Summary
"I don't think it can be denied, the gods have cursed us. But before there was any of this, war, pain, death, there was love. It always will be, for the rest of our days. After all these years I've lost my will to lie even to myself on that. I know the cords that bind our souls can never be undone. I know you know it too. But love, even with the best of intentions, it all has a way of... just twisting into something it was never meant to be. We've made a mess of this, you and I. But, perhaps rather than any one ambition, the true culprit was a lack of understanding."
127 AC, Driftmark
The waves crashed against the cliffs of High Tide, crashing and crashing and crashing. Rain with teeth of steel pounded against windows, the winds howl like a dying man's cry. The noise clashing together, it almost reminded her of the battle with the Crab feeder, so long ago now.
The storm ceaseless in its dance of grief and fury, almost as if reflecting the mood around the castle.
Rhaenyra slammed the goblet down, fists clenched.
Gods be good that was a disaster!
It was a mess... Luke did ... Laena was ... Rhaenys had... Aemond ... fuck! It was all a mess.
A drink a drink, that was what she needed.
Easier said than done.
Her hands shook, some of the wine missed her mouth and dripped onto her doublet, the reds of fruit mingling with the stains of blood on leather.
Funny, last time she felt this much rage and grief she learned she was to be sewn into a tunic for her father's wedding.
Her jaw clenched so tight, she'd feel it for days she knew.
That is, if she would live that long.
Father could always be counted upon to be merciful and lenient, especially with her, and admittedly she'd taken advantage of his kindness over the years. He'd turned a blind eye to her excursions, drinking, brawling, and wenching in her younger years. And after all this time he still maintains that she's his heir despite two trueborn... despite the Queen birthing two sons.
But every man has his breaking point, some betrayals fester and poison the soul. This, she knew, to one of them. This was a knife in the dark plunged to the soul.
And after tonight her father was well within his right to call for her head should he wish, Otto Hightower would certainly jump at the chance, but what else was new? How he could manage take her head and spare his daughter's, she didn't know.
Her in-laws were more complicated, Lord Corlys would most like be reasonable, this new development means very little for his ambitions.
And he of all people had no place to judge her in this.
Corlys would be one to argue against execution, and possibly disinheritance. If she were barred from the throne, her own children's claims would be called into question. It's happened with the Kings of old before the Conquest, and even with the lords of today.
There's a reason disinheritance is so seldom ever used, even with lords who quite obviously detest their heirs.
Otto would seize on that chance, he's already made it abundantly clear that he's going to ignore the order of succession as it is. Even with the most recent development.
But Rhaenys... Rhaenys... she wouldn't be near as forgiving, her dear mother-for-law was always painfully clear on where they stood.
That thrice damned she-bat needed little reason to begrudge every breath Rhaenyra took.
It was her grandfather who denied her a throne, the Myrish who denied her a father, her husband who denied her the Driftwood chair, and the bloody gods who denied her a cock!
Yet she held Rhaenyra to blame for this, and that, and everything else under the bloody sun!
Vile mother-in-laws and vicious step-grandfathers aside, that's not even accounting for what this has done to her marriage.
If she lived this would be one hell of an awkward ride back to Dragonstone.
Another swallow of wine.
Not to mention the children.
Gods, they had been so frightened, so confused after what they'd heard. She sent them to bed with false promises that all would be well. Yet the five sets of eyes which had once looked upon her with as much adoration, wonder, and trust as any father could hope a right to, now filled with skepticism, uncertainty, confusion... and fear.
Well, except for... well, nothing ever surprised that one.
But the others... her... other. The looks on their faces... and she couldn't even...
Fuck!
How had things gotten so out of hand? How in Seven Hells did she let this happen?
Another swallow.
None of this should have ever happened. If Rhaenyra had only taken Alicent and fled the Kingdom when she had the chance -
Alicent... Alicent... Alicent.
This was all her fault. Fifteen years of betrayal, and lies, and biting her tongue, and she breaks now? Now? Now is the time she chose to go mad?
Oh, what am I saying? The bloody woman's been mad for years.
Still, at the worst moment she possibly could?
Boom!
Well, perhaps she was being too harsh. It probably wasn't the worst moment.
After all, Alicent's senses could have left her any day in the throne room, with the court in full swing. Or at the tourney celebrating Aemon's birth. Or perhaps at the betrothal announcement with Rhaenys. Or better still, at Rhaenyra's own wedding, with every belligerent high lord and insufferable lady in attendance.
Surely thatwould have been the perfect place to announce something of this caliber, if her aim was to cause a great spectacle.
It would save the ravens a trip.
But surely Alicent could have picked a better way to inform her of this than whatever the hell that was in the Hall.
Though despite this council's makeup of the deaf, the dim, and the disloyal they would probably all find their best course of action was to scramble around and hush it all up.
They were bound to have come up with some sort of plan for this by now, right?
Most of them would have harbored some deep suspicions for over a decade. Beesbury, Orwyle, Lannister, Wylde, Otto especially.
To some extent they all had some idea of her and Alicent's... complex history.
Even some of the Kingsguard may have... well, obviously not Cole.
