Hello, long time no see.
Rhaenyra III
111 A.C.
Heat.
Rhaenyra tussled around the bed, desperate to find a place where she could find peace. An impossible dance, it seemed.
King's Landing was hot, much too hot.
Sleep was set on not claiming Rhaenyra tonight. But neither was she wholly awake. The exhaustion, both physical and emotional, had taken its toll. Her heat-dazed mind, drifting between a sleep-like and semi-conscious state, could barely form coherent thoughts.
Half the time, she did not know if she was awake or simply dreamt that she could not sleep.
It was disorienting and exhausting.
Yet, every time she closed her eyes, images of events past flowed into her head and passed through her eyes. They were blurry and disparate things, her muddled mind unable to distinguish them as dreams or memories.
Rhaenyra blinked, and she was with Daemon, resting at a campfire on the way to King's Landing.
"Do you want to meet your sister?" Daemon asked her in an uncharacteristically sheepish manner. He even averted his eyes, choosing to look at the fire he was tending than her. "Before the Feast, alone," he breathed out.
"Before the-" It took a second for her mind to catch up to what her Uncle suggested. Her eyes widened in surprise. She tripped over her words, sputtering out hoarse stutters that communicated both her enthusiasm and trepidation. "No- I mean, yes. I mean, of course. I would like to meet her."
"Good," he breathed out in what seemed to be relief. Her eagerness seemed to have shifted something in Daemon, his slumped shoulders straightened, and a confident smirk replaced his deceptively neutral expression.
After that, they remained silent for a time.
"Alaeyne is looking forward to getting to know you." He finally broached the silence, his confident smirk turning into something more pleasant, something sweeter. He was glad she had agreed, happy they would meet.
"Did she ask you to bring us together?" Rhaenyra asked tentatively, voice quiet and gaze lowered. Did her sister want to meet her, or was it simply one of Daemon's ploys?
A dry chuckle escaped Daemon's lips.
"The Princess commanded me to bring you to her," he explained through chuckles, clearly finding humor in the situation.
Yet Rhaenyra noticed. Daemon might have found humor in the command, yet he also took it seriously. She could see it in his eyes. It was a peculiar desire she had seldom seen in her Uncle, a willingness to serve.
He wanted to bring Rhaenyra to her sister, and he did so because she had commanded it so.
Unease twinged her small frame. For whom had ever commanded her Uncle?
The question remained as Rhaenyra tumbled around and buried herself in the bed's covers. They were paper thin and felt like nothing. Part of her thought of simply discarding them in an attempt to abate the heat. But she had grown used to sleeping over the heavy covers of her bed in the Eyrie. The flimsy silks were disconcerting enough, leaving her feeling exposed and naked; she could not imagine sleeping wholly uncovered.
But soon enough, she found herself a modicum of rest as shadows began creeping into the corner of her vision again. However, the half-slumber was anything but restful as leaving the blurry images of a dream-memory overtook her once more.
Rhaenyra had always been aware that she had an older sister. Not in the impersonal, disconnected way she was also aware that she had a father, no. Her sister had occupied her mind and imagination; the desire and fantasy of having a big sister never truly left her.
In a way, Alaeyne had always been larger than life – larger than her small world in the Eyrie.
But she had never imagined her big sister to be this big, almost-as-big-as-Daemon big.
Towering and imposing, her sister dressed not in silken gowns but in tight-fitting riding leathers that accentuated her figure and the strength that lay beneath them. But this strength did not belie grace. When the Princess turned, her power-filled shift was fluid and elegant.
Her lilac eyes – so much like Rhaenyra's own – quickly gazed down at her. They had a fire in them, an unignited spark that seemed seconds away from turning into a sun and engulfing the entire room in its blaze.
And all Rhaenyra could do was stare up at this monster – this beautiful monster – agape and slack-jawed.
Rhaenyra felt small, very small.
And then she noticed the dagger by her hip, a dagger she gripped with a vice.
"Oh"
Rhaenyra sprang into semiconsciousness again, suddenly, startled, and with bated breath. It took her a moment to realize how sticky sweat her skin had become, how her nightgown was already drenched and closely hugged her body.
It was a mystery to her how the cold sweat that had soaked into the nightgown did not cool her down.
Another throaty, almost painful groan.
Even as the rest of the dream-memory petered off, Alaeyne's eyes remained lodged in her sleep and heat-addled mind. Beautiful lilac orbs of a shade deeper than hers with sparks blazing behind them. They gazed at her, pierced her, with something Rhaenyra found disquietingly familiar.
She thought Daemon and her were the only ones. That only they had that fire in their eyes.
Rhaenyra cursed the bed with a shallow intake of breath. With a throaty groan, Rhaenyra shifted around once more. Her attempts at finding a cold spot in the bed merely rewarded her with failure.
In truth, there was nothing wrong with the bed. It was the biggest, softest bed she had ever slept in. It swallowed her whole, made her feel a little thing lost in a sea of fine dornish silks. In any other situation, sleeping in such a bed would have been a luxury. But in this heat, its size and softness smothered her.
She attempted to ignore it. Perhaps it would get better if she let herself be consumed by the bed. She closed her eyes again.
This one was a flash.
Strong arms had wrapped around Rhaenyra, enveloping her – there had been pain, the scratch of the leather on the side of her face; what a peculiar thing to remember – and pressing her tightly against a solid frame. Then laughter and sobbing, most of it coming at the same time.
One of the holes that had existed in Rhaenyra's life was finally filled.
Rhaenyra sat up and looked around the chamber. She looked for nothing, recognized nothing, and found nothing. With a soft muffled thud, she fell back into the bed.
The sheets had also grown damp now as well. Rhaenyra whimpered. The sheets had become an uncomfortable damp, and musty thing. She was sure it smelled. It only made her feel dirty. One of the pillows seemed to be the only dry thing in the bed. She held it tightly as the images returned.
Alaeyne turned to Daemon. Her sister began to speak of grand displays on dragon-back, of a great service Rhaenyra could do for her. The two fell almost into sync as Alaeyne spoke to her Uncle about what would come next.
The Princess did not ask Rhaenyra. Gods, she did not ask Daemon. Alaeyne told her Uncle, ignoring his small grunts of reproach. She commanded the Rogue Prince, their shining lilac pools looking so similar from where she sat, glimmering with a light that Rhaenyra had thought present only in Daemon and herself.
She wondered if Alaeyne also felt her blood sign when near her Uncle; and if it did for Daemon.
When Daemon took her by the shoulders and pushed her out the door, set on completing Alaeyne's command, Rhaenyra could only sadly think it made sense.
Alaeyne was the Princess of Dragonstone. She had the authority.
Unease, borne before but now rekindled, began its slow and torturous squeeze.
Her eyes opened, but her vision remained blurry. A breeze entered through the stone arch that served as a window to her chamber; it barely had the strength to move the silk curtains. It was not enough. It did not compare to the cool mountain winds of the Vale that wildly swept her hair. The air did not feel fresh and open like in the valleys of the Mountains of the Moon, but humid and heavy. It made it hard for her to breathe.
