A Kingdom Divided 1: Baela I
"To the whore of Dragonstone!" roared Peake, his beer sloshing out of his cup and into his big hands.
The toast was met with mostly cheers and some nervous laughs. Baela smiled slightly, lifting her cup in the air before taking a long sip of the drink.
"To the whore of Dragonstone," she weakly said, smiling at Peake.
Baela continued to sip her ale, watching the theatrics unfold in The Blue Mule, formerly The Red Mule, her favourite from the many inns in the city. She mainly liked the inn because of the bards and musicians who played there, but it was also one of the few inns with a guard permanently posted outside the doors.
That way, they can refuse entry to whoever they feel.
Those refused entry were the peasants and smallfolk, meaning those in The Blue Mule were those hailing from nobility or wealth, or Gold Cloaks. Baela may have wished for some variety amongst the patrons, but realised how rowdy the inn would become upon the peasants discovering a royal princess was drinking amongst them.
Ser Rickard was also posted outside, along with a few men directly under his command, in case of trouble being started somewhere. Occasionally, the knight would come in and have some beer or ale with Baela and her friends, but he wouldn't have too many in order to not cloud his mind.
He also doesn't complain whenever I go into the city, unlike his Lord Commander.
Baela rolled her eyes at that and took another sip of the ale. It was thick and not particularly good, but she drank it regardless. After letting the cup back down on the chipped table, she leaned back on her cushioned seats, tucked in a private corner of the inn.
"What is it?" Black Aly asked, her friendly brown eyes contrasting with her harsh features. "Not your day?"
"Just somewhat tired," Baela chuckled, smiling at her.
"Really?" she replied, raising an eyebrow.
In some ways, Aly, being two years older than Baela, was like a big sister to her. In fact, Aly was now the oldest in their little group, after Unwin Peake got into an argument with her after she said it was strange that he was old enough to be their father and should go to inns with people his age instead.
Though I do have a big sister, Aly is like one I never had.
"It's just…" sighed Baela, keeping her voice low so only Aly could hear. "Do you reckon inns in Dragonstone would be saying the same about me?"
"Why would they do that?" Aly asked, almost puzzled. "You haven't done anything to be called that."
"Neither has my half-niece Visenya," answered Baela. "Yet I have heard some inns sing songs about her, calling her the whore daughter of the whore for daring to have my half-sister for a mother."
"Aye…" mused Aly, her face wincing slightly. "They probably do, but that shouldn't faze you," she said reassuringly. "I know some people who would happily join in those songs."
"I do, too," agreed Baela, both turning to look at the packed inn.
On a raised table, Peake had some girl the same age as his daughter on his lap whilst he drunkenly sang songs about fucking a Dornishman's wife.
"He's not that bad," Baela laughed.
"Oh, he's worse," she bitterly said. "I do wish Ben would stop acquainting with that man. He is almost exactly like how you describe how your uncle is."
"That is a slightly harsh judgement," replied Baela defensively. "Peake wouldn't gut a man for not addressing him with the correct titles. Believe me, I would shudder whenever he looked at me all those years ago on Dragonstone."
"Fair enough," conceded Aly. "But I still think Peake is that bad," she said, sticking out her tongue.
They then sat silently for a while, watching everyone else in the inn. After a while, Ben Blackwood had to be dragged away from some Braavosi merchant's son after getting into a fight with him. Aly's nephew was carried away screaming threats about who his father was, whilst Oscar Tully was profusely apologising in broken Braavosi to the lad on the receiving end of Ben's outburst.
The songs about Rhaenyra and Visenya are nothing; it's because they are our enemy.
It was part of a consolidated campaign to secure the city as a Blue stronghold. First was ensuring the City Watch was loyal and all signs of "corruption" were weeded out. After that, was convincing the populace of King's Landing that Rhaenyra was their enemy.
Supposedly, the plan was thought up by Baela's mother, grandfather and the Clubfoot. They funded mummer shows explaining how tyrannical Rhaenyra would be and that her late husband's family were ever-greedy whilst her current husband was a degenerate.
