Chapter Text
Seldomly Baelor had visited other castles or keeps as normally nobles came to King’s Landing if they wanted to be noticed by Targaryen’s. Their baggage filled with offerings to buy the royal family’s favour and hopes and dreams. Some dreamt of a better station, a favour or just an ear, that would listen to their request.
But visiting was a different experience altogether, it gave the Lords a smidge of control over the situation as they now were the hosts and not visitors. Of course, they hoped to further their own interests or gain favour with either Rhaenyra or Baelor himself and thus did everything to satisfy the royal couple, yet it still was their castle, their halls and their rules.
Lord Velaryon had welcomed them as kin and boasted about their shared history. How the Targaryens had ruled the skies and the Velaryons the sea or that the Conquerors mother had been a Velaryon.
Not that there had been a need for a history lesson as heir he had been taught all about the history of his house as soon as he was able to understand any of it. Who had married whom, who had been their most loyal allies and who their enemies.
The Sea Snake had switched sides during the civil war between brother and sister, but apart from that there had never been a reason to doubt the allegiance of the other valyrian house. They had been the first to support Aegon and his sisters, surely, they wouldn’t turn on them after all this time.
Yet his father had insisted, that they visit Driftmark first to show how much the crown valued their oldest allies. Also, it was a safe start with no need to be overly cautious or to think about every word twice, before saying it.
All in all, the time spent there had been filled with shared laughter and easy conversations, thus being the perfect start.
Their stay at Rook’s Rest had been nearly just the same. Baelor had the suspicion, that Rhaenyra had relished in the fact, that the Staunton’s had been loyal to her namesake and still made no secret of it. Lord Staunton had shown them the parts of the castle, that had to been rebuilt after the Meleys had fallen from the sky and crashed into the stone walls and Vhagar’s flames had engulfed to what had remained of the keep, killing its Lord.
Some of the stones were still blackened and reminded of this tragedy. It had been the start of the end, after that the dragons died one by one. Vermax. Caraxes. Syrax. Dreamfyre. Moondancer. Stormcloud. Vhagar. Sunfyre. They all had died in the end and House Targaryen had lost its source of power.
The house of the dragon had been dragonless until somehow his wife had managed to hatch an egg, which had been the event that had led to all of this.
Something he now was thankful for, in the beginning he had been sceptic at best, but after months of once again having someone at his side. Someone, who lived with him and listened to him without judgement, he had realised how lonely he had been before.
Not alone, no, never alone and of course there was Valarr and the rest of his family, but they all had their own lives. Own families and worries, while they also relied on Baelor to be whatever they needed him to be. Sometimes he still felt like he was fraying at the edges like fabric would.
Except now there was someone to mend those frayed edges by simply listening to his worries. Most times that was just enough, to know, that he now longer was the only one, who was burdened by some decision or knowledge. Other times she’d ask him about the matter at hand, trying to understand and bringing in a new perspective.
Maekar had been right, when he had said, that Rhaenyra and Baelor shared some characteristics. He had no idea how many books she had already read in the short time they had been married, but whenever she sat with him in the evenings it seemed to be another book. Either she read multiple at once or read like some would drink.
He even envied her for the fact, that she could while they were travelling as she rode in the carriage while he sat on his horse and had to listen to whatever the soldiers deemed adequate topics of conversation. Well, he could have been sitting in the carriage with her, but his pride forbade it. As long as he was capable, he would ride a horse.
A decision he currently regretted, because he hadn’t thought of the possibility, that their new host would be so keen to talk to him, that he wouldn’t get a chance to bathe or just change his clothes. His undershirt uncomfortably clung to his body after being drenched in sweat and restricted his movements.
He really shouldn’t be surprised or should have at least anticipated something like this. The Lothstons had been one of Daemon Blackfyre’s supporters and if rumours were to be believed, they still mourned the loss of his grandsire’s bastard. They had only betrayed him after it had been obvious to anyone, that the rebellion had failed.
As Lord Lothston continued his sheer endless monologue Baelor let his gaze wander across Harrenhall’s great hall. The hearths were lit and the galleries filled with, what he assumed were rich smallfolk, while the hall’s tables were occupied by the Riverland lords, who had come to see the royal couple.
