Chapter XII: Sorrows, Sorrows, Prayers

BAELOR

THE RED KEEP

Cousin Aegon's unfortunate incident had led the House of the Dragon to be limited to one male who could father heirs, for now. Daeron was young, my uncle unlikely to remarry, Aemon sworn to celibacy. My only hope was that providence would have Naerys' children survive, with so much changed. At least, among the worries and uncertainty that followed, my cousin Naerys and me found some semblance of delight at Aegon's misfortune, though we both managed to hide it from the ever-watchful eyes of the court.

Soon Naerys was to give birth. And if the Seven willed it and they survived, I would wait until they were blessed in the sept before I set sail for the Pentoshi shore. There were a few other family affairs to be settled until then, and the opportunity to do so presented itself soon enough.

My sister Rhaena, with all the confidence the age of four and ten bestowed upon a girl and princess, had come to inquire after her fate, in the wake of her elder sister's wedding.

"Brother, I have heard rumour that you wish to see me wed to Lord Bernard. Please say it is not so." she told me, with all the graveness she could muster. "I have come to tell you that I wish to swear myself to the Maiden, and as a faithful and pious man, you should not suffer the breaking of such an oath."

"Have you sworn yourself yet, without asking for my leave? Me, in which whose wardship you remain yet, may I remind you. Or you merely mean to do so?" I asked, half-fearing that her impulses had driven her to such haste.

"I did not, brother. I would not disrespect you so." she answered meekly, her face showing the truth in her words. "But you of all, know the calling of the holy life. I do not wish to wed, I would rather join the motherhouse in Stony Sept. And I had hoped that you would allow me to do so."

The mention of Stony Sept had enlightened me of what hopes and desires she entertained. And as much as it pained me, I had to crush them, for allowing such to fester further would only bring her pain and anguish in the years to come.

"You would not find your mother again by joining the Faith, Rhaena! For all the love she bore us, her heart is too broken to love us again. You know how father was, always grim and silent, never laughing and never loving. All the love he bore was for our uncle, and perhaps a semblance of it for mother. And he did not love more because all he once loved was lost. It is easy to blame him for ignoring us, but many children do not survive their infancy, and he cared not for any more of which he loved to be lost. And for all that mother loved us, when she lost father, the same pernicious thought must have burrowed in her mind. There is nothing in her heart but grief. And Daeron's death must have hardened her more."

"You cannot know that, brother. Just let me see her at least" she cried, and her anguish made me want eagerly to acquiesce to her demands. But I knew better.

"She would not have you! I went to see her when Elaena cried herself to sleep every night. But she would not receive me. They named her Elder Sister, as befits a Queen Dowager and she drowns her sorrows in her tasks. She was too "busy" to receive me. She bade me seven blessings and sent me on my way."

"But she's my mother." cried Rhaena, tears spilling on her cheeks.

"Not anymore. I am sorry, sweet sister, but we might as well be orphaned of a mother too, for all that she still lives. It pains her too much to love us further. It is better to leave her to her lightning of candles and her prayers."

" Then I will join another motherhouse, maybe at Gulltown, or Oldtown, brother. Just please, let me do so."

"If it is piety that drives you so, oaths are not the only way to be faithful. You are young still, to swear yourself so. Perhaps in a dozen years or so, if no man would find your fancy. Serving the Mother is as worthy as serving the Maiden, sister. But I would not wed you to any that you do not wish to. As long as they are of a suitable station, and a character I find suitable, I'll leave the choosing to you. And see that he should lack ambitions of rank and power, I do not need him making trouble for me." I answered her.

"Meanwhile, with our mother gone, and our sister wed to the North, there is no one to take charge of the alms from the Red Keep, save Naerys, but she is bedridden in anticipation of her birth. You will take charge of the matter until Naerys is in better health, upon which you will share this burden jointly. Perhaps you shll find your heart soothed by helping others."

BERNARD TYRELL

THE RED KEEP

The young Tyrell rose was concerned when the King summoned him to his solar with no anticipation of what he wished of him. He knew, from the whispers at the court, that His Grace had raved often in his council at what he termed his late father's "stupidity". And for all that a son should love a father, Bernard inclined to agree with the king. He had indeed loved his father, but often he had watched his mother cry when she heard of his latest mistress, or the rumour that he imposed himself upon the daughters of Dornish lords.

The King received him in his solar and, with an unreadable and solemn face, bade him sit down.

"I have heard rumors of rumors that I seek to wed my sister to yourself. Have you any insight on how such rumors might arise, my lord Tyrell?" asked the king, with a cutting edge to his words and a severe glint in his eyes.

It seemed that, unwittingly, the new lord Tyrell found itself in the same situation with the king as his father, a situation that he was eager to rectify.

"I have not spoken of such, Your Grace, I swear on the Seven. But my mother, in her widowhood, seeks to see me well settled. She is ambitious and overeager. I pray, my king, to pardon her folly. I know I am no knight of valor, to be seen worthy of the Princess Rhaena's hand in marriage."

