Speaking with her father left her in a flurry.
As expected, Alicent had been vicious.
She always was whenever anything threatened her precious firstborn.
But this time, she seemed determined to trample her into the dirt.
“It was an unfortunate jest,” she had launched when she had arrived at her father’s apartments.
She found the king seated beside his sprawling model of Old Valyria, his remaining hand absently fingering a clay dragon figurine.
Behind him, Alicent hovered like a shadow in poisonous green.
“A jest to you, but a painful memory that is like to haunt Aemond for the rest of his days,” she spat, hands firmly clasped before her.
Standing like that, garbed in flowing emerald robes, and with a tiara resting atop her head, she cut the figure of the Mother.
The fierce avenger who protected her children.
“And I can assure you, Jacaerys has been punished for it,” she retorted, arching a brow.
“I should expect the same for Aegon.”
Her scowl deepened.
“Do not attempt to place blame for your son being a menace on my boy.”
“The sole reason Jace even dared to go along with this plot is because Aegon bid him to.”
“Ah yes, naturally, all of this is his fault.
Just like everything else you or your children do.
I and mine are always there to suffer for your wrongdoings while you prance around blameless.”
Rhaenyra scarce managed to let go of the breath she had been holding.
“Shall I return your mirror to you, stepmother?
You seem to be arguing with your own reflection.”
Her eyes bulged out of her sockets, and Rhaenyra thought she might backhand her across the face.
Blessedly, her father put an end to the verbal spat.
“Enough!” the king forced, voice hoarse.
Despite looking haggard from a long day of holding court, Viserys’ purple eyes remained alert.
“I will hear no more of your bickering, Alicent.” He cast a look over his shoulder.
“Both you and I know this plot has Aegon’s name written all over it.”
“Will you honestly absolve your grandson of all blame?
He was the one who led the pig to Aemond!”
Again, her father managed to put down the Queen’s hysterics with one curt nod of his head.
“And he is being punished for it, as Rhaenyra said.
Rest assured, my girl.
We will do the same with Aegon.”
The relief she felt at hearing those words was sweeter than honey.
And the only thing she savored more was the misery on Alicent’s face.
“Thank you, Father,” she replied with a smile.
“Good.
Now, we shall put this business behind us.
The boys are family, and they need to learn to comport themselves as such.
That means striving to bring the best out of each other, not the worst.”
Rhaenyra nodded, releasing the rings she had been so viciously twisting.
“Yes, of course, I understand.”
A pause ensued, as Alicent bounced on the balls of her feet.
“And?” she cast an expectant look down on her husband.
Her father strained to gather his thoughts.
“And, in light of that, the Queen and I have decided that it might be best to keep the boys apart for a while.”
Sucking in a breath, she briefly considered.
It is for the best.
Her son would not be happy to lose his only friend, but Rhaenyra knew it would do him much good to be away from his rotten influence.
“I agree.” She nodded again, much to her father’s appreciation.
Curiously, Alicent was no longer displeased.
“Excellent.
They could both use another boy to play with.”
Rhaenyra balked.
“What?”
The Queen’s quiet content blossomed into a spiteful smirk.
“The King and I have decided to take on a new ward.”
Silence rang in Rhaenyra’s ears, as loud as a church bell.
Her left hand trembled and instantly went for the rings on the right.
“Oh…” was all she managed.
“Yes.
A Dondarrion boy.
Sigmund.”
“Simon,” the Queen corrected, gently patting Viserys’ shoulder.
The King’s brows furrowed.
“Yes, yes, Simon.
He is Lord Harmon’s younger son.
Closer to Aegon’s age than Jacaerys’, but I am certain the three of them will get on marvelously.”
“Like they did last time…” she mumbled into her chin.
The queen answered her jab.
“Edric Florent was four and ten.
It was perfectly natural for him to not be interested in consorting with a seven-year-old boy.”
Rhaenyra was tempted to laugh in her face.
Of course.
It could not be because the boy was of the Reach and son to the Queen’s good friend.
“But I am sure things will be different with Simon.
He has just turned eleven, so he is likely to take a shine to both boys.
And who knows,” her father mused.
