A fierce, crackling storm raged that night. My mother's screams, the anguish, the drenched bedsheets. The musk of sweat swirled in candle smoke.
'Push, your Grace.'
'—Push!'
I was rooms away. With my mother surrounded by a multitude of servants, handmaids, maesters, and Father, there was naught need for my presence.
Yet, as each thunderous roar echoed through the halls, a wave of sensory impressions washed over me—the vivid sight, the distinct scent, the tangible touch of it all.
Seated in the solitude of my study, engrossed in my reading, the relentless downpour and tempestuous wind created a cacophony outside.
The drapes billowed and flailed in the tumultuous gusts, yet within the refuge of my corner, the warmth of the blazing fire offered solace.
The competing horrors of the thunderous roars and anguished screams filled the air, underscoring the undeniable severity of my mother's current pregnancy. The jests about the ease of her successful birthing experience of Rhaenyra and I, despite our twinship, lost their funny effect.
All I could do was immerse myself in the scrolls and yearn for fatigue to weigh down my eyelids. Perhaps, in slumber, I could escape the raging storm and awaken to bells heralding the arrival of my new sibling.
The reality proved more challenging than I had hoped.
The rain poured so heavily and densely that each lightning strike cast an ethereal pallor, a cascade of milky droplets. Through this surreal veil, the outline of the Dragonpit emerged while Sundance's mournful howls reverberated from beneath.
['—SCREE!']
"Hm?"
Through the thunder a distant voice from days long gone reached my ears, jolting me out of my daydream.
It was always like this whenever I had Sundance parked in the Dragonpit. I could feel the cold chains around his neck with each lightning rip. In those moments, it felt as if I inhabited a realm of fragmented realities, each one yearning for liberation.
Yet, on this stormy night, my desires shifted. I longed to remain close to home, to be present should anything untoward befall my mother. The tempestuous weather itself forbade me from taking flight, even with Sundance's reputed prowess in the skies.
And so, I found myself cursed for the night, bound to my current location. Not even a mere spectator, unneeded within the sacred birth chambers. Sleep eluded me like the moon fears the sun.
Until a welcomed knock echoed through the door.
"Rhaenar...?" spoke an angelic voice. A candle's gentle glow peeked into the room, awaiting permission to enter.
"Rhaenyra, come in."
My sister entered, closing the heavy doors behind her. The weight of worry etched upon her face. She placed the candle on the table and took a seat next to me, her hands resting on her knees. Her eyes, like purple gemstones, reflected the flickering flames from the nearby fire.
"Can't sleep?" I inquired.
"How could I?" Rhaenyra replied. "I should be by Mother's side."
I continued reading, absorbed in the words before me. "She has an army of servants and maesters attending to her. We would only be in the way."
Rhaenyra gave me a quizzical look. "Then explain your leg?"
I glanced down, realizing my leg was bouncing up and down in a restless rhythm. I chuckled, "It seems my body betrays my tongue."
A brief laugh escaped Rhaenyra, a small release of tension. "What are you reading?" she asked.
I placed a finger on the page to mark my spot, then raised the book, revealing its cover to Rhaenyra.
"'Lies of the Ancients' by Archmaester Fomas," I replied.
The thunder rumbled, yet Rhaenyra remained unfazed, unlike her usual pretense whenever a storm brewed. She would often play up a feigned fear, seeking comfort in my presence. I didn't mind. With my time mostly occupied, a storm provided us an opportunity for uninterrupted one-on-one time.
"Really?" Rhaenyra remarked, scooting her chair closer to mine. Her face drew near, her silver hair lightly brushing against my arm as she peered at the page. "What's it about?"
"It delves into the history of Old Valyria, its founding, speculations on the lineages of the Reach and Westerlands, and even touches upon the Long Night and the Others," I explained.
Rhaenyra shook her head with a hint of boredom. "Sounds rather scattered."
I chuckled. "Archmaester Fomas' writing lacks structure, but the underlying theme remains consistent."
"Interesting," Rhaenyra feigned, offering a polite lie. "Is it any good?
