Gwenys

As a princess of House Targaryen, Aelinor was always permitted some measure of privacy in the Sept of Baelor. The exception was Gwenys, who often attended her as a companion.

They knelt beneath the statue of the Mother, bowing their heads solemnly. Behind them, Ser Roland Crakehall of the Kingsguard paced back and forth. He was still unaccustomed to his new life, and he claimed that his legs grew sore if he stood in one place.

According to court rumour, Aelinor was praying to the Mother for her aid in conception. Gwen couldn't help but smile at that. She'd be better off praying to one of the gods that has a cock. Aerys certainly isn't using his.

It was, admittedly, an unworthy jape at Aerys' expense but nor was it a lie. He and Aelinor had slept in separate beds on their wedding night, be damned what men might whisper about them afterwards. Servants had gossiped that Aerys had not even kissed his wife since the wedding.

If Aerys suspected anything about his wife, he gave no indication. He treated Gwen with cold and impatient courtesy, but he did that with all women so far as Gwenys could tell.

"Will you attend me tomorrow?" Aelinor whispered to Gwen as they knelt together.

"Of course," Gwenys whispered. "But speak about it later. Best not go into detail while she's listening." She nodded up to the statue before them.

Aelinor giggled, but not for long. "There is another thing. Will you join me for the performance?"

She was referring to a play which was being put on for the royal family. A troupe of mummers were set to perform where tourneys were normally held, to make use of the elevated seats.

Gwenys was surprised by Aelinor's question. "Is it still going forward, then?"

"Of course it is," Aelinor retorted. "Did you really think it would not happen?"

"Bloodraven opposed it, did he not?" Gwenys lowered her whisper yet more, unable to shake the fear that the master of whisperers would know what she was saying. "I thought the king would take his advice and avoid taking risks."

"Aye, but this is the princess's work," Aelinor pointed out, "and the Crown Prince has offered his support. Daeron won't refuse his golden boy anything, it seems."

"I hope so," Gwenys murmured.

Aelinor frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing," Gwenys assured her. She did not wish to burden Aelinor with her worries about Titus Dondarrion or his position on the small council, and that Baelor seemed to be the only man who could stave off disaster.

Aelinor's thoughts were elsewhere. "My dear, you did not answer me. Will you come with me and Aerys?"

Gwenys hesitated before answering with more questions. "What of Jena? Will she be there too?"

"I imagine so," Aelinor replied cautiously. She turned away from the Mother's statue and looked Gwenys full in the face. "You cannot avoid her forever."

Gwenys did not answer her; she thought often enough about her former lover without discussing it with her new one.

She and Jena were still at odds since their quarrel four days before. She still shuddered at the fury in her friend's eyes, rising up as if she was going to strike her. It had terrified her, and she had determinedly avoided a private conversation with Jena since then. Aelinor had aided in keeping her from Jena's side, though she had also been troubled.

"Gwenys?"

She sighed and looked at Aelinor again. "It is not a simple matter. She's changed so much."

"And you have not?"

Gwenys sighed. "I hope I changed for the better. Jena's only gotten worse."

"Come now," Aelinor chided her. "Jena is a good woman, is she not?"

It was a strange thing, Gwenys noted, to have Aelinor of all people defending Jena so vigorously, trying so hard to preserve Gwenys' friendship with Jena.

"What is it?" Aelinor suddenly appeared to be nervous as she regarded Gwenys.

"I just wonder why it matters so much to you," Gwenys admitted, wishing that her emotions were not so easily read on her face.

"Because Jena is your friend," Aelinor urged, "and this rift has been making you miserable."

Frustration welled up inside of Gwenys, and she strove to suppress it. She did not want to prove Aelinor's point so easily. They spent the rest of their prayers in silence. Gwenys refused to meet her lover's eyes as her mind raced.

