Chapter 65: Omens
"What do you mean, the Vale isn't sending soldiers?"
Myles Smallwood, having led the royal army in a quick march from King's Landing to Maidenpool and across towards Raventree Hall and the Northern camp, nodded. He looked perpetually out of breath and fatigued, dark circles under his eyes and his body slumped from a long ride without rest. A night's sleep was what he needed, but Rhaenys had no compunctions of keeping him here until the war council was concluded. "Lord Arryn sent foodstuffs and pack animals, but indicates he cannot spare any men as the Hill Tribes are starting to make trouble." He coughed. "His words."
Rhaenys murmured curses under her breath. "That duplicitous cunt. Rhaena made him the fucking Lord of the Eyrie and this is how he repays us?"
"Fucker wants to play both sides," Gelina commented, grimly eying the map table. Already, the markers representing what Vale loyalist forces and defectors from Jonos Arryn's rebellion were shifted back from the Bloody Gates to the Eyrie itself, out of the fight.
"There are likely many that wish to," mused Lord Bolton. "This is not a fight between the Crown and the Faith, but one between the dragons. Only those committed to either side will wish to get caught in the middle."
"I should fly to the Eyrie," Rhaenys seethed. "Do what my mother did, but instead toss Lord Arryn off Arrax so his successor will know to follow royal decree…"
"You will do nothing of the sort." All eyes turned to the seated King, who if anything looked both stronger and more rested than poor Myles Smallwood, but at the same time even more weighed down with a fatigue of the mind. Of the soul. "Let Arryn be."
Rhaenys blinked, trying to hide her surprise. This was her brother, the hard-charging warrior and fierce fighter that bullheaded into a trial by seven even when he didn't have to. "You cannot be allowed to be seen as weak…"
"Your Grace, please reconsider…" suggested Ser Gawen, but Maegor waved him off.
"This is a civil war, and even Aegon is struggling to recruit past Harrenhal and the Stormlands. Our forces are equal… and unfortunately it is likely to be myself against him that decides who will come out on top."
She narrowed her eyes. "Lord Rogar won't hold back, and he leads their armies."
Maegor nodded. "I know, but I must be the one to think of what happens next." Already he had declined Lady Tyrell's invitation to bring most of her forces from the northern Reach, needing them to guard against the Faith, both their southern remnant and Lord Tyrion's army largely quiet. "We will end in fighting my nephew, but I will do my best to minimalize casualties."
"By killing him, you mean?" Lord Bolton was blunt as ever. "Balerion is larger than Quicksilver, so you…"
"Get out."
All were silent at the King's command. Rhaenys broke it. "Brother…"
"Everyone who is not my sister is dismissed." Wordlessly they all shuffled out, most glad to go before their King's famous temper was brought to bear. Gelina looked like she wished to stay, but Rhaenys insisted with a heated look. Her lover nodded, but still reached out to squeeze Rhaenys' hand anyway.
Her brother was silent for the longest time, staring straight into the fire without even sipping from his goblet. A haunted look crossed his eye, gaze laying out the complex emotions swirling in his mind even as his lips were a stone statue lost to all comprehension. Rhaenys waited patiently for an answer, yet none came.
"Brother?" she finally asked after what seemed like several minutes of silence. "Brother, answer me."
Slowly, almost as if with a creak of rusty hinges, Maegor looked at her with those hollow eyes. "It must be me that faces Aegon. Not you, not Gelina, not our men, but I."
Rhaenys felt her heart clenching. "You're going to kill him?" They called him Maegor the Cruel for his actions. She knew he accepted it as the cost of being a powerful ruler, but to be called 'Maegor the Kinslayer' would destroy him. Shatter him completely.
But he shook his head. "I can't." Maegor gazed at the ground, shoulders slumping. "I cannot harm Aegon… I cannot hurt a single hair on my son's head."
The last was but a whisper. Rhaenys wasn't sure she even heard it correctly - some part of her must've, but the rest overrode such a reaction. Too afraid of the consequences of prying further. "I'm sorry?" It had to be something she misheard, right?
Wrong. "Aegon is not Aenys' son, but mine."
Did her brother's shoulders rise ever so slightly? As if a weight had been lifted from atop him? A terrible secret that he kept for so long, shared with no one until now - nothing took away from the implications of it all, but in this at least he no longer had to bear his burden alone. Yet, now Rhaenys was forced to endure such a terrible truth. "Are you mad, brother?" She shook. "You made cuckold of Aenys… why? In the name of all the gods, why?"
Tilting his head to rest on the back of the chair, Maegor closed his eyes. "I was the most base of fools, a fool in love with a woman who loved me."
