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The Following 15 Chapters are available for Patrons.
Chapter 36 (Magic is Dark and Full of Lies), Chapter 37 (A Prince and A Princess), Chapter 38 (A Tourney of Sacrifice), Chapter 39 (Words are like an Arrow), Chapter 40 (Viserys's Decision), Chapter 41 (Aenar's Answer), Chapter 42 (You Will Doom Us All), Chapter 43 (The First Cry of War), Chapter 44 (Revenge is a dish best served Cold), Chapter 45 (Dragons and Snakes), Chapter 46 ('You are not Loved'), Chapter 47 (Rhaenyra's Rage), Chapter 48 (Spread your Wings), Chapter 49 (A Falling Dragon), and Chapter 50 (Even Eyes Can Lie) are already available for Patrons.
Aemma
There is blood in the brazier. It turned the ash a muddy crimson and hissed as the fire licked at it, the heat igniting the power that lay in each droplet. Stood above the blaze, eyes covered by a sheen of unshed tears, Aemma Arryn clutches at the medallion that hangs like a noose around her neck.
Her stomach is empty, and the pang of ripped innards echoes through her veins, a poison that robs her of rest and seeps into her bones. Behind her stands a crib, covered in dust, unused, waiting for a promised prince that she knows will never come.
This is the sixth child she has borne. The fifth to die. She is a wasteland, unfit for the task she has been charged with. Carrying heirs, bringing them forth with a cloak of red wrapped around their shoulders, victory in each gasping wail.
Silence is her oldest companion, and it is her cruelest. It marks the end of a life that never had the chance to begin, and sometimes, she wonders if she is cursed.
Surely, it cannot be her doing that the boys who grow within her all wither. The High Septon has thrice promised that she need only pray, bend her knees to the will of the Seven who are One, and await their forgiveness. It makes something that is almost a laugh bubble in her throat. She has been penitent and gracious, wearing a smile made of courtesy and candlelight. She is loved for it, whispers of the 'kind queen' following her every step, and yet... she is not deaf or dumb.
She knows what the courtiers say behind closed doors, with the cover of darkness muffling their treacherous words.
'She will never bear the king a healthy son,' they hiss, serpents sowing discord in a garden she is too worn to care for. If she could, she would cut off their heads and serve them on silver platters during a great feast, green apples cradled in their gaping mouths.
The hungry whispers in her dreams urge her on, gnawing on her bloodied womb, supping on the misery that has made a home in the ruins of her body.
Her blood is Maegor's blood, Aegon's. She may not ride upon a dragon, but that does not free her from the straining hold of the madness that lives in her family. It is simply a subtler beast, settling in the shadows of her chambers, turning her wrath upon those who might prove a danger to her kith and her kin.
Crimson trails down her arm, spilling free from a wound in her palm. It falls into the flames, and in the space between one blink and the next, she catches a glimpse of what is yet to come.
She tears the medallion from her neck, ignores how the chain snapping leaves a red mark on her too-pale skin, and throws the good luck charm into the brazier. She turns on her heel and disappears from the room. A whirlwind of soft pink and white fabric snapped around her ankles.
She has a daughter; she will not forget her Rhaenyra. Not even now, when her body still aches for the boy who ripped his way out of her too soon, dead and cold.
The girl who shares her nose and the silver-gold curls that tumble down her back is a living child. Warm and bold. A queen in the making. She will take comfort in her innocence this night, knowing it will not last long in this world that demands too much and gives too little.
Her days are spent abed, the maesters orders empowered by her husband's will, fear blinding him to her wants. It chafes, rubs her pride raw, and leaves her biting at every morsel of freedom that passes by her door.
Aenar would come to her son, the only good thing that came from Daemon. The boy was young, prideful, and strong, but she knew he wasn't like her Rhaenyra. He held no innocence in his eyes, the way he would often look at her; no one seemed to notice, but she always saw it, the pity in his eyes, as if he knew something she did not. She wouldn't be surprised if he did; the boy often spoke of things that he shouldn't; perhaps it was just Daemon's influence, she did not know, but she knew he desired the happiness of her Nyra. That much she knew.
Her palm is bandaged, and she presses against the white cloth. Thumb digging until red blooms like an awakening rose. The pain is sour, all sweetness lost as the tang of iron fills the room and seeps into the walls. She is a blemish, a sore that picks at its own edges, forever unwilling to heal.