It had always been so easy for Jena; Gwenys' family had served Jena's since before the Targaryens had come to Westeros. Jena had ensured that Gwenys need never worry about her father or brother forcing her into a marriage where she would have to bear a man's touch through gritted teeth and risk death each time she provided him with another child. Gwenys had always been so grateful to avoid such a fate, and it would have been one thing if Jena had been a difficult woman, even a cruel one. But Jena had been kind and generous, adventurous and clever, delighted to indulge in mischief. And like Gwenys, she too had been burdened with a family that had neglected her, even abused her. Both Jena and Gwenys had lost their mothers as children, and neither were fond of their fathers. It had been so easy for them to fall in love.

Except, it hadn't been the same for them; Jena could shield Gwenys from marriage, but not herself. Gwenys had pitied her tremendously for that, until she realised that Jena, like her brother Titus, had it in her to love men and women alike. Gwenys had always hidden her sense of betrayal from Jena, deeming it an unworthy emotion, but she'd never been able to fully expel it either.

That sense of betrayal had re-emerged in the early years of Jena and Baelor's marriage. Gwenys had always known such feelings were unworthy. Jena adored Baelor, and Baelor was more than worthy of Jena's adoration. Nor had he ever subjected Gwenys to scrutiny or suspicion over her past affair with his wife.

So easy, Gwenys thought to herself. So easy for a man who has everything to be magnanimous. Anger fought shame within her, putting tears in her eyes as she tried to remain composed.

She had thought she'd put all this behind her long ago. Matarys was three years old when she had fallen in love again, and found the nerve to act on her feelings.

The first had been Leola, the wife of a prominent merchant in King's Landing who traded in sugar, molasses, and honey. It was a miserable marriage from the start, long before Leola realised her true desires. Gwenys had met her when Baelor had hosted her husband in the Great Hall; after a drunken tryst in an empty corridor, the two of them had begun seeing each other as often as they could. In the end, it had come to naught, for Leola could not find it in herself to flee from King's Landing. Gwenys still kept the final note Leola had given her before she'd drawn up a warm bath for herself. Gwenys had grieved for months, with only Titus and Jena to comfort her.

Gwenys had met the second when she was serving as a maid in Baelor's household. Her name was Quentyn, named for an uncle whom she'd never known, his having drowned before she was born. Another uncle had raised her, but he'd treated her so cruelly that one night, she stole his coin and fled for her life. Although Quentyn was fifteen years younger than her, Gwenys was greatly taken by Quentyn's fiery nature and her daring spirit. It was with her that Gwenys had brought up those fantasies which she had suppressed with Jena. For half a year, their passion had burned hotter than the summer sun, but it had come to an abrupt end. Quentyn had vanished one morning, much to Gwenys' dismay and bewilderment.

Recalling Quentyn was an unpleasant experience, but she could not help recalling her now, with Barba's own disappearance.

Gwenys was well familiar with Titus' ward, and she was admittedly unsurprised by this turn of events. Like Quentyn, Barba had always been a wild girl, mischievous and adventurous. She had often gone missing during her first few months with Titus, wandering about on some adventure or another. Still, the remaining two wards in Jena's care were heartbroken, and pleading Jena to find Barba.

Jena was not the only one who had sought after the missing girl. Queen Myriah had ever been fond of the waifs that Titus took under his wing, and she had always been saddened when one of the waifs ran off. Barba was no exception.

"It is a pity that these urchins do not see what they are throwing away," Aerys had once mused over a hearty breakfast in Maegor's Holdfast, of which he himself rarely ate more than three bites.

Where do these wild girls go? Gwenys stared up at the Mother, as if she was hoping for the statue to answer. Will you look after these girls?

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It was one of the most fascinating events of Gwenys' life.

The mummers were Tyroshi, brought to King's Landing at Princess Kiera's invitation. They had put on a historical play about Maegor the Cruel, but Gwenys, who still recalled the histories which she'd learned, would not have guessed it was about Maegor if it weren't for his name.

She highly doubted that King Maegor had been hunchbacked, for one thing. Nor did she reckon he had committed incest with his mother, Queen Visenya. The play included a variety of such creative flourishes. Aegon the Uncrowned no longer died with his dragon whilst battling Maegor. In the play, he survived long enough to give an impassioned speech lamenting his tragic fate. Then, when Maegor arrived to finish what he began, the two exchanged curses and monologues before Maegor finally dealt the killing blow with Blackfyre.