In retrospect, most of them didn't even look entirely surprised with the revelation.
It would seem Rhaenyra was dimer, deafer, and far more disloyal than any of them could ever hope to be.
"There you are."
Rhaenyra jumped.
Of course he'd been the one to find her.
Daemon stood at the far end of the hall, his cutting smile plastered firmly in place. His silver hair tossed back in its usual strands, tied up much like in her own style.
"Uncle."
Two goblets were clasped between his fingers in one hand, and a bottle of wine in the other.
"I see you started without me."
Her uncle uncorks the bottle and slides down on the wall next to her.
"Started?"
She asks as he refills her cup.
"Celebrating."
He fills his own and lifts it to her in mock toast.
"To the humiliation of Otto Hightower."
Rhaenyra stares dead into the torch and clanks goblets with Daemon.
"The humiliation of Otto Hightower, and of me. To the betrayal and mortification of my family, my father, and my children."
Daemon's face flickered at the mention of her children, yet he's still smiling.
"How is the King? Is he angry?"
Her uncle sips contently.
"Ahh, not how i'd put it. All things considered he really is taking it quite well."
"Is he?"
"Well, he hasn't said anything. Hasn't moved much either. In shock I would guess. More than I can say for our dear beloathed Hand."
Another sip.
"He confined Aegon and the little girls to their chambers, Ser Cunt-struck's on guard of course. If I were to judge he seemed even less inclined to obey his sworn protectee than he was in the hall. The rest of the council seized command of your father's knights, they've barred the castle gates and sealed off the harbor, much to Corlys' wroth. As for Aemond, well my... great nephew has been spirited off to the mainland, bound for Oldtown. The Grand Maester and Seasmoke with him I'm afraid."
So far in her cups, Rhaenyra had the gaul to laugh.
The news was welcomed, it lifted some of the weight from her chest.
But it'd soon return with her next question.
"What of the Queen?"
Daemon refills his cup.
"Otto cartered her off to his chamber after you fled with the children. They've been screaming down the castle for the last hour."
"And here I thought that was the wind."
It was Daemon's turn to laugh.
"Our hosts?"
"Had a bit of a row. I believe I heard your goodfather pointed out many a great man who sired bastards before, during, and after their marriage. Somehow, I don't think this quelled cousin Rhaenys' rage. I dare say if my brother fails to take your head, she will."
He finished with a chuckle
Nice to know nothing's changed there.
"Something to look forward to then."
Rhaenyra fumbles with her unsheathed sword across her lap. A Valyrian Steel longsword. A smoky blade, blue and silver veins rippled through the steel. A dragon and falcon head, one on each side for the guard, cut with blue jades for eyes, and a larger matching stone embedded into its pommel. The handle was made from silver, yet beautifully overlapped with ornate gilded coils, and black leather for the grip.
Blackfyre was elegant and had an added feel of power to its grip, but Rhaenyra couldn't deny this sword held a special place in her heart
Thirteen years ago, the Queen had the blade forged and gifted it to her before the hunt on Aegon's second name day. It was meant as a peace offering of sorts. For Alicent's own peace of mind, giving Rhaenyra what little protection she could. And it had hadn't it? Without this sword she likely wouldn't be here tonight.
Now she must wish she would have let me die.
That was of course before the terrible bit of business of Rhaenyra's betrothal announcement. If that's what it could be called. The look on Alicent's face... oh gods she'll never forget it. She had never meant for her to find out that way.
But that was before her wedding, where Alicent showed up fashionably late, dressed in the vibrant green endorsement of her status as her father's pawn. Ah well, if you're to be a pawn no matter what you do, you may as well be comfortable. The red wasn't working for her anyway. Still it was all quite very rude.
Simple times in retrospect.
"Gerardys says your beloved consort has barricaded herself in your chambers, as I understand impatiently awaiting your return. She seems to want a word."
That snaps her attention back to the present.
Rhaenyra should really be getting onto her chambers, her arm was throbbing, and the Queen's last gift still bled.
She should probably go see the Maester before the wound festers.
She briefly considered that fate as preferable to whatever storm was waiting for her there, but she wouldn't give Otto Hightower the satisfaction of dying before seeing his head on a pike.
Rhaenyra buckles her sword on and stands to leave, but Daemon catches her arm, and violet eyes meet.
"Kessi shijetra ao."
"Kessa pōnta?"
"Nuhon valonqar shijetra issa."
"Ziry iksos daor keskydoso."
Daemon laughs once again.
"True enough."
With that Rhaenyra started her funeral march to her bedchamber, wondering how in Seven Hells it all came to this.
Notes:
Author's note: This is a reupload of my AO3 story.
The prologue starts at my version of Driftmark, 1x07. But the chapters will fill in what actually happened over the years between 1x01 and this.
Please note that while this story will have SOME root in cannon, the story and the ending will be quite different from the original story. Particularly with the line of succession. Some of you may not be happy about it but enjoy the ride.
Their last conversation was a rough translate of High Valyrian.
It goes something like
"They will forgive you."
"Will they?"
"My brother forgave me."
"You did not do what I did."