The moment she does, she will be made to grow another child -another doomed boy- and she can feel it in her gut that this one will be her last.
.
.
Rhaenyra is five and ten, and the years have flitted by too quickly. She had grown into a beautiful young woman; she spent the day playing with Aenar, and Laena would join them every time she visited. Sometimes, Aemma wondered if she visited without her parents' knowledge.
In days like this, she enjoyed watching them, from children to young adults; soon enough, they would notice the changes perhaps they already had.
One day, Rhaenyra had come crying to her, blood on her hands, tears in her eyes. It took an hour for her tears to stop and for her to calm down after Aemma convinced her that she wasn't dying but was growing into a woman. Aemma had explained everything to her and how, one day, she would bear her lord Husband's children.
Her daughter hadn't looked thrilled at the thought, but Aemma knew she was 'afraid.' She couldn't blame her, pregnancy was a gamble, but she knew one day Rhaenyra would have her own children; she only wished to live long enough to see them.
She knew Rhaenyra would fall in love with Aenar if she already hadn't; she knew her daughter would be happy, while despite her personal opinion towards Daemon, Aenar was different; she could already see them as Lord and Lady of Summerhall. The castle that Baelon started was almost done. Once it was built, Aenar would live there with Rhaenyra.
.
.
Her stomach started to swell once more; it grew firm, and her meals refused to settle. Food crawls up her throat, even when she desperately tries to keep it down, and this time, she keeps to her chambers voluntarily.
They are close to Rhaenyra's, and her daughter knows to visit her; she comes creeping into the chambers a storm wrapped in flesh. Smile so bright it blinds all around her to the sharpness in her eyes, how she tracks Aenar like a predator whenever he enters the same space as her. Aemma spots it and smothers a grin.
Those two are twin flames, both beautiful and proud, and she can taste the fate that twines around the pair of them, sweet and citrusy on her tongue.
She is no dreamer; no Daenys come to guide her family off a ruinous path, but she can sense things some nights. A far-off break, a shattering, she is glad her dearest child will have someone like Aenar at her side.
.
.
The bath water is tepid, and she wants to grab the wise men who stand around her -their crooked fingers twisted in drab cloaks, eyes fixed upon the floor- only to force their faces beneath the surface. Let them drown, she thinks, lips curling into a sneer as she reclines in the tub.
Pregnancy makes her violent, she has found. Her temper is a volatile thing, barely kept contained by her knowledge of the reputation that will grow if she gives in to temptation. It does little to dull the throbbing rage that sparks in her chest, superheated and sharp; it makes her pace around her room. Gaze forever fixed forward. But she uses it as a focus and hones her manners in such a way that whispers find their way to her ear.
Being known as a kind queen is useful. She had been hesitant to use it in the past, but now, when the last of her strength is starting to seep from the sinew that holds her together, she finds her past reasons lacking. She draws the servants to her side and starts preparing them for Rhaenyra.
Her daughter is a tempestuous thing, not yet settled in her own skin, unwilling to mold herself into a woman that the Kingdoms can support. It fills her with dread and pride in equal measure. They stand on a precipice; she can feel, teetering on a line that some who bear the blood of the dragon cannot see. It makes for dangerous times. Times ill-suited for a king who seeks peace to the detriment of his kin.
Aemma loves Viserys; she does. They have been wed for over eighteen years, and the early ones were blissful. Back when the Spring Prince was heir, Rhaenyra's health was taken as a promising sign.
But she is not blind to his flaws. She does her best to guide him and support him even when he refuses to hear her council, leaning into the shadow of Otto Hightower's honeyed lies and letting poison drip into his heart, turning it against those who should be cradled most dear in his soul. She despairs, curls in her bed, stretches her hand out, and feels the chill of cold linen where her husband should lie.
Her boy kicks in her stomach, strong in a way her other sons have not been, and for a few scant weeks, Aemma finds hope starting to simmer in her veins. A heady thing, thrumming to the beat of her heart, turning the slant of her smile genuine.
.
.
One day, the rumors started. Aemma didn't know how or why, but the servant, thin like a stick, the girl had more strength than she should have; she told her that Viserys. Her Viserys was seen with Lady Alicent Hightower, drinking tea together in the garden during the hour of the owl.