She trembled, each facet of this truth only serving to curse her even greater. "Alyssa… you mean it was an affair?"
He nodded. "After Rhaena was born, several moons after. I was young, and she was disinterested in continuing with our brother - the Velaryons have enough dragon in them to be restless and yearning for passion, while Aenys had none of the passion she wanted…"
"Those sound like excuses." She didn't mean to sound biting, but it came off that way.
Pausing, Maegor looked at her. His violet eyes a plague of misery. "Neither of us meant it to happen, but we fell for each other."
This was the makings of a Braavosi tragedy. "She hates you, Maegor. You're telling me it was misplaced love?" He nodded - seven hells, everything was finally clear. "She ended it?"
"No, she wished to marry me, damned the consequences. I ended it."
The final piece of the puzzle. "No wonder she hates you, and married Rogar Baratheon to spite you." Their distant cousin had always been one to seek glory and station above his blood. Defeating Maegor, his superior in every way, would go to soothe that ego. "Or does he simply remind her of you?"
"I cannot believe it is anything but the latter, for under that hate she still loves me." Without ceremony he spoke the story of them in the dark corridors of the Dragonpalace, and of Jaehaerys eavesdropping. "He only knows about the affair, not his brother."
"You cannot keep this a secret."
"I must. I don't care if Aegon still has a claim - I will not have my son dubbed a bastard and his entire bloodline tainted just to win this war."
Rhaenys stared at him, as if looking at a man unlike what the world knew him as. "You are no Maegor the Cruel, brother. Never truly, regardless of your necessary actions." She bit her lip. "But you will then need to fight him. To kill him?"
Another pregnant pause. "Let us hope it never comes to that." As with much in the world they lived in, such hope seemed quite false. Even for those unbound by the rules of gods and men.
"My Lady," said one of her guards through the door. "Your son and daughter have arrived."
Aegon and Saera, with their dragons. Needed, but she wished they were anywhere but here. "Let us greet them, brother," she spoke, Maegor rising rather automatically. Evident his worries, growing, the King lost more and more into his own thoughts. Rhaenys knew full well, her fears compounded. When the dragons danced, the whole world suffered. Especially the dragons.
The heat was so familiar. It may have been near five decades since she had been here, but Visenya would never forget it. Her greatest defeat - the sight of her most fierce and yet most haunted, the domain of House Targaryen's greatest loss.
Dorne.
This is for you, Rhae. My love. This is for you.
Vhagar didn't enjoy it either, but the wise dragon was on her best behavior as she beat her great black wings, kicking up a cloud of sand outside Sunspear. Closer to the palace of House Martell than the town itself, and before a large welcoming party of Martell guardsmen and highborn nobles of Dorne. The sons and grandsons and great-grandsons of those she had fought and killed in the Dragon's Wroth. It made this only the more satisfying as she climbed down Vhagar's spines.
Ser Victor Velaryon was a welcome sight - him in his sea-green and turquoise sailor's armor distinct amongst the drab mustards of the Martell and red-brown of the Dayne guardsmen. He was in front of her and on his knee just as Visenya approached. "My Queen."
A nod, and a groan. "What did I say…?"
"He never learns, does he?" The figure of the Princess, newly legitimized, gave a knowing grin. "He is stubborn as he is wistful."
"Agreed." Visenya laughed, to which Princess Nymeria joined, at her great-great nephew's expense. "Rise, Victor. Don't be a damned idiot in front of your lover."
While Victor did have a flush on his face at the needling of both his great-aunt and lover, that didn't change the smile on his face. "Forgive me… aunt." Ah, finally! The boy did know sense after all. "But as of a few weeks that status has changed." Princess Nymeria had stepped alongside him, and he leaned down to kiss her cheek while taking her hands.
Visenya caught on quite quickly. "Ah, congratulations on your marriage then." It was a good development. Ser Victor was connected enough to House Targaryen for the alliance to be proper, while also low enough among the Royal family and its branches to both not degrade any male member in being the Prince-consort of Dorne while also not rewarding Dorne too much - Alaric would've been a better choice in that regard, but he was far too young. Their Velaryon cousins were the next best thing, and Nymeria's dalliance with Ser Victor years before only made it all the easier.
She and Aegon long ago had buried their animosity towards Dorne after late Princess Deria delivered Rhaenys' ashes and Prince Nymor's heartfelt plea, but Westeros hadn't, especially after the alliance between the Faith and Lord Wyl.
"Thank you, your Grace. We are very happy." From the twinkle in Nymeria's eyes, she spoke the truth. "And very fortunate." She cleared her throat. "Sweetling."