"All is forgiven, my lord. But you may know, and your mother also, that not being of the age of majority, as your sovereign, I have the right to oversee your marriage."

"And have you a maiden in mind… Your Grace?" asked the young lord, hoping that the king did not hold a grudge severe enough to see him wed to some ugly and barely noble chit. He was still a Tyrell after all, even if, as it seemed, not in the King's good graces.

"Fear not, Lord Bernard, you have nothing to fear from your future bride. Perhaps from your future goodfather" said the king, with mirth in his voice.

"Your Grace?"

"What think you of the lady Sansa Stark, lord Bernard?" asked the king in kind.

The lady had attended her uncle's wedding and seemed not overly displeased on being displaced as heir by the Old Wolf. Cregan Stark had explained, when a few knight had offended him with insinuations, that he did not wrong to his grand-daughter, for in the House Stark, a child came before a grandchild. The young lady was beautiful, even if not in the striking fashion of one with the blood of the dragon and seemed quite ladylike. He had not conversed with her at the feast, or with any other Stark for that matter since he was fool enough to boast without valor at his back before the house's patriarch and be shamed for it with naught but a look.

"She seemed a pleasant and beautiful young lady. Your Grace is quite wise to have chosen her as my bride. Will…will Lord Cregan attend the wedding?" Bernard asked, quite anxious.

"He will but fear not" the king laughed. "It is year before you shall wed. For now, the lady Sansa has remained at court, among my sister's ladies in waiting. You would do well to get to know her better. But I have taken enough of your time, you have my leave to return to your affairs."

Bernard rose from his chair, eager to return to his chambers. But as he made to leave, the king interrupted him: "I have still one or three things to tell you. Leave the Street of Silk out of sight and mind if you do not wish to anger Lord Stark. Tell your mother that she should emulate her goodmother, for she was wiser in her inaction than her in her actions. And, last but not least, when Dorne shall fall, your house shall have leave to do with the Qorgyles as you will, as long as you do not anger the gods."

VISERYS TARGARYEN

THE TOWER OF THE HAND

The Prince Hand was busy with the vast and varied burdens of his position, foremost among their lot the last of the preparations for the expedition to Pentos. Its cost were north of two hundred thousand dragons – for horses, grain, arms and armor, and whatever else they might need. At least the attack on Aegon had some bright spots, for Braavos had been forced to finance this war, to save face. Hundreds of merchant ships were requisitioned, a host of seven thousand men gathered, all but awaiting the king's orders to set sail. And he would soon order so, after Naerys gave birth. Baelor had even set up a Court of Chivalry that would be responsible for the organization and discipline of the host and oversee the complaints about the spoils of war. Seven knight, old and experienced and known for their knightly valor had been given this task.

He had deplored Aegon's folly since the boy first started drinking and whoring. He should have set him straight, punished him harder. But he had not, and he now saw the result of his inactions. Aegon, barely six and twenty, would father no more children. And worse, he was a eunuch now, the laughingstock of the court. He had only a grandchild, and one more on the way, perhaps two, if the Grandmaester was right. Baelor had told him in privacy that he had no interest in matrimony, and that he wished to have Elaena marry Daeron and have them jointly as his heir. He would have argued harder for Baelor to marry, but since his own line was to rule after Baelor, he was not overly eager to do so. He had quibbled some time, about making Daeron heir before his grandfather and father. But he knew he was not likely to outlive Baelor, nor Aegon with his drinking and manifold poxes. Unless Baelor died at war. But now he knew that Aegon was no longer fit to rule, and if Baelor were to die, Seven forbid, he would rule as Regent and later Hand, without needing to take the trappings of the crown.

As if the gods knew, or cared, that he was thinking of his own legacy, a servant came: "My prince, the princess has begun her labors".

After hours of anxious waiting, he was to see his grandchildren at least. Both boys, if the servants spoke truth.

They were small and frail, but they lived. And Naerys too lived. A quick prayer to the gods was on his lips, when he heard the child's breath in his arms cease. And then that prayer turned into a curse, as yet unspoken.

Amidst Naerys' cries of anguish, as the maesters tried and failed to revive the children, for it seemed that the Stranger wished to take both, Baelor arrived. After a quick look around the chamber, Baelor turned to the master and ordered "Give me the children". Viserys meant to yell at the king in his grief, for Baelor was no healer. But Baelor's command rang again, his voice stronger, and none would gainsay him.

The Grandmaester handed him the first boy, and Baelor took it in his arms, made the sign of blessing upon his forehead, and murmured a quick prayer. And the boy began to breathe. The maesters were quick to hand over the next child, and he too, after a blessing and a prayer, began to breathe again.

Baelor returned the boys to their mother's arms, and, with a smile, asked his cousin what names she had chosen.

"Aelor. And Daemion" she said, her smile shining on her tearstained face.

And Viserys looked upon Baelor as if he was another man, as the servants whispered among themselves and called the king "Blessed".

By midnight, tales had sprung in taverns of how the king had given battle to the Stranger, and had wrestled the two young princelings from his skeletal hands.