Rhaenyra blinked a few times, and she was in the Feast.
She could feel the wild beating of her heart, and her vision was naught but a blurry smudge. Was it the wine or just the excitement of the night?
It did not matter.
They there were, huddled together in the corner of the great hall. She ignored those around her seeking her attention, an attention she had delighted in seconds past. Her eyes bore into her Uncle and sister, off into their own little world.
They seem separate, distinct from the rest.
Rhaenyra felt a lump rise to her throat.
It was an embrace. It could be nothing but. They held each other close, both shaking with apparent laughter. Alaeyne rested her head on his shoulder, her Uncle's nose deeply buried in her hair – thick locks Rhaenyra herself wanted – needed – to run her fingers through – yet a half smirk still visible by the corner of his lips. Rhaenyra was sure she saw Daemon's arm tighten around his Alaeyne, pressing her into him in an attempt to meld into one another. Her older sister's lithe hands seemed to grasp for more of him. She Greedily touched every part of him, his shoulders, chest, and arms, as if she did not already have enough.
Rhaenyra's breath hitched as she watched the scene unfold, a tingling sensation running through her spine as she locked her eyes on them.
Alaeyne separated and playfully smacked him on Daemon's chest. But relief was short-lived; soon enough, she closed the distance between them. Rhaenyra could not help but scowl at the dumb smile that split her sister's lips as Alaeyne brought her face closer to Daemon. She could not bear to look at Daemon's expression as it happened. The glassy, amused eyes she was sure she would find, the boyish smirk that she thought belonged to her alone.
Alaeyne licked her lower lip – plumb and wine-tainted red – while Daemon raised an eyebrow. Knowing smirks were exchanged between the two as they hovered centimeters apart. For a dreadful second, Rhaenyra was convinced that their lips would crash into each other. Sure that the two would devour each other, tongues lashing and intertwining in a way Rhaenyra had only seen in her dreams.
Bile rose to her throat, bringing the burn that complimented the peculiar heat pooling in her stomach.
They did not kiss, but they might as well have.
Rhaenyra saw red as Alaeyne's visage disappeared between the folds of Daemon's silver-gold hair. The Princess suckled and bit her Uncle's neck, leaving red blotchy marks of ownership. But her Uncle's delighted moans of pleasure – heard as if he were whispering them to her – and his expression of utter bliss crystallized and lodged itself deep inside her.
Her knuckles, gripping her cup of wine, grew white with envy and something more. The only thing Rhaenyra felt was her thumping heart and ragged breath while all around her was drowned by an unexplained and high-pitched rigging.
But none of that happened. Their actual interaction was over rather quickly. Alaeyne whispered something private to her Uncle and leaned back into her chair, completely separating herself from him as easily as she had stuck to him.
It left Rhaenyra dazed at the intrusion, confused as to its cause.
Whatever it was Alaeyne said undoubtedly changed the mood of the conversation, as Daemon's expression quickly turned into a thoughtful one.
However, it did not dispel the sense of closeness that they seemed to share. While the older man's expression turned into one of reproach, it was a minor protest, for his eyes kept smiling. Alaeyne shifted her shoulder, shrugging with nonchalance and levity.
That easy manner of their rapport was the most disquieting of all. They did not appear as Uncle and niece did but as some sort of companions. Companions that were tied tight tighter by more than a familial bond.
The Rogue Prince pursed his lips. It was an expression Rhaenyra knew, the slight annoyance at commands by others; when someone was telling him what to do. But instead of his characteristic scoff, her Uncle simply assented. The small smile that graced his lips infinitely taunting.
Another order, another command, one her Uncle had happily bent to once more.
Something worse came to mind.
Not Companions. But a future monarch and her faithful servant.
Sunlight shone through the window.
She gave what seemed to be her thousandth groan. She had not noticed the Sun come up, so she must have gotten a few hours of sleep. Groggily, Rhaenyra blinked a few times as she sat on the bed. The heat had at least become bearable.
She also did not remember how she had gotten to bed.
Rhaenyra brought her face to her hands. She had a headache and was unsure if the heat or the lack of sleep made it so. It could be the wine as well. Last night was the first time she had drunk more than one cup in the same evening and not watered down. How many did she have, three, four, more?
She shook her head; it probably was not the wine.
Rhaenyra brought her hands to her hair, attempting to run them through it. Her tongue stuck out in disgust, and she exhaled in exasperation. Her ordinarily smooth hair was stiff, caked with something she could not describe. Instead of the silken locks, Rhaenyra found rough and coarse strands of hair that stuck together.
She dropped her hands, running them through her nightshift as she did so. It had dried, but it was crinkly and smelly. Evidence that a few hours ago it had been soaked in sweat.
Gods, it was the weather that should have been her real concern. For little less than a year now, Rhaenyra had desired to leave the Vale, the Eyrie. Not the possibility of meeting her sister, or the King, had deterred her. But one night in this wretched, humid heat and all she wanted to do was crawl back to the Mountains of the Moon.
Rhaenyra sighed, she had always felt of the Vale, but it had never struck her as it did now. Was this what they called homesickness?
The possibility that she still considered the Vale her home, even after a year of wanting nothing but to leave it, brought up a fresh batch of conflicting feelings she had no energy to deal with.
Thankfully, there was a breeze. It pleasantly caressed her skin. How she wished it was one of the cool mountain winds, but it nevertheless allowed Rhaenyra to center herself once more and push her conflicting thoughts aside to focus on something more pleasant. Her triumph.
She was finally at Court and out of her gilded cage. Hopefully, she was free to spread her wings like the Dragon she was and soar to yet unknown heights. If the welcome she got at the Feast was any indication, then these heights seem great.
It did not all seem real, if she was honest. The dream-memories she had just begun to parse through seemed more tangible than the fantasy-like state she had felt during these past days. Part of her had even begone to doubt what had happened and what was a product of her delirious mind.
Because for a moment there, she truly believed that Alaeyne and Daemon were about to fuck at one of the tables of the banquet hall. Whether that certainty came from her dreams or an actual memory, she could not tell.
She flushed as a new image of their intertwined bodied shot through her mind.
Seven Hells, what was wrong with her?
But Rhaenyra's thoughts eventually settled on only her sister, Alaeyne.
"Alaeyne," she spoke the name without even realizing it.
The feelings that came with mentioning her name were too strong for her to push away. Uttering her sister's name had opened a dam, and she was hopelessly dragged by the flood it had released.
Strangely, the first feeling she recognized was one of loss.
The elder sister of years past, a concept altogether different from the Alaeyne she met a few days ago, had been a persistent presence in her small world. Even if, for much of it, she had taken the form of a crushing weight, a reminder of what she was not and could never be.
But, as heavy as that weight was, it had always been under Rhaenyra's control. It took the form she desired. For the Princess she had never met could be a multitude of things. Sometimes, the caring sister she imagined when talking to the moon. Others, the aloof Princess that could not spare a second thought for her. It was shaped into what Rhaenyra needed at the time; a sister tragically forever lost to her, an object of her ire and frustrations, and many more things.