Gwenys suspected that the people who had crafted this play were accustomed to entertaining the rabble. They would revel in displays of flesh, obscene subject matter, and graphic recreations of grotesqueries and violence.

None of that was possible tonight; the royal family would never deign to sit through such a display, especially when it was about their own ancestors.

Instead, the play kept all their sordid material out of sight, having the actors only speak of what had happened, relying on speeches, oratory, and repartee. Maegor and Visenya did not undress each other and revel in their deformed love on stage. Instead, they performed a verbal dance where their lust for one another was revealed in double-meanings and private jests. In other scenes, when they were alone, they spoke of their trysts to the audience, as if all were in their confidence. Gwenys thought that a bold gesture, especially given who the audience included.

By contrast, Aenys and his family were exalted in almost every scene in which they appeared. Aenys was the spirit of generosity and kindness, ever reluctant to begin another war such as the one which had resulted in his beloved mother's death. Alyssa was the pillar of strength, the Mother incarnate. Her decision to flee Dragonstone with her youngest children, whilst abandoning her elder daughter, was such a dilemma that the gods themselves appeared in human form to council with her.

Gwenys had expected the Tyroshi mummers to struggle with the Westerosi speech, as so many Tyroshi did. Instead, they spoke fluently and clearly, so that Gwenys scarcely heard their foreign accents by the second act.

It was one of only a precious few plays which she'd yet seen in her life, and the longest by far. Plays were cumbersome to organize, so most that she'd seen were much simpler affairs than this one. It did not help that most mummers in the Seven Kingdoms were illiterate; most of them contented themselves with puppet shows, or else performed silently whilst one narrator droned on.

Princess Kiera came from Tyrosh, however, and it was clear that they enjoyed a more elevated sort of entertainment. The new trade deal with Tyrosh had increased this influence in King's Landing. Gwenys had heard of other acting troupes who performed in bawdy houses or inns across the city.

This was a more elevated sort of entertainment; Gwenys had heard that Princess Kiera not only patronized these Tyroshi performers, but also the man who crafted this play.

Gwenys occasionally glanced about to gauge the others' reactions. Princess Kiera sat prim and poised as always. For the first time since Gwenys had known her, Kiera allowed herself to smile broadly during the play. Gwenys couldn't blame her; this was a triumph for Kiera even more than the players themselves. Gwenys recalled that moment when she saw Kiera at her wedding, wearing a dress of silver and gold, emulating the Targaryens to enthrall their subjects. This was her latest attempt to secure herself within the royal family.

Daeron and Valarr sat with her; thankfully, they'd had enough tact so that Valarr was between his cousin and his wife. While Baelor would have been thrilled to support Jena's mounting such a play as this, Valarr gave no indication that he was enjoying himself. He sat stone-faced and stared down at the actors, his arms firmly folded. He might have been a statue for how little he seemed to move.

Perhaps it was due to Gwenys knowing the secret of their relationship, but it seemed plain as day to her that Daeron was in love with Kiera. He often glanced at her, a look of longing on his face, and the way he fidgeted made it seem to Gwenys that he wanted to be the one sitting beside Kiera, holding her hand and having her head rest on his shoulder. Thankfully, the play was interesting enough that it kept everyone else's eyes on the stage.

The rest of House Targaryen was almost entirely in attendance to behold this performance. King Daeron was often bemused by what he saw, as if he were unable to decide whether he should be offended or amused. Queen Myriah was more receptive and enthusiastic, applauding whenever she deemed it appropriate to do so. This often began an avalanche of clapping which caused the actors to sheepishly wait for silence before resuming.