A young girl stepped hesitantly forward. She was dressed as a Dornishwoman and had the same skin and hair as her mother, but the two or three nameday-old child held the sea-green eyes Visenya remembered - they were her own muna's eyes, that of House Velaryon there could be no doubt. "Hello…" she said shyly curtseying. "Welcome to Dorne, aunt Visenya."
Visenya chuckled at her gentle manners. It reminded her of Rhaena at that age, before she had her dragon. "The pleasure is mine." She curtseyed back.
"Princess Myriah, the light of my life," Victor beamed. "Another is on the way." He touched Nymeria's belly.
"You work fast, nephew." Her brow rose. "Or is it you that is responsible for this, Princess?"
Nymeria shrugged, the natural Dornish flair combining with her former bastard status to create one supremely uncaring in the prudish sort of modesty. "A mutual decision. I have an heir, but House Velaryon needs a spare."
The logic was undeniable to any Westerosi highborn. Daemon Velaryon's eldest son was not the sort of man who settled down easily. Bastard children he might have from the Wall to Yi Ti, but trueborns were more likely to come from Victor's loins. By decree of her mother, Myriah already was, though she bore the name Martell. An heir for two houses, some men could only be so lucky.
"You must be famished from a transcontinental journey, your Grace," Nymeria finally said. "Allow me to escort you to the palace. There will be the best food the palace cooks have to offer, as well as a hot bath and fresh bed linens."
"Certainly a welcome fit for a Queen," Visenya allowed, walking in step with Princess Nymeria.
The latter raised her brow. "I hope Vhagar will be well in your departure." Unlike the last time she had been here, being the unsaid portion of the statement.
It was obvious to Visenya. "She's aware of the need to be on her best behavior… a diet of fish and sea life off the coast will be her lot while I am here. A Dornish diet, no?"
Given the Dornish penchant for fresh fish, Nymeria chuckled at the quip. "With plenty of dragonfire for heat." If only you could've been my granddaughter, I could've enjoyed your company from the beginning. Dorne was in good hands with Nymeria. As such, pleasantries and banter gave way to more serious topics. "Have their Graces in King's Landing accepted my proposal, then?"
She nodded. "Both times, when I requested Victor be sent to assist you, and after you contacted me upon taking the throne."
"Dorne will not launch a land attack against Oldtown, the approach is too dangerous… but it will supply any seaborne invasion, even with troops if requested."
"That is fair. I'm not blind to the military realities." She eyed Nymeria. "But let us be clear, this is not a negotiation of an alliance. Alliances can be broken and simply lead to hostilities between future generations. No, you desired a permanent solution and House Targaryen is yet again willing to give you one."
Nymeria was silent for a moment. "I killed my own cousin even after we bled and died fighting against your granddaughter at Tumbleton. Haven't I proved my commitment to mutual loyalty between Houses Martell and Targaryen?"
Visenya stopped, and with her feet planted upon the ground the entire party halted as well. The journey to the palace paused down to the smallest child among the group. "Princess, your actions are appreciated, and your love for my great-nephew proves you are of a good heart. You've fought us, but with the utmost honor and bravery befitting a foe to be respected, not a conniving monster to be squashed like Lord Wyl and your contemptible cousin." If there was any familial grief over him, Nymeria didn't show it. "However, if you wish to prove your sincerity in this negotiation, you know what you must do."
She was not a fool, and from the ever so slight widening of Nymeria's eyes, she knew what Visenya was referring to. "Queen Rhaena and King Maegor are not here," Nymeria stated, a rather weak effort to stave off the inevitable. "Neither are Queens Ceryse or Tyanna."
"I am here, and I am a Queen." The last of the three that had sought Dorne's submission long ago. "Had your grandmother and her ancestors submitted to me, much bloodshed would've been spared."
"Indeed." Nymeria didn't make a move. "Victor spoke of titles…"
"The request to keep the title of Princess has been granted, if only because you sought out this change of sides." Visenya didn't bother to guard her next words. "Had we been forced to spill blood over Dorne, even a surrender the next day would not have been as light."
It stood testament to Visenya's reputation even in her old age that Nymeria appeared intimidated, even if slightly. Wordlessly, she nodded. "Your Grace," one of her lords spoke. "You shouldn't do this! We are unbent."
"Unbowed and unbroken still, Lord Tolland," Nymeria replied, turning her gaze to Visenya. "We are luckier than most, and will have saved ourselves."
"We survived the Dragon's Wroth," another breathed.