I do agree with some of it, but some of it is pure horseshit.
The mummer shows were successful in swaying the opinion of the smallfolk, whilst to sway the nobility, the council would speak of how King favoured Rhaenyra by forcing Baela's grandfather to pay the dowry for Aemon's cancelled betrothal. It would further the rhetoric that Rhaenyra would be a tyrant by showing how little she cared about her baby half-brother's well-being, whispering that she wanted his tongue and hands and eyes cut out.
In truth, cutting out Aemon's tongue, hand, and eye wouldn't be enough punishment.
Baela thought back to that night on Dragonstone. Her sweet brother taunted and fought with Rhaenyra's children before slicing out little Viserys' eye. He was the one entirely at fault, and was lucky to escape with only a slap on the wrist (especially considering the King's known favouritism). But with how Baela's mother reacted, it seemed as if Rhaenyra had personally scooped out Aemon's two eyes with her own fingers.
Baela spoke about all that to her mother for the next few weeks and moons, but as expected, she was utterly dismissive about it. She instead claimed that Rhaenyra and her husband would be telling her children to hate Baela and Daeron and everyone else, so there was no reason to dwell on all of it.
"After what transpired on Dragonstone, she will certainly be doing that now," spat Daeron upon hearing that.
If Rhaenyra was telling her children to hate us, she utterly failed at that.
All of Rhaenyra's children were pleasant and friendly, from what Baela remembered. She mainly spent her time with Baelon, who was a sulky lad but nonetheless charming and funny when he wished to be.
And if Baelon's father's family is anything to go by, he'll undoubtedly grow into a handsome young man.
Baela didn't really interact with Joffrey, Viserys, or Visenya, but all of them were certainly good kids. Joffrey was always full of energy, Viserys was wise and inquisitive beyond his years, and Visenya's purple eyes seemed to twinkle with admiration whenever she spoke to Baela.
And I would take all four of them as siblings rather than Aemon.
"I think I shall be heading back to the Red Keep," sighed Baela, standing up from her seat.
"Already? It is still quite early," asked Aly with a grin. "Very well then," she said. "On the morrow?"
"Sure," agreed Baela, kissing Aly on the cheek.
On the way out of The Blue Mule, Oscar Tully drunkenly shouted his farewell, wine spilling out of the three cups in his hands. Baela waved and grinned at him as she passed by Oscar's older brother, Kermit, engrossed in a game of dice with a squire his age.
"Ah, farewell, Baela," said Kermit, notably not in his cups whatsoever. "You're leaving even earlier than me, for once," he noted.
"True; I wonder when that last happened," she chuckled, giving her betrothed a squeeze on the shoulder before exiting the inn's doors.
Outside the inn, Ser Rickard was still posted there with his men. He greeted Baela with a solemn nod and aided her onto her horse. They then set off back to the Red Keep.
The sky above was a mix of bright orange and murky blues, with the sun not fully set. Usually, it would be the purple of night or the pitch black just before dawn when Baela would leave The Blue Mule, but this time, the Red Keep would still be bustling with activity when she returned.
Upon reaching the Red Keep, they were greeted by Ser Criston Cole at the gates. He was donned in the same milky white armour as Ser Rickard but had a blue velvet tunic under it. The Lord Commander had his customary disapproving scowl but still nodded at the two of them. His hair was beginning to look as grey as his armour, but his green eyes still looked full of life, or anger.
"It is good to see you, Princess," Ser Criston said curtly as Baela dismounted from her steed, letting the stableboys take it.
"Don't you see me every day?" she asked, dusting off her sleeves and flicking her hair out of her eyes.
"Back earlier," he replied, quieter.
Since when was he my father?
Baela didn't dignify him with an answer, instead beginning to walk down the yard towards the middle bailey. Ser Criston followed behind, his face still ever so serious.
"I take it that my nephew is with his parents," Baela said to the trailing Ser Criston.
