The sun had gracefully dipped below the horizon, and the moon rose up to command the night sky when Rhaenys began preparing for bed, having already seen to the needs of her now slumbering children.
She was in the middles of preparing herself for bed when a firm knock sounded against her otherwise silent room, followed swiftly by a vaguely familiar voice, "Princess, the King is here." It took her only a few seconds for her to remember where she had heard that voice, back in the garden where she had first seen Aemon, the voice of Arthur Dayne struck her with irritation as he now beckoned her to meet the king.
She contemplated, wondering if she should just ignore them and simply make her way to the bed and feign sleep, however, the lingering memory of the earnest plea made by the Stark girls tugged at her conscience, compelling her to uphold her word. I told them I would ask Rhaegar if they could return to their old chambers. With a weary yet resolute sigh, she resigned herself to her duty and, with a tired grace, called out, "Yes, come in."
The chamber's door emitted a faint creak as it swung open, granting entrance to her father. Rhaenys caught a fleeting glimpse of Ser Arthur before the door came to a close.
From her bed, Balerion unfurled himself and gracefully leaped to the floor. Padding his way towards where Rhaegar stood, Rhaenys observed with keen interest, half-expecting her cat to exhibit the same defiance he had shown Aegon earlier in the day or ignore his presence completely. However, to her surprise, the old feline did neither. Instead, he nestled his head against Rhaegar's leg, mirroring the affectionate gesture he often reserved for her.
Her astonishment lingered as Rhaegar knelt down and gently scratched the black cat's head. Even more bewildering was Balerion's acquiescence to the attention from Rhaenys' father, her black cat purred as her father's fingers combed through his fur with gentleness.
It bothered her, she recognized, feeling childish to be so affected by the affection Balerion displayed towards her father. Rhaenys waited for her father to stop petting her cat, yet he continued, allowing the black cat to lick his hand without interruption.
With measured composure, she addressed her father, "Your Grace."
Rhaegar snapped his gaze towards her, rising from his position, his measured steps carrying him closer to her. His questioning tone colored the room that just a moment ago was filled by the soft purr's of Balerion, "I asked Viserys to go and get you earlier. He mentioned that you had other pressing matters to attend to,"
Rhaenys cleared her throat, striding past him with graceful poise towards the table where a jug of Dornish wine awaited her attention. She took hold of the jug and began to pour herself a glass.
"I had pressing matters that demanded my attention," Rhaenys confirmed, sensing her father's presence drawing closer.
She glanced at the jug of wine, then back at Rhaegar. "Would you like some?" Rhaenys offered, raising an eyebrow. Rhaegar appeared taken aback by her invitation, but a gentle smile crept onto his face, and he nodded in agreement. Rhaenys poured him a cup and handed it over with a composed demeanor.
She observed as he took a sip of the wine. With a graceful gesture, she motioned for him to take a seat. This too seemed to catch Rhaegar by surprise but he complied, choosing a chair to sit in.
Rhaenys settled into the chair closest to him, maintaining her poised demeanor. Rhaegar, meanwhile, seemed content just sitting by her and drinking the Dornish wine.
After a moment of shared silence, she spoke up. "I went to visit Arya and Sansa," Rhaenys informed him.
"Oh," Rhaegar expressed his surprise, "They are being kept in—" he hesitated as he tried to remember where exactly his hostages were being kept.
"The Tower of the Hand," Rhaenys interjected, prompting a nod of affirmation from her father. "Yes, they are being kept there for the time being,"
Curiosity and frustration swelled within Rhaenys. "Why?" she questioned abruptly.
Rhaegar raised an eyebrow in response. "What do you mean?" he inquired.
Rhaenys pressed the matter further. "Why are you keeping them in the Hand's Tower?"
"Well—" her father attempted to explain, but she didn't let him.
She interrupted him with a biting tone. "Is that what you like to do, huh?" Her words painted a sneer on her face. "Keeping Stark girls in towers?"
Rhaegar's reaction was pained as he averted his gaze. Rhaenys, for a fleeting moment, felt a perverse satisfaction at his response. However, that satisfaction was swiftly replaced by regret, realizing that such words might not earn her favor with her father.
She cleared her throat, her eyes scanning the room. "The girls have been locked away long enough. I'm sure it will do you no harm to let them return to their own quarters," she explained politely.
A silence hung in the air as Rhaegar contemplated her words. Rhaenys grew worried, wondering if she had jeopardized her chances of earning her father's favor with her previous remark.