"Somewhat. I was researching the Long Night," I continued. "Archmaester Fomas presents an intriguing theory that challenges the popular notion of the Others as mythical corpse-raising demons.
"According to him, they were actually a tribe of First Men who dwelled in the far North. During an exceptionally long winter that spanned a generation, they marched south, seeking to conquer new lands.
"House Stark, the rulers of the North, rallied their banners and successfully repelled the invasion, forcing the tribe of First Men to retreat northward from whence they came, and a Wall was built to keep them out.
"If Archmaester Fomas is to be believed, the stories about the Others were mere fabrications, created to bolster House Stark's lineage and establish a heroic backstory fitting for the Age of Heroes."
As I finished speaking, Rhaenyra began pretending to snore.
I couldn't help but smile. "Am I boring you?"
"You could have just said 'no' and be done with it. You sound like Septa Marlow!"
"At least I don't sound like a brat."
Was it what I said, or was it because she spied the peonies that Alicent had picked me to quell my nerves?
"Hey—!"
It was then, quick as a flash, that Rhaenyra snatched the book from in front of me. She made her way to the other side of the table, regarding me with a cheeky expression.
I rolled my eyes, "I'm not doing this."
But when I took a step to the left, my sister took a corresponding step to hers, maintaining the distance between us with the table as a barrier.
"Doing what?" she said, her tongue poking her cheek. She clutched the book to her chest. "Boring us to death?"
"If you don't give it back, you'll experience something far worse."
She liked the sound of that, "Really? I'd like to see you try."
"Fine."
With a mischievous grin, I grasped the end of the table and swiftly overturned it.
The vase with the peonies crashed to the ground, parchments fluttered in the air, and my mug of wine was sent hurling into the fire. Now, no object stood between me and her, ready to enact my playful revenge.
Rhaenyra's eyes widened with her smile, her lips parted in surprise at my sudden removal of her barrier. She coyishly screamed, laughing and giggling as she jumped onto my bed, holding the book as high as she could against the wall.
I pursued, joining her on the bed. My taller reach should have allowed me to easily retrieve the book from her grasp, even with her attempting to keep it out of my reach. But she laughed and giggled, placing a free hand on my face to fend me away.
Refusing to play by her rules, I wrapped my arms around her waist.
"Eeek! Stop it, stop it!" she protested as I tickled her sides, and before we knew it, we tumbled onto the bed together.
With one hand still tickling, I reached for the book. Just as I was about to touch it, a knee unexpectedly collided with my nether regions, causing instant pain.
"Ooof!"
She giggled, seizing the opportunity while I recovered to crawl away.
"Oh, no you don't!" I exclaimed, managing to grab hold of her ankle just before she slipped out of reach. She laughed madly as I pulled her back towards me.
"Noooooo!" she protested as I dragged her closer and closer. When I resumed tickling, she swiftly flipped onto her back and desperately used her hands to fend off mine.
By then we both had forgotten about the silly book and the whole thing devolved into a wrestling contest.
She fought dirty. Biting my flesh when I had her in a sleeper hold. She tugged at my nightshirt, its lightweight fabric strangled my throat until it tore, and the red marks ringed my neck.
But having no shirt only added to my advantage. Without anything to easily grab onto and with my wits sharp at her dirty tactics, it took little time to win.
I sat on her stomach and pinned her arms against the bed. By the time I had Rhaenyra subdued, we were both panting and covered in sweat.
"Yield," I ordered, pretending to build spit in my mouth, a threat that I would spit down at any moment onto her face.
"N-.. Never!" She struggled for a bit, twisting either way for any freedom, to no avail. Seeing the impending spitty assault, she relented. "Fine. Yield, yield!"
"Too late," I said with a devilish grin. "Now behold what happens to those who defy me!"
A foamed line of saliva plunged to her face, slow and stringy.
"Rhaenar, no," she pleaded through the giggles, "Ew, hahaha, stop!"
But the outside guards couldn't hear her cries for help over the storm.
"Nooooooooo—!"
