Chapter Text
20th of the 4th moon
Dragonstone
Rhaenys Targaryen
Rhaenys knew she ought to be resting, or at very least, to change her clothes and wash off the dirt that clung to her skin. Yet she was unable to move even an inch from her spot, her mind preoccupied with a thousand questions, protests, and screams. Staring at Dragonstone looming in front of her, she wished to stay away from its dark corridors for just a bit longer and happily honoured Meleys's request for scratches.
In just two moons, her life had changed so drastically that she barely recognised it as her own. She had gone from worrying over Corlys's recovery and Vaemond's delusions to taking part in war councils and patrolling atop Meleys.
Every time the other Lords cursed the Greens or placed the blame for this conflict at Otto's feet, she had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes. Of course, Otto had pushed his grandson to claim the Throne, who would not? And Alicent, despite her righteousness, could not pass up the opportunity to make her son the King of the Seven Kingdoms. No, Rhaenys did not blame the Greens for their greed.
The moment Viserys had chosen to remarry, he had as good as asked the Hightowers to challenge House Targaryen's power. And each time he bedded that Andal woman, he sent his approval to change the Tower's flame to green. Her cousin's decision to have three sons after naming Rhaenyra his Heir while doing very little to support her claim was the real reason for this mess.
A faint voice tried to soften her heart by reminding her how they used to play together when life had been much simpler back when her father and uncle Baelon had stood together, and no one doubted the future of their House. Yet she easily dismissed such sentimental drivel. As someone who actively had to undo the mess her cousin left behind, their shared childhood was not enough to endear her to his foolishness. Not one bit.
With his pathological need to be liked by all, Viserys had been a weak King, a dragonless Targaryen who lacked their fire, fierceness, or temperament. He had gone from being her quiet cousin who always struggled with most of his lessons and shied away from spirited debates to being named the protector of the Realm of men. All because the Conciliator had been a narrow-minded fool who feared that a woman in power would invalidate his own reign, as he had inherited the Throne by casting aside his sister and nieces' claims.
Rhaenys had to intentionally stop herself from thinking about her grandfather, aware of just how long she could waste in her past grievances. Even then, she could not help but wonder what the old man had been thinking by picking Baelon and Viserys over her. Sure, her uncle had redeeming qualities, yet even back then, it had been clear that his son was nothing like him. Like any of them.
Viserys had laboured to make even the simplest of decisions, but had somehow been expected to make way for the Prince Who Was Promised. What was worse, instead of trusting his own family, he had pushed them away, afraid they would outshine him in his mediocrity. A more pathetic sight Rhaenys had never seen!
She genuinely hoped that seeing what his choices had reduced their House to drove Jaehaerys to despair in the afterlife. It was quite ironic how the Conciliator had dedicated his entire reign to ushering in an era of peace, placing the Realm's needs above his family's happiness. Yet his precious grandson had sown the seeds for a civil war by thinking with his cock instead of his brain, leaving behind the Seven Kingdoms more fractured than they were even under Maegor.
Usually, she was much better about shutting down any uncharitable thoughts about Viserys and, for decades, had done her best to swallow her own pride. But enough was enough.
The worst part was how inconsiderate her cousin had been about dying. It would have been so much better for everyone if he had passed away before butchering his poor wife, whom he claimed to love, or before siring sons whom he never bothered to teach any loyalty toward their House. And if he insisted on living, could he not have waited a few more years until the children's dragons were not as vulnerable? Or at the very least, until Rhaenyra had given birth and did not nearly bleed out in the childbed?
Listening to her good daughter's agonised screams was not something Rhaenys could easily forget. Any woman who had ever had a complicated labour knew what it felt like to be torn between the desperation for the torture to be over - no matter what the outcome might be - and wishing to prolong the moment, ruled by fear that neither she nor their babe would make it.
Rhaenys remembered being convinced that her labours with Laenor would be the death of her, yet later realised that pain paled in comparison to holding Aemon and Alysanne, her tiny stillborn children. And worst of all was receiving the news that her darling daughter had died in the childbed. Oh Laena… it was still difficult to think of her without her heart breaking. Her daughter had chosen a dragon rider's death, once and for all, reminding the world she belonged as much to the flames as she did to the ocean.
Targaryen women had a long history of difficult childbirth. Thank the Flames, Rhaenyra had not suffered a similar fate, as baby Visenya had been spared by Meleys herself. But Rhaenys's gratitude and love for mother and daughter were overshadowed by the stabbing sense of betrayal that loomed over her. She had supported Rhaenyra at every step and defended her claim with everything she had. She had shut down any talk of bastardy and ensured House Velaryon had the political and economic strength to balance the Hightowers.
And what had she gotten for her years of service? Ten years of lies and deceit. A decade for letting her mourn Laenor. What had felt like a lifetime of pain and regrets.
Rhaenyra had clung to her hands and cried while begging her to understand. "Laenor hated our life in King's Landing. He felt suffocated and hated the constant rules and the endless expectations. He knew how careful he had to be and thought every misstep was endangering the boys. When he was with us, he wanted to be elsewhere, and in the rare moments he got to be free, he was consumed by guilt. And that was before Laena. Losing her… he couldn't do it anymore."
It had been at that moment that it first occurred to Rhaenys where their conversation was going, and she took a step back, gaping at the Queen. Surely not. Surely she could not be implying…
"Leaving was the hardest thing he had ever done, but he had no strength left. I begged him to take some time on Driftmark or even join Corlys on his next voyage, but he said that there he would be scrutinised even more closely. That with the Greens gaining Vhagar, our boys were in more danger than ever. So… we came up with the plan."
Laenor had faked his own death and escaped to the Free Cities, leaving Rhaenys beyond heartbroken to have lost both of her children in the span of moons. Rhaenyra explained in detail what little she knew about his life over the past ten years, including that last they had heard Laenor had been fighting with the Second Sons somewhere in Slaver's Bay.