"Hmm," he finally spoke, breaking the silence. Rhaenys anxiously awaited his response. "I'll instruct the guards at the tower to escort them back to their old quarter's tomorrow," he said. A wave of relief washed over Rhaenys upon hearing her father's decision.
"Thank you. I'm sure Lady Sansa and Arya will appreciate that, father," she expressed with a gentle smile, one that the King reciprocated.
Rhaegar nodded, sipping his wine. "How have you been, Rhaenys?" he asked, his gaze briefly flickering toward her belly before quickly looking away, a hint of discomfort on his face.
She hummed, placing her hand on the barely visible bump. "Tired, but otherwise completely fine," she added.
"Good," he affirmed weakly. Rhaenys narrowed her eyes at him, and he coughed. "That's good," he reiterated with more conviction.
They sat in silence for a while, Rhaenys attempting to gather the courage to address the pressing matter that has been on her mind ever since she learned of Robert's defeat and death at the Trident.
She was so engrossed in her own thoughts that she nearly missed it when Rhaegar finally spoke up.
Rhaegar cleared his throat, breaking the silence that hung in the air. "Rhaenys, there's something I must discuss with you," he began, his expression serious.
She looked at him, apprehension mingling in her gaze. "What is it, father?" she asked, her tone calm but tinged with curiosity.
He drew in a deep breath before continuing, "The realm is in a delicate state, and the victory at the Trident has brought changes. With Robert's death and Renly missing, Storm's End has been left without a clear Lord,"
Rhaenys tried to stifle her eagerness at the topic at hand, the succession of Storm's End was what she had been wanting to ask him about. And yet— Rhaenys couldn't help but pause at her father's words. The realization echoed in her mind: Storm's End has been left without a clear Lord.
Furrowing her brow, she met his gaze. "Storm's End has its Lord, Cassian," she asserted with confidence.
Under her scrutinizing gaze, her father shifted uncomfortably. She detected a hint of reluctance in his eyes as he explained, "Cassian is Robert's son and Renly's nephew; he is the clear successor to Storm's End,"
"Then why do you claim Storm's End has no clear Lord?" Rhaenys retorted, her annoyance evident.
Her father sighed, sincerity in his eyes. "I know that, by all rights, Storm's End should go to Cassian,"
Anger surged through Rhaenys, anticipating her father's next words.
"But—" his eyes filled with sorrow, "People expect me to punish the Baratheons for rebelling all those years ago, and the only way I can do that is to strip Storm's End from the Baratheon line,"
She rose abruptly, her voice carrying an edge, "You mean to give my son's seat to someone else," she said, her anger evident.
Rhaegar rose as well, maintaining his position on his side of the table, "I do not wish to do this—"
"Then don't," Rhaenys retorted with emotion.
"This is what is expected of me," he explained. "I have a duty to punish the rebels who stole my throne all those years ago, and I have a duty to reward those who helped me win it back,"
"I don't care about your duty to them," she said, her eyes welling up with angry tears. Rhaenys swallowed hard before marching towards her father, catching him off guard as she seized his hand.
"Do your duty to me, your daughter," her purple eyes pleaded. The flicker of candlelight in her room played on the desperation in her gaze.
"Rhaenys," his eyes looked pained as he whispered her name. Rhaenys waited for him to continue, a pregnant silence hanging between them, but he said nothing.
He won't say anything, she thought in frustration.
She let go of his hands abruptly, her fingers releasing his with disappointment and desperation. His face showed longing, an unspoken plea for her to continue holding his hand.
She walked back to where she had sat, her movements deliberate yet conflicted. As she stood with her back facing him, the room felt heavy with unspoken tension.
I need to convince him to let Cassian remain as Lord of Storm's End, but how? The weight of the responsibility settled upon her shoulders, and her mind churned with thoughts, seeking a persuasive argument that could sway her father's decision.
Her desire to ensure her children retained some semblance of inheritance outweighed everything else. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on the determination etched across her face.
Her father had stated the need to punish the Baratheon line for their rebellion, for stealing the throne from the Targaryens.
She turned back around in haste, her father's gaze still fixed upon her.
"You said you had to punish the Baratheon line?" she asked for confirmation; her father nodded, and his silver hair swayed with the movement.
"Cassian is only half Baratheon," she reasoned, her tone a blend of urgency and conviction. "He's a Martell as well,"
Rhaegar looked at her with confusion. "Yes, but—"
"Strip him of his Baratheon name and give him the Martell name," she stepped closer to him, the soft candle light illuminating her eyes. "The Baratheon line is stripped of Storm's End, thus that being their punishment, and Cassian gets to keep Storm's End,"
Rhaegar took a moment to process her proposal, his expression was that of contemplation and inner conflict. The weight of his duty to the realm seemed to burden him.