“He might end up inspiring them to be better men.”
“No, I will not allow it.” Rhaenyra yanked on her ring hard, the metal digging into her flesh.
“What?” her father sputtered.
“I warned you she would not be agreeable,” the Queen commented.
“You can concoct whatever plots you wish on your own terms, but I refuse to let them become reality.”
“Rhaenyra…”
“Not after last time,” she cut her father off, eyes pinning his.
Alicent huffed some more, prattling on about duty and obedience to the king’s wishes, but her father bade her be quiet.
“Leave us,” Viserys commanded, voice clear and crisp.
Alicent scoffed.
“I am to see you to bed, husband.”
“You may do so later.
I need to have words with my daughter.
Alone.”
She wanted to argue.
Rhaenyra could tell by the way her jaw muscles clenched.
But her father had snapped back to lucidity, and no amount of handwringing could change his mind.
Gathering her skirts in her hands, she exited the apartments in a huff.
No sooner had the door latch sounded behind her that Rhaenyra rushed her father.
“A Dondarrion?
Truly?”
Her father heaved a sigh.
“They are Marcher Lords, sworn to House Baratheon.
They have no ties to the Reach.”
“It was her idea, was it not?” She hissed, her skin pricking up.
The faint scent of half-set clay, heartfire ashes, and healing potions made the pounding in her head that much worse.
It is exactly what you have been asking me for.
A neutral lord with no preconceptions to act as a companion to your boy.”
“Yes, I am certain Lord Dondarrion’s steward has imparted no bias onto him at all.”
Her father’s face faltered, and he gazed off into the distance.
Then, his memory finally returned, and he recalled exactly where Ser Criston Cole’s family hailed from.
She has just swapped one lickspittle for another.
Simon Dondarrion would certainly not come to court unaccompanied.
His father was like to come as well, with his vassals and perhaps a few other Marcher lords.
More allies Alicent could marshal to her side.
All while Rhaenyra stood alone.
Letting his head fall into his hands, Viserys heaved another sigh.
His frail body was shivering under his woolen sleeping robes.
At this hour, he should have been abed, and the effort of delaying sleep exacted an obvious toll on him.
“I have always asked one thing of you from the moment I named you heir.
To uphold the Conqueror’s dream of keeping the realm united.
The realm cannot be united if the House of the Dragon is torn in two.”
Rhaenyra huffed, crossing her arms on her chest.
“And I assure you, dear father, that I am not the one who is keeping it apart.”
Viserys waved his hand away.
“You cannot earnestly tell me you have made efforts to get to know your siblings.”
She balked.
“I have, I…” she paused, giving up on her attempt at a lie.
“But I have let my children know them.
That means something.”
“Only after I had needled you into it.” Her father countered.
Rhaenyra closed her eyes, listening to the faint crackle of the embers in the heartfire.
It was true.
She had not been keen to let herself or her children consort with her half-siblings.
How could she?
Alicent had filled their hearts with the same enmity and resentment she harbored.
As things stood, there could never be any sort of friendship between them.
Jace and Aegon got along well enough.
Their bond was forged mostly through mischief, but Rhaenyra could not deny there was genuine joy in the way her boy spoke of his adventures with his half-uncle.
Some distant part of her wondered if her twins could also bond with her other siblings as well.
No, that can never be.
Her stepmother would never let it be.
“Jace and Aegon are a bad match,” she attempted to argue.
“You have said it yourself.
They bring out the worst in one another.”
Her father shook his head.
“They are children; they will outgrow it.”
“Not if they are never allowed to.”
“Rhaenyra…”
She whirled on her feet, heart in her throat.
“Do you earnestly believe Edric Florent excluded Jace so deliberately of his own accord?”
Her father rubbed sleep from his purple eyes.
“He was just a boy; boys tease one another.”
“No, it came from the home.
From his wench of a mother.
She had planted the seed in his head.”
“There is no need to plant any seeds when the truth is so plain to see.”
Blood froze in her veins.
Rhaenyra gaped at her father, wide-eyed, unmoving.
“I do not follow,” she fired.
The ring she had been turning had chafed at her skin hard enough to draw blood.