"Aye, Princess," he responded.
"Good, I shall give the little lad a visit. It has been too long since I saw him," said Baela with a smile.
One day without seeing the tiny prince is too long for me.
"Ser Criston…" Baela asked, dragging out her words and turning to the knight.
"Yes, Princess?" Ser Criston replied, raising an eyebrow.
"In the inn, they were singing songs about my half-sister being the Whore of Dragonstone," she said, almost innocently.
"Aye, what of it?" he shrugged.
"Didn't you once say that every woman is created in the image of the Mother, and should be treated as such?"
"Aye, I did."
"Then should that not apply to Princess Rhaenyra?" asked Baela, keeping her voice low as they passed under the portcullis.
"I… if…" he stuttered, looking for an answer. "If a person abandons the Seven in favour of a hedonistic, sinful lifestyle, as the Princess has done, the Seven also abandons them."
"Very well," Baela smiled, skipping a pace ahead of him, knowing that she had made the grouchy old knight mildly annoyed.
My mother told me that Ser Criston was once Princess Rhaenyra's fiercest protector… though I suspect why they have fallen out, I do wonder what the exact story was.
In the middle bailey, some young lads were training with blunt swords and chipped shields. They were all covered with padded leather armour as they hacked at each other. One lad stood out from the rest in size, skill, and appearance. Wavy pale gold hair flowed out from under the helmet and swayed back and forth, and the lad swung his sword repeatedly at what looked to be Lord Bar Emmon's nephew.
Baela ignored the training in the yard and continued to walk across the dirt ground to the serpentine steps until someone called out to her.
"Are you not going to greet your younger brother?" the voice called out.
She whirled around to see the Bar Emmon lad writhing on the ground, his face red and puffy. Just over him was the lad who called out at Baela, who took off his helmet, revealing his pale face.
Aemon's cheeks were slightly rosy, but the rest of his skin was pale. His eyes glowed a dark violet in the evening light, and his mouth was shaped in half a smirk and half a scowl.
"I know we have our differences, but to ignore me in the yard?" he asked, swaggering over to Baela.
He was ten-and-three now and looking like half a man. Not only was he taller than all the other boys, but he was considerably taller than Baela, and of the same height as Daeron.
"I didn't see you there; my apologies," she smiled, walking over to her brother. "But it is good to see you, Aemon, as usual."
"I am bigger than everyone here… I think it would be quite difficult to not spot me," Aemon said.
"That is true, and you're seemingly stronger than every other lad in the yard," Baela said, grimacing at the Bar Emmon lad. "Hells, I think you should be fighting with the older knights now!"
"Maybe," Aemon said, his smile wide and menacing. "And where are you off to, sister?"
"It's been some time since I've seen our dear nephew," Baela replied. "Do you wish to accompany me there?" she asked, knowing the answer.
"I have other matters to attend to," he yawned dismissively, returning to his training to point his sword at Tom Strong, signalling his next fight.
He described our nephew as a squealing rat… if only he knew how much he wailed as a babe.
Baela rolled her eyes and turned, continuing her walk to Maegor's Holdfast. On the walk down the serpentine steps, she once again thought of her little brother.
If he were walking by as I was training in the yard, he wouldn't even reply if I called out to him.
She wondered where it all went wrong with Aemon. Was it after the incident on Dragonstone? Or was it before that, when their mother would refuse to accept any of his wrongdoings? Or was he simply born that way?
Across the past few years, Baela began to dread interacting with her little brother. Even the most innocuous phrases could be taken as a slight, and his reaction was akin to a dragon breathing fire all across the room. What were once childish tantrums became empty threats, eventually becoming very real threats once Aemon grew taller than even Daeron.
"When I told him he was being a little cunt, I didn't expect him to react like that," Daeron said to Baela some months after his marriage. "He made sure to remind me that he is right after me in the line of succession," he said, somewhat fearfully.
"Did you at least tell Mother?" Baela asked.