You never cared about your duty to the Kingdom before, don't start caring now, not when I need you.
"You propose to sever the Baratheon name from him entirely?" Rhaegar inquired, his voice carrying the weight of the decision he faced.
Rhaenys nodded, unwavering in her stance. "It ensures the punishment you seek for the Baratheon rebellion, while allowing Cassian to maintain his connection to his father and retaining Storm's End. It is a compromise,"
Rhaegar sighed, realizing the gravity of the choice before him. "It may not be so simple, Rhaenys. There are political implications, perceptions to consider,"
She locked eyes with him, resolution written across her face. "Father, Storm's End has stood as a Baratheon stronghold for generations. The punishment of stripping the name alone carries significant weight. Disregarding my son and appointing another Lord will only fuel the unrest among those who remain loyal to my late husband,"
Rhaegar, with a solemn shake of his head, replied, "Rhaenys, the Dornish and the people of the Stormlands have been in conflict for years. I cannot strip the Baratheons of their Lord Paramount title and hand it to a Martell. The repercussions—"
"But—"
"I cannot risk such conflict," he said sincerely, recognizing the unwavering resolve in her eyes. Closing the distance, he reached for her hands, and she allowed it.
As his hand enveloped hers, he continued, "It would be akin to me stripping the Tyrells of their seat and giving it to your uncle Oberyn. The repercussions would be far-reaching, it will cause more harm than good,"
Rhaenys sighed, feeling the weight of her frustration. "Father, there must be another way. Punishing Cassian isn't the solution. Think about the people of Storm's End; they've known the Baratheon rule for generations. To abruptly change that would only breed resentment and instability,"
Rhaegar considered her words, his gaze distant. "Rhaenys, I must balance justice with stability. The Stormlands have suffered, and the people expect consequences for the rebellion. I can't afford to appear weak or indecisive,"
"But you risk creating more enemies by taking such drastic measures," she argued, her grip tightening on his hand. "Cassian is your grandson. Stripping him of Storm's End is unjust,"
He let out a breathy sigh, conflicted. "I understand your concerns, but I must make decisions for the realm, not just our family. There are expectations and precedents that must be upheld,"
Our family? She held back the scoff she wished to release at the falsities of his words.
Rhaenys rolled her eyes, "Your duty is to ensure your legacy stays intact, Cassian is your legacy," she said.
Her father said nothing.
Rhaenys cast her gaze downward, desperately searching for a compromise. After a brief silence, an idea struck her like a bolt of lightning. "What if Cassian remains Lord of Storm's End but without the Baratheon or Martell name?" she proposed, her voice tinged with a hint of desperation, regret started to flicker though her as well but she held it down.
She held her breath, awaiting her father's response, unable to bring herself to utter the final piece of her suggestion.
"You mean—" he began, his eyebrows lifting in surprise, "you want him to bear the Targaryen name?"
Internally recoiling at the thought, Rhaenys kept her expression steady. "What I want is for my son to keep Storm's End," she replied, the weight of her plea evident in her words.
And if he must bear the Targaryen name then so be it.
The silver-haired man appeared deep in thought, and Rhaenys nervously awaited his decision.
"That could work," he finally conceded, and a small sigh of relief escaped Rhaenys, a subtle reaction her father seemed to overlook.
"The Lords of the Stormlands may find it difficult to contest Cassian inheriting Storm's End under the Targaryen name without directly opposing me. Given that he is Robert's son, his loyalists may be satisfied to have someone of his blood governing the Stormlands. Besides, those loyal to me in the Stormlands are unlikely to raise objections," Rhaegar explained.
Rhaenys nodded in understanding.
"And Elia?" her father suddenly asked.
"What?" Rhaenys responded.
"Elia, will she not take the Targaryen name?" he inquired earnestly.
Rhaenys gave him a challenging look. "Why would she?" she questioned. He wants my daughter to be a Targaryen too? Is my giving up of Cassian's name not enough for him?
Rhaegar looked slightly bewildered, and that upset Rhaenys, a frown forming onto her face.
"If Cassian is to take the Targaryen name, Elia should too," he expressed.
"No," Rhaenys said firmly. "My daughter will keep her father's name."