"I know you must hate me-"
That had been the point Rhaenys had finally snapped out of her shock. She had not shied away from accusing the Queen of removing Laenor so she could finally marry Daemon, just like she had always wanted. She called her heartless, callous, and no better than the Green Queen she so much despised for inflicting such pain without any remorse. For a second, a part of her - the dark and vindictive part of her - had wished that Visenya had died just so that Rhaenyra could understand the pain of losing a child.
She had barely restrained herself from saying as much, but realised that there was a line that she did not wish to cross. Tired from the countless meetings and long hours patrolling, she had walked away, choosing to stew in her vindictive anger even as she rushed to the Riverlands to secure more of the treasury. Rhaenyra had tried to speak with her before she departed and had the audacity to offer her the position of Hand. As though more service and responsibility would make up for the devastating blow she had dealt her.
Over the past nine days, Meleys's temperament had mirrored that of her rider, constantly snarling, roaring, and snapping at anyone who approached. Even now, the Red Queen was rumbling as Rhaenys spiralled through her grief and fury.
"Yes, old friend, I know. You must be tired, but my emotions are making it hard for you to relax. I'm sorry." Meleys nudged her as though to reassure her, and Rhaenys pressed her face to her hot scales. Her dragon was the only thing in this blasted world that still made sense, and she did not know what she would do without her.
"Vhagar decapitated her, and her head was paraded through the streets of King's Landing like a trophy for the Greens." Daena - no, she corrected herself, Alyssa - had explained, heartening her heart to the One Eyed kin slayer.
Rhaenys had advocated for peace even after learning of Lucerys' near-death experience, but Alyssa's words had shaken her to her core. Lucerys devoured, Jacareys shot down, Baela left to Aegon's nonexistent mercy, Joffrey torn into pieces… Laenor's boys and Laena's girl murdered and traumatised because of Jaehaerys's fear and Viserys's weakness.
Once Rhaenys got to the afterlife, she would murder them both with her bare hands and demand the Gods make them suffer for at least a few centuries! They better thank the Flames daily for Daena's warnings which were postponing her death and their family reunion. Oh, the things she wanted to do to them would make Maegor blush like a maid. She -
"Muñāzma!" She immediately recognised Joffrey's voice and a moment later saw him running toward her at full speed.
Brown hair, brown eyes, and pale skin, he looked nothing like Laenor, but not even for a moment did she hesitate to open her arms and embrace him with all the love left in her heart.
"I spotted Meleys an hour ago, but you didn't come, so I came to check on you." For a moment, she wanted to ask if his mother had been the one to nudge him, yet looking into his open and adoring expression, she could not find it in her to care. "Jace came back hours ago! He told us all about your adventure. Wish I'd been there as well!"
He was jumping with excitement, still allowing himself to act like a child around family. It pained her heart to admit that Joffrey was no longer the little boy she used to carry around, and at two and twelve was nearly as tall as her. Soon, he would become a man and would no longer throw himself into her arms. Yet she knew he would be a good man. Protective, intelligent, and kind, much like his father.
"What's wrong? You seem sad?" Ever the preceptive one, he questioned.
Rhaenys stroked his hair, smiling for the first time in days. Meleys's roars began to morph into chirps, deeming Joffrey no threat to their safety.
"Nothing. Just thinking of your father." It was not even a lie. Gazing into Joffrey's beautiful face, she wanted to rage at Rhaenyra, at Daemon, at the world. At her own son.
"You know, when Jacaerys was born, your mother refused to let servants raise him, but with all her duties, it was often Laenor who rocked him to sleep. Some dared mock him, calling him a wet nurse, but he paid them no mind, saying that there was no place else he would rather be. And when he found out that your brothers' Maester glared at their brown hair and preferred to praise Aemond rather than teach them, he took over lessons until your mother employed better tutors. He would sit with Lucerys for hours, going over his letters and numbers, geography and history."
Oh, Laenor, how dare you leave them behind?! As strongly as she blamed Rhaenyra and Daemon for their deceit, deep in her bones she knew that her son had genuinely believed that running away was the best thing he could do for his boys. Laenor might not have sired the three of them, but he had adored them with his entire heart.
"Mum says that he chose Tyraxes's egg. Only mine. Not Jace and Luke's. When I took to the skies for the first time… I… it was almost like he was there." Joffrey looked away and tried to hide his tears, but she would not let him grow up like Daemon, afraid of his own emotions.
"Laenor loved you all. Very much." She kissed his forehead. "I clearly remember when he placed you in my arms for the first time. He was… besotted and refused to put you down even for a moment. And he would be immensely proud of the man you are becoming."
She knew that much for a fact. Even if she was coming to terms with the fact that somehow she had remained blind to her son's suffering, she was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that Laenor would be in awe of Joffrey's cunning, kindness, and fearlessness and was out there missing him, Lucerys, and Jacaerys every single day. Perhaps he had withered away under Corlys's endless expectation and the Greens' restlessness attacks and had convinced himself that they were better off without him.
Imagining just how much he must be suffering was almost enough to settle her anger. Almost.
"But I haven't really done much yet. I just circle Dragonstone from the skies even though Tyraxes is strong enough -"
"Joffrey, we have been through this." She perfectly understood Rhaenyra's hesitation to let the children patrol the Crownlands, Joffrey most of all. Not only was Tyraxes tiny and inexperienced, but the boy had more courage than common sense. "Dragonstone is dangerous enough. Remember, if you so much as glimpse the Cannibal or an unknown dragon-"
"I am to land immediately and raise the alarms. I know." He huffed, reminding her so strongly of Laena in that moment that it was almost like seeing a ghost. "But maybe I can come with you to the Stormlands? I know that it's supposed to be a secret mission for you, Jace, and Baela, but I can be useful. Tyraxes is perfect for reconnaissance, and I am quite good at gathering intel."
