Dragonstone was solemn and beautiful. Not everyone saw its beauty, of course. Even Corlys preferred the green groves and flower fields of Driftmark. Rhaenys, though, gazed in fascination at the dark, imposing volcanic mountains as she walked across the castle yard to the stables.
"Saddle my horse," she told the stableboy.
"Immediately, my princess," he bowed. He had pale blond hair and purple eyes – a dragonseed, then. Rhaenys felt bile rise in her throat: she couldn't stand to look at the lowborn scum who assumed the Valyrian look – not after what Corlys had done.
For a moment, she wondered if the stableboy also stemmed from Corlys's seed. Certainly, he had nothing of Corlys in his features – but children didn't necessarily take after their father, something that Rhaenys herself was a proof of.
"How long have you been serving on Dragonstone?" she asked – more sharply than she could have.
"Four moons, if it please my princess. I came here with the household of Ser Clement Celtigar."
She was ashamed for the relief she felt. Of course, now that she knew it, the child was extremely similar to tall, bony, long-faced Clement.
Then she wondered how Lady Lemore Celtigar felt about the boy's existence... if she even knew about him, that is. Clement's father was extremely strict and didn't trust bastards. Most likely, the boy was kept well out of sight of his closest relatives. Just like the filth from Hull, until Corlys thought me dead and felt secure in bringing them here.
Unaware of her musings, the stableboy prepared her old brown mare, Westwind... Corlys's nameday gift from years ago, Rhaenys thought bitterly.
She sat on the horse and rode to the castle gates, planning to ask one or two guards to ride with her – she wasn't going in the direction of the village but rather upwards into the mountains, so a larger guard wasn't necessary. Besides, both Rhaenys and Westwind knew Dragonstone better than anyone save perhaps Her Grace's family.
Unfortunately, there was an unpleasant surprise waiting for her at the gates. The younger bastard sat there, playing dice with several other guards.
"Grandmother," he lowered his head promptly. In public, they had to keep up the act, but Rhaenys almost flinched as she heard that word. She had only three living grandchildren now, and this scum wasn't among them.
"Grandson," she spread her lips in what she hoped looked like a smile. "You rise early."
"Yes, my p... Grandmother. I am used to it," he said.
She realized she would now have to ask him to accompany her – it would look very strange if she picked another guard instead of her supposed kinsman.
"I wish to ride a little. Would you please come with me?"
"Yes, of course, Grandmother," the bastard showed as little eagerness about it as she did, but, like her, he was bound by the rules of ceremony.
He quickly fetched his horse (a shabby-looking black mare definitely not from the Velaryon stables, Rhaenys noticed), and they rode together past the gates.
When Rhaenys turned upwards, towards the mountain paths, she thought – hoped – the bastard would be frightened. But he followed her, calm as a fish, and she clenched her teeth together to avoid screaming in anger.
The silence was heavier than stone. Rhaenys tried to forget about the filth near her – to treat him as just another guardsman – but his presence was impossible to ignore. He was so bloody similar to Corlys. The way he sat on his horse, the way he carried himself, and everything else – he was so utterly Corlys's son that it was impossible to ignore.
They rode up one of the volcanic hills close to shore until the path became too steep.
"Get off the horse," Rhaenys said. "We will be going up on foot."
In truth, she didn't have the slightest idea as to why, exactly, she needed to get to the top of that hill so much. There was nothing up there but bare basalt, and the sea could be perfectly seen from many a lower rock on the shore.
Deep down, she realized that she was once again partly hoping for the bastard to get scared. To back away and say he'd wait for her with the horses. She wouldn't have even forced him to climb – the panicking fear of heights was very real even in the otherwise bravest men, and Rhaenys didn't want the bastard to die on her. The whore had tricked her into vowing to protect her brood, but it was a vow nonetheless.
The bastard didn't balk.
They didn't even need to climb, except a couple of times when the path was broken by some millenia-old volcanic eruption – otherwise, they walked on foot relatively easily. It was a small greyish-black plateau, overlooking the sea, with the green ribbon of Driftmark almost covered by today's low clouds.
Rhaenys looked at the dark-gray waves and thought of Jace and Viserys, now buried somewhere beneath them. She had never seen a shipwreck, but Corlys told her what it was like: when you realize the sea is pulling you away from the plank that you're trying to grab or the shallow waters you are trying to reach, when the waves are coming one after another, relentless, and wash over your head, crushing your strength. He had always managed to escape such peril, but Jace and Viserys didn't – Rhaenys imagined how they struggled against the waves, how they tried to reach their ships, how, if they were alive at all, they were desperately waving at the dragonriders to notice them...
She burst into tears, collapsing on her knees on the cold basalt.
The bastard, shuffling his feet for a while, suddenly stretched his hand and – tried to place it on her shoulder? or take her hand? It didn't matter, because Rhaenys stood up and screamed:
"Why didn't your brother save them? He knew Jace had the weaker dragon and Viserys none at all! Why didn't he save them?"
If only the bastard had lunged at her or shouted back or at least tried to argue! But he stood with, his face angry but silent, and waited for her to finish.
Out of breath, she stared at him in rage. Here he was, alive and well, and her boys' bodies were beneath the waves. She had lost Luke to Shipbreaker Bay, and now she had lost Jace and Viserys to the Gullet.
"He is asking himself the same," the bastard murmured.
"Who? What?" she snapped.
"Addam. He is always saying that he should have made it in time to help Jac... Prince Jacaerys and Prince Viserys."
"How did it happen?" Rhaenys whispered. "Did my boys... did they... was it very painful?"
"I wasn't there, my princess, I'm not allowed to go to battle," the bastard said awkwardly. Of course Corlys wouldn't allow his precious child to fight! she thought angrily, as he continued:
"Addam didn't see what happened to Jace – Netty was nearby, she told him that Vermax flew too low and was brought down by a grapnel. Jace was... she said he was shot after he fell into the waves. Prince Jacaerys, I mean," he hurriedly corrected himself.
Jace, oh, my poor, poor grandson, how many times have I warned you about flying low? Rhaenys thought desperately. I've told you thousands of times about the scorpion that killed Meraxes and my namesake! My poor, sweet, inexperienced boy, you should never have been in that battle! Vermax wasn't trained enough yet! Why didn't you let these dragonseeds take care of the Lysene fleet? It was your first battle – it should never have been your last!
The bastard said nothing about Viserys, and Rhaenys knew that nobody at all had seen what happened to him.
The wind was getting stronger. When Rhaenys saw the bastard was sitting on the very edge of the cliff and staring into the horizon, she pulled him back:
"Don't you dare. I vowed to your mother," she spat out the word, "that I'd protect you. With this wind, you can easily fall off."
"Yes, my princess, thank you," he stood back up.
How she longed to let him sit there and fall, and it would have been all his own fault.
But even that wouldn't have brought Jace and Viserys back, she thought miserably. She had read tales of fabled fire mages bringing back the dead by exchanging one life for another. For a moment, she wished these tales were true. Forget the rabble – she would give up her own life-breath; she was a strong woman, surely it would have been enough to bring back three children (Jace, Viserys and little Luke)... Everyone around here had already made it very clear that they preferred her dead, after all.
Looking at the sea now was too painful. Unable to bear it any longer, she said:
"Enough. Let's go back. They're probably missing me already."