Rhaegar's eyebrows furrowed, and he sighed. "Rhaenys, if something were to happen to Cassian—"
Rhaenys shot him a glare. "What if what were to happen to my son?" she challenged.
"Nothing—I just mean that if something—"
Rhaenys pushed past her father, needing to have some distance between them. "Then do not speak of things that could happen."
She heard her father sigh, and felt him creep up from behind her. Rhaenys remained with her back towards him.
"Right, forget I mentioned that," he said, noticing her lack of response.
She said nothing.
"I shall speak with the Small Council and inform them of my decision," he said after realizing that she wasn't going to say much else.
Rhaenys felt her heart begin to beat faster. Those old cunts might try to persuade him against keeping Cassian as Lord of Storm's End. They'll probably tell him to give Storm's End to a loyalist from the Stormlands.
She turned around quickly. "You will meet with the council?" she asked, despite already knowing the answer.
Rhaegar nodded.
Rhaenys cleared her throat, walking closer to her father before she asked him a question, "Could I join you?"
Her father was taken aback by her question; his lips were parted slightly in surprise before he quickly shut his mouth and nodded. "Yes," he said.
He cleared his throat, "Yes, that would be nice—" he paused, "You can meet those on the new Small Council, your brother will be there as well, I'm sure he'll like having someone around his age attend the meeting."
Oh I doubt that.
Rhaenys smiled nonetheless and nodded, the relief evident in her eyes. Her father departed shortly after, and Rhaenys, surrounded by the quietude of her chambers, went to bed. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, creating an ambiance of calm. As she lay in bed, thoughts of her son's future at Storm's End and the upcoming meeting with the Small Council filled her mind. Until finally her eyes closed and she fell into a deep slumber.
He tapped his fingers impatiently against the sturdy oaken table, his impatience mounting with every passing minute
His violet eyes flicked around the table, noting the shared expressions of impatience mirrored by the men seated around it.
"It's highly unusual for His Grace to keep us waiting like this," remarked Randyll Tarly, his observation echoed by the nodding heads of the other lords.
"I'm certain my father will arrive shortly," Aegon chimed in, attempting to pacify the murmurs of restlessness that filled the room.
Minutes trickled by, and still, Rhaegar had not arrived. Aegon had nearly excused himself to go and find his father himself but then, at last, the door swung open and Rhaegar entered. A sigh of relief escaped Aegon's lips, yet it was swiftly stifled by the unwelcome sight that accompanied his father.
Arthur Dayne's presence was expected beside his father, but the woman alongside Rhaegar drew Aegon's suspicion and irritation.
His sister strode into the room, her head held high, exuding an air of haughty confidence. An arrogant smile adorned her face, and mischief danced in her eyes. Aegon scrutinized her pretty features; her nose was slightly scrunched up, as if she deemed everyone in the room beneath her notice.
He hardly noticed that the room had gone deathly silent, all surprised at Rhaenys being here.
His father greeted the lords, making his way to the head seat. With a knowing smirk, Rhaenys followed Rhaegar, smoothly pulling the chair next to him and settling down. Aegon's jaw tightened. The seat next to him was intended for Ser Arthur, and he felt compelled to speak up, despite his effort to remain composed.
"The commander of the Kingsguard should be seated there," he remarked, his voice stripped of any emotion.
Rhaenys turned to face Aegon, a mocking smile playing on her lips. "Oh, I wasn't aware," she replied innocently. Her gaze shifted to the knight standing somewhat awkwardly nearby.
"Do you mind, Ser Arthur?" she inquired. Aegon sensed the curiosity among the other lords, all anticipating Arthur's response.
The Dornish knight looked over to Rhaegar before clearing his throat and shaking his head. "I do not mind, Princess," he responded.
"See, Aegon, he's fine with it," Rhaenys remarked as she reached out and touched his arm. Aegon abruptly pulled his arm away, drawing everyone's attention towards him.
A wave of embarrassment swept over him, causing his face to redden. He coughed to compose himself, deliberately disregarding Rhaenys' gaze as he turned toward Rhaegar, who was observing them both with an intensity Aegon had not seen before.
"Father, shall we start?" he asked politely, attempting to mask his discomfort.
His father affirmed with a nod, "Yes."
Aegon listened as the nobles began talking about taxes and other subjects that frankly didn't pique his interest. Though he was glad that his sister's presence provided him with some source of entertainment in a council meeting that would have otherwise been a bore to him. They spoke of the preparations of his fathers coronation.