"Quite slippery, you mean." Rhaenys knew she failed to hide her amusement.
Her grandson's tendency to overhear conversations not meant for his ears was nothing new. She was secretly helping him learn how to analyse the often confusing pieces of information and choose when best to reveal his knowledge. Long ago, she had decided to nurture his gift instead of stifling it like everyone had done to her poor aunt Gael.
"One day you will make a wonderful Master of Whispers."
He frowned, not yet having warmed up to the idea. "I'd much rather be Jace and Baela's Lord Commander with Luke as Master of Ships and Rhaena as Mistress of Law. Egg is not half bad at sums, so he can take over as Master of Coin. Senya can be Mistress of Whispers, and Vissy…" Something in his expression changed. "Alyssa said that in her… time, Vissy was the Hand of the King. She said he was holding the Realm together, and everyone respected him."
Indeed. Alyssa had not told them much about her life beyond the scope of the war, but it was clear just how much she admired her uncle. Rhaenys and her good daughter had immediately shared a glance of understanding, recognising the deeper romantic note in her tone. Certainly, having married a man older than her own father, Rhaenys would not be one to judge those with a large age difference. And after Alyssa had saved Lucerys and turned the tides of this war, Rhaenyra, too, might struggle to deny her if she pushed for a royal marriage. But, at least for now, the girl seemed more than happy to stay away from Aegon the Younger and Viserys and had not brought up whatever entanglement the two might have had in her past.
"True, but I told you that you should not rely on her information entirely. Your brother grew up to be an entirely different person. Losing so much of his family and having to grow up quickly shaped him in a way that will not happen this time around. Plus, you cannot stack the entire Small Council with your siblings. The Lords will riot."
She could see that Joffrey was unconvinced. "We'll see. I think mum is hoping that I fall in love with the Vale and cousin Jeyne names me her Heir."
"Lord Paramount of the Vale is not a title to scoff at." Rhaenys was not surprised that he had somehow found out about his mother's secret correspondence. "But if you are set on joining the White Cloaks, no one will stand in your way. Once, of course, you prove yourself. Jacaerys and Baela deserve the best possible protection, not a Kingsguard who got the spot through nepotism."
"Of course not! I would never!" Joffrey protested as though even the thought was abhorrent.
"Good. Then, you will go to the Vale and learn from the great knights there, and when the time comes to decide, you will make an informed decision."
He sighed. "I suppose. I hate leaving everyone behind. We are scheduled to leave the moment Baela returns from your secret mission." She could see his brain calculating the best way to ask her yet again to let him join. "Any chance you can convince mum to let me come with you to the Stormlands before I depart? With you gone and then me off to the Vale, I would hate for you to miss me terribly."
Joffrey glanced at her with those puppy eyes that even she struggled to resist. In truth, there had been a wild idea taking shape at the back of her mind over the past few days. Bringing her youngest grandson with her might actually be exactly what she needed. She was confident that she could keep him safe, but convincing her good daughter of the same would prove tricky.
"After everything Alyssa told us, your mother is right to worry. If there is one thing to be said about Rhaenyra… she will do anything to protect you and give you the best life possible."
The Queen could be selfish, naive, and perhaps even petulant, but when it came to her children, there was not one bad thing that Rhaenys could say. If anything, she was the one whose parenting had been found lacking, having been too blinded by her own grief of losing Laena to notice how much Laenor had been struggling.
"You sound angry at mother," He observed, "I overheard her mentioning to Lady Elinda that you had a fight."
A fight was one word for it, she supposed. Rhaenys had buried the urge to scratch the Queen's eyes out more than once. Yet even through her burning anger, she could not deny that Rhaenyra was an excellent mother. More than excellent. She had poured her life force into each of her children, Baela and Rhaena included, showering them with love and affection that few Targaryens were fortunate to receive. It was her more redeeming quality and the reason why Rhaenys was still here despite her betrayal.
As always, she chose not to lie to her grandson, refusing to insult his intelligence. "Your mother made an important decision without telling me. One that affects me personally. I was… hurt by her actions."
"Baela said that someone broke father's nose when she and Luke were at Harrenhal. He told her it was from sparring with one of the Strongs." There was no hesitation in mentioning Ser Harwin's family because Joffrey had no memories of the gentle giant. Unlike Jacaerys and Lucerys, he had grown up on Dragonstone away from the whispers and stares, cradled by Rhaneyra's love and Daemon's fire.
"I see. And your point being?" They both knew exactly what he was trying to get at, but she wanted to see if he would ask her outright or prefer not knowing.
"Did you do it?"
She did not hesitate. "Yes."
The moment she saw him in Harrenhal with his usual smirk and arrogant gait, Rhaenys had reacted on instinct and punched him with all her strength. He had not tried to stop her, even though she suspected he could have easily done so. The idiot had grinned while his blood gushed from his broken nose as though he found any of this remotely entertaining. She hoped his nose healed crooked and he was in pain with every breath he took! For good measure, she had kneed him in the balls, finally whipping away his stupid smile, and left him to stew in his misery.
What followed had been a long and painful argument that she did not have the energy to so much as think about. All that mattered was that she had made it very clear just how betrayed and hurt she felt by his actions, especially coming from Daemon, who was the closest thing she had ever had to a sibling. For once in his miserable life, he had refrained from any snarky comments, and they had an honest albeit tense conversation.
It had not resolved the issue, as she was unsure whether anything other than holding Laenor in her arms would be enough to fix this mess. But making that possible would have to wait just a little bit, as she would need to first regain her composure and meet with the Queen in private.
In the meantime, she was observing Joffrey closely: first, there was the expected indignation that someone had dared hurt his beloved kepa. His little face was frowning hard, trying to process all his overwhelming emotions. Then, slowly, oh so very slowly, a spark of something else appeared, and he seemed to be thinking hard. Instead of going the easy way out and lashing out, he was thinking through the situation. Daemon could definitely learn a thing or two from this twelve-year-old.