Aemma had almost strangled the girl right there, and then, her blood had boiled more than she remembered; for the first time, she truly wanted to harm someone. She opened her mouth to tell the guards to have the servant imprisoned for her comment; she almost said the words, but in the end, she stopped herself. Instead, she ordered the servant to leave the chamber. Once the door closed, her mind wandered to Viserys. What was he doing right now? But she didn't believe such stupid comments; her husband wasn't like this; he was loyal to her, and she was to him. She knew he might be missing her presence in the bed, but she knew she had naught to worry about.
Now, she did the only thing she found relaxing these days: watching her daughter play around with Laena and Aenar. The bathtub filled to the brim always cleared her head, her hands caressing the swollen belly. She felt another kick; the boy was growing inside one of these days. It would end soon; she could almost see him; in her dreams, he had silver hair and her eyes; he would fly over King's Landing with Aegon's crown, but as she was back in the real world. She knew these were mere dreams, sweet dreams; they always promised happiness, but it never came; the sweet dreams always hurt the most.
The door opened; Aemma didn't look; only her close family ever entered without knocking, and his approaching footsteps, she had heard them for many years now. Her hands gripped the outside edge of her bathtub.
"Aemma." He called her, his hand sinking into the water.
"It's warm," Viserys said, his hand reaching down, cupping her belly. Aemma sighed; it wasn't warm enough, her back resting against the bathtub.
"It's as warm as the Maester allowed me," Aemma said, letting out a weary sigh as she looked up at Viserys; his face showed pride and excitement; perhaps he did a good job hiding his concern, but Aemma couldn't tell. The wounds of Lyanna's passing were still fresh on her mind, a little too fresh, how much she wished she was here. She was sure her daughter's fear of pregnancies came from what happened to Lyanna.
"How is your brother?"
"He's not happy with me. Lady Arryn has arrived, and I basically ordered him to spend some time with her, show her the Red Keep and the Garden, and try to make their time together enjoyable." Viserys said he looked in the distance as if he was somehow trying to know what Daemon was doing at that moment.
"Oh, I'm sure he's having the time of his life." Aemma japed, already imagining Daemon with a not so amusement look on his face.
Viserys chuckled with a wide grin slowly fading away, his index finger sliding across the bathtub's water. "Maybe..." his words trailed off. "I just wish he understood that I only want his happiness. I remember how he was before L-Lyanna. He would smile so often. I don't remember seeing him smile like that; even Caraxes didn't look as scary. Now, he's not as he used to be; at least Aenar helps keep his worst tendencies hidden deep within." Viserys confessed before letting out a blow of air from his nose, sounding tired.
"He loved Lyanna, I don't think forcing him to remarry-" "I'm not forcing him." Viserys cut her off with a frown that quickly made its way into his face.
"I made it clear to him he can remarry only if he wants to. In no way I'm forcing him to remarry. Lady Arryn is a young girl from a noble and powerful house, and she can give him many beautiful children. I hope Daemon can see happiness again. That's all I want." Viserys confessed; Aemma hummed in approval; at least he only wanted the best for him. But she doubted they would want one another; if Daemon had been a princess, then perhaps Jeyne would have considered it; she almost made a comment about it, but she decided not to bring it up.
"What about Alysanne? She talked with me a week ago about my upcoming pregnancy."
"Ohh, what did she say?" Aemma noticed he wasn't eager to talk about her; she wondered if something or someone was the source of that.
"Not much; she said our child would be beautiful and that my pregnancy this time would go without a problem," Aemma said flatly, not fully looking at Viserys, but she knew he liked what she said. She didn't want to bring up what Alysanne really said, that she needed to survive most of all. That was more important, but Aemma disagreed; she wanted a son, and Viserys wanted a son. She knew it would overjoy her Viserys, but she knew she couldn't make her child magically grow a cock if he already didn't have one; she said as much to Viserys.
"This one is a son." When Aemma tried to object, his hands were on top of hers, his purple eyes looking down at her with resolve and pride.
"The dream, it was clearer than a memory, our son was born wearing Aegon's Crown."
"Born wearing a crown! Gods spare me." Aemma said sardonically. "I take it Rhaenyra is with Aenar."
"They are, how did you figure that out?" Viserys questioned with a wistful smile growing on his face.
"They are glued to one another, the two and Lady Laena. I would be more surprised if they weren't at each other's company." She said with a growing smile. Suddenly, the thought of needing to birth an heir disappeared at the thought of her precious daughter and Aenar.