But now that weight was gone, lost to her; and Rhaenyra fretted in the freedom that its absence gave her. All that was left was the truth of Alaeyne – new, infinitely more complex, and entirely out of her control. Confronted with this, Rhaenyra found herself grieving the loss of the weight, even longing for the certainty of its misery.
The weight was known to her, constant in its simplicity, and preferable to the uncharted territory that was Alaeyne.
A sudden knock on her door sprung her from her thoughts. It was followed by a young voice, its tone casual and measured yet with a melodic cadence to it.
"Are you awake?" came the young voice she did not recognize.
"My Lady –" came another, tinged with an edge of desperation, which she quickly recognized as Gwayne's. There was no mistaking the exhaustion in it. He had surely not stayed out all night and had just woken early to come to her door. "It is…" she heard him stutter in that nervous tone that came out whenever Daemon or Lady Jeyne spoke with him. "It is the Prince, my Lady. Prince Aegon."
That shot a bolt of lightning through her.
Aegon, her younger brother.
She knew of him and vaguely remembered him sitting with the royal family during the Feast. But it was a blurry thing in the corner of her vision. Rhaenyra even had trouble picturing what he looked like. It brought the quick realization that she had no image of him whatsoever. Aegon was a blank space in her head, a thing in the corner of her perception with a small label attached to it. Guilt settled in her stomach at the fact.
Aegon had simply never cast a shadow long enough for her to notice him.
Rhaenyra gathered the Princeling did not think much of her either, and a twinge of warm sadness spilled over the coldness of remorse.
"Are you decent?" came Aegon's voice again; it was patient and carefree. "I wanted to come in," the assertion starkly contrasted with his even tone that did not hold a speck of instance. Then silence.
He was a Prince of the Realm, Rhaenyra quickly thought in alarm. Could she deny him?
"I can…" a slight pause, the Prince at the edge of a realization, "…come back later if it pleases you," he added as if the possibility that she could not deny him vexed him.
Or at least, that was the impression Rhaenyra got. That she could just tell him she was not decent or ready to receive visits, and the boy would simply shrug his shoulders and walk away.
Perhaps, that is why Rhaenyra simply chirped, "A moment," as she shot up in search of anything to cover herself with.
Her nightshift was nothing inappropriate that could be considered indecent for a meeting with a younger sibling. But the memory of the soaked garment pushed Rhaenyra to find something to put over it. The fabric felt dirty, and it caused a need to hide it.
Rhaenyra quickly found a shawl that she could drape over her shoulder and wrap around herself. It did make her feel better, more protected.
"You may come in," she called, turning towards the door.
With a slow creak, the wooden door opened. The edge of her vision caught Gwayne flushing at the sight of her and lowering his gaze. But her attention was quickly snapped elsewhere.
In walked the prettiest boy Rhaenyra had ever seen. Aegon shared the thick dornish curls with his elder sister, with the marked difference that they had the silver-gold hue of Old Valyria. The boy slowly scanned the room until his gaze fell on Rhaenyra. Instantly, an easy and open smile split his lips so broad that it seemed to reach his emerald-green eyes.
"My Pr-" she began, but the word stuck in her throat.
What was there to be said between two who were so closely tied together yet so estranged – alienated to the point of apathy rather than contempt – from each other?
"Sister," Aegon beamed, voice soft and utterly untroubled. The term fell so naturally from his lips that Rhaenyra believed the boy had thought of her as nothing else for his entire life.
Mouth agape, Rhaenyra could only respond one way.
"Brother," came her soft voice, slightly hoarse with sleep. "It is good to meet you," she continued, voice gaining strength as she noticed Aegon's emerald eyes crinkle with satisfaction at her address.
"Aye. It is good to meet you as well," Aegon continued and regarded her with simple and honest curiosity. "You look…" his gaze traveled up and down, "…well."
Dishonesty did not suit him, his serene face curving with a slight frown. But Rhaenyra appreciated the tact.
"I have seen better days," she admitted, glad to see the ever so slight frown that adorned his face disappear. Rhaenyra felt as if it did not belong there, the twist marring his features as if it was an ugly scar. "Yesterday's excitement might have overcome me," and she had no trouble admitting it to this little creature; she felt she would not be judged.
"As if it would anyone. The Lords can get overexcited," Aegon quickly acknowledged, a small grin forming on his lips at the honesty that was begging to shape between them. Or at least Rhaenyra hoped it was that. For that was the cause of her curving lips. "I wanted to approach, greet you, but there was no real space" he shrugged; it did not matter anymore. "A part of me does wish we could have met sooner."
Before the Feast, a private audience with the royal family had seemed impossibly daunting. It seemed less so after meeting Alaeyne and her current interaction with Aegon. Though her body still rattled at the thought of the said audience.
"Perhaps, a more private audience before the festivities might have suited us better," she confessed. But after the one she had with Alaeyne, of course. She would not have changed that, she found herself realizing.
The shadow of confusion passed through Aegon's eyes, but it was quickly dispelled.
"I did not mean that," Aegon quickly chirped as he shook his head. "I wanted to be there, with Alaeyne, when you two met," he stated plainly. There was an edge of regret in the acceptance of his tone. It had happened, he had regretted it had happened so, but it did not bother him. "But I did not think it wise," he finished with a casual shrug and gave no further explanation as to his reasoning.
Rhaenyra just looked at the boy, stunned. She wondered how such a calm being could also resemble a whirlwind.
The boy in question simply eased his smile, almost as if he knew exactly what was on her head.
"You knew?" Rhaenyra finally asked, mouth dry.
"Aye," Aegon shrugged as if it did not matter. His eyes quickly flickered around as if suddenly realizing something. "Do not worry. No one else knows. Someone just had to keep mother and father occupied. Alaeyne is very busy, and father worries much," he added after a second.
Rhaenyra remained silent, not really knowing how to respond to that. She was glad of the nonchalance of Aegon as he simply moved on, an easy smile on his face indicating that he would no longer give the issue much thought.
It had happened, and that was that.
"But I am glad I caught you before you were whisked off to more pressing matters. I have a desire to know you," the Prince finished with sincerity, but what glinted in his eyes was mainly curiosity. "For I know little of you, and I wish to remedy it."
"I must confess, I know little of you as well." The admission lifted a weight from her shoulders. Not something to be politely skirted around, but something acknowledged.
Aegon seemed pensive. But, as with most moments of doubt, he seemed to experience, it quickly left him.
"You speak the tongue of Old Valyria, yes?"
The pronunciation was slightly off, and the flow of the tongue was somewhat stilted. But it was High Valyrian. And the sound of the language used only in her most private and treasured moments flipped something inside of Rhaenyra.
"Yes!" she answered with more excitement than she meant to. "But I was not aware anyone else apart from my uncle spoke it," Rhaenyra added with genuine surprise. She brought a hand to her hair and tucked a strand of hair behind her hair. "I am glad to find someone else who speaks it," she admitted shyly.