"Did he deserve it?"
"Yes."
A pause. "Fine, but you can't hit mum. Even if she did something bad."
Flames, this child would be the death of her. Meleys chirped behind them, demanding more scratches. "I will not. Promise. Although I reserve my right to raise my voice if necessary."
He seemed to be considering her words very seriously. "You said that raising your voice was a sign of weakness and that if you can't get your point across without yelling, maybe your point wasn't strong enough to begin with."
For a moment, she had no idea how to react. A part of her wanted to marvel at the young man in front of her, while another vulnerable part wanted to snap at him because he simply did not know what he was talking about.
Then she heard Alyssa's voice all those days ago. "Joff loved Tyraxes so much and could simply not let him suffer. Out of options, he mounted Syrax and bravely tried to get to the Dragonpit before the mob hurt the dragons there. Syrax was frightened and confused. He… he fell from her back."
Later, Rhaenys had considered asking her for more detail, but could not find the strength to do so. It had been the description of her youngest grandson that had made her begin to reconsider her stance on using force against the Greens. They might not have directly killed Joffrey, but she still blamed them for it.
"Alright, then. I will do my best not to raise my voice. And will see what I can do about taking you with me to the Stormlands."
Joffrey's entire face lit up. "Really? Yes! Thank you. Thank you. Have I mentioned you're my absolute favourite grandmother!"
You are my favourite as well, she thought to herself, but did not say it. She would not be like Corlys, openly preferring one of their grandchildren at the expense of all others, even if it was only human to have favourites.
She hugged him instead, which Meleys took as an invitation to join their conversation by gently nuzzling the boy. The Red Queen had a special place for the boy who loved dragons so much that he would risk his own life to protect them.
"Hello there, beautiful. Must be tired from all the excellent work you've been doing. Such a good girl! You deserve all the fat sheep." Never one to fear their family's dragons, Joffrey scratched her neck and kissed her snout, making her preen under his attention.
Meleys was generally friendly toward all young ones, but just like her rider, she had a soft spot for Rhaenys's grandchildren. For Aegon the Younger and Viserys as well, most likely sensing that they were somehow connected to her beloved Alyssa. A dragon's connection with their first rider was a sacred thing, beyond the comprehension of mere mortals. Thankfully, the Red Queen's attachment to Alyssa's progeny did not seem to extend to the Greens.
"We should all go flying together soon. Just for fun. Tyraxes and I have been practising hard the sharp turns you showed us last time, but it's harder to get them right without someone telling me where I'm going wrong." Despite having just arrived from the Saltpans, the prospect of teaching her hatchling was not something she would pass on. Dragons were usually not very maternal toward their children once they hatched, but the Red Queen could sense just how much danger there was around them and wanted to give Tyraxes the best chance.
Rhaenys was grateful that her good daughter had allowed Laenor to pick one of Meleys's eggs for their last son, even though Syrax had laid a clutch just moons earlier. The Red Queen had never been as fertile as Silverwing or, let alone, Dreamfyre and Syrax, making each egg all the more precious. It was perhaps why the she-dragon was so invested in Tyraxes.
Rhaenys had to step in once Meleys began huffing hot air in Joffrey's face, which, judging by his giggles, was quite ticklish. "Alright, enough. Do not think I am unaware that you are supposed to be in your lessons." His guilty expression failed to move her, even if secretly she loved how close he and Meleys were. "The Keepers will certainly have some sheep ready for you. I will come see you later." She instructed the Red Queen, who rumbled, clearly not happy to be parted. But with one last scratch, Rhaenys linked her arm with her grandson's and nudged him towards the castle looming ahead. "Let us go."
They had delayed long enough as it was. It was high time she faced what waited for her inside. Rhaenys was many things, but a coward was not one of them.
A few hours later, she was soaking in the hot water and slowly massaging her muscles, sore after days of flying vast distances. This was the first time since Lucerys's return from the Stormlands that she allowed herself to relax for more than a second. The last moon had been one urgent mission after another: from helping set up the Velaryon Blockade, secretly carrying a message to her cousin on Tarth, securing most of the treasury, to her daily patrols over most of the Crownlands.
Meleys was undeniably pleased with how much time they were spending together, even if Rhaenys's joints were beginning to protest. Closer to being sixty than fifty, her body lacked the agility of youth, but she did not mind all the aches and pains if it meant her grandchildren were kept safe. She was well aware just how crucial she was to the Blacks, not only because of Meleys's size and being the fastest dragon alive, but also because their decades of flying together mattered greatly when going up against other dragon riders.
The Red Queen could easily defeat Sunfyre and Tessarion one-on-one, and perhaps even one against two. If it came to it, with some effort, she might also be enough against Dreamfyre as Queen Rhaena's dragon was weakened from spending most of the last half a century chained in the Dragonpit. Not that Rhaenys had any desire to fight Helaena, far from it! She empathised with the woman who, in another version of history, had lost both of her sons.
Vhagar… now that was the real problem. In Alyssa’s story, it had taken Daemon's complete disregard for sanity to kill Queen Visenya's mount. Only after she killed Rhaenys, that is. But this time around, her cousin was not going to be sacrificing himself - if anyone got to kill him, it would be Rhaenys, not one of Viserys's children. With Alyssa on their side, Vhagar would struggle to survive a confrontation with Caraxes, Vermithor, and Meleys.
Even by himself, the Bronze Fury had injured the larger she-dragon above Storm's End seriously enough that she was still recovering from her wounds. In today's Council meeting, it was suggested more than once that they should attack Vhagar now while she was barely back to flying, but the Queen had refused to hear of it. Alyssa was still wincing with every step, and the Master made it clear her wound might reopen mid-flight. Having zero desire to deal with an agitated Vermithor on top of Vhagar, Rhaenys agreed that they should wait.