"Lady Laena? She is a good friend of Nyra." Good Friend, Aemma almost scoffed upon hearing that; the three of them were anything but just good friends. She might not spend as much time as before with her daughter, but all it took was one look and one small glance, and she knew just how close they were. If she didn't know them, she would say they were a set of Triplets.
"Tonight, there will be a feast, right?" Aemma asked with a bitter tone; she enjoyed them, a flaw that she accepted; she always loved feasts, especially after her daughter was born. She remembered how she used to chase after her and Aenar when they got in trouble.
"Yes." Viserys drawled; he, too, knew how much she enjoyed feasts.
"The Feast is on my honor, and our son, who has not been born yet, neither of us can attend. Gods sure love making cruel jokes." Aemma said with a huff; she had learned long ago that gods if they existed, had a very twisted sense of humor.
"I can stay here with you." Viserys suddenly proposed, his fingers touching her belly tenderly.
"No. You are the King, you should be there." Aemma reminded him right away with a shake of her head, but it seemed Viserys wasn't done; his finger moved her chin upwards to look up at him.
"You are more important than any feast. Alysanne can be there instead of me; they know you are in the late stages of pregnancy, and they will understand." Aemma loved the way his words made her feel, but she still didn't want him to miss all the fun to stay here with her and get worried for her. It is not like him being here would fix anything. At least the Feast would make him forget about everything for a few hours.
"Maybe, but I know you want to go there, staying here will make you more worried." Viserys pressed his lips into a thin line; he seemed ready to try and come up with something to say when she noticed a scar on his little finger; it looked fresh enough.
"When?" She asked, holding his hands, looking at it from up close.
"Just a cut from the Throne," Viserys said dismissively, moving his sleeve further, trying to cover up the scar; though it did a poor job hiding it, she could see cracks on the flesh. Aemma grabbed his hand tenderly; her lips kissed his wound, hoping it would heal, before kissing his lips.
Laena
The hall boomed with music and fools and jugglers who entertained the lords. Her parents looked miserable as they always did; perhaps it was the thought of Queen Aemma giving birth. Laena didn't know, but she knew this Feast wasn't something they enjoyed. Her father did a good job hiding his annoyance as he ate fish from his plate, roasted in clay; she watched as he broke the shell with a small hammer, and his plate was filled with other types of seafood.
Crabs covered in honey and rice from Essos, its meat had been roasted until it turned a black brown, salmon filled her mother's plate, orange and juice, the only seafood that Laena enjoyed with lemon juice sparkled at the top, and ingredients from Lys. Spicy ingredients. A piece of freshly cooked bread by her side, its crust was decorated to look like the Targaryen sigil; before being baked, Laena found it amusing; as she ate a piece of salmon, she hummed at the taste, juice filled her mouth, she could taste the salt and sweetness of the meat and honey, she followed it down with wine, small red fruits were swimming on the wine, including a small piece of green lemon, iced lemonade filled with honey and sweet little fruits from Highgarden.
As she drank, her eyes found Aenar, who was busy talking with young Cregan and his cousin. Young Sara was talking with Rhaenyra.
She had heard Aenar say the young lord had found two dragon eggs. The King had allowed the Stark to take them but with a warning not to play with them and neither break them.
The young boy seemed overjoyed; the smile wasn't leaving his face, but she couldn't say the same for Sara Stark.
Upon hearing her brother had brought her a Dragon Egg, she had looked horrified and afraid, and when he tried to convince her to take it and keep it somewhere warm in her chambers, the little girl had stubbornly refused, telling Cregan that he could keep the two eggs with him and keep them warm, but the young lord had tried to change her mind, saying the golden egg belonged to her, and she should be the one to keep it and make sure it's warm, it would create a bond between her and the dragon before she was even born, and if she refused, the dragon might not have that bond with her after coming out of the egg.
After a lot of arguing between one another, things got heated quickly. Sara threatened that she would throw the egg from the balcony. Upon hearing that, Cregan said he would never talk with her again if she did something like that before deciding to keep the golden egg beside his in the fireplace. Ser Elric Stark had joked, saying he would have two dragons trying to lighten up the mood, but Cregan hadn't taken the joke that well, saying the golden one belonged to his sister and he would never have any other besides the dragon growing on the silver egg.
Laena and Rhaenyra had talked with Lady Sara, trying to understand why she didn't want a dragon, but she was as silent as a mute, refusing to say anything; upon realizing that she wouldn't say anything, the two of them invited the little lady to drink tea and eat sweets in the Garden. Soon, the Feast started. Her brother was busy talking with...Joffrey, that was his name. She didn't remember what his last name was, but he was doing a good job. That's all that mattered.