"Good! I find that Uncle is more of himself when he speaks Old Tongue. It will be a good way for us to know of each other." He then shrugged. "And I am pleased to find myself with someone I can practice with."
"Uncle does not speak it with you; he has not taught you?" Rhaenyra raised a curious brow.
Aegon simply shook his head. "No," he answered without the resentment Rhaenyra expected. "I do not believe he knows I speak it," he said almost to himself but remained clearly unbothered.
"But you speak it?" Rhaenyra asked again, incredulity lacing her tone. Daemon had been such an essential part of her journey with the language she could not imagine it without him.
"I am a dragon rider; of course I do."
Rhaenyra did not know what possessed her to say what she did next.
"I heard you have yet to ride him. Do you not long for the sky, or are you afraid of something?"
We are more of ourselves when we speak the Old Tongue, Rhaenyra thought as a small amount of panic began to well inside her.
Aegon did not seem to take her words as an insult. Instead, he shot her a toothy grin.
"And you are the youngest rider in history we know of. Did you have something to prove?"
A small scoff escaped Rhaenyra's lips, panic forgotten and replaced with indignation. But before she could make these feelings known, Aegon began speaking again.
"You would not understand. My relationship with Vermithor greatly differs from yours with Syrax," he began, the tone becoming deferential and replacing his previous easy manner. "Vermithor is a venerable beast. He was in the world long before I arrived and will be here long after I am gone. Compared to that wealth of life, who am I, not even yet a man?" Her younger gave her a sheepish smile but continued. "You shared a cradle with Syrax and learned of the world together. It is only natural you would take to the sky together." He sighed wistfully and gazed towards the window and the outside world. "Gods be willing, Syrax will remain long after you are gone, and their next riders will remember that it was Rhaenyra who was her bedside companion." He then turned back to her. "I long for the sky but am patient enough to bide my time."
"Patient enough for what?"
The picaresque smile on Aegon's face told her that was something her younger brother would keep to himself.
A strangely comfortable silence then reigned.
The silence was broken by approaching footfalls beyond the door, brisk and self-assured.
Aegon's face lit up; he recognized them.
The fact that Gwayne did not utter a louder protest should have clued Rhaenyra in on who was approaching.
Alaeyne did not knock as her brother did or wait for someone to open them for her. She simply threw the doors open. Her eyes quickly scanned the room, her gaze quickly falling on her younger siblings. She gave a broad smile. The Princess carried a small plate of something but quickly lost interest as her gaze fell on Aegon and Rhaenyra. She set the small ornate plate on a small table before turning to them once again.
"Sister!" the Princess bellowed as she approached, but she stopped once she reached the Princeling.
"Twit," she added in a softer, more personal tone while laying a hand on Aegon's head and ruffling his hair. There was nothing but love in the insult. Judging by how Aegon's green eyes shone with adoration, it was reciprocated.
"Sister," came the quick acknowledgment, the boy almost leaning into her touch. "It is good to see you," he added, switching to common.
It suddenly dawned on Rhaenyra; the Princess did not speak High Valyrian.
Alaeyne ruffled his hair once more before turning her attention to Rhaenyra.
Once up close, it seemed her initial bravado had disappeared. Taking its place was a peculiar tension and awkwardness that thickened the air and colored all their actions. They did not truly know each other, even after their meeting. Rhaenyra expected that tension would not disappear for quite some time.
Out of that tension came a sudden wave of shame.
Her sister, once again, seemed larger than life; and it was not just because of her height. Alaeyne brimmed with energy, her skin bright with a healthy glow and eyes focused and alert. It was a stark contrast to how languid Rhaenyra herself felt.
Alaeyne had exchanged the beautifully intricate gown of the feats for modest dark riding leathers. But what she had lost in grace, she had gained in elegance. It was an austere elegance, tasteful in its simplicity. Her dark and thick locks, braided in Visenya's practical style and draped over one of her shoulders, only enhanced the look.
Simply put, Alaeyne cut the image of a Princess of the Realm. Rhaenyra, with eyes puffy and red, skin sickly pale with the lack of sleep and sticky with the dried sweat, hair crusty and stiff, nightshift stinky from her constant battle with the heat, looked anything but.
Her grip tightened on the shawl she had wrapped around herself.
"Princess," Rhaenyra said with a small but polite curtsy.
"There is no need to be so formal, not when we are among family and friends" Alaeyne pursed her lips into a thin line and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Good morrow, sister. I wanted to check on you after all the recent excitement." Her eyes ran up and down Rhaenyra, and the hand at her shoulder squeezed. "You look…" her eyes glinted with a humorous hue, "… a mess."
Strangely, it helped. For there was some humor in the situation; the jab at her expense seemed like something between siblings, just as Alaeyne had called Aegon a twit. It hurt in the way the truth hurts but dissipated some of the tension. It was not something that was being ignored.
Nevertheless, Rhaenyra noticed the corners of her eyes twitch and her smile slightly thin. The Princess seemed to inwardly cringe with internal reproach. One she did not make known besides an apologetic softening of the eyes.
"Yes… Alaeyne."
The first time she had called her sister by name, and the room was still.
"I must admit…." Rhaenyra chuckled, attempting to ease the tension she had begun to feel in her gripped shoulder. A successful endeavor, as Alaeyne's grip eased in conjunction with her tense smile. "…that I am not used to the heat; it prevented me from finding my sleep."
"That or the wine," chirped Aegon from behind his sister, a deceptively innocent smile on his face.
"I am not used to wine. I have only ever been allowed one watered-down cup, and I ma-may have had more wine than ever before," Rhaenyra stuttered out, flushed at the confession and the unaired chuckle she saw in Alaeyne's eyes. "I believe it was three coups," she added, though she was sure she was subtracting one.
"Or six," Aegon offered once more, and Alaeyne turned to face him, hand still on Rhaenyra's shoulder, and pinned him with an even look and a raised brow. "Dornish red too, strong wine," the Princeling added in a small defiance.
Alaeyne puckered her lips and gave a slightly impressed nod before turning to Rhaenyra once more. She looked down at Rhaenyra, considering her small frame before nodding approvingly to herself once more.
Rhaenyra did not know if this admiration was a good thing.
"Wine aside…" the Princess began, dropping her hand from her shoulder. "I did begin to wonder after seeing your gown last night." Alaeyne's eyes traveled down her nightgown, confirming something to herself. "Andal wear from the Vale, threaded from heavy mountain wool, I gather. Not suited for the weather in King's Landing, I am afraid," she muttered to herself.
But Rhaenyra had nothing else to wear. She opened her mouth to say so, but Alaeyne quickly turned around and continued to talk to herself.
"Mother…" the Queen, Rhaenyra had the startling realization, nearly missing the fact because of the casualness of her sister's voice, "…usually thinks of such things" Alaeyne continued to speak to herself as she headed towards a wardrobe in the chamber. She opened it and rummaged through it momentarily before an exclamation left her lips. "Ah-ha!" she pulled out a dress and turned to show it to Rhaenyra. "Dornish style made from dornish silks, in your colors as well." She grinned with genuine excitement. "You will find the heat much more bearable this way."