Besides, she would soon depart for the Stormlands, and Daemon's work in the Riverlands was too important to pull him away now. Deep, deep, deep beneath her fury at her cousin, she had to admit that he was doing an excellent job at rallying support for their Queen. He was channelling his grief over Viserys into beating any Green supporters into submission. He was no Aemond, likely to indiscriminately burn down half the Riverlands, and was instead being strategic about his use of Caraxes's flames.
Much to Ser Otto's disappointment, Daemon was capable of some restraint, aware that any excessive violence would play right into their enemy's hand. The Hightowers were eagerly waiting for Rhaenyra to make a mistake so they could paint her as the wicked one, just like they had done in Alyssa's stories. Maegor with tits. How… distasteful.
The Queen was far from perfect, but seeing her lead the Small Council and push down her Targaryen instinct to burn first, ask questions later, Rhaenys was hopeful. This time around, Rhaenyra would not be driven mad by the needless murder of her precious children. A madness that any grieving mother would be well acquainted with.
By keeping Lucerys safe, Alyssa had irrevocably changed history and given them the clear upper hand when it came to the moral high ground. Daemon had not been confronted with the death of yet another child and so had not ordered the murder of Helaena's innocent son. Instead, it was the Greens whose reputation had suffered: Viserys, for his many flaws, had remained clear until the very end that he wished for Rhaenyra to inherit, and some Lords still remembered their vows to him. Others would feel uncomfortable with how Aegon was crowned almost in secret, while Viserys's body was left to rot. Not to mention that the usurper had called for a celebration of Aemond's attempt to murder a boy of four and ten. By now, the Realm would have heard how the Greens had executed Lords and Ladies unwilling to bow to them. Some might see it as a sign of strength, but anyone with a brain could determine that angering major Houses showcased how shortsighted and politically inept Aegon truly was.
Rhaenys sighed, annoyed at herself that instead of relaxing, her mind had slipped back to thoughts of the war. After the day she had, she was stubbornly hoping to have a few hours of peace. Since landing on Dragonstone, she had met with Alyssa to go over final details about their plan for the Stormlands, attended a Small Council session, reported her observations of the Riverlands, helped Baela pack, and convinced the Queen to allow Joffrey to join them. This day had been unfathomably long, and she deserved a break.
She had yet to eat anything, but had needed to scrub off all the dirt before she scratched her skin raw. Not to mention her poor hair. Not even the most enduring Valyrian braids could have made a difference against the current she and Jacaerys had battled flying south from Claw Isle. Rhaena had kindly offered her own oils, which was the reason why the chamber currently smelt of lavender and something fruity, perhaps raspberry? Whatever it was, Rhaenys approved.
She sighed, simply enjoying the peace and quiet. With Alyssa's knowledge and her determination to get back on Vermithor as soon as possible, the looming conflict did not seem as doomed to result in the deaths of thousands. The girl was… sharp, fierce, and, above all, dedicated to their Queen.
Rhaenys marvelled at her resilience and strength, unsure if she could have gone back to the time of Maegor's reign to warn her grandparents and remained so level-headed. She had answered each of their questions about her version of history with as much detail as she could remember, but what Rhaenys found the most fascinating was the girl's political analysis and recommendations. Without saying as much, it was clear that Alyssa had been raised to be the next Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. A fact that Jacaerys and Rhaena had also picked up on.
The three of them had worked tirelessly to go over every detail Alyssa could remember, construct a timeline about each of the Seven Kingdoms and major players. Rhaenys and the Queen had reviewed their work very carefully, beyond impressed.
It was how they had come up with their plans, starting with the one about the Stormlands. Daemon had received a copy of their coded notes focusing on the Riverlands, Westerlands, and Crownlands, leaving it up to him to deal with the western two Kingdoms while they dealt with the rest.
They all knew that the more things they changed, the less they could rely on Alyssa's knowledge, which is why they had to act fast. Rhaenys was only allowing herself to soak in the bath because she knew that far too soon she would be off on another mission.
The sound of confident footsteps made her almost want to weep, aware that her peace was about to be disrupted. She did not move to cover herself but was careful to conceal her emotions, just like her mother had taught her as a child.
The footsteps paused at the door, and she could feel his gaze on her naked body. Some would say that riding Meleys allowed Rhaenys to maintain her figure, though she was past her prime. But the truth was that decades of grief and endless, often thankless work had long ago killed her appetite.
The only times she truly enjoyed the taste of food, let alone desserts, was in the company of the children. Rhaenyra usually tried to limit their sweets, so it was Rhaenys's job as their grandmother to indulge them.
She knew their preferences better than she knew the map of the Seven Kingdoms, drilled into her since birth. Lucerys adored the puff pastries from Driftmark, Baela was partial to honey cakes, Rhaena craved Pentoshi pudding, Joffrey was not picky as long as there were berries, and Aegon claimed lemon tarts were his favourites (just like his muña), but in fact, he preferred cinnamon biscuits. By far the worst one was Viserys, whose diet, if allowed, would consist entirely of jam. Jacaerys would argue that he was the only one who had not inherited their mother's famous sweet tooth, but just like her father, he loved to drown his porridge in honey.
Oh, father, if only you could hear Jacaerys at the Council meetings! You would be beyond proud to call him your great-grandson. He might even outshine the Conciliator if given the chance.
"Exquisite." Corlys's voice snapped her out of her reminiscing, and she reminded herself not to let her feelings show. Based on her husband's voice alone, she almost believed that after forty years of marriage, he was still fully captivated by her. But now she knew better.
She watched as he took a seat in the small chair next to the tub without taking his eyes off her. "This sight almost makes up for the horrid day I had."
He caressed her arm, heat pooling in his violet eyes.
Do not flinch! She yelled at herself. You're doing this for the children! For the children!
All of this was for them. Even if she wanted nothing more than to pull his head under the water and see if Velaryons could breathe under the surface like their sigil.
