Chapter 24: Chapter 19: Set Them UpChapter Text
"Funerals are an opportunity."
-King Rhaenyra I, the Dragonqueen
105 AC, Dragonpit
"You shouldn't have taken your chances." I flatly told the corpses in the ebony coffin before me. Mother and the son she died birthing, holding each other tight in a bed of falcon feathers.
I had killed her.
I had no choice. She was the one that told Corlys the blackmail, and I didn't have leverage on her, unlike Corlys. She was too pious and chaste and had no skeletons in her closet. One word, and I'd be ruined.
So I killed her.
Corlys and I acted out a play, pretending that Laena was stripped from me, and that I was furious and trying to poison her in retaliation. We even went so far as to keep Laenor ignorant of the plan, the Sea Snake telling his son to warn her of my cabal, and letting nature do the rest. I already knew from Canon that'd she'd die in childbirth, so I let that occur.
And yet, during the birth, upon hearing her screams of pain sounding throughout the castle, I genuinely reconsidered and desperately mustered my cabal to try to save the Queen. But stubborn and hidebound Mellos refused, insisting that he could perform the birth by himself. By the time we'd forced the King to let us in, it was too late.
We'd tried, we really did. But we couldn't save her. The birth was breech position. We'd had to cut her open to save the baby, only to find that it was underweight. We were unable to staunch her bleeding in time, and she'd bled out over the birthing bed. While my baby brother Baelon died in the night, despite our best efforts to save him. The boy was too small, and needed an incubator to survive infancy, which we lacked.
Thankfully, Father had spared my cabal, punishing Mellos instead. My cabal had been able to argue our case to Father, citing that we could have saved her if she'd let us examine her. My midwives would have noticed that the baby was in the wrong position and could have corrected him in the womb months before birth. If we'd done so, then we wouldn't have had to cut her open to save the boy. While mayhaps Baelon was beyond our ability, Aemma at least, could have lived. So Father had rounded on Mellos, and sent him to take the black, as punishment for failing his duties as a healer. He should have identified the problem and saved the Queen, instead of being overconfident and arrogant.
So here I was, clad in a long dress of black linen with a translucent veil of black Myrish silk, at the end of a Royal Funeral.
Ever since my grandfather's death when I was fourteen, I made sure to brace myself for the passing of all my older relatives. People called me cold and sociopathic for not crying at my grandmother's funeral, but what was the point of crying? It didn't bring back the dead. I did the same thing for my second mother, numbing my feelings and treating it as inevitable even before I killed her. It helped a lot, being an unaffected person in a room full of grievers.
Another funeral I attended was when a schoolteacher of mine passed away fighting leukaemia, while the rest of the school grieved and Alice cried herself to sleep, my first thought in my head was 'How can I best take advantage of this situation?'. I immediately felt disgusted at myself, and decided that the only way I was taking advantage of the situation was to rally people to try console his widow and children.
And yet it was Mr James' funeral that I thought of, instead of my grandparents'. There was opportunity in Mother's death. Father was shattered right now, and with a little prodding, I could put him back together in a shape I liked.
You see, grievers aren't rational. They're this sordid mix of sadness, anger, denial and emptiness. It makes them blind to all but the most blatant manipulations, and far more succeptible to new ideas. An old classmate of mine once claimed that he lost his virginity by offering a female classmate comfort after the death of her beloved grandmother, she was irrational and unthinking, and just went with the flow. Before she knew it, she was no longer a virgin.
God, Jordan was such a scumbag. I'd have hated him even if he didn't bully me for years. He pulled tricks like that all the time, manipulating girls into his bed before deflowering them and then promptly ditching them and moving on to his next conquest. He became a salesman immediately after graduating secondary school, ditching tertiary education, and from what I was told, was amazing at scamming money out of naive customers.
But he wasn't wrong. Funerals were wonderful opportunities to manipulate people into doing what they would normally consider unthinkable. And once that haze of grief and sadness fades? Chances are it's either too late or they'll rationalise their decisions and back you up anyway.