Rhaenyra expected her sister to lay it on the bed for her to wear after she left, but Alaeyne simply put it back in the wardrobe. She opened her mouth, but her sister seemed undeterred and continued speaking.
"As for the rest…." The Princess continued turning around. Alaeyne walked up to her again, taking a few strands of her stiff hair with her fingers. "The humidity makes it coarse and rough, flat and greasy" She gave a pensive breath. "Nothing a few oils cannot fix. Our Uncle has similar troubles with his hair. I have applied them to his mane myself. As for the rest -"
Alaeyne continued speaking, but Rhaenyra no longer paid attention.
"Daemon…" Rhaenyra's voice was soft, but it was an interruption, nonetheless. "Where is he?"
'Will I see him today?' she wanted to ask. In all honesty, she was rather surprised that Alaeyne and Aegon had been her first contacts today. She had expected her Uncle to be waiting right outside the door with Gwayne. He had always been that attentive towards her.
She was glad – a simple word to describe the conflict of emotions inside her – of her sibling's company. It was better than being alone. Yet, she found herself rather annoyed and disappointed that it had not been Daemon who greeted the morning with her.
Although considering the state of her appearance, perhaps it was a blessing in disguise he did not. In any case, if it was a blessing, then it was an annoying one; and she was still curious about where he was. Had he indulged in his coups like she apparently had?
Alaeyne did not seem to mind the interruption.
"The Commander of the City Watch had duties to attend to. He is to take to the streets of King's Landing to clean up the city in preparation for the Tourney." the Princess stated in an understanding tone.
"Oh, I was wondering if I could see him," Rhaenyra twirled a lock of hair through her fingers, "perhaps we could all break our fast together." The idea sounded rather appealing.
Alaeyne's apologetic frown told her that would not be happening.
"I am afraid he has already departed," the Princess sighed, empathy lacing her breath. "He regrets that he cannot be here this morning. He wanted you to know that he will make it up to you," she added with a small conciliatory smile and a wave of her hand.
"You spoke to him?" came Rhaenyra's hoarse question.
"Yes, early in the morning before the sun rose," Alaeyne admitted without much trouble. "He worries much about you, but I assured him you would be well. That you are among friends and family."
A wild thought shot through Rhaenyra's mind.
"Did you command him to take to the streets?"
"Gods be good, no," Alaeyne raised in pleased surprise, a small, embarrassed laughter escaping her lips. "You think too highly of me. I merely informed him of the Council's decision to give him leave. I am afraid I do not yet have the authority to command him in such a capacity," though it seemed her tone spoke a different tune than her words, as it unsettlingly pleased and colored by the smug smirk gracing her lips.
'She likes to believe she did,' thought Rhaenyra, although it struck her as a flight of fancy rather than a delusion. Or, at least, she hoped it was fantasy, for the idea that she had commanded him rattled something inside Rhaenyra once again. She was careful not to show it as she spoke.
"Do you know when he will be back?" Rhaenyra found herself asking without thinking. She opened her mouth again, unsure what she could say. "He is the only one I know here" was what eventually came out. Suddenly, she felt much more alone.
Alaeyne closed the distance between them and took her hands on her own.
"I understand how you must feel," she said as her thumbs soothingly drew circles on the back of her hands. "But the coming days are critical, and each of us has our duty to the Realm, to the Crown."
To her Realm, her crown, her; the unbidden and bitter thought snuck into her mind.
Rhaenyra did not understand the bad taste in her mouth that the thought left behind. Alaeyne was the Princess of Dragonstone. This was the nature of things.
"Even I-" Alaeyne pursed her lips into a thin line, a conflict playing out beneath her eyes. "-truthfully, I am not here on a social visit alone, as much as I wish it was so. My mother wishes to break her fast with you."
Not a request she could refuse, Rhaenyra instantly understood with an uncomfortable shudder. Something Alaeyne either knew or implicitly assumed, for once again, she did not ask Rhaenyra.
"I came to fetch you, let you know, and-" Alaeyne looked away and took a deep breath, seeming to have a short internal debate. "I also have many duties to attend to, and I am already running late for many of them. But I wanted to welcome you into the morning before you see the Queen. To make sure that you are well," she spoke with her eyes on Rhaenyra in an attempt to hide her vulnerability.
"I wanted us to be well."
The real possibility existed that it would not be, and Alaeyne felt it too.
"I want us to be well, too," Rhaenyra whispered, her gaze traveling to her feet and head features reddening with the embarrassed vulnerability of the admission and shame at her previous sour thoughts.
Alaeyne simply smiled, unsure but sweetly. "I am sure we will get to know each other better after the Turney. But in the meantime…" The Princess turned; Aegon had come up beside them unnoticed. In his hands, he held the small plate of fruit Alaeyne had brought with her. "You should eat something before it is time to get ready," she grabbed the plate and set it on a small table near Rhaenyra. "Honeyed figs, I assure you they are quite delectable." With that, she grabbed one of the figs and plopped it into her mouth.
"I thought…" Rhaenyra cocked her head in slight confusion, wondering if she had misheard, "I was to break my fast with the Queen."
"Court Time. You are to meet Mother to break your fast in Court Time," pipped up Aegon, though he quickly noticed Rhaenyra's confusion. "The rhythm of Court can be slower than what you are used to. Many attendants to entertain, many small duties to fulfill," he explained plainly.
"Aye," Alaeyne confirmed. "Mother rises early, but she still has many matters that require her attention before breaking her fast. And that is without the usual comforts of the morning she delights in participating." Alaeyne gave her a look over once more. "You, as well, must be taken care of. The maids will soon see to that. I am sure you will enjoy it; a bath with scented warms waters, oils for your hair, and lotions for your skin; expert hands to dress and prepare you," the Princess continued as if that treatment was the most normal thing in the world. Perhaps to her, it was. "But it will take time, so eat, lest you grow too hungry before the meeting with the Queen," she prompted again towards the fruit and waited for a response.
But what response was there besides a simple nod and obeisance? What could Rhaenyra truly add to this interaction? There was no option but compliance. That mere fact rankled something inside Rhaenyra.
So, Rhaenyra placed one of the offered figs in her mouth. Alaeyne was right; they were delectable. Her sister smiled and turned back to Aegon and a wordless question passed between the two. The Princeling nodded, and his sister gave a satisfied smile.
"I must leave you now. Duty calls," she said as she turned back towards Rhaenyra. "Aegon will show you to the Gardens once you are ready." But she must have noticed something in Rhaenyra's face, not surprising since the fact she was meeting the Queen had begun to dawn on Rhaenyra because she grabbed both hands once more. "Most of what is great in me I got from my mother. You will be well" She gave a light squeeze. "I will see you again when I can, I promise," she added, letting go.
Rhaenyra felt a strange unease as she saw her sister leave.