"You are still upset about the treasury?" It took everything in her to sound gentle and leash her fury, but Corlys remained oblivious to the flames beneath her skin.
"Driftmark is far more secure than Claw Isle! To store part of the treasury there… It is an affront! An insult! Are we not the ones who have supported her from the beginning? Are we not the ones providing the majority of the ships for the Blockade? Are we not family?!"
She could explain, yet again, why Claw Isle was a far more secure location, away from King's Landing and a potential Triarchy attack. She could repeat their Queen's words from earlier that Driftmark would be the first place anyone would look or that Claw Isle is closer to the Vale in case they needed to transport it somewhere safer. But her husband's pride would not be satisfied by these rational reasons.
"A man's ego is a fragile thing, hatchling," aunt Saera had once told her. "Stroking it can be even more effective than fondling their balls, but it is also easily bruised. Too easily perhaps. It is why they are undeniably the weaker sex."
According to Alyssa, aunt Saera was currently thriving in Volantis, and would probably be so disappointed by all the ego stroking Rhaenys had to endure just to get through the day.
"And she still has not named a Hand to advise her! Honestly…” Corlys was shaking his head in disapproval.
"You mean she has failed to bestow you with that honour?" She kept the bite out of her tone, but her questions still startled him.
"She needs a Hand to help organise everything. Rhaena and Jace are just children and lack the experience. I fought in the Stepstones and am providing her with a navy! Daemon is too busy with the Riverlands, Bartimos is too unrelenting, and Gormon is too…"
"Grim, unapproachable, and sour." She offered, and he gave her one of his charming smiles.
"Exactly." Corlys kissed her hand, as always, very physically affectionate in private.
"Perhaps you are right. A Hand could help take some of the pressure off the children…"
"Yes! Precisely. Could you mention it to her when you next speak? I thought of asking Luke, but the boy has been acting strange. I suppose his sleep has not improved much since that bastard nearly killed him." Lucerys. It was always Lucerys. If only he could see beyond his precious Heir and realise that Joffrey, Rhaena, or Jacaerys would have been the ones to ask for such information.
"Well…" Images of Jacaerys's tense shoulders, Lucerys's dark circles, Baela's rarer smiles, and Rhaena's wavering confidence played in her mind. The older children were carrying far too much by themselves, determined to ease their mother's burden.
Who was she really kidding? There was no way she could stand back and watch her grandchildren suffer. Regardless of her unrelenting fury, Rhaenys knew that deep down she would always care for Rhaenyra and Daemon, and could not live with herself if she did not do everything to protect Laena's girls and Laenor's boys.
"It is settled then. I shall accept her offer tomorrow and serve as the first Hand of the Queen. Quite poetic when you think about it."
Her husband's expression was priceless, morphing from confusion to shock and back to confusion. "She asked you… already?"
"Yes, before I departed for the Riverlands."
"You did not mention it." For a second, he seemed genuinely hurt by her secret, but before she had the chance to question just how many things he was keeping from her. He continued, sounding confident, "She could not have chosen a better Hand."
"Not even you?"
"Not even me." In moments like these, when Corlys looked at her with so much love and adoration, she found it impossible to stay mad at him. He was very skilled at making her feel like she was both the centre of his world and the most precious thing he had ever laid his eyes on. In her youth, it had been this particular fervent look that had won her heart over. Looking back, she might have been a tad naive, but who could blame her? She had been five and ten and he six and thirty, the most worldly man she had ever met, and the only one who seemed to like her for her and not because she was Aemon Targaryen's only child.
He leaned forward and kissed her passionately, like he was drowning and she was his only source of air. Having decided on the most favourable course of action, she did not pull back and returned his kiss, even if a part of her wanted nothing more than to slap him.
His left hand tangled in her wet hair, while his right one began to explore her body. The taste of his lips used to be intoxicating, but now all she would think was how many other women he had kissed with the same fervour. Yet despite her well-reasoned objections, her breath hitched when he reached her breast, his fingers skilfully playing with her nipple. Corlys had many flaws, but being inattentive in the bedroom was not one of them, having learned long ago how to please her.
When the kissing stopped being enough, he moved his hands to cradle her against his body and began to pull her out of the tepid water.
"Don't you dare!" She hissed. "Your wounds! The Maester -"
He kissed her protests away and gently carried her to the bed, which thankfully was just a few steps from the tub.
"Relax, love. Let me please you." He said in between deep kisses, positioning himself on top of her. "My gorgeous wife. Hand of the Queen. I'm one hell of a lucky man." His hand trailed down her stomach until he reached her cunt, and with precise circles, he started to search for the exact spot that would make her moan. It did not take long.
"You're divine." He grunted as she began to squirm underneath him, needing more pressure. "Just. Fucking. Devine."
She could feel how hard he was, but for now, he was fully dressed, focused on making her peak.
"More." She demanded, the anger of before forgotten for the moment.
He increased his efforts, his fingers pressing harder and harder with each circle, and she could feel her release building up.
"Inside me. Now." It came out more as a growl than human speech, but the flames inside her chest found nothing wrong with that. She was a creature of fire and blood, not some mere mortal.
Obediently, the man above her complied with her order and slid inside her without any resistance.
"Fuck, Rhaenys…" He said her name like a prayer, worshipping her body and soul. As he should. He pounded in and out of her, chasing his own pleasure, but was wise enough not to abandon his holy task. His hand faithfully kept circling her pearl, bringing her closer and closer to the edge.
"I'm. Almost. There." He panted above, but she was in no mood to care about his needs.
"Harder." She ordered in the language of their ancestors, forgetting all else. He did as commanded, beginning to sweat from his devoted service.
Just as she could feel the tingling sensation begin to spread up her spine, he grunted loudly and, with one last thrust, emptied himself inside her. Much to her dismay, his hands had the audacity to stop their administrations, and she lost the pang of pleasure that was beginning to build up. Corlys was not oblivious enough not to notice her frustration.