"Time to dance." With a clap of his hands, the King suddenly announced the fools, the singers, and the jugglers scattered away like rats in an open field. The King had paid them enough coins, but they still lingered around, hoping someone would require their service, another silver coin perhaps to fill their empty purses.
As a young lady of a noble house, she knew her role, so she grabbed the hand of the first young lord who wanted her to dance with him; it would look bad if she refused everyone, but she knew her duty. The young lord seemed older than her, with a pretty face; if she had never known Aenar, she would have considered talking with him.
More dancing than talking, the lord bowed his head to her before finding another partner. She felt the hand of someone; for a moment, she thought it was Aenar until silver hair and purple eyes were in front of her; his face reminded her of Aenar.
"Prince Daemon, what brought you here? Please don't tell me you are hiding from Lady Arryn." Laena teased with a smile as they kept dancing; Daemon groaned loud enough for the couple near them to turn their heads.
"No, just needed some time away from her, I hope I'm not bothering you, my lady."
"Of course not. But I heard Lady Arryn is a lovely lady. Did she try to bite you? They always say the quietest ones are always the most dangerous." Laena teased more; Daemon rolled his eyes as they kept dancing; his hands were holding her waist, but not in a sensual way; he was keeping as much distance from her as possible.
"Ohh, she loves to bite, but I'm not the one she wants to have for dinner," Daemon answered sarcastically with a move of his eyes. She followed his gaze and saw Lady Jeyne Arryn sitting at the Vale table; at first glance, nothing seemed amiss, but she quickly noticed the way she was talking and sitting so closely to another girl with bright red hair who seemed a few years older than her.
So they are not just rumors, she thought; she had seen that look enough times on her brother to notice these things.
"You can always try to find another lady. There are many who would throw themselves at your feet." Daemon almost snarled, suddenly a look of melancholy on his eyes that quickly disappeared.
"It's not them I desire, how can a candle ever compare to the sun?" Daemon mumbled under his breath, but Laena heard his words.
"Perhaps you can find another lady to be your sun, Prince Daemon. You have many years left; it would be lonely to spend them in the darkness with only a mere candle to brighten your day." Laena suggested Daemon seemed deep in thought, and not much else was said between the two. Soon, they changed partners once again, but she knew her words had an impact on Daemon, who, instead of dancing with someone else, walked back into his seat.
Her third dance was with the heir of Otto Hightower; his neck was covered by a jumble of slash scars that all went together around his neck like a twisted tree. She heard him talk to her, but she hardly paid him attention; she noticed that Aenar was dancing with Lady Alicent Hightower.
Laena felt her anger flare up like an awakening dragon, the way Alicent looked at Aenar, the way her arm was around his shoulder. She almost wanted to get there and tell her to get lost, but she wasn't like that; that would be foolish of her; it was much better when people didn't know what you wanted and didn't know who you considered an enemy. So, she danced with the Hightower heir, a small talk between the two; she smiled occasionally once the dance ended.
Laena walked over to Aenar, but Alicent seemed to want to dance more. "Lady Alicent. Can I have a dance with Aenar? I'm sure my brother would be eager to dance with you." Laena proposed with a sweet smile. Alicent seemed like she just swallowed a lemon when Aenar grabbed her hand.
But before they could start dancing, she stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "Not here. I want us to dance somewhere else." Laena proposed. Aenar smiled brightly before following her behind.
Soon, after walking through corridors, the two reached a balcony that showed the gate of The Red Keep, the wall, and the city beyond.
The full moon engulfed everything in a silver glow, the ceramic tile that made the floor glow like a second moon, their feet loud and silent, their eyes locked as they danced with one another, his hands around her waist, her arms around his neck, the full moon standing on the small distance between their faces, in the middle.
"You're beautiful, Laena," Aenar said with a bright smile, not wanting to look somewhere else; her cheeks warmed more than ever before, her pink tongue licked her lips, and she felt lost in his eyes, her heart beating in her chest. She felt like she could look into his eyes forever.
"You are handsome, Aenar, and I want you, not as a friend, but as more. Will you have me?" Aenar didn't say anything. Instead, he kissed her, and she moaned in bliss. Her first kiss tasted sweeter than anything else. Their eyes closed as they kissed, not caring about anything else. They were together, and their hearts knew what they felt for one another.
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