Yet it wasn’t them on which his gaze lingered, there would be time for diplomacy and sociability, but in this moment, he craved nothing more, than a hot bath and bed, both preferably shared with his wife, on whom his mismatched eyes came to rest.
Despite the smile she offered the other woman and her proud posture, he could see, that the journey had tired her out as well. Whenever someone spoke, she blinked a few times, before either continuing to smile or laughing or be it the rigidity with which she held her chin up. Not to forget, that she was also still clad in the gown, she had worn on the journey.
It deviated from her usual attire as this one was entirely black and was more akin to his tunics or doublets in style. He couldn’t make out any details from this afar, but he was sure, that they were there and made even this simple garment into a fine piece of clothing.
His preference in regard to her wardrobe was quite simple, the less the better. For a moment all the weariness was forgotten as he thought about undoing the silver buttons on the gowns front and revealing the pale skin underneath.
“She’s quite the beauty, isn’t she? Some say she resembles my sister, when she went to King’s Landing for the first time.”, this remark from Manfryd Lothston cut through his thoughts and for a second Baelor furrowed his brows in confusion, ere he realised, that the other man was talking about his daughter, who sat with Rhaenyra and the other ladies.
He had been too young to remember any of his grandfather’s mistresses, but it irked him, that the girl’s father drew such a comparison with clear implications. “I’m sure, that one day she’ll make a fine wife.”, he answered curtly and took a gulp from the goblet.
“She would’ve made a fine Queen. A shame, that you spoiled your own niece and were forced to marry her.”, the words were said with such a carelessness, that at first he thought, that must have misheard. How could someone be this brazen and act as if they talked about the weather.
“I’m not sure, that I understand whatever you mean.”, maybe if he pretended not to understand the man would change the subject or would even apologise. And if not? Then there was only praying, that Rhaenyra wouldn’t hear those words. While not impulsive, her words cut deep as valyrian steel would and he was sure, that somewhere there was a list with names of people she intended to burn to ash. No need to add another name to that.
“Oh, I’m sure you do. Was it at least worth to be caught in your niece’s bed? Does she mount you like she does her dragon?”, there was a sly grin on Manfryd’s face, one Baelor didn’t share instead his grip on the glass goblet had become so tight, that it splintered, but he didn’t let himself be irritated by that.
“Need I remind you talk not only about a Princess of the realm, but also your future Queen. To question her virtue in such a manner is treasonous and could be punished by having the offending person’s head put on a spike on the Red Keep’s walls. That is, if it weren’t a tasteless joke.”, his voice was sharp and he looked into Lord’s eyes to make him understand, that this was no empty threat.
He didn’t mind that the punishment would exceed the offence. The Hand of the King truly didn’t care about all the rumours, that were floating around about himself, even the comparisons to the previous King didn’t bother him as he knew the truth, but what he would not accept were such rumours about the young woman. She might pretend she didn’t care, but he the hurt in her eyes whenever someone alluded to things like this.
The brown-haired man averted his gaze and nodded, obviously having miscalculated. “Of course, your grace. My apologies… I’ll send the Maester to your chambers.”, Manfryd gestured to Baelor’s own hand, which now was bleeding after he cut himself on the broken glass.
“If one your guards could show me to said chambers, I’m in dire need of a bath.”, with those words he rose to his feet and the whole room rose with him as soon as they noticed. Lord Lothston beckoned an armoured man towards them and instructed him, before apologising again.
Baelor only sighed in response and followed the guardsman with Ser Roland Crakehall at his side, the Kingsguard now more alert than he had ever been at the Red Keep.
Silently they walked the long hallways of the castle, whose stone had been melted by the Black Dread’s flames. Even with Morghul in the Dragonpit at King’s Landing it was hard to imagine such a beast. No wonder Westeros had bent the knee to Aegon at the end of his conquest.
When he entered the room, that was to be his bedchamber for the duration of this stay, his manservant already stood there and crossed the room to help the Prince out of his uncomfortable clothes. “A bath is being readied, your grace. They offered you the bathhouse, but I declined on your behalf. It seemed rather… eccentric.”