"Not yet, but you know how she shall react to it," Daeron replied, defeated.
Even after that, their mother still refused to blame anything on Aemon. Daeron received half an apology, along with a scolding from their mother to not rile up Aemon.
Baela didn't know whether her mother was a fool, blind, or just as scared of Aemon too, considering what dragon he possessed. She was correct in that Vermithor was their most valuable asset, but there had to be a limit to Aemon's outbursts.
He is worse when Mother isn't present.
Whilst he would make threats to Daeron or Baela or Vaegon when irritated, he would follow through on the threats if it were anyone else. Aemon once beat a distant Hightower cousin's face into a pulp and, in a separate incident, broke the arm of a Massey squire who looked at him the wrong way.
It is quaint to think that I consider my half-sister's children to be more like family than my full brother, even if they likely hate my very being.
Eventually, she did reach Daeron's quarters, right at the heart of the holdfast. She casually walked over to the large oak doors and gave it a knock. Daeron responded by asking who it was.
"The Princess Baela!" replied Ser Willis.
"Allow her in!" Daeron shouted as Ser Willis opened the door for Baela. Ser Criston took his place alongside his sworn brother as Baela entered her brother's chambers.
Baela strolled past the common area, where two miniature dragons, one bronze and the other a pale green and chipped, made for her nephew, were strewn around the room. She looked at the wall and the small Hightower banner draped alongside the larger quartered banner of Targaryen and Velaryon. It did still take some getting used to, that Baela's big brother was married, and even had a son.
Soon enough it shall be me who shall get married.
Baela passed under the carved arch into the bedchambers, where her brother, mother and nephew were. Daeron was sitting at the table, reading through some scrolls. He was dressed in casual clothing, in a mix of black and blue. His silver hair was cut short, and he was beginning to grow a little silver beard, which made him look even more mature.
Their mother, wearing a loose silver dress that bore her shoulders, was sitting on the bed with her grandson in her arms. The babe was awake and turned around upon hearing Baela's voice.
"Yes, your dear aunt has come to visit you," Mother laughed, letting him down.
The babe giggled and crawled over to Baela, trying to stand up, only to be scooped up in Baela's arms. She lifted him up in the air and showered him with kisses, much to his delight.
"Baelor, my little prince, how are you?" she asked, giving him another kiss on the forehead. "I have missed you more than I can imagine!"
Little Baelor cooed and giggled, reaching out to Baela. While his features strongly resembled Daeron's, the tiny prince inherited the slight tan and chestnut hair from his mother. His eyes, meanwhile, were a mix of both. His left shone a beautiful purple, whilst his right was the same hazel as Jocelyn's.
Baela remembered the day Baelor was born. Cheers erupted in the Red Keep and city when it was announced Lady Jocelyn gave birth to a healthy young boy. Half of the realm was celebrating, most of all Baela and her family. But it wasn't just her brother fathering a child that made her smile; it was the name he chose.
"A future king, hopefully," Daeron told her, barely half an hour after the birth. "And he shall have your namesake," he said with overwhelming glee. "Meet my son, Prince Baelor Targaryen."
She instantly embraced her brother, wrapping her arms around him and not letting go. Baela wasn't one to cry often, but her tears soaked through Daeron's doublet, and his tears did the same with hers. Once they had finally let go of the embrace, Daeron gave Baela the babe to carry.
Baelor was restless upon coming out of the womb, but was instantly satisfied and happy when carried by his aunt. Over the next few months, little Baelor would grow to love Baela even more, being his favourite person in the realm other than his own parents.
After playing with baby Baelor for a while, he was exhausted, so Baela placed him in his little cot so he could sleep. She then walked over to the table and sat across from Daeron, kicking her boots up on the mahogany table. Daeron simply glared at her in disapproval but didn't tell her to put her feet down.
"So, where's Jocelyn?" Baela asked, pouring herself a cup of apple juice and taking a sip before spitting it back into the cup because of how sour it was.