———
105 AC, Throne Room
"I, King Viserys Targaryen, First of His Name, hereby sentence you all." My father thundered, unyielding fury in his eyes. "Tear their tongues out! All of them!"
I watched as the men before us began pleading and begging, fear in their eyes as they were led away to the dungeons. They were the victims of the latest plot I had schemed.
After the coronation, the Goldcloaks had recruited many of the warriors in the melee. Those whom wanted to serve our family, yet did not manage to earn a white cloak. Including Ser Harwin Strong and Ser Jonas Bracken, whom Oscar Tully was squiring for. The Heir to Riverrun was still attempting to seduce me, and used every excuse to come to the Red Keep and see me. Still, he was the perfect catspaw for most of my... less savoury plans.
Immediately after my mother and brother died, I'd had beautiful Mysaria bat her eyes a few times at him, and told him that she'd appreciate it if he treated his men to go drinking at the Dragonkeepers' favourite establishments, remind them of her late lover and his children, make japes about the 'Heir for a Day' and other such jokes mocking the fact that the Queen and her son were dead. He happily went to do that, and was roaring drunk in a brothel when Ser Jonquil's spies found him.
He did better than expected, as once he had a few drinks in him, he was bragging that he'd fuck and marry me, before becoming king in his own right, as according to him; "Women are good only for cooking, cleaning, making babies and fucking!"
When my father found out, he was mad. He ordered the household guard and loyal Goldcloaks to arrest all of those men. Which lead us here. Nearly two hundred men kneeling on the floor of the throne room, begging for mercy.
"The black!" One of them shouted. "I'll take the black, so please don't hurt me."
The cry was enthusiastically taken up by the rest, all of them begging to be sent to the Wall, which my father allowed. But there was one exception.
"I demand a trial by combat!" Oscar Tully shouted. "I would face my accuser and let the Gods themselves prove me just!"
"You dare—" Viserys began, but I raised a hand, stopping him right there. When he looked at me quizzically, I made sure to put in as much anger, hate and disgust as I could into my face.
"Very well, I accept your challenge!" I said balefully, stepping forwards. "Present yourself on the morrow at the Red Keep's training yard."
———
105 AC, Red Keep Training Yard
Oscar Tully came dressed for battle. He wore a shirt of steel scales over boiled leather, with greaves, gauntlets and a helm with a ring of trouts embossed just above the eyes. He held a simple longsword, baring it at the Kingsguard.
"Which of these cunts must I kill?" He demanded.
"This cunt whose mother, brother and virtue you insulted." I shouted back, levelling Dark Sister at him and stomping forwards in the miniature Goldcloak uniform my uncle had given me years ago. It was growing a tad small, but I could still fit it.
There was a bout of incredulous laughter from the court. The crown princess, playing the warrior? It was a jape worthy of mockery for generations to come. And yet none of them saw that the King was savagely smiling.
"You?" Oscar laughed, slapping his thighs. "Go back to your dresses and dolls, Princess, and let a proper man take your place."
"I think not, Fish." I defiantly said. "I will make you rue the day you insulted my family."
That just brought another round of laughter to Oscar and half the court.
"Let the trial by combat commence!" My father declared, once the laughter had died down.
"I'm going to be merciful." Oscar lazily said. He stabbed forwards playfully, the lunge so sloppy it could barely be called that.
Dark Sister came down in a two handed chop and separated his hand from his wrist, cleaving through steel scale as though it was cardboard. He screamed, blood spurting out of the open wound, but I didn't relent, transitioning straight into a low strike, aiming for the back of the knee joint of his greaves, where only mail protected him, and carved deeply into his right knee. He fell to the ground, and I kicked him onto his belly before finished him off by jabbing Queen Visenya's blade into the back of his neck, where neither his helmet nor armour protected, severing his spine.
"Thank you for your mercy." I drily said, pulling Dark Sister out of the corpse and flicking the blood off it with a flourish.
Utter silence met me, the entire royal court frozen in shock.
Even before the Daemon Incident, I already knew how to fight. I had done fencing since I was thirteen, and made the best sixteen for the National Under-17 Fencing Competition in Singapore. I'd also played a lot of badminton, which gave me good eye-hand coordination and reflexes. When I grew older, I started training left handed for both sports, to give me that extra edge. When I was in boarding school in the Welsh countryside, I learnt horse riding at a local farm, and continued that later in life.