Occasionally, he stole glances at her. At times, she seemed genuinely interested, especially when the topic veered toward discussions about the rebels. However, there were moments when she appeared just as disinterested as he was.
Lord Velaryon was going on about whether or not it was necessary to raise taxes on the regions that supported the Usurper as a form of punishment. His sister rolled her eyes and yawned loudly, causing the lord to stop mid sentence.
A hint of embarrassment colored her cheeks as she recognized her own actions. Aegon stifled a laugh.
"Apologies, Lord Monford," she murmured softly. "I had a restless night." The man acknowledged her with a slight nod and a smile before resuming his discussion.
"Very well, that would be all for today," Lord Tarly announced, prompting nods of agreement from the rest of the lords gathered.
Aegon felt a wave of relief wash over him as the council meeting drew to a close. Now free from the confines of the discussions, he eagerly anticipated heading to the training grounds to join Aemon.
As the lords were halfway out of their seats, preparing to depart, Rhaegar's voice cut through the dispersing assembly. "My lords, please wait," he declared, his tone commanding attention. Confusion flickered across the faces of the departing nobles, but the serious look on Rhaegar's face discouraged any potential protest.
Aegon, who had already stood up from his seat, hesitated and leaned back into his chair, observing the sudden shift in the atmosphere. The room, moments ago on the brink of dismissal, now lingered in an expectant silence.
Rhaegar's gaze swept across the room, his expression grave yet composed. "There is an important matter I wish to discuss," he announced, his voice resonating with authority. "I ask that you remain for a while longer."
The lords exchanged puzzled glances but yielded to the gravity in Rhaegar's demeanor. They resettled into their seats.
Glancing toward Rhaenys, Aegon noticed her unusually calm expression, seemingly unruffled by the air of curiosity gripping everyone else in the room. His brows knitted together in confusion. Could she already be aware of what their father was going to say? The thought lingered, tugging at his instincts.
Despite the nagging gut feeling that Rhaenys might possess knowledge he lacked, Aegon chose to dismiss it, redirecting his focus to his father.
"The issue concerning Storm's End has yet to be fully addressed," Rhaegar started, and Aegon sensed the direction in which this discussion was headed. The looks of curiosity and unease etched onto the faces of the lords confirmed that they too knew what his father was going to say..
"I thought we had already concluded discussions regarding the Stormlands," remarked the dark-haired man, Lord Baelor Hightower, a recent addition to Rhaegar's small council. His father had initially hesitated to grant him the title of Master of Coin, but eventually relented.
Aegon observed the regret reflected in Rhaegar's eyes as Baelor continued, "Wasn't it agreed that your ally Jon Connington would receive Storm's End and the title of Paramount?" There was a tone underlying the man's words—a hint of mockery, perhaps, though Aegon couldn't discern enough about Lord Hightower to be certain if the man was truly brave enough to mock the King.
Unexpectedly, it was Rhaenys who countered the Master of Coin, catching everyone off guard. "Do you honestly believe the Lords of Storm's End would ever accept someone as craven as Jon Connington?" Her words hung in the air, ushering a sudden silence that enveloped the room, leaving everyone at a loss for words.
Why are you letting her speak this way? He wanted to shout at his father but when he looked over at him, he appeared unbothered with the fact that his daughter had just called his friend a craven in front of all these lords.
Rhaenys maintained eye contact with Baelor Hightower until he relented, redirecting his attention to Rhaegar. "If not Jon Connington, then who do you propose takes Storm's End?"
His father straightened in his seat, his gaze fixed ahead, a demeanor of readiness emanating from him. Aegon sensed himself bracing for what was to come, already anticipating the words about to be spoken. The anticipation reflected on Rhaenys' face gave it all away.
"Cassian is undeniably the rightful Lord of Storm's End," his father asserted, his tone unwavering and authoritative.
Aegon saw the satisfaction write itself all over Rhaenys' face, fueling his desire to erase her smugness.
Following a brief silence, a flurry of questions erupted among the council members.
"How is that possible?"
"This can not be, Your Grace. How can it be?"
"But Lord Cassian is too young, isn't he?"
Aegon found it challenging to focus on the conversation, consumed by a potent mix of anger and irritation that hindered his ability to listen clearly to what was being said.
Of course, he'll hand Storm's End to the brat. The boy can barely string a sentence together, and yet father deems him worthy of Storm's End.
The chatter continued until his father raised his hand, an authoritative gesture that instantly quieted everyone.