"Off in the sept with some of her Reacher ladies. We're to have supper together alone tonight," Daeron answered calmly.
"Ah, is little Baelor going to get a younger brother, then?" she jokingly asked, leading to another glare from Daeron, which quickly led to him breaking out in laughter.
"Mayhaps," he snorted, as their mother shook her head disapprovingly whilst holding back a giggle.
"Well, before you enjoy your evening, how was the rest of your day?" Baela asked, grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl on the table.
"Nothing particularly interesting," Daeron sighed. "Par for the course these days."
"No council meeting today?" she continued, biting into the apple.
"There was one two days ago; the next shall be in a week or two," he replied. "Though it's not as if much has occurred for the past year or two."
"Plenty still occurs in the kingdom," Mother said, correcting Daeron.
"That is, it's more of the same in each council. Tensions rising in the Stepstones, but no actual events yet," he corrected himself. "There's also waiting for whenever the warding begins between Rhaenyra and Ser Tyland's children, as well as waiting for Beesbury."
"Gods, how has that man not been taken by the Stranger yet?" chuckled Baela. "He is… what… eighty? Ninety?"
"He's bloody six-and-eighty," Mother snorted. "And has been asleep in every council meeting for the last twenty of them."
"I would wager thirty, Mother," said Daeron.
"And he still hasn't been dismissed from his position?" questioned Baela, raising an eyebrow.
"On the rare day he happens to be awake and alert, he insists he is still able to do his duty," Daeron replied quietly. "And, that man may be old, but he was not all too bad in the position. Grandfather and Ser Otto usually share his duties whenever he isn't available."
And I would wager that the two jostle over how much they should take over.
"The real reason he hasn't is because of the Hand," Mother said, rolling her eyes. "Otto Hightower would rather have another Reacher on the council, and thinks the Beesburys are proud enough to take it as an insult should Lord Lyman be dismissed."
"Well, that sounds all too mind-numbing for me to enjoy," Baela said, widening her eyes and stretching her arms. "I would much rather spend that time in an inn or in the barracks."
"If so, why did you come back to the castle so early?" grinned Daeron. "It's barely night."
"I wasn't particularly in the mood for drinking and singing and the sort," she replied honestly. "But seeing Baelor did lift my spirits," smiled Baela.
"What's been dampening your mood, dear?" Mother gently asked.
"Nothing, truly," replied Baela quickly, taking another bite of the apple.
The three of them then sat there for a while, discussing relatively mundane topics, until the mention of Rhaenyra came up.
"Oh, have you both heard?" Baela perked up. "What people have been calling our dear half-sister?"
"What is it?" asked Daeron cautiously.
"They have been calling her the Whore of Dragonstone across the city, and her daughter too at times."
"Well…" Daeron slowly said, shaking his head. "That isn't particularly savoury, in truth."
"The smallfolk do seemingly agree with the notion, however," shrugged Mother rather dismissively. "As do the nobility. Rumours have started from some unknown source about how she sleeps with that dwarf she keeps as a fool."
The elusive Mushroom! Grandmother would tell me tales of the crude dwarf.
"I take it that this was part of the greater effort to boost my reputation amongst those undecided," nodded Daeron, even if his voice conveyed anything but approval.
"It was a success, undoubtedly," Mother shrugged.
"Oh, I am not doubting that, Mother," he countered. "It just isn't how I would go about it. It's also…" said Daeron, hesitating. "It's also somewhat treasonous."
"And who would care about that?" scoffed Mother. "Your husk of a father who spends all day clouded with poppy juice? Or Rhaenyra, who no longer has a foothold into the city thanks to the very efforts you don't really approve of."
"I agreed with the notion in the council to boost my image amongst peasants and nobility alike," Daeron replied firmly. "But I would rather not be in the form of this. Jocelyn would be furious, citing verses from the Seven-Pointed Star about how all women take the form of the Mother. I would want this particular strategy discontinued."