"Apologies, my love. It has been so long." It had been over a year since they had last been together, but perhaps for him it had been mere days. "I'll make it up to you." He began kissing her neck, slowly moving toward her collarbone. Rhaenys knew where this was going, and as much as she would love to relax and let him feast on her, there was something more important she needed to do.
"As long as you include a massage afterwards. I deserve the full treatment after having to deal with more Velaryon drama."
"More?" He asked, raising his head, while his talented hands brushed against her sensitive skin.
"I flew to Driftmark after returning from the Saltpans." She kept her tone casual and could see that he had no clue where she was going with this.
"You should have come back to rest. You're doing too much as it is." His kiss was gentler, like she had somehow become fragile. In the distance, Meleys roared her displeasure.
"Well, it is good that I did. Otherwise, I might have never found out about the boys."
"What boys?" She might have imagined the slight panic in his voice.
"Addam and Alyn, of course," He definitely flinched as though burned. His hands froze in place. "Oh, do not tell me you did not know about them. I hear Alyn is the one who saved your life."
"Rhaenys…" Corlys's voice was shaking, the fear clear on his handsome face. "I…"
She propped herself on her elbows, eager to observe his every reaction as closely as possible.
"It's not what you think." His throat bobbed, and for the first time, she saw no trace of the larger-than-life Sea Snake. In his place was a perfectly ordinary man made to seem larger by his relentless ambition. "I…"
She suspected that if she kept quiet a little longer, he would begin with the apologies and the empty promises. Rhaenys knew that her mother would have advised her to have an honest and open conversation and work on saving their marriage. But Jocelyn Baratheon had known nothing but loyalty and devotion from her husband, never having to spend years waiting for him to return from his latest voyage or war. Her mother had no idea how it felt to see with her own two eyes the evidence of his infidelity.
It had been surprisingly easy to find her husband's sons on Driftmark. She had meant to only have a quick look, but had spent hours watching them. The boys were about Jacaerys's age, looking so much like Corlys that it was like looking at a ghost of her own husband, and a living embodiment of his betrayal. The older, Addam, seemed kind and protective of his younger brother, while Alyn smiled less, but had worked hard to restore the ships damaged from the Stepstones.
Alyssa had told her that Addam was one of Rhaenyra's most loyal supporters and that… her heart still hurt remembering that this boy was supposed to claim Seasmoke, her son's dragon.
Over her dead body would she let that happen! Although she supposed it had been her death that had driven that other Rhaenyra to allow strangers to claim dragons. With Alyssa's warning, she and Meleys would not be dying any time soon and besides, Rhaenys categorically refused to believe that Laenor was dead. Not again. Not now that she had just learned he had been out there all this time. Rhaenyra had assured her that Seasmoke had given no indication of being in mourning, so there was still hope. The Flames surely would not be cruel enough to take him away before she got the chance to hold her boy in her arms.
Her precious son was part of the reason why she was so furious. Yes, her good son and daughter had hatched this idiotic scheme, but it had been Corlys's constant pressure that had driven Laenor into despair.
"I know you have no reason to believe me, but I did suggest that we tell you about our plan." Rhaenyra had begged her to listen, "Laenor argued that the secret would break your marriage, and he simply could not do that to you, knowing how much you love Corlys."
Rhaenys had said nothing, too angry to process any of it. But in the days since, she had realised that her son had foolishly believed that she could get over her grief over losing him. Worse, that her love for her husband was more powerful than what she felt for her children. That realisation had broken her heart, and only the reminder that her grandchildren needed her here stopped her from flying to Slaver's Bay to yell at her delusional son for doubting her devotion.
He is coming home! She kept reminding herself. Rhaenyra had sworn to her that through whatever secret channels Daemon had in Essos, she had sent word to him to return.
Rhaenys was already thinking of all the political consequences of having her son return from the dead, determined to spare the younger children from any rumours of bastardy. She would have her cake and eat it! Anything else was just unacceptable.
But first, she needed to deal with Corlys, who was currently trembling above her. She revelled at the sight of this once great man reduced to this, but reminded herself of her plan. For the children!
It took everything in her to say, "It was kind of you to give Alyn a place on your ship, but you should have told me about them earlier." Her husband was gaping at her like she had just spoken in Dothraki. "I suppose it was to be expected with how free Rhogar is with his affections."
“R-Rhogar?”
"Well, of course. They look so much like him. He told me all about his dalliance with Marilda of Hull and how you made sure they had a good life. Very generous of you to provide for the bastards of your nephew…"
“Rhaenys… I…”
He was blinking rapidly, still not having recovered from his peak. It was exactly why she had let him take her to bed, aware he was never as vulnerable as after their coupling.
"But you do not have to take on the burden alone, husband. I have arranged everything."
His face paled, and he looked absolutely horrified. Perhaps if it were just Addam, Rhaenys would have found a way to rationalise it and move on. Accidents happen, and she was not cruel enough to wish that the boy and his mother were left defenceless and penniless. The part she could not move past was the existence of the second boy, Alyn, whom Alyssa had named with disdain in her voice.
"Rhogar agreed to recognise them as his. Despite their unfortunate birth, he will provide for them. Naturally, it is for the best that they depart Driftmark at once."
"What?" He whispered.
"I personally visited Marilda, and we came to an agreement. You need not worry your pretty head about her and the boys." In truth, the little family had much to be grateful for. Rhaenys had arranged for them to have a comfortable life on Claw Isle, where Addam would train for the island's guard and Alyn would apprentice under their shipbuilders.
Not for the first time, she thanked the Flames that all Velaryon men were excellent at marrying intelligent and capable Ladies. It had been Naela, Malentine's wife, who had helped with the preparations. Lord Bartimos's daughter was someone Rhaenys could rely on completely, never fearing that she would gossip or reveal any information, even if questioned by Corlys himself.