When the handmaids walked in, Rhaenyra was surprised to notice that most of them were dornish. From the Queen's personal suit, perhaps?
Nevertheless, much like her sister had anticipated, she immensely enjoyed their ministration of the handmaids. The bath seemed to return a healthy glow to her complexion. The connection of scented oils they ran through her returned it to normality. There even was a massage that drained most of the exhaustion and tension from her body.
After she was spotless and dried, they began to dress her.
They took out the dress the Queen had sent. Upon further inspection, Rhaenyra realized the dress was much finer than initially thought. It was a strange sensation to be wrapped in such fine silks. While Daemon had brought her many gifts of similar quality, the weather in the Vale had prevented her from wearing them solely. Now, in the heat of King's Landing and wrapped in them, she felt like she wore nothing.
Once the maids finished the dress, they moved on to her hair. Already smoothed and nicely scented by the oils, the maids had no trouble braiding it. They did so not in the Valyrian fashion she was used to but in an intricate dornish style. It was beautiful, Rhaenyra had to admit, but still quite jarring. She did not think she would ever get used to it.
Lastly, the handmaids seem to bring boxes with rich jewelry. Some of them, she noticed, had her modified one-headed Dragon.
Yet something festered inside of Rhaenyra.
The treatment, the luxuries, the gifts… these were all supposed to be honors laid upon her. But they felt like anything but honors; for the only thing Rhaenyra felt was powerlessness.
Rhaenyra did not know much about Queen Eliadna Martell.
However, Rhaenyra had always been a curious child, and the Queen became a guilty interest.
It had all started with one of Daemon's drunken rants. The Prince had bemoaned the Queen as an upstart and conceited dornishwoman who considered his brother's throne her own. Someone of nothing, the second daughter of a second son, who now believed she could have everything.
The assertion had resonated with something inside of Rhaenyra.
The Maester Tower, her prowling grounds when boredom assailed her, became one of her main sources of information. The missives that arrived at the Eyrie painted her as a severe and capable woman well versed in the arts of politics and ruling. Yet, most of what she gathered from the coming Ravens was dry and uninteresting. Very rarely were the missives written in the Queen's hand; Rhaenyra had counted five that she had seen and mainly consisted of secondhand accounts of her exploits and decisions.
Rumors, on the other hand, presented juicer details. Lords and servants alike gossiped on the exotic beauty of the Queen, of a temptress that had used her dornish wiles to seduce and control His Grace. Though the tone of said gossip wildly differed. The serving maids of the kitchen chattered with a giggling triumphalism while the Lords grumbled with disgruntled despondence.
Some of the most unguarded tongues even claimed the Dornish woman, through cunning and charm, had plucked the crown off Aemma Arryns head.
That particular rumor sparked a remorseful admiration for the woman inside Rhaenyra, one that she would seldom admit.
However, her mother, when Rhaenyra brought up the rumors to her and quickly squashed them, "She is a good, kind, and dutiful woman" Aemma Arryn had been emphatic in her assertion and promptly added that Rhaenyra should not listen to "ill-mannered tongues."
It had been jarring, the juxtaposition of the two images of the Queen. But Rhaenyra had thought nothing of it, even if her mother never spoke about the Queen. She trusted her mother, and if Aemma Arryn said Eliadna Martell was a "good, kind, and dutiful woman," then that is what she was.
It was with a deep-cutting horror that Rhaenyra realized that she had begun to doubt her mother's words. Doubt not their accuracy but their honesty.
Rhaenyra did not expect the kind and gentle woman her mother had spoken of, but a Grandee – a Monarch surrounded by all her courtiers and awaiting in a grand hall; a severe, powerful, and daunting woman.
One spurned by her husband for her mother.
It was strangely fitting that Aemma Arryn was proved to be correct.
The Queen Aegon led Rhaenyra too was not one surrounded by her entourage but one sitting with only a few attendants and servants in a private garden. When Aegon called to his mother, the Eliadna Martell that turned to meet Rhaenyra did not do so with hard eyes and stern features.
Green eyes crinkled with kindness, and a jovial smile spread through her lips.
"It is nice to meet you, my Dove."
With one word – what her mother used to call her – the Queen wrung out what grief remained inside of Rhaenyra.
It was a serrated blade left dormant deep inside her, pulled out and shredding anything in its path. The searing pain took the air out of her lungs and made her knees weak. Comeuppance, perhaps. For doubting her mother, for the doubts she still held.
The Queen's eyes turned from Rhaenyra, allowing her to breathe, and fell on Aegon.
"Come here, my sweet boy," she called while extending her hands. Soon enough, the Princeling was with her mother, his face cradled by both her hands. "Will you be joining us?" she asked sweetly.
"No, I am expected at the training yards" Aegon shook his head, though his motions were soft enough for his face to remain in her mother's grasp.
The Queen hummed, examining the boy with thoughtful eyes.
"Have you broken your fast?" her tone was inquisitive and sharp yet unequivocally caring.
This time the boy nodded emphatically.
The Queen hummed thoughtfully once more, Rhaenyra the impression that the Prince had skipped his morning meal more than once before. But eventually, she let go.
"Off you go then," and the Princeling trotted out with a skip in his step. "Please, be careful in the Dragonpit," she called behind him. But it was to no avail; the Princeling was long gone.
Their short interaction left Rhaenyra with an acute sense of loss, but it allowed her to get a measure of herself. Though she still felt her knees wobbly, a sensation that only intensified when the dornishwoman's emerald-green eyes set on her once again.
"He claims there is nothing to worry about, but I am not the blood of the dragon, so I cannot help it" The Queen shook her head with fondness as a tired sigh escaped her lips. "You are his older sister and share his blood. I will ask that you guide him in his journey, help him."
Unlike many of the requests that had been made of her today, Rhaenyra felt as if she could deny it.
That was not the case with the next one.
"Now, Dove -" she smiled, gently, caringly, motherly "- sit down, please." She gestured with a hand to an empty chair.
The lack of anything but geniality in her tone disquieted Rhaenyra, even as she inexplicably craved more of it.
Rhaenyra knew of the dornish tolerance for bastardy. But that tolerance must have ended when her husband attempted to elope with another woman. Surely, the dornishwoman must have felt nothing but rage when she and her two-year-old child were so crudely abandoned.
Abandoned them for her.
The unbidden thought brought up a range of conflicting emotions. Rhaenyra had never felt chosen, but from that perspective, it was hard to call herself anything but. It was a perspective she never considered and had no time to delve into now.
"Your Grace," Rhaenyra said with a slight incline of the head and sat in the offered seat, her entire body tensing as she did so. An indescribable mix of desire and dread coursed through her body.
There was reproach at the formality with the Queen, no attempt at an easy familiarity. The Queen simply nodded as she examined her thoroughly.
"How are you?"
It was the most innocuous of questions, to the point Rhaenyra did not know how to answer. What was she supposed to say to the Queen?