"You can't exactly reverse all of it, Daeron," Mother said, folding her arms. "And there are much more pressing matters than whether your half-sister shall be offended by mere words."
"You can always tone down this particular rhetoric, and focus on other ways of making Daeron be seen better," suggested Baela, prompting Daeron to breathe a small sigh of relief. "Why not focus more on her ambitious goodbrother who doesn't know his place or her husband who wreaked havoc in the east?"
"That would be a better alternative," Daeron smiled. "Thank you, Baela. I wish for this to be done instead," he said, turning to their mother.
"Very well," Mother conceded. "You are our future king, and I always do enjoy seeing you show your assertiveness."
Daeron simply rolled his eyes in jest and sipped his apple juice. Baela almost recoiled in disgust at that, wondering how her brother could enjoy the taste of such an unholy beverage.
"That said, as much as you both may still harbour lingering feelings of affection towards Rhaenyra, it's unlikely she still does for you," Mother said, her tone becoming like it always used to. Baela rolled her eyes this time, but continued to listen. "And you both also seem to harbour more affection for her than your little brother. Why is that?" she asked whilst cocking her head to the side, her lilac eyes like piercing daggers.
"If he showed us such levels of affection, we would show it in return," Baela quickly countered.
"You are his older siblings. It is not his duty that you both treat him as he deserves."
"You do truly have a blindspot for him," whispered Daeron, his voice almost envious.
"Daeron isn't wrong, Mother," added Baela. "Just earlier, Aemon lambasted me for not greeting him in the yard - as if he would do the same to me," she scoffed.
"I know we tell you this almost every bloody day," said Baela. "Just as you tell us to loathe Rhaenyra's guts… but it is concerning."
"Not just to us but to everyone in the Red Keep. They may be too craven to say it, but his repeated hammerings of his fellow squires have not garnered him the most favourable reputation," Daeron continued. "Just as you wish to improve how the realm sees me, you need to do the same with Aemon. You're the only one he listens to. Aye, he may ride the biggest dragon, but that means less than horse shit if the realm hates him."
"What's the bloody reason for telling Mother this, anyways?" laughed Baela, smacking her feet back down on the floor. "It won't be as if she will listen," she said, beginning to feel her blood boil.
"Very well then," Mother calmly replied. "I shall speak to Aemon on the morrow."
"Thank you, Mother," nodded Daeron with a smile.
Is this the first time she has agreed to this?
Baela felt as though her mother was, for once, truly being honest about speaking to Aemon and not just agreeing to shut them up, as Baela did when Mother was lecturing her on some mundane matter. It did satisfy her, partly, but she still worried if it was too late for Aemon to stop being a little cunt.
After that, the conversation drifted back to the uninteresting and uncontroversial topics. The sun had fully set by then, and Daeron had somehow finished the entire pitcher of apple juice. When they were preparing to summon supper, a knock came at the door.
"Come!" Daeron called.
A young page entered the room, his face tired and his little hands clutching tightly onto a piece of parchment. He wiped the sweat off his brow with his tunic before nodding at the three of them.
"Y-Your Graces…" the page nervously said. "Th-the Lord Hand has summoned an emergency council. Prince Daeron and Queen Laena's presence is requested immediately."
"And why is that?" asked Baela, crossing her legs.
"I-I…" he stuttered before giving the parchment to Mother.
Mother unfolded the parchment and read its contents, her eyes widening as she did. Once she finished reading it, she nodded to the lad.
"Very well, boy, we shall be attending shortly," she said with a smile. "You are dismissed."
Once the boy left, Mother turned to Baela and Daeron, her face almost a grin.
"Lord Lyman Beesbury has sadly passed in his sleep," Mother calmly said. "Otto Hightower wishes to convene a council in order to decide on his successor."
"Just as we spoke of when he would finally go," laughed Baela.
"Very well," sighed Daeron, standing up from his chair. "We shall head to the small council chambers."
"It seems as though your supper with Jocelyn can wait for a little while," Baela smirked.