On one side of Gwenys, Aelinor and Aerys sat together, as they always did, maintaining the pretence of marriage. Aerys was clearly and unapologetically bored, as he was whenever he was dragged away from his hobbies. Aelinor, by contrast, was deeply moved. While Gwenys was fascinated - and somewhat amused - by the manner of Aegon the Uncrowned's death, Aelinor sobbed aloud. She wept again when Alyssa Targaryen mourned her sons, and when the brave Princess Rhaena was forced to marry her uncle to save her daughters from a cruel fate.

Jena and Baelor sat on Gwenys' other side. Neither of them were as stirred as Aelinor, but their interest was not feigned either. Gwenys wondered whether Jena would be able to see herself in Kiera's endeavours, given that she had once been an outsider who had had to fight to be accepted into this family. Or perhaps she will never see it, for she did it out of love, and Kiera out of obligation.

Jena still wore the haggard expression which had plagued her since her discovery of Valarr, Daeron, and Kiera. The search for Barba had also seemed to take its toll on her, for she doubtless dreaded what she would have to tell her brother when he returned. That may be the least of his concerns, Gwenys thought bitterly.

Rhaegel and his wife had also been in attendance, but at some point during the first act, Rhaegel had experienced another one of his usual fits and began to disrobe, screaming that insects were in his clothes. It did not take long to take him away so that the play might resume.

Maekar had outright refused to take part, having no patience for such an event as this. His grief was still fresh enough that King Daeron did not insist on his youngest son's attendance. He had extended that same courtesy to Maekar's children. Only Aerion had refused to attend; the others were seated beside their cousin, Matarys, two rows down from Gwenys. Jena and Baelor's second son was now old enough that he wished for more distance from his parents.

Instead, Jena had brought Miru and Sadog to sit with her. Neither of them looked very interested in the play, but Gwenys would not begrudge them that. Barba's absence had left them despondent, and no amount of searching had brought any trace of her to light. This city swallows us up, Gwenys thought ruefully. We disappear, we're forever changed, it doesn't matter. The city always triumphs against us.

She put aside her ruminations as the third act began. After all the liberties which the play's story had taken with Maegor the Cruel's life, she was very intrigued to learn how they would portray the mystery of his death.

It proved remarkably tame. The gods first appeared before him to chastise him for all his evil ways. Then, they offered him a final chance to surrender and repent. The Night's Watch would take him, they decreed, and he could spend the rest of his life defending the realm as he should have done when he was king. Instead, the maddened Maegor refused, renouncing the Seven as a true Valyrian. He then went to sit upon the Iron Throne, declaring he would die as a king.

After that, Jaehaerys the Wise appeared, with Rogar Baratheon and Alyssa Targaryen in tow, to deliver a speech where he vowed to reconcile Valyrian and Andal, protecting the Faith as a true king of the Seven Kingdoms.

Kiera led the applause, standing up in her seat. When Gwenys turned, she saw that Valarr and Daeron had also stood, though it was clear which of the two was clapping harder.

The king and queen did not rise, and their applause was reserved, but it set the precedent well enough. Applause rang out across the raised platforms, even as the performers reassembled on the stage and bowed to their audience.

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"It was a most agreeable play," Queen Myriah declared.

"Indeed, Mother," Alys Arryn agreed fervently. Nobody pointed out that she'd only seen the first act.

The ladies of the royal family were eating in the Queen's Ballroom of Maegor's Holdfast. The only men in attendance were Ser Willem Wylde and Ser Roland Crakehall, who stood by the doors and spoke not a word.

Gwenys sat between Aelinor and Jena, trying to ignore her own sense of discomfort.

It was a modest meal, prepared in haste after the play to accommodate evening appetites. Soup was served first, a modest affair with light content, followed by roast lamb and an assortment of vegetables and rice cooked in the Tyroshi style.

"I thought it was marvelous," Aelinor gushed between modest mouthfuls of food. "I haven't been so stirred by mummers in all my life!"

Gwenys looked down to hide her suppressed mirth. Aelinor was always saying such things which could be interpreted two different ways. She could never be fully sure when Aelinor did it intentionally or obliviously.

Queen Myriah, who held court, was looking kindly upon Kiera. "How long did it take to organise all that, if I may ask?"

"Two months, Your Grace," Kiera answered. "After the play was written," she clarified.