That Rhaenyra could not remember how she got to bed because of the amount of wine she had imbibed; that she had probably ruined the silk sheets of her bed with her sweating; that a big part of her simply wished to return to the Vale.
"I am well, your Grace." She tightened her grasp on the fine dornish silks at her lap, beyond the sight of the Queen, and breathed in. "Court has been most gracious," she continued with the expected platitudes.
The Queen hummed in response, the same way she did when holding Aegon's face in her hands, bringing back that distressing longing in Rhaenyra.
"You look exhausted, Dove." The dornish woman gave her a small smile, an accusation without a trace of judgment in it.
"I-" Rhaenyra looked down at her lap, flustered and with words struggling to come out. The sudden fear of displeasing the Queen melded with the childish fear she remembered feeling when angering her mother, becoming something indistinguishable and strange.
But before Rhaenyra could say another word, the older snapped her fingers. The servants around them moved swiftly, taking Rhaenyra's attention off her lap. One of them neared something Rhaenyra had never seen before in her life. It appeared to be a basin filled with sand. One of the servants took what looked to be a copper pot with a long handle and began moving it inside the sand. To Rhaenyra's amazement, a dark liquid began bubbling out of the pot!
The servant poured the liquid into a small porcelain cup encased in a metal holder and set it in front of Rhaenyra.
"This will help with the fatigue," the dornishwoman offered, noticing what ailed Rhaenyra as if the act of care was instinctive to her.
"What is it?" Rhaenyra's curiosity quickly overtook her more immediate worries. Her tensed shoulders relaxed and slumped as she bent down to examine the small, steaming cup. Whatever it was, it smelt divine.
"A drink…" The older woman noticed the change in posture and demeanor and gave a small, amused smile. "… popular in Dorne."
Rhaenyra brought the strange concoction to her lips.
"Careful, it is hot," she heard the monarch warn, but it went unheeded. The moment the dark liquid touched Rhaenyra's lips, the monarch's warnings were forgotten.
Rhaenyra had to suppress a grimace. Judging by the slight grin of the Queen, she had not been very successful, or the result had been expected. Perhaps both. The drink tasted bitter, and Rhaenyra could not help but inwardly cringe. Yet, the more she savored the sip, the more peculiar it felt. The dark liquid tasted spiced, although and had a sweetness to it that Rhaenyra could not wholly palace.
She carefully set it down on the table.
"It is lovely, your grace," Rhaenyra spoke in an even and neutral tone, which she quickly realized sounded unnaturally silted.
"Dove," the dornishwoman shook her head and brought a hand to her mouth as she covered a slightly amused but motherly laugh. "If it is not to your taste, then you do not have to drink it," she added with a sympathetic tone.
The Queen extended her and received a small porcelain coup of her own. "It is not medicine," she must have noticed Rhaenyra's confused eyes. "I drink it for pleasure, a morning ritual of sorts. It is an acquired taste, similar to wine or stinky cheese." The Queen brought the coup to her lips and took an untroubled sip, pinning Rhaenyra with a meaningful and expectant stare as she did so. "In time, you will grow fond of it too. Of that, I am sure."
Rhaenyra found herself yearning; for a private pleasure to be enjoyed beside this woman within the sanctity of this garden – a bond formed through ritual and habit. It led to a thoughtless action. Before she knew it, Rhaenyra had raised the cup to her lips once more.
If anything, her tenacity seemed to please the Queen, a glint of what appeared to be pride passing through her eyes. The flash gave Rhaenyra a taste of what could come, filling something inside her that had been left empty for almost a year.
The older woman gave an amused and warm shake of her head as she observed Rhaenyra's second attempt. But eventually, she calmed and simply peered at Rhaenyra with intelligent eyes and a serene smile.
"Disrespect is meant; it is an intentional disregard," the older woman began with the patient cadence of the lecturer and took a sip of the dark drink. "Honesty spoken with no harm in mind might be misguided, but it is not disrespectful." Her gaze hardened ever so slightly, and a fierce smile split her lips. "Only the insecure take offense at such honesty."
"So, I will ask again," The woman set her cup down and clasped both hands. "How are you?" she finished while bringing a hand to her cheek, posture shifting to listen intently.
"I do not know," Rhaenyra mumbled, though her tone carried more certainty than her previous platitudes. "I am disoriented; much has happened in the last few days. I do not truly feel here yet, and I -" Rhaenyra mulled over how to best explain but settled on the simplest "I do not believe I sleep much, your Grace."
"Was it the heat?" a knowing smile graced the dornishwoman's lips. "I take it is very different here from the Vale; the air is heavier. It makes the mind sluggish for those who are not used to it." She sipped her small porcelain cup. "It can almost feel as if you are in a dream."
"Ah, yes," Rhaenyra answered, surprised by her intuition. "Much of it does not feel real," she confessed, and getting the weight off her chest felt good.
"And besides the heat, has Court been treating you well?" the steel in her tone came out effortlessly and striking, implying that she would ensure that was the case.
"I am afraid I have not gotten the opportunity to get to know…." Rhaenyra began, slightly startled by the change in demeanor and a sudden warmth creeping in her chest "…or anyone in it."
Eliadna smiled as if she had expected that answer, "Yet, I see that you have met Aegon" The Queen sighed, a tired yet devoted thing. She brought a hand to her temple and lightly rubbed it. "That boy is going to be the death of me," and it did not sound like she minded the possibility.
"Prince Aegon came to me, your Grace," she quickly explained. "The Prince has been very kind to me this morning. I did not expect…" Rhaenyra stopped, looking for the correct way to describe his strangeness, the almost cavalier nonchalance with which the Prince carried himself with her, "… his familiarity."
"Aegon seems to be unbothered by the toils of mortal men. I am sure he will find more ways to surprise you," she breathed through a graceful cackle. But the older woman quickly calmed and once again pinned Rhaenyra with her green eyes.
"And have you met your sister?"
Her Sister, not the Princess, Rhaenyra noted. It was that was going to come eventually. But she had expected the harsh interrogation of a noblewoman rather than this gentle and caring curiosity.
"I have…" Rhaenyra answered carefully. "… briefly," she added in what seemed much too fast. "It was pleasant," but the crack in her voice revealed how little of their complicated interaction that simple word described.
It was quick, but immense relief seemed to pass through the Queen's eyes. But she blinked, and it was gone.
Rhaenyra felt a similar relief when the Queen simply smiled and, rather than probe further, merely said, "I ask that you be patient with her. She can be wild and fierce, yet she is trying."
The woman then leaned back, thoughtful expression falling on her and eyes glassing with something Rhaenyra could not recognize.
"I feel kindred with you" The Queen's voice suddenly turned soft, pensive, and almost melancholic. "There are a great many things of myself that I see in you," She sighed, "… and much of your mother as well."
"You knew her?" the question came with a tremble.
Her mother had but briefly mentioned the Queen. As far as the girl knew, the Queen had simply been the wife of Aemma's beloved. And perhaps that was why Aemma had never spoken of her. The idea that they had a relationship beyond that made Rhaenyra uneasy. It cast her mother in a light she did not wish to see her. The type of person who would bed a friend's husband; who would elope with the husband of a friend.
