite a while beforehand. "Deal."
Once she's dealt with the little leeches, she has Aegon send detailed instructions to the kitchens and summon a keyholder. The shark is only too happy to 'let her out to play on her long leash,' because the shark is still stuck on whatever measly scraps of 'wit' that more clever men offer him. Apparently, Daemon's departure did little to quell his thirst.
Even Aegon notices his enthusiasm. "You know," he says, puttering about as she instructs him on how to brew her soothing tea, "I think Prince Daemon had a point. I think he might be taking unnecessary liberties to punish some kind of past slight. Especially after that ocean incident."
She considers. "Well, he did at least stop the squid before it could put its tentacles where they don't belong, so… that's something." Though she suspects that something has more to do with his own cloak of righteousness than her honour. "Or the shark is just territorial of its prey," she adds. Or its master's property. Not that it had stopped him from biting her.
Aegon sets the tea down and takes the chair opposite her sofa. "Oh, I get it. Metaphors." Because those are the types of metaphors Aegon understands.
"Yes, Valonqar." His mouth turns up just a little with each use, which bodes well for the pretender, though she'd yet to settle on his name yet. Rhaenyra did not feel like settling on anything regarding that one yet. Still, she could hardly continue to call him baby brother to his face. Or any of the other names that came naturally to her.
Aegon had apparently been pondering the metaphor. "Hmm. That does make sense though. Tyland has been obsessed with your tits since that time you spilt milk at the council meeting.
"What!" she exclaims, startled out of her thoughts. "How do you know about that?"
"Everyone knows," he says casually. The fuck. "Tyland told everyone. He pretended like he thought it was gross but in that way where… well, you know." He ponders. "Come to think of it, I don't think he has much respect for women."
And then she does think of the squid, and the reason she broke his nose, and the order she gave Daemon. I'm missing Luke's wedding. She doesn't even know if they're married yet, or what kind of ceremony they decided on, or if Daemon will—
Daemon. There's no one to stop him from pulling that asinine stunt with the oil. No way he misses it. But at least if he's there they'll have to keep the ceremony small. Still, poor Luke, though she knows he'll accept it with a laugh and a brave if blushing face. But Rhaena… mayhaps she should have the privilege of pushing Daemon into the ocean.
She stores the thought away in Baela's exploding wardrobe, but tears can still leak through wardrobes. She once again tries to pass it off as sniffles and coughs, which then turn into real coughs. Her airways still burn, and the dry air isn't helping much. She needs steam if she's going to sleep with any comfort. And she needs to get give Aegon something to do so she can cry again, because ugh.
"Aegon," she says, for it sounds too contrived to say Valonqar every single time. "Could you possibly get me a couple of things?" And give me time to sulk, she leaves unsaid.
"Like what?" he asks. Clearly not inclined to put in effort, but not disinclined to help her, at least.
"Two things. First, I need to wash my hair tonight." He perks up with interest. "No, Aegon." Because pet names are for good behaviour, and Rhaenyra has trained both cats and dragons. There's a reason she doesn't shout My Love! when she's annoyed. "I need you to steal one of our baby brother's purple hair-cleansing bars. That fuel and saltwater fucked up my hair. "
Aegon cocks his head. "Aemond doesn't have purple hair cleanser."
"Those split ends tell me otherwise."
Aegon spits out a laugh. "Very well. But I'll just ask and say it's for you. He'll probably give you anything you ask him for right now." And then he... catches himself. Which means he fumbled. "Uh, because… he's your husband… is why. Our baby brother is sentimental like that."
Rhaenyra knows how to walk on a geyser field — don't. She ignores whatever fumble Aegon made, but she is glad to know she has the pretender's goodwill for now. "Don't ask for it," she tells Aegon. "He'll deny he has any." Because the only soapmaker who supplies them lives on Dragonstone, and the sole buyer from King's Landing goes to strange lengths to remain anonymous. So insecure.
He smiles. "Alright. I just need an excuse to get past Mother. She's probably still in there, splitting her time between coddling him and searching your clothes for hidden messages."
She puts the first half in Baela's exploding wardrobe, but the second half does have her wondering. "Aren't you supposed to be there? Weren't you only supposed to be here to deliver the light?"
Aegon rubs his hands together. "I already got everything I need from that job. Oh! But I know how to get in and out! Anything else?" he asks, now enthused that the favour involves shenanigans and stealing from Aemond the chicken stealer. And throne stealer. And dragon stealer. Seven Hells, that child loves to steal in spirit without technically stealing.
She coughs again. Right, she needs to breath. "I need you to send for a small brazier, and get me enough stones to fill it. But not those palace rocks they use for heating bundles; I need to inhale the steam from them, and they smell foul. And whatever you do, make sure those stones don't come from anywhere where they might have been sitting in water for a long period of time. Because if any water is entrapped deep within, and those stones are heated high enough for long enough, they could potentially explode." Rhaenyra realizes her mistake a moment too late.
Aegon's mouth is open, his lips forming an O. He trembles with excitement until he realizes there will be no further request, then bursts from his seat. "I'm on it!" he declares, and frolics from the room before she can stop him. She has no doubt he'll come back with two bags of stones, because Aegon is proving to be all the bad parts of her husband. And all the bad parts of herself.