"And we barely did so. We could not survive another, and for the life of me I'd rather not even try." Locking eyes once more with Visenya as an equal monarch - even if only in official rhetoric - Nymeria was truly unbowed and unbroken as she sunk to her knee. Pledging fealty to House Targaryen in a single gesture.
One by one did the others, even little Myriah who needed her father's help to do so. Visenya allowed herself a smile of triumph. At long last, her work was done. The last of the Seven Kingdoms was theirs.
Rhaenys could rest easy now.
Twisting about atop the mattress in a choreographed dance of lust, the sheets tangled around Jeyne as her lover rutted into her. Or she slammed her hips onto him. It was hard to tell in the writhing mass of limb and flesh that she and Prince Viserys had become once she slipped into his chamber as had become the norm, but did she truly mind?
Not in the slightest.
"Jeyne," Viserys groaned, their dance having ended with her atop him. Her eyes shut as he sat up and latched on her breasts, a favored position of his. "So fucking perfect."
Objectively, the Prince was beautiful. His Valyrian features made him akin to the gods, Jeyne tangling her fingers in his silky silver hair - loving not only how his lips and tongue lavished her teats raw, but the feel of the hair. The sight of it.
The whores she had learned the trade of seduction from hadn't enjoyed their trysts with their clients, but damned if Jeyne didn't adore the way Viserys' cock felt inside her. The joy of his mouth on her skin, of his scent and the feel of his muscles. "I love you…" he murmured against her skin, gripping her hips and starting to piston upward.
Gasping, head lolling back, Jeyne thought nothing of it. Too lost in her coming pleasure. "Gods…" She was hurling herself at his cock. Desperate for the release of the pressure building inside of her. "Yes, yes, yes…"
"Say it in Valyrian… please…" begged Viserys, biting her nipple. Suckling as if he were a babe and Jeyne his mother.
Who was she not to oblige such an attentive lover. "Kessa!" At the twitch of his cock, the pressure finally burst. Jeyne bit her lip to keep from screaming, and even then a squeal ricocheted past her closed mouth and echoed through the chamber. Joined not half a minute later by the grunted spurt of seed that pierced deep in her cunt. Aimed for her womb. "My Prince…" With that, she collapsed on him, shuddering at every spurt and twitch of his cock in her sensitive pussy.
Covered in sweat, bodies flush against each other, there was truly no more glorious feeling.
Running his hand up and down her spine, Viserys never stopped pressing feather light kisses on her neck, chin, and shoulders. "I meant what I said."
"Mmmmmnnnh…"
"Are you even listening?" he asked with amusement.
"Nnnngh…" Suddenly he nipped her shoulder, making her yelp. "Viserys… what was that?" Yes, they'd gotten to the point where she could call him by his name - if only when alone.
"Now you're listening," he grinned.
Jeyne huffed. "Fine, you have my attention." She pulled up and gazed down at him.
"I meant what I said." For once he looked into her eyes and not at her teats. "I love you."
She hadn't truly heard him the first time, but now… "You what?" Her mouth opened in shock, eyes widening.
"I love you."
"You… you can't." Her heart raced. "I'm a mere servant, and you a Prince."
He shook his head. "I don't care, I love you." Viserys pulled her down close to him, burying his face in her neck. "You've captured my heart, and do not tell me you don't feel the same."
The words were out of her before she could stop herself - be it either their continued intimate connection or just the absolute certainty in her voice. "I can't…" Jeyne murmured, moaning softly as he sucked her neck. "I love you too." That, for her part, got her rolled over, a bright smile on Viserys' face as he grew hard once more. Thrusting into her as a matching smile formed on hers.
An hour later, the repeatedly marked and claimed Jeyne began to inch herself out of the bed, careful not to wake her lover. It was futile. "Don't leave," he pleaded sleepily, reaching out to cup her waist. "Stay the night."
Her heart caught in her chest. "I just need to use the privy." Not a lie. "I'll be back." He reluctantly let her go, and she winced as she rose, her cunt sore. As if her body was telling Jeyne to stay. She just as reluctantly donned a nightgown, making the quick rush to the privy.
Once inside, she sat and began to relieve herself. Her intestines and bladder quite mollified, but Jeyne hung her head, fighting back the tears in her eyes. By the gods, she had fallen for the Targaryen Prince she was tasked to seduce. The incestuous dragonspawn, the demons that had so defiled the Seven.
The sweet, kind Prince that loved her more than her own family had. Whom Jeyne couldn't even think about without feeling butterflies in her stomach. Without a smile stretching from ear to ear.
Could she do it? Could she continue?
Finishing up, there was a sudden conviction. The High Septon was losing, and the victory of King Maegor had proven the Seven did hold House Targaryen in their favor. Mayhaps she could simply blend back into her invented persona. Accept Viserys' love and live as happy as she could.