"Everyone knew your mother, Dove." A faraway look overtook the older woman as she reminisced. "Your mother was the darling of Court. Back then, it was said that King's Landing was blessed with the moonlight of a beautiful Arryn Crescent." The Queen sighed a nostalgic thing. "I was near your age when I arrived at King's Landing to marry your father, ten and three. Your mother was one of the only friendly faces at Court." Her eyes returned to the present as they set back on Rhaenyra. "You look very much like her."
"You do not…" the lack of resentment and the fondness of her tone threw off Rhaenyra, "… begrudge her – begrudge me?"
With that, the tentative balance that had been reached between them broke. For Rhaenyra had finally laid plain the tension that existed between them. She could only watch with bathed breath as the Queen fell silent for a second, green eyes glinting with something indescribable.
"Your Grace," Rhaenyra quickly added, but the lack of title did not seem to bother the dornishwoman whose expression remained unchanged.
"Why would I begrudge you, my Dove?" the question was probing, inquisitive, sharp.
The Queen did not mention her mother.
"Because of what I am," answered Rhaenyra, fingers once more tightening on the cloth of her gown.
"And what are you?" the question came almost gently, with understanding and an attempt to uncover something more than the apparent. What that was, Rhaenyra did not know.
"A bastard…" It stung to say it out loud, to hear it in her own voice. "…. your husband's bastard," another prospect she did not relish, for that man seemed so separate from her.
The Queen hummed that thoughtful and motherly sound that had now ingrained itself in the deepest parts of Rhaenyra and brought images of her mother.
"You are your father's daughter" was the plainest of statements, and it stripped Rhaenyra bare. It had never been that simple, but at the same time, it was. "Sister to my children," the mother continued with effortless simplicity, as if it held all the explanation she needed.
One that Rhaenyra did not accept.
"But my mother…." Rhaenyra began, unsure of why she was trying to prove her mother's sins.
Was her mother guilty of any sins? From the Queen's perspective, she would be.
The Queen raised a hand, and Rhaenyra had difficulty closing her mouth and letting the words die out.
"An act of two," the older woman sternly but sympathetic began. "One that I have forgiven my husband for." her voice softened, and Rhaenyra could see that it truly was the case. "I have found my happiness with my husband. It would be cruel and bitter to bear a grudge towards your mother, towards you, when I have forgiven him," she finished with an honest smile.
It incensed Rhaenyra. A moment that had ruled Rhaenyra's entire life – which she knew had consumed so much of Alaeyne's as well – and this woman had simply found it in herself to forgive, to be happy.
It was unfair. It was insulting.
"But -" she instantly noticed the anger in her voice and bit her tongue.
"This is your opportunity to speak plainly, Dove." The Queen peered into her, eyes hardening. "Otherwise, we might not be able to do so in the future."
"Your Grace," Rhaenyra assented, using the honorific to give the fire of her anger time to reach a measure of control. "How could you forgive him?"
What was the reason for such leniency? What dark power did this sad excuse of a man possess that made both her mother and this Queen bend themselves crocked for him?
And then something she had not intended slipped out. It was a raging sob more than anything else.
"My mother died abandoned and in a pool of her own humanity, yet she still called out his name! Even at the end, she still f-" Rhaenyra came to herself and abruptly stopped.
It was a moment that had ruled Rhaenyra's entire life, yet her mother had simply found it in herself to forgive, to be happy.
Had her mother been happy?
The alternative was that she forgave him, longed for him, and was unhappy without him. That Rhaenyra was not enough for Aemma Arryn to be happy.
"I-" her rage gone; all that was left was a confused sob. She blinked, realizing her vision was blurry with tears, and slowly the image of the Queen came into focus.
The older woman looked in pain as if she had been stabbed. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and a single tear rolled down her cheek. When she opened them up again and spoke, she was back to the composed Queen she had met a few moments ago.
"Do you rage at her act of calling out for him or that she did not call out for you?"
That struck like a blow that took all the air out of Rhaenyra's lungs. Her gaze instantly dropped to her knees as she tried to recover the air that seemed so scarce. Thankfully, it appeared the Queen did not expect an answer. The woman was not asking for herself.
"Dove, please look at me."
The voice of a mother, not a Queen. Part of Rhaenyra craved it so dearly. She gingerly raised her head to meet the woman. Once again, she was haunted by the motherly glint in those emerald eyes, a reminder of what she no longer had.
"Each of us is responsible for our own happiness, Rhaenyra." The older woman gave a resigned smile, the mark of an unfortunate yet important truth.
Yet, to Rhaenyra, it sounded of defeat, of contentment. And there was fight left in her; there would always be. But she regained her composure and had the wherewithal to lock her jaw.
"Your Grace?" she uttered through gritted teeth.
The fire and defiance seemed to only endear her to the Queen.
"I understand your pain, bitterness, and rage…" she paused briefly and shot her a regretful look "… your disappointment. It is only natural that you feel such things about your father." The clarification spoke volumes. "Only you can decide if they are a weight to be carried throughout life or if you will move past them."
The Queen must have noticed the narrowing of her eyes, for she once again lifted a hand to silence her. The dornishwoman was not finished yet.
"I am not telling you to forgive or to be content as of this moment. I understand. It takes time." The older woman let the weight of her words hang in the air for a silent moment. "I feel kindred to you, Dove, because I was also forced to build my happiness, my home." This time, she smiled, and her tone turned optimistic. "With time and effort, you can do the same; be sure you will have help."
Rhaenyra believed her.
She opened her mouth, but the only thing that came out was a shaky "I…."
The woman in front remained silent for a moment, waiting for Rhaenyra to find her words. When it was clear not much would come out of the girl, she spoke again.
"Think about what I said. This is not a puzzle to be solved today," The woman began in a conciliatory manner, but her mood quickly turned formal. "Now eat and compose yourself. We have a long day ahead of us. For today, you will attend me. You are to follow me as I complete my duties and extend our greetings to the Lords arriving for the Tourney," but a slight smirk slipped through the formality. "It will be good practice for the workings of Court."
Eliadna is weaponized motherism, actually.
In any case, a lot of things going on in this chapter. All seems well, but we know it is not. There are a lot of things going on with Rhaenyra in this chapter; she is struggling and going through some shit! And it is not over because the next POV will also be Rhaenyra's! There are the all the important meetings and character encounters (Otto *wink wink nudge nudge*).
In any case, I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I especially loved writing the Elianda and Rhaenyra interaction, so I hope you enjoyed it as well. And Aegon is always just cool to write. I know it was an OC-heavy chapter; next one will have more of the character that we know and love or love to hate.
I commissioned some fanart of Alaeyne and Rhaenyra. Unfortunately, there does not seem to be a way to share the link here. Anyone interested can go and search "Bastard of the Vale" or "Princess Alaeyne" on r/imaginarywesteros over on reddit.
As always, feedback saves my soul.