But at least it gives her more time to cry! She even gives the gargoyles some cleaning instructions so they don't just stand there staring. Not only were they not well-trained in domestic labour, but they clearly were not trained in the "seeing without looking," gaze that even a common guard knows to use. Knowing what she knows about Larys, especially what Harwin refused to accept, it was intentional. But creepy or no, the gargoyles will tell no tales of her tears.
Unless... one of them truly does have a tongue, and Larys wants her to fall complacent around them. But who would he trust not to tell tales to others? Someone he has experience with? So, it would be one of the more competent maids, probably, not some woman straight from the dungeons.
She does console herself with the fact that said hypothetical talking gargoyle would have little interest in telling tales of her sulking and sobbing, at the least. So she indulges in a nice little self-pitying, midday cry whilst clutching her necklace and remembering the warmth of her husband's arms, and tries her hardest not to think about her children and how they are now separated from both of their parents because apparently she's still a stupid Princess at heart — she certainly isn't a Queen.
Her other supplies arrives well before Aegon returns, which she takes as her cue to compose herself. Fortunately, her actual sniffles disguise the evidence. She goes through her father's Valyrian collection and ends up setting up her steamer herself, because the maids give her uncomprehending looks, and they cannot exactly ask questions.
Aegon returns early into the evening, and as Rhaenyra predicted, he brandishes two sacks of stones in glee. He set them down. "Alright! Let's do this. So these ones are the, oh, no, wait, no it's these ones." He looks back and forth between the two identical sacks. "Uh oh. No, these ones," he decides.
"It's alright," she assures him. "The odds are low regardless. Thank you, Valonqar. These are perfect. And you had them washed? I didn't even remember to ask." He latches onto her mundane praise like the leeches they've hidden away.
Yikes, Alicent. If her husbands return before anything too unsavoury can take place, she might actually just have to adopt Aegon out of guilt. But then she sees him leering at the youngest of her tongueless maids, the one who sets the table for their early supper. Rhaenyra says nothing, because she's asked him for quite a few favours today, and she is a prisoner, so she settles for distracting him — for now. "What do you have going on in your bag of mischief?" She nods to Aegon's satchel that he'd been so careful to keep upright.
He beams and stands to retrieve it. "My reason for returning to Mother and Aemond's room." He rolls his eyes with the barb. The fuck? But she puts it away, because if she was supposed to know whatever was going on with Aemond, Aegon would have immediately and enthusiastically told her. Best not to reach into blind corners; she'll end up with another arm full of shark bites and leeches.
Fortunately, Aegon's bounty provides a distraction. A lykāpas perzot! "I had thought they'd all died!" she says. Otherwise she would have asked for one. Gods be damned does her face need soothing.
"Your family sent that, though it drove Mother crazy! Why?"
"I'll tell you later," she promises. "It's a very long story." And it still hurts to think of Luke on his possible wedding day — she's done enough crying for now. So instead she directs the conversation to the plant itself, and discovers that many still survive in the gardens, enough to hopefully make juice tomorrow.
Aegon cannot seek his pleasures in the city tonight, due to an important presentation in the morning, so he lingers into the evening for something to do. They return to the seating area, and Rhaenyra decides that if she's going to be here for a while, ugh, she should have some more comfortable, lounge furniture brought it. And... it might entice her... siblings to spend time in here. Bonding.
They cannot murder me at the last moment when my husbands take the city if they're attached to me! Hopefully.
"They still haven't given me a ball," Aegon complains.
"They didn't bother with one for me either," Rhaenyra says as she leans over her steamer. "Not until I was married, and even then I had to insist. And of course they made one for Alicent at the same time."
"Oh!" he says, bouncing in his seat. "Do you have anything funny I can use as a council ball?"
"Aemond's stones."
"Sorry Mandia," he says in a tone both teasing and firm. "Aemond's stones are pretty essential."
Essential to the ornamentation of my throne, mayhaps. Whether or not the Old Viper is still alive whilst she has her husband stuff them into his mouth remains to be seen. He might succumb to the early torture before he can choke to death.
Casual acceptance of rape aside, Aegon does not make for bad company, and he clearly reciprocates the sentiment. Especially once he discovers that Rhaenyra is willing to explain things he doesn't understand, and despite his understanding of their predicament, there is still a lot Aegon doesn't understand. Mostly because there's a lot Aegon's never thought about. Aegon didn't seem to think about much, but from what Rhaenyra had seen, people didn't really ask him to think about anything in particular — they simply yelled at him for not thinking about something particular. But once asked to think about something, he is actually quite good at understanding — if he puts his mind to it.
Rhaenyra begins to suspect that he understands what's happening simply because he doesn't understand why everyone else would want to pretend. Which means he has no reservations asking her questions that pertain to said situation. "So," he says as he filters down his list of things he doesn't understand. "Why did the Council get all weird and metaphorical when they were saying I shouldn't be alone with you?" He relays a certain breakfast conversation the morning after Rhaenyra became the Queen-in-Chains.