Aye, that was what she would do.
Leaving the privy, Jeyne suddenly ran into another soul. "Oh, apologies." It was one of the Qoherys steward's assistants, someone higher up in the ranks than a mere maid, though her status as a royal maid might've equalized it. Jeyne still didn't wish to antagonize him.
"It is no bother, it is past the hour of the wolf. No harm done." His gracious tone put Jeyne at ease… until as she tried to pass him he grabbed her. She almost screamed when he merely whispered in her ear. "Lord Tyrion and Ser Joffrey will ready to attack Harrenhal at the right time."
"What?"
"His Eminence cordially requests you to ensure the dragons dance with each other." And then she was left alone, the privy door slamming shut.
Her entire face had gone ashen when she slipped into bed with Viserys again. He was none the wiser, merely murmuring her name and pulling her close to him in his sleep.
Jeyne would not get a wink of sleep that night.
For more time than she could or wished to count, Ceryse had woken up to an empty bed. Fingers gliding over a cold expanse of sheets undisturbed by anyone but her. Now, it seemed as if the gods were literally making up for those times. Eyes fluttering open, not one but two warm bodies had cuddled into her in the middle of the night. Stuck between the two feminine forms, completely in the nude, Ceryse woke up with the hot breath of Rhaena on her neck and the raven locks of Tyanna tickling her nose.
And damned if her lips didn't curl into a smile as it first registered to her.
Maegor's departure was hard, but they at least had each other to place a balm on each other's worries. Dividing up the responsibilities of administering a realm at war consumed their day - currently the finalization of the treaty of submission and fealty with the Dornish drawing their attention - their nights were a tangled frenzy of bare flesh. Of hot tongues and wet cunts. Ceryse felt like a wanton whore and had no regrets, enjoying herself.
The soreness between her legs belied such a night that had pulled her into the bed. Of Rhaena's tongue lashing her clit and fingers piercing her cunt while Tyanna rode her face. Rhaena held her possessively around the waist, her beautiful older lover in Rhaena's lustful tone - that also turned Ceryse on to no end - while she lovingly clutched Tyanna's pregnant stomach.
Joyful thoughts, however, died in her mind as her stomach roiled. At first she thought it was just gas from their meal the previous evening, but several gurgles later and what was an annoyance had become an emergency. "Oh, gods!" she cried, shoving off the covers.
"Wha…" Rhaena murmured, only to grunt out in pain as Ceryse scrambled over her, knees digging into Rhaena's stomach as she raced for the chamber pot. "Ceri, seven hells?"
"Sorry, just…" Mouth going green, she grabbed the rim of the chamber pot and voided her stomach inside of it.
From atop the bed, Rhaena looked wide awake, while Tyanna shifted around. "Gods, what is that noise?"
Rhaena had sat up, slipping off the large bed with the sheet pulled up above her perky breasts. More modest than Ceryse, who was still hunched over the chamber pot naked - the cold stone floor biting into her knees. "Ceri's vomiting."
That woke Tyanna up. "Oh no…"
"It's nothing. Ceryse croaked. "Just something I ate last night."
"We all ate the same food," Rhaena mused as she leaned down above Ceryse, rubbing her back lovingly. It felt good, the dry heaves more controllable with her love's presence. "Why aren't we sick?"
"Mayhaps it's cause she's old," giggled Tyanna. Ceryse glared weakly at her. "What, I didn't say you weren't gorgeous or fuckable."
Probably the best she was getting out of her. "Never felt this sick except for when I was pregnant with…" Ceryse trailed off, noticing Rhaena's wide eyes and Tyanna's hopeful grin. "No, I can't be."
"You can." Rhaena was smiling too.
The next hours saw the royal midwife and the interim Grand Maester - a northman who had served in White Harbor before a hasty promotion to King's Landing - revealed the diagnosis. Ceryse was indeed pregnant. The prospective mother denied it, insisting it was a mistake, but eventually was convinced.
"How can I be a mother again?" She murmured, hugged by her younger wives and holding little Daemon, gurgling and trying to tug at her gown. "I… I lost all of our children."
"You were poisoned," Rhaena said simply.
"But…"
"But nothing, this will be completely different." Tyanna kissed her. "I shan't let anyone harm you."
"Dragonfire will meet those that harm our family." Ceryse smiled and melted into the embraces.
A raven headed for Raventree Hall that day bearing the information of Queen Ceryse's pregnancy, a whole city celebrating at the announcement. Hope for the future, and a good omen.
The coming moon would need all the good omens possible.