At that moment, her husband just stared at her in horror. "I am glad you approve. I would hate there to be secrets between us." Her smile lacked any warmth, and she not too gently cupped his jaw, "I understand that you did not want me to think less of Rhogar for his foolishness, but really, Corlys? Did you think I would not find out sooner rather than later?"
Driftmark might technically belong to Corlys, but she, with the help of Ysabella, Naela, and Lydia, had been the one running it for decades. Having been raised to one day rule, Rhaenys had never struggled to govern Driftmark, and the island had prospered under her guidance and the tireless work of the women who married into the Velaryon family.
Malentine's wife, Naela, was the one in charge of the vaults, sharing her father's dislike for wasteful spending. Lord Bartimos would truly be proud of how effectively she could put even Corlys in his place when it came to his extravagant impulses. Vaemond's widow, Ysabella, a Staunton by birth, was the one who handled the island's correspondence, working closely with the Maester. Lastly, there was Lydia, whose kind and open nature made her the staff's favourite, ensuring that she knew all the latest gossip across the island.
Some might argue that, as Daemion's wife and daughter of the oathbreaker Lord Rosby, Lydia should not be trusted, but Rhaenys knew better. Her niece by marriage had no love for Daemion or the Greens and their allies, especially after having endured Vaemond's constant complaints that he was yet to be presented with a grandson.
In truth, everyone was better off with Vaemond gone, and she suspected the only ones who mourned him were his twins, Daeron and Daemion. Although perhaps not even Daeron, who loved his mother dearly and had done his best to protect her from Vaemond's vitriol.
With Vaemond gone, Rhaenys could confidently say that she had full control over the island, despite not being a Velaryon at birth. She had earned the merchant's respect and the smallfolk's love, and she would ensure that Lucerys and Rhaena continued her efforts. Not Addam, Alyn, or anyone else.
"Rhogar has learned his lesson," She continued, wanting to make her point, "And it is not like he is married and has shamed his wife. Now that… I would have been less forgiving of. Meleys would have certainly burned his favourite ship in displeasure."
Corlys looked like he might faint, and she knew it was time to switch tactics. "Men are like puppies, haedar," Aunt Saera had instructed Viserra, while Rhaenys pretended not to be listening. "Just like you train your puppies, you should train the men in your life. And if they prove disobedient, break their spirit. Then, feed them from your hand, proving that you and only you can make them feel better. Make them grateful that they get to be in your company and breathe the same air as you."
She stroked his handsome face. "You and I have been through the worst the Flames could throw at us. Laena. Laenor. Aemon. Alysanne. The miscarriages. The Great Council." Gently, she brushed away the tears running down his cheeks. "And here we are. Stronger. Together."
Corlys nodded, eager to agree with her.
"We will pull through this war and ensure that our grandchildren inherit the fruits of our labour. Any rumours that might hurt them are better… buried. Right?"
"Of course. It won't happen again. I'm sorry. I-"
She cut him off with a kiss. It was demanding and punishing, a challenge and a promise, a claim and a threat. And in the back of her mind, she could hear Alyssa's voice telling her about her version of history. Starting with Corlys's push for his bastards to be legitimised and naming Addam, and, later, Alyn, the Heirs of Driftmark. Upon learning of the Queen's paranoia-driven command to have Addam arrested, her husband had betrayed her trust and warned the boy to flee, getting himself arrested. And then came the worst part, where Corlys had shifted his allegiances and had ultimately ordered the Velaryon fleet to defend the Usurper.
She paused for a moment and could read the fear and confusion in her husband's violet eyes. "You were just protecting your nephew. There is nothing to be sorry about. Just make sure that going forward, you put all of your energy toward defending Rhaenyra's claim and preparing Lucerys and Rhaena for their future roles."
"I swear." He exhaled loudly, as though her words were just the reassurance he needed.
Just like aunt Saera had instructed, Rhaenys gave him a small smile, letting him delude himself that this was over.
No, this was far from over. It would not be over until the war was over, Lucerys was confident enough to take over as Lord of Driftmark, and Rhaenys was weeping over her husband's cold body. She kissed him again. This time, mourning the man she had once loved. Corlys had given her Laena and Laenor, and she would never regret marrying him even if their union had contributed to the outcome of the Great Council. Her children mattered more to her than the Iron Throne ever could.
But Corlys should have known better than to betray the granddaughter of Queen Alysanne and Queen Alyssa. As Daemon's broken nose could attest, Rhaenys was not one to be made a fool of. And moons or years from now, when the poison weakened her husband's heart, she would look him in the eyes and tell him exactly why he had to die.
Even if she could find in her heart to forgive him for his affair with Marilda of Hull, the fact that he had sided with the Greens after they murdered her and their grandsons was… she did not have the words to describe the burning betrayal. The only thing that made it worse was the fact that after all that pain and loss, that man had dared to name Addam the next Lord of the Tides instead of Joffrey, who Laenor had adored with his entire heart. And after the war, he had chosen his turncloak bastard over brave Baela and brilliant Rhaena. Over Laena's girls! A greater insult she could not have imagined.
After everything Rhaenys had been forced to endure simply because she was born a woman, she could not forgive her husband's choices. Had he not fought for her claim to the Iron Throne, and was he not, at this very second, supporting Rhaenyra's right to rule? How could he sideline their own granddaughters in favour of a bastard he barely knew? Had it all been a way for him to gain more power and secure his own legacy? Was their marriage a mere tactic for him to get closer to the Iron Throne? Had her grandfather been right along when he had warned her that Corlys lusted only after the power she could give him?
She supposed by then the poison would make it difficult for him to answer, but he might come to thank her later. Better that he have some time to think about his responses because once in the afterlife, he would be greeted by her father, eager for blood. Really, she would be doing Corlys a favour. What could she say? Rhaenys had been raised right.
Indeed, that night she even let her husband hold her after bringing her to peak twice. He was a lucky man indeed.