Her father let out a chortle, his stained teeth peeking through his ghostly lips.
“Of course you do not.
I do not either.
I have not been following anything since the day your children were born.”
The words were like a blow.
She stumbled back, seizing the edge of the table.
The pain in her chest bloomed, spreading all through her body.
He has never said it before.
Not out loud at least.
Never out loud.
“I understood.
You are the heir.
You needed a legacy to continue your bloodline.” He paused, his gaze downcast.
There was so much sadness etched into his face.
Every deep line radiated enough melancholy to drown the entire room.
“I have not begrudged that.
I have defended that.
But I will not defend destroying one half of our legacy in favor of the other.”
Rhaenyra could not bear it.
She rushed to him, kneeling at the foot of his chair to hold his hand.
The flesh was dry and tepid, as grey as dove feathers, just like his sallow face.
But his eyes still shone bright with dragonfire.
“Why can you not see that it is not I who seeks to destroy it?
It is her.
It has always been her.”
“Alicent is merely doing her duty, upholding the laws she has known her whole life.
She does not understand what is at stake…”
“Then how?” Rhaenyra’s hand squeezed his, her head spinning.
“How do you expect me to make peace with her when you know she would never extend the branch herself?”
In the dim light of the heartfire, her father’s papery skin appeared translucent.
He leaned down closer, wisps of his silver hair falling into Rhaenyra’s eyes.
“She would never, but her children would.
They are the blood of Old Valyria, the same as us.
They can share this burden with you.
The same as Alysanne did for Jaehaerys, and my father did for Aemon before he passed, and Baelon became heir.”
Releasing a breath, she felt the heaviness in her chest close around her throat.
“You have far too much faith in me.”
Her father’s lips peeled back into a ghostly smile.
“I only have faith in that which I know is good.” He slipped his hand free of hers and gently cupped her cheeks.
“You look so much like your mother in this light.”
She swallowed hard, leaning into the touch.
You must face your duty with a strong will and stiff lip.
Her mother had told her something like that.
Aemma Arryn may have lost her life performing her obligations, but she had never run away from her battles.
She was a dragon, through and through.
Like her husband.
His body may have been frail, sallow, and sagging with the weight of festering wounds that would never heal.
But Viserys Targaryen still had his mind.
His fire was burning brightly, ready to light his daughter’s path.
And I cannot fail him.
Weeks after, as she sat at council with her father and the queen, Rhaenyra gathered her strength.
As was custom, Alicent had been at odds with her. Find the original chapter at novelping.com.
She put down Rhaenyra’s suggestion to intervene in the Blackwood-Bracken dispute and hand-waved her advice to send forces to hold the Stepstones.
Nevertheless, she was not deterred.
When the Council bid to adjourn, she commanded them to wait.
“I have felt the strife between our families of late, my Queen,” she announced, her muscles tense.
Sickness had been plaguing her all morning, but she swallowed it down, reasoning that she could not falter at a time like this.
Though everyone had sat back down, her stepmother remained standing, eyeing her with reserved caution.
“And for any offense given by mine, I apologize.”
Her dark brow shot up into a ghost of surprise.
“But we are one House.
And long before that, we were friends.”
That struck her.
Her mouth parted open, her doe eyes widening.
Warmth blossomed in Rhaenyra’s chest.
They looked so much like the innocent eyes of her girlhood.
“My son Jacaerys will inherit the Iron Throne after me.
I propose we betroth him to your daughter Helaena.”
Hushed whispers followed her proclamation.
Rhaenyra barreled past them.
Ally ourselves once and for all.
Let them rule together, just as they were meant to.”
Her father’s hand tapped the table with enthusiasm.
“A most judicious proposal, my girl.”
Rhaenyra was pleased to find him smiling at her, purple eyes filled with pride.
His enthusiasm was his alone, however.
Alicent regarded her unblinking.
The softness in her eyes had abated, and she regarded Rhaenyra with a clenched jaw.
“A generous offer,” she forced.
“And most advantageous.
For you.”
The jab stung, but she pushed her feelings aside.
“For us,” she corrected.
“To bring our children together.
Just as we had been.