At that a laugh escaped his throat and he shook his head. “I’m sure, I would have survived it, but I do appreciate the privacy a bathtub offers.”, he replied and sat down on the bed, examining his hand for the first time.
The cuts weren’t deep and he truly did not see a need for a Maester, surely there were more important things for him to attend to and at the same time he was a bit regretful to not have brought Yormwell along, who would’ve been useful in this situation.
But Rhaenyra had been insistent, that it was better if the man stayed back at the Red Keep and offered advice to Valarr instead. His chest swelled with pride as he thought of his son, who was acting a Hand until his return. Each of his letters detailed how he dealt with either petitioners or the Small Council and he did marvellously. His boy had truly become a great man and would one day be a great King.
“My Prince?”, his eyes snapped towards the person, to whom the soft voice belonged, and it was a woman. Hastily he grabbed a cushion, which he placed on his lap to preserve some sense of modesty, before realising who the woman was. She wasn’t a servant, but the daughter about which the castle’s Lord had boasted.
He wasn’t sure, how she entered the room, but now she stood there and with determination in her eyes as she looked at him.
The Others fucking geld him, why couldn’t he just enjoy a moment of peace and quiet. He threatened the father with death, and he sent his daughter to his chamber, how did that even make any sense.
“I heard that you were in need of comfort after your journey.”, she said huskily as she approached him and there was no room for interpretation, what she exactly meant by that. His grip on the cushion tightened and he cursed himself for undressing completely, since he now couldn’t just walk out the door.
His gaze flitted towards the wooden door and he only hoped, that neither the Maester nor Rhaenyra would walk through it.
“You’ve been misinformed and I would welcome it, if you were to leave this room the same way you came.”, for a moment there was uncertainty on her face, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared and she continued her steps.
If he were to call for Ser Roland surely there would be gossip, but what was the alternative? There was no-
He couldn’t finish that thought as the obtrusive woman somehow took his whole demeanour as encouragement and if just being close to him hadn’t been scandalous enough the wench had sat down on his lap. Baelor couldn’t even process what was happening and how it was even possible for it to happen. Should he just push her away and risk, that she might spin a tale quite different from reality.
“Everyone is in need of comfort, especially a Prince.”, she argued, before pressing her lips against his and his entire posture became rigid at that, while he struggled to come up with a useful thought.
In this Gods forsaken moment, the chamber door opened and Rhaenyra walked into the room. “I’m sorry, that it took me this long, that fool a guard took us first to the other side of the castle and claimed, that my bedchamber would be there. I told hi-“, without seeing her he knew that this was the moment she had looked across the room.
Seeing them. Seeing her.
Only now the woman, who had practically sprung from her place in his lap when his wife began to speak, seemed to realise, that her plan had been doomed to fail. That whatever she was after had been nothing, but a delusional dream shared by father and daughter.
“Out. Now or I’ll drag you to King’s Landing myself to feed you to the dragon.”, he doubted that the threat had been really necessary after her voice had been cold as ice and her presence alone had intimidated the other woman. At the same time, he was sure, that like his own, the threat wasn’t empty and if she hadn’t scurried towards the servant’s door, she truly might have met that fate.
After she had left, Baelor stood up and wanted to step closer to Rhaenyra but stopped when she held hand up as a sign to not come closer. “Don’t. Whatever you want to say, save it as I have no interest of hearing any of it. I won’t intrude on your privacy again, but if I ever hear a rumour about it or see any of this again the Queen will no longer need to worry about the continuation of your line.”
Her words were angry ones, but the hurt on her face was there for everyone to see. Despite her words he opened his mouth to explain, to apologise and if necessary, even beg for forgiveness, but he was silenced again before a word could leave his lips.
How it pained him to see her like this, angry and in pain, and to know, that he had been the cause for this. That he had broken his vows, not the ones made in the Great Sept, but the ones made in the private, when it had been just the pair of them. A loyal husband would never had let it get that far, a kind husband would have pushed the woman from his lap and he had done neither.
“I’ll see you on the morrow, your grace.”, with those words and a quick curtsey she was gone, what she didn’t know was, that she might’ve taken his heart with her.