Then I went to the Singaporean Army for my mandatory two years as a conscript soldier. They taught me CQC and CQB, which I was the best in the company for. While my hand-to-hand combat skills were nothing to brag about, my talent with a knife outstripped everyone else. Turns out that fencing translates very well into using a knife well. I'd also learnt how to shoot a gun, and although my first experience with it was a failure, I retook the shooting exam and earned a marksman patch.
After the Daemon Incident, I had persuaded my father to let me train at arms. While Master-of-Arms Ser Harold Stokeworth still refused to let girls into the training yard, Ser Jonquil was willing to train me in the courtyard of Maegor's Holdfast. We first began with conditioning, getting me into shape. This was difficult, but I pulled through. The first step was always the hardest in getting fit, but I had managed to do it in my past life, and managed to do it again now.
Once I got my conditioning back, Ser Jonquil taught me how to fight. I already had a large talent base to draw from, so she was very pleased at how quickly I took to Dark Sister, which while not exactly an epee, was thinner than a normal longsword, and far lighter, thanks to the Valyrian steel. While I had forgotten much, due to seven years of never touching a sword, it was remarkable how quickly everything came back to me. Before long, I was defeating squires older than me.
After the tourney, Ser Jessamyn took over as my sparring partner, duelling me daily. The one thing both women in the Kingsguard encouraged, was to fight dirty. Women were smaller and weaker than men, hence we had to level the playing field. Kicking people while they were down. Feigning weakness before striking. And never hesitating to go for the kill. The last step was the most difficult.
Ser Jonquil and Ser Jessamyn brought in prisoners for me. All of them rapists or murderers from the Black Cells, bound and gagged, they ordered me to kill them with a dagger. It made me understand, that killing was little more than butchery. That there was no difference between cutting down a man on the battlefield, and gutting a defenceless one. But then I remembered Daemon choking me out, and then wondered how many lives these men before me had ruined. Thus, strength returned to my arms, and I was able to slit their throats.
And so it was, that after ten months of training, that I was able to swiftly kill Oscar Tully within thirty seconds of the duel.
My father began clapping for me excitedly, as did Laena and the Dragonseeds. Like a snowball, it snowballed. The applause spread to the Kingsguard, to the guards, to the Small Council and the court.
Now was the time, the culmination of my best plan, laid down since before Jaehaerys died. I was surrounded by a cheering crowd, having just defended my family's honour. Viserys was angry and grieving, but immensely proud of me. Daemon's death forced me to improvise, which was for the better. I couldn't have killed him so easily. I had completed a Trial By Combat, proving me just in the eyes of the gods. All other potential heirs were dead or unborn, and the Dragonseeds would refuse the throne. I grinned, and executed my plan.
"Father!" I called out, removing my helm and letting down my braid, once the applause had died down. "Mother and Baelon may be dead, but know that I am still here for you! You still have an heir to the Iron Throne."
"Indeed, I do, Rhaenyra. Indeed I do." My father tearfully said, coming down and hugging me. "You've done me proud. You've done your entire family proud."
He wiped his eyes before turning to face the crowd.
"I hereby declare that my daughter, the Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, is now heir to the Iron Throne. She will become Queen after I pass, and rule in her own right." King Viserys declared to the entire court.
"This is preposterous!" Someone in the crowd objected, the crowd parting to reveal Ser Harold Stokeworth. "Your grace, please reconsider! Remember the precedents set by the Great Council! No woman, nor descendant of a woman, can ever sit the Iron Throne! No Queen can ever rule the Seven Kingdoms!"
"He's right you know. It is a precedent." I said, placing a hand on my father's arm when he moved to object. He looked at me, incredulous. "This is why I was so against the Great Council."
"Why I'll—" Viserys began, before I shook my head.
"I have an idea around that. Let's discuss it in private." I told him. He scowled, but agreed, letting me guide him to an empty chamber.
"Do you know what a legal fiction is, Father?" I asked.