Rhaenys I 90AC

"Are you sure that this is what you want, Rhae?" Rhaenys spun away from her mirror, her white lace wedding dress dragging against the floor as she turned. "You look beautiful, truly, every inch a Princess."

Gael was lounging on Rhaenys' bed, an old book on dragon lore propped open in the crook of her arm, her blue skirts had rolled up to reveal the breeches Gael always insisted on wearing under her dresses. Pieces of her messy, silver blonde curls fell into her face that she pushed away so that purple eyes met Rhaenys' own purple ones.

"I want him, Gael," Rhaenys responded, smoothing out the front of her dress, glancing over her shoulder to look at the view from the back. "And get your feet off my bed!" she cried in mock outrage.

"It would be safer to marry Viserys," Gael stated, laughing as she pushed herself up into a seated position. "Never mind the fact that Lord Velaryon is old enough to be your father. Is in fact older than Aemon by two years."

Rhaenys sighed, lifting the sides of her skirts before crossing the room to seat herself next to Gael. "Viserys is a child, Gael. And Corlys is a fine man."

"Lord Velaryon is fine now. But in ten years he will be an old man and you will still be young." Gael placed a hand on her niece's shoulder. "I am frail, Rhae. I have long accepted that my body will never be my strength, but I am no lackwit like the vipers at court will claim."

"Any man who considers you a lackwit must be one himself. Father says that you must be wiser than Vaegon and he is an Archmaester at the Citadel," Rhaenys scoffed.

"Ugh, do not compare me to him. Vaegon cares only for sums and numbers, he has no taste for anything actually useful," she declared. "But if Aemon says your Aunt is wise then clearly you should listen to my advice," Gael teased, to Rhaenys' amusement. Gael's smile died as she pursed her lips. "Aerea was the rightful heir after the death of Maegor and she was passed over without a thought for my Father. Many Lords of the Realm would rather press the claim of Baelon's line than submit to the rule of a woman, Rhae, a danger you could suppress if you would only wait a year or two and marry Viserys."

Gael shut the book on dragon lore and put it to the side. She rose to her feet and began to lightly pace around Rhaenys' chambers. Her aunt was a short girl, the top of her head did not even reach her shoulders, and Rhaenys doubted that she would grow much more, having inherited the Queen's slight build. Yet sometimes Rhaenys would forget that Gael was only ten, younger than Viserys, the cousin that she mocked as a mere boy, by three years. The rest of the family never batted an eye, Uncle Baelon would jape that his mother must have eaten a book when she was pregnant with Gael, and her mother would remark that perhaps Alysanne's Winter Child had been touched by the Seven.

Rhaenys shook her head, the others did not know Gael as she did. Gael was her closest companion, her sister in everything but name. So what if Gael was wise for a girl of ten? No, what Gael possessed was ambition, and she was clever enough to know that the only way she could avoid being bartered off to the highest paying Lord was to prove her worth to House Targaryen and House Targaryen alone.

"Corlys is respected. Targaryens have married Velaryons for generations. He is the wealthiest man in the Seven Kingdoms. Do you truly think that Viserys would be a better consort?" she questioned. Gael paused in her steps.

"Lord Velaryon is powerful as he is wealthy. From the standpoint of a marriage alliance he brings far more to the table than Viserys," Gael paused by the door to grab her wooden walking stick. She fidgeted with its dragon pommel before tapping the end several times on the floor. "Were you the man and he the woman, your choice is brilliant… the Lords however, will only see a man they are already envious of managing to make himself King."

"The marriage contract, signed by myself, both our Fathers, Corlys and his brothers makes it abundantly clear that I will be Queen and he, Prince Consort. That our first son will take the Targaryen name upon his ascension to Prince of Dragonstone!" Rhaenys quickly jumped to her feet, before throwing Gael's book from her bed onto the floor in rage.

"I know that," Gael wrapped her arms around Rhaenys, burying her face into her shoulder, before craning her neck to look Rhaenys in the eye. "I believe that Lord Velaryon will be a wonderful husband and I just want you to be happy," Gael wiped a loose tear from her eyes, she looked so fragile like this, huddled in Rhaenys' arms. "You want the Iron Throne. It is your right, by the laws of gods and men. And I believe with all my heart that you have the potential to be a great Queen." Gael untangled herself from Rhaenys' embrace and leaned on her staff. "Marry him, Rhae. He is the one that you want, who am I to insist you be miserable?"

"So you agree then?" Rhaenys' mouth broke out into a grin.

"Does the opinion of your ten year old aunt even matter?" at Rhaenys' nod, Gael smiled. "As long as you remember that your position is not secure. You will have to privately court the Lannisters... I arranged for my maid, Vera, to serve Lord Tymond's wife," Rhaenys raised an eyebrow at that. "What? You would be surprised by how easy it was. The man was the wealthiest Lord in the Seven Kingdoms until Lord Velaryon hit the jackpot, from what Vera overheard, Lord Tymond is not pleased by your choice of consort... however he could be persuaded..."

"A marriage alliance then," Rhaenys resigned. "I cannot offer him a Lannister Queen so I will have to sell off one of my future daughters to Casterly Rock for his support…" she backed up and sat down on the edge of her bed. "Aunt Viserra died trying to escape an arranged marriage. Aunt Daella died at eight and ten married to a man with children older than her. How am I any better than Grandfather then?" She sniffled into her sleeve without a concern for her dress.

"You will foster the boy," Gael slowly lowered herself to the floor, kneeling in front of her niece. "You will allow your daughter to grow up with him. Should he treat her poorly, I or your husband will arrange for a tragic accident that no one can trace back to our House. Now quit crying, Rhae!" Gael grabbed Rhaenys' hand and attempted to pull her to her feet.

"Alright, alright!" Rhaenys dabbed at her eyes and brushed aside Gael's futile determination to help as she stood.

"You are my blood, my niece, my sister in everything but name. Now and always."

"Always," Rhaenys repeated, grasping Gael's hand.

"I will stand by you, Rhae. Do not forget it," Gael performed a curtsey Queen Alysanne would've been proud of, "My Queen."

Rhaenys threw her head back and laughed. She pushed her black braid back over her shoulder before she mimicked Gael's curtsey with one of her own. "My Lady Hand."

"Hand of the Queen," Gael mused. "I like the sound of that, but wouldn't it be Princess Hand, though?" Rhaenys glared at her aunt only for Gael to stifle giggles with her hand. "I will probably have to settle with being Mistress of Whisperers, but I supposed a maiden can dream."

"The dress, it's perfect!" The two Princesses turned to see Rhaenys' mother, Lady Jocelyn, enter the bedchamber, followed by Queen Alysanne and Princess, now Septa, Maegelle.

"What about the train," Maegelle piped up, "perhaps it should be a bit shorter?"

Rhaenys was lost as she was battered by a sea of ladies admiring her gown and all she did was notice that Gael was no longer by her side.