Gwenys thought that Kiera had become much more subdued since the main course arrived. She might have predicted that the princess would be exultant at this gathering, but now she seemed almost morose, speaking not at all except when spoken to.

"You should be very proud, Kiera," Jena declared. "It was a wonderful experience."

Well said. Gwenys was surprised that she could not glean whether Jena meant those words or not. When last she'd spoken to Jena, she'd spoken much less calmly or politely about Kiera. Is this an attempt to be better or just to save face?

"Thank you, Mother," Kiera replied stiffly; it seemed that she was wondering the same as Gwenys. No; she is not suspicious. Gwenys regarded Kiera again; it was a look of distaste on her countenance. Why? What has come over her? She suddenly noticed that Kiera had not touched her food.

Elaena had noticed it too. "Are you unwell, Princess?"

Kiera stood up, "Forgive me, but I mislike the smell of this food."

Gwenys sensed Aelinor freezing, surprised by this sudden rudeness.

Jena was also taken aback. "Is there something amiss? Do you no longer enjoy lamb?"

"No," Kiera replied. "I apologise for this, but I must leave the room." She put both her hands on her belly as she walked out of the room.

Elaena turned to Jena. "Is this a new development? I thought she loved lamb."

"It is just as much a surprise for me as it is for you," Jena answered, looking shame-faced.

"Alas," Queen Myriah sighed. "But that is understandable. I well recall how my preferences changed when I was pregnant."

She received nods or knowing smiles from those ladies who had been mothers. Gwenys had nothing to contribute to the ensuing conversation as they shared their own experiences. Instead, she quietly held Aelinor's hand under the table, unnoticed by everyone else.

Eventually, the women resumed discussing the play, which almost everyone agreed had been most interesting and enjoyable.

"I must say," Queen Myriah mused, "I wonder who wrote this play. Kiera did not disclose their name."

"Perhaps they belong to a holy order," Aelinor suggested. "The play was a very pious piece, after all. And who else would have such knowledge of playwriting?"

"It could also have been someone of a noble family," Myriah pointed out. "It would certainly explain why they have stayed in the shadows all this time."

Gwenys was feeling unpleasant as these ladies continued to debate the playwright's identity. Stabs of pain were brewing in her stomach. What is happening? She looked at the remains of lamb on her plate. It did not look undercooked. She wondered what those Tyroshi spices were.

Queen Myriah, meanwhile, turned to Jena. "Perhaps you can shed some light on this mystery?"

Jena shook her head. "I have heard rumours of this playwright's identity. It seems that Kiera and the Tyroshi are very fond of his work, whoever he is. This is not his only play; at least two are being performed about the city as we speak."

"And you know nothing of this man?" Alys was incredulous.

"Only that he is allegedly a glover's son," Jena replied tersely, "and that he grew up somewhere in the Riverlands."

"A glover's son?" Aelinor's eyes were wide with astonishment. "That must be calumny, surely? How could a commonborn be so talented with words?"

"It would explain the play's loose grasp of history," Elaena quipped dryly.

The pains were growing stronger, more frequent. Gwenys felt the pain extending to her limbs and neck. It was growing difficult to hold her head upright. A moan of pain left her as the agony increased.

"Gwenys?"

Jena and Aelinor were both putting hands on her, but she could not muster words to answer them.

"Oh gods!" Alys cried out in a panic. "It hurts!"

Gwenys' eyes were shut, but she heard the queen give a sudden gasp. "What is happening?"

"Poison," Jena screamed. "We've been poisoned!"

Gwenys whimpered as the ladies screamed. The two knights of the Kingsguard were sounding the alarm, but it was too late. Sounds of agony were all around her, including Jena and Aelinor. She heard someone retching violently, which caused a sickening smell to fill her nostrils.

She was barely aware of falling off her chair. The pain of hitting her head against the floor was incomparable to the torment inside of her. She wept and writhed, unable to even beg for help through her tightly clenched jaw.

Aelinor, she wanted to scream. Aelinor! Aeli-