"The fuck!"
"What?"
"Aegon," she snaps, though it is not him she is angry at. She gives him a look that she hopes conveys that. "They think I'm going to seduce you so they have to give me moon tea." She leaves the letting you think you're leading her part unexplained; she does not want to give him ideas.
"Oh… that's clever."
She bites back a sigh, and they move on to the concept of busy work, which she explains by telling him of how Daemon would give the children an important mission to keep them busy.
"I see," he nods, "so you could fuck in peace."
"Yes, Aegon." Some things he truly is good at understanding.
"Wait a second!" He points to her. "You gave me busy work today. Someone else could have gotten you rocks."
"Well, I wanted to cry for a bit," she says, all out of fucks to give for the day.
"You could have said so."
"But my pride, Valonqar."
He gives her a knowing look. "I'm sorry, Mandia. But you're married to Aemond, at the mercy of Ser Kennel Master, and dependent on me for decent company. I think your pride is a lost cause."
She glares, but does not disagree.
He keeps her company until late in the evening when her bath is ready — and her stolen hair cleanser. "You were right," he says. "He had a whole hidden box of them." And then his eyes glint with the knowledge that Aemond didn't want him to know he had them.
"Out," the shark orders, when he comes to generously set her loose for an hour. Probably more so from the logistical nightmare of maintaining his sense of her modesty than any good will, however. Though she half expected the Green Viper to slither in and offer to wash her hair. Rhaenyra supposes she's busy with… whatever she's not supposed to know.
"You sure you don't need some help?" Aegon asks too hopefully.
The shark does something useful for a change and physically brings Aegon with him as he leaves the room. The shark is so strange.
Aegon takes no offense at being handled. "I'll stop by with more lykāpas perzot before my… important presentation tomorrow," he promises as the shark drags him out. Aegon is also so strange.
She shoos the maids away, only summoning them when she needs help rinsing her hair, which she usually had help with when she wasn't even sick, and did not have an arm covered in shark bites. Now that Daemon had so rudely awakened her, she found she had less tolerance for how she'd been treated so much like a doll, and just how often people had been touching her without her instruction.
Not that people touched Rhaenyra so much as handled Rhaenyra, as of late.
Mayhaps Daemon is not the only cat in the family.
She uses setting up the candles atop her glass candle as a chance to study it, and she's glad she did. The bottom tells her that she's to say that the four eldest made it years ago, and the... craftsmanship definitely supports that story. Someone had at least glued one of her rubies to the pillar.; judging by the poor attempts at dragons that still came out like butterflies, she was willing to bet it was Daemon. The better wax engravings tell her that Jof, Aegon and even Viserys decided to intervene.
That night she dreams of morning, and that morning the leeches return. "Your Grace," says the Grand Leech, "the steam is clogging your lungs and worsening your cough. And you risk running a fever. And I'm not comfortable with you drinking the juice of a plant so untested!" And Rhaenys had the nerve to claim Daemon killed Laena by not bringing her back to the Maesters.
When my husbands return, after I've slowly tortured you all to death, no, while I'm torturing you to death, I'm recruiting surgeons from Yi Ti and the Free Cities. She even says as much aloud, minus the husbands part.
The Grand Leech backs down after that, on the condition that she drink the brightbalm tea he's prepared. She's always despised the bitter taste, but it's better than leeches, and he did go through the trouble of adding an assortment of herbs to make it more palatable, but it still overpowers everything. Still, it's best to be seen compromising sometimes, so she chokes it down. The Grand Leech watches her until she's emptied two cups, and then he nods to a gargoyle.
The shark charges in to her peaceful pool of safe waters — the high tide must have brought him in. And worse, he brings the squid. The Grand Leech refuses to look at her.
"Out," the shark orders Aegon, who'd remained after helping with her tonic to discuss his council ball options. "Not you," he tells the Grand Leech. "You need to monitor her."
Aegon rises and passes by Rhaenyra. She'd spent a good part of the morning with her hair pulled back and a blanket over her head and steamer, so this was his first look at the product of his labours. "Woah, that stuff really works. Does this mean Aemond cheats?" He reaches to touch her hair, but the shark smacks his hand away before Rhaenyra can.
"That's not how it works, Valonqar. And go with option two," Rhaenyra advises as he leaves. "You can work your way up." And he's running out of time to do anything else.
"Will do, Mandia," he calls from the door.
The squid removes her tonic from the ice basin, then he removes the ice basin from the table. "Excuse me?" Queen Rhaenyra demands. At room temperature, it will turn foul in near a shorter time than it took to prepare, and she did not trust the kitchens with a plant so many refer to as a cactus. "You take my throne, you take my freedom, you take my blood, and now you take my ice?" But they cannot take her fire, and she clutches her steamer protectively.
"We have a shortage at the moment," the squid explains.
"Why don't you try dunking your head in the ocean?" Queen Rhaenyra suggests. "I hear the water's nice and cold."
The shark and the squid glower.
"What?" Rhaenyra snaps.
The shark bares its teeth, and removes a coin from his pocket. "You have your first royal engagement today."