And though our friendship ended years ago, it still holds a place in my heart.
Just as you do.
And I wish…”
The word caught in her throat, and she seized the edge of the table.
The sickness had climbed up into her throat, and no matter how hard she swallowed, it would not go back down.
“Oh, I…” she gasped.
The pressure was sudden and unyielding.
It punched her in the gut, forcing her stomach up.
She retched up the meager breakfast she had eaten this morning, body trembling with each heave.
When it was done, her mouth was on fire, and her vision blurred.
Worse still was the mood in the chamber.
“Rhaenyra!” her father was screaming, his remaining hand extending to steady her.
She grasped blindly at it, the stone beneath her feet swaying like the deck of a ship.
The others were not so concerned.
“Oh seven hells…” she managed to say.
All the members of the Small Council had risen from the table and retreated in a hurry.
Tyland Lannister’s smarmy face was twisted in disgust, and he reached for a scented handkerchief to bring to his nose.
Beside him Jesper Wylde looked equally unamused, regarding her with an admixture of disgust and disapproval.
Only Lord Beezbury and the Hand seemed to show concern, with Lord Lyman stuttering questions about her well-being into his chin and Lyonel rushing over to extend his own arm to steady her.
The worst, however, was the Queen.
Alicent Hightower had not moved away from the table.
Sick had splashed the front of her emerald gown, drenching the fine laces in a pool of yellowish slime.
Still, she stood firmly frozen in place, wide eyes half closed, and jaw grinding, her teeth down to nothing.
“Are you alright, my girl?” her father asked, sparse brows knitted in concern.
“Maester, attend to the Princess…” the Queen cut him off, her voice iron.
“She is clearly not well.”
Maester Orwyle suddenly recalled his profession and rushed to take her arm from Lord Lyonel’s.
“I shall escort you to your chambers and see you to bed,” her father mused.
“No, husband,” again, the queen interfered.
“You must retire to your own chambers.
If the Princess is ill, we cannot risk you catching her disease.”
“Alicent…” she scarce managed to force out, her voice hoarse.
“I thank you for your most earnest declaration,” pushing away from the table at last, Alicent strode over to her father to seize him by his remaining arm.
The coldness in her eyes could extinguish dragonfire.
“The King and I will take your proposal under advisement.
You must rest now, my love.”
Pulling Viserys away, Alicent motioned for Orwyle to take Rhaenyra to her chamber.
She wanted to protest, but her body was so weak, she could hardly stand upright.
Later, as her maids fussed over her in her bed, Rhaenyra agonized over the blunder.
She will rue me now more than ever.
All the thought and consideration that had gone into forming her words was wasted.
But the worst of it all was that she had actually meant everything she had said.
I miss her.
Not a day went by that she did not think of a fond memory of their shared youth.
Horses ridden around the Kingswood, hushed conversations shared during their lessons, and the kissing games they would play whenever the bedtime candles went out.
Alicent would always redden and avert her gaze so that her eyelashes were flushed against her cheeks.
Rhaenyra thought it so endearing.
“It is just practice,” she would say.
“For when your handsome knight comes to whisk you away into the sunset.”
Her friend’s fingers gingerly entwined with her own.
“I fear the handsome knight will never be able to compare to you.”
The handsome knight turned out to be Rhaenyra’s own father.
And the sunset, the confines of the Red Keep.
There her friend could waste her days nursing her hate while she also nursed her father’s children.
Far away from Rhaenyra.
No, I must mend this.
Flinging the covers off her, she slid out of her bed.
“Princess, you must rest!” Maester Orwyle sprang into action, blocking her path.
“I will rest when my business is finished.”
The moment she vaulted up to her feet, her stomach lurched.
The maester seized her by the forearms, calling to her chambermaid for assistance.
“You cannot leave, Princess; you are still unwell.”
“Then give me one of your potions to stop the sickness.”
The man balked, teak eyes wide.
“I cannot, Princess.
It would hurt the child.”
All thoughts fled from Rhaenyra Targaryen’s head.
“What?” she whispered.
The Maester released her forearms and pulled his lips into a kindly smile.
“You are with child again, Princess.”