.
..
…
..
.
I woke to Rhaenyra sleeping soundly, her soft cheeks planted against my bare chest. The storm of the night before had subsided, the morning an ever-glow of thick grey clouds.
Evidently, Rhaenyra slept with a tight grip on me, a pool of her dribble wet on my skin as she exhaled, sending a wave of chill each time. The bed sheets and covers were kicked off from our wrestle, as if the storm had found its way inside my chambers.
I smiled. We both must have been exhausted. I didn't even remember falling asleep.
But then fear gripped my heart. If it was the next day and they hadn't come to retrieve me, then mother must have still been in labor.
With haste, I woke Rhaenyra. "Get up," I said as I put on a tunic.
"Hmm?" Rhaenyra rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "It's morning?"
"It could be the afternoon for all I know. Can't see through the clouds."
"Did you get any sleep?" she asked.
I scoffed, "With how much you snore?"
"Hey!" she barked. "I don't snore!"
I smiled. "You're too easy to rile, dear sister. Come, we must check on Mother."
But as we walked the Red Keep, it was not the typical positivity brimming from the halls that we encountered. The smiling faces were replaced with somber moods. We found ourselves running.
"—Mother!"
Woe and behold, when we reached her chambers, Mother was cradled in the bed, sobbing. My father sat beside her, rubbing her back. A legion of servants regarded us with a sad look. Grandmaester Runciter returned my hopeful glance with a saddened shake of the head, and I saw the bloodied bundle of cloth in my mother's arms.
Tears sprawled down Rhaenyra's face as she joined our parents in their recovering embrace.
All I did was stand there — nothingness in my mind, nothingness in my heart. Nothing of my future brother or sister. Nothing but the empty space where sorrow should be.
Once again, my mother's pregnancy failed. Once again, it was a brother we lost.
I was tired of painting artworks about this topic. Too many times had I braved the ordeal of childbirth. This medieval world was brutal in its delivery, I knew. By now, I should have been numbed to the process.
Instead, I channelled my feelings into writing a song. It was a work in progress that I titled 'Take Flight':
.
..
'Happiness is hard to find
How wicked is the world?
Everywhere you deem to look
There's blood stained on the Pearls.
*
Though the sun is shining
A way to distant view.
When we close our eyes and dream
The blood is nothing new.
*
Save your self-defiance
Save yourself from rain
Save that aching, lonesome heart
Save it from the pain.
*
Try and try and try, you might
To save it from the pain.
Try and try and try, you may
Your efforts be in vain, oh~
*
Try and try and try, you might
To save it from the pain.
Try and try and try, you may
To win this wicked game.
*
Wandering in darkness
Wondering for light?
Bodies, how they suffer crows
Suffering in flight.
*
Wondering in silence
Wandering for sound?
Kisses, how they help us find
Where our hearts are bound.
*
Try and try and try, you might
Reaching for the skies
Try and try and try, you may
Until you close your eyes, oh~
*
Then the song, the lullaby
Love-sounds from afar
If you had the ears to hear
You'd know where you are
*
Woe, the light is blinding
Kindness in the hue
Open up your heart and see
That this is nothing new, oh~
*
Try and try and try, you might
Try and try, you may.
Try and try and try, take flight
Struggle 'gainst the grain.
*
Fly and fly and fly, you might
Fly and fly, you may
Fly and fly and fly, take flight
Fly and fly away~'
.
..
I performed it at my Globe Theatre the next evening, and its resonance quickly spread to all corners of the realm — every inn and tavern.
The tears that welled in the eyes of the crowd were difficult to discern. Were they moved by the recent context of my life? The lyrics didn't exactly make it clear what the subject was about.
Perhaps it was the heartfelt delivery, or the (failed) attempt at injecting positivity into the latter half. It could even be attributed to the pervasive idol worship I receive on a daily basis. I could shed tears for the death of an ant, and I'm certain the maidens would have wept alongside me.
It was lonely. Oh so lonely
I didn't care. All that mattered is that the song helped me feel better, even if only a little.