Rhaegar sat with a commanding presence, his voice was clear and unwavering as he spoke "What Princess Rhaenys says holds truth. The Lords of the Stormlands have voiced their strong opposition against accepting Jon Connington as their lord."
"It is clear that Cassian possesses a stronger claim and support among the lords of the Stormlands," Rhaegar continued, his tone deliberate, "He's Robert's son. They won't oppose him; they'll welcome him," Aegon noted the contempt in his father's tone as he spat out Robert's name.
"House Baratheon must face repercussions for their usurpation of the throne years ago," Randyll Tarly interjected solemnly.
"And you propose to make a child pay for his father's sins?" Rhaenys retorted with a scoff, her demeanor unyielding. Aegon supposed she had a point but he stayed silent.
The older man appeared displeased by her directness, yet he responded with composed resolve. "The boy may inherit Storm's End, but don't expect me to accept House Baratheon continuing as Lord Paramounts after rebelling against House Targaryen," he stated firmly.
Rhaenys looked ready to reply, but Rhaegar spoke first. "House Baratheon will not retain that position," he declared.
Aegon raised an eyebrow, surprised by his father's decision. He had anticipated Rhaegar might allow House Baratheon to retain their title, especially for the sake of Rhaenys and her children. It became evident to Aegon that perhaps his sister didn't wield as much influence over their father as he had assumed.
However, that thought was swiftly shattered when his father resumed speaking, "Cassian will inherit Storm's End and the title of Lord Paramount bearing the name Targaryen,"
A hushed astonishment fell over the chamber at Rhaegar's proclamation. Aegon felt a surge of disbelief coursing through him, his mind struggling to comprehend the weight of his father's words. Cassian, a Targaryen?
Next to him, Rhaenys' expression was that of glowing satisfaction, a glimmer of triumph evident in her eyes. The lords exchanged bewildered glances, processing the unprecedented decision to merge the name Targaryen with Storm's End.
Aegon's thoughts raced, grappling with the ramifications of this. Cassian, son of Robert Baratheon, was now to be named Lord Paramount of Storm's End— bearing the name Targaryen.
It felt unjust, completely unjust.
Was his father mad? Did he not see the potential risks in granting the son of the usurper the Targaryen name? This decision would only embolden those who sought to uphold Robert's blood on the Iron Throne.
The entire situation appeared nonsensical and fraught with peril.
Lord Randyll Tarly appeared content, evident from his composed demeanor. However, Monford Velaryon seemed uneasy, while Baelor Hightower, once again, attempted to address the King, only to be halted before he could speak.
"This is final," Rhaegar stated firmly.
He hoped someone would intercede, hoping for a voice to caution his father against bestowing the Targaryen name upon his nephew. However, the room remained silent, only allowing his feelings of anger and resentment to fester. Those feelings swelled further as his sister's sweet yet unsettling voice pierced through the discomforting quiet.
"There is another matter I wish to talk to you about, my lords," she announced, with every hint of confidence, her posture regal, accentuated by the glimmer of the silver-studded circlet atop her head. "I am expecting another child of Robert's."
Lord Randyll Tarly coughed loudly. He observed the array of expressions with keen interest, hoping to discern others who shared his sense of disgust when he had first learned of the news days earlier. To his satisfaction, they all appeared equally disturbed and upset by the revelation, albeit for different reasons. Lord Monford, who had been advocating for his son, legitimized by Rhaegar, as a potential husband for Rhaenys, seemed particularly affected. Her pregnancy had undeniably halted any aspirations he had for securing a Targaryen match for his Velaryon son.
The Lord of Oldtown also looked disturbed by the news, eyeing Rhaenys. Aegon wondered why; she was seated, and there was no possible way for anyone to discern the slight bump on her figure. Her loose gown perfectly concealed any sign of her pregnancy.
Despite Baelor's apparent uncertainty of the news, he was the only one who managed to say something. "Congratulations," he said, other mummers in agreement followed.
Rhaenys accepted them all with a smile.
Rhaegar rose from his seat abruptly, prompting others to follow suit.
Aegon rose to his feet slowly, a sudden weakness in his legs giving way beneath him.
"That will be all for today," Rhaegar said dismissively.
Aegon remained lost in his own thoughts as the others gradually exited the room. He only snapped back to attention when he felt a warm hand envelop his forearm. Turning, he met Rhaenys' face, a feigned concern etched upon it.
"You appear rather pale, brother. Mayhaps a visit to the maester is in order," she remarked with mock sympathy before leaving the room.
Aegon stood there, too stunned to muster a response. It was then that he saw he was all alone now.