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Chapter Text

It began with a crown. Somehow it always starts with a crown.

He promised Aegon could have anything he wanted for his name day present.

Soon Aegon would turn six and ten; an important milestone in more ways than one. He had been preparing to formally invest Aegon as Lord of Dragonstone, yet, that was Aegon’s birthright as his eldest son. What sort of gift was it to only get what you were already entitled to?

He asked, “What would you like, Aegon?”

He wonders what Aegon would ask for. When he was Aegon’s age, he wanted books. But, Aegon was different. His son was clever and eager to learn, but Aegon was more of an active sort. Perhaps Aegon would ask for a sword? A hawk? A horse? Perhaps a tourney or passage on a ship to take him traveling?

Whatever Aegon asks for, he’d deliver it regardless, after all, what sort of king and what sort of father would he be if he couldn’t deliver on his promises?

Well, he thinks darkly, he would be his own father and that he will never allow.

Aegon wets his lip, hesitating as though unsure he wants to ask even when the question is posed.

Ultimately, his son answers: “I want a portrait of my mother.”

He blinks. He had not expected that.

He must have been silent too long because Aegon clarifies, “An exact likeness to take with me to Dragonstone.”

He did not need the clarification. He understood. He was just surprised.

A portrait of Elia. That’s what his son wants. He should say yes. There is no reason not to. It’s a portrait of his dead wife…and his eldest children’s mother.

Lyanna was alive and a portrait of her hung in the gallery since the 10th year of his reign. However, Lyanna was not Aegon’s mother.

A portrait of Elia. Part of him balks and he does not know why.

It is only fair Elia have a portrait. She had been his wife and she was the mother of two of his children; one was his heir. And, it was what Aegon wanted.

Why isn’t he answering? Why this hesitance?

He knows why.

He swallows heavily thinking of his wife, gone before her time…because his carelessness. To this day, he curses himself as much as his father who took her life. Elia toiled to bring two eldest children into this world, protected them with everything she had, and lost her life in the process.

It had been up to her because he hadn’t been here. His father robbed them of her, because he wasn’t here to protect her.

But, he needs to answer now because Aegon was looking at him. Aegon wasn’t quite frowning, but, the squaring of his shoulders…

He asks, “You want a portrait of Elia?”

Aegon says, “You have memories and Rhaenys has her things.”

Aegon does not finish but he hears what was left unsaid.

Rhaenys can look in a mirror and see what Elia may have been like and he does have the memories, even they were memories that filled barely three years and the last year involved her being so hurt by him…because of him.

But, when Elia was taken from them, Aegon was too young to remember her and jewels and dresses were fitting to give their daughter, not a son. And Aegon even favors him in looks.

Aegon asks him, looking concerned, “She did like Dragonstone, yes?”

Not prone to laughter, he almost does. As if that could be his possible objection to this request…

Elia turns to him, “There does not seem to be much sun here.”

He shakes his head, wondering if he miscalculated. Among other considerations, by bringing Elia to Dragonstone, he’d been trying to spare Elia his father’s presence. He had not considered that a princess of the land of the sun would not take to a grey keep as this.

No, Elia had not cared for Dragonstone; yet, she took charge of it. She took care to furnish it with items that brought color to the halls, fresh flowers, bright tapestries. She’d filled the greenhouses with vibrant blooms. They had Rhaenys there. She recovered her strength there. They conceived Aegon there.

For all that Dragonstone was the making of his family in Westeros, it was a dreary castle on a gloomy pile of rocks. Elia did her best to make it close to paradise for them until his father had her dragged from it, once and for all reminding them all that while he and Elia may have had the run of Dragonstone, Dragonstone was a Targaryen stronghold and his father was the only Targaryen who mattered.

Gods, how retched a husband had he been?

But, he could try to be a better father.

He tells their son, “She made Dragonstone a home for us.”

Though they both know it was not the full truth, Aegon smiles gratefully.

For that alone, he agrees to Aegon’s wish, because he’s already caused his son to lose his mother once. This way, he can at least give his son a part of her.

For a moment, things had started well. They were going to see the portrait today. It was finally finished. Part of him was as eager to see it as Aegon seemed to be.

While it was going to eventually be taken to Dragonstone, it was going to remain in the portrait gallery for a while. He, Aegon, Rhaenys, and their two cousins, Elia’s niece, Sarella, and nephew, Quentyn, were here to see it. They were joined by Ser Oswell and Viserys.

When Soren, the painter who they commissioned to make the piece, ordered his apprentices to lift the sheet Aegon’s lips parted.

Anticipation? Surely. Happiness, he thinks for a moment, until Rhaenys tells Soren, “It’s wrong!”

They frown. Soren looked horrified.

He looks at the portrait more closely. There does not seem to be anything wrong with it.

It was a very good likeness.

He wonders what flaw his daughter sees. What could Rhaenys have objected to?

Aegon frowns at Rhaenys. “Does it not look like-”

He looks at Elia’s portrait. It was a good likeness, a great one even. The look on Elia’s face was enchanting. He says as much.

Rhaenys shakes her head, “No, not her face. That’s fine!” The last words are said so forcefully, he can hear daughter’s misery war with her growing anger.

Worried, Aegon asks, “What is it, Rhaenys?”

Rhaenys hisses, “The crown! That’s what’s wrong!”

What joy there had been blooming on Aegon’s face vanishes.

He stares trying to figure out what was wrong but he could not.

He’d told Soren to put a crown on Elia. It’s the least she deserved. He never got the chance to give her a crown…

He frowns…no, not that crown of flowers. But, a true crown…the crown of a queen…His father robbed him of that as well.

Sarella asks, “What do you mean? What’s wrong with it?”

Rhaenys frowns at her cousin. “Mother never had such a thing.”

Their other cousin, Quentyn, asks, “Are you sure?”

Dread starts to form because Rhaenys was sure. His dread grows because Rhaenys was right. And now he thinks he made a mistake but what can he do? How can he fix this?

Aegon turns confusedly towards Rhaenys and prompts, “But, you do have the dress?”

Rhaenys is adamant as she shakes her head wildly. “The dress, yes. But, that crown… Mother had a few circlets and a small tiara. I gave him the circlet too. She never had crowns such as this. I would remember something like that! If it was Mother’s, I would have it!”

Aegon, in the face of Rhaenys’ growing distress, asks, “Perhaps, she gave it away? Perhaps it was one of Grandmothers? Maybe Daenerys-”

Once Rhaenys learned that Aegon wanted the portrait made, she only too happily offered the use of gown of gold and orange silk that used to be one of Elia’s favorites.

Recognizing he’d made a colossal mistake, he interrupts, “I asked for Soren to include the crown.”

Elia never had such a crown. It was his fault then. This is his fault now.

They all turned to look at him; Sarella and Quentyn in confusion, but, the way his own children look at him...what has he done?

Hesitantly, Aegon asks, “But, Father, if she never had it, why-”

His son trails off as they catch Rhaenys’ eyes travel around the room before coming to abrupt stop at Lyanna’s portrait.

He looks at Lyanna’s portrait and then toward Elia’s. His heart twists even before he hears Rhaenys’ wail of fury.

Oh gods! What has he done?

The eyes of the others go towards now toward Lyanna’s portrait, but, Rhaenys’ eyes are now firmly on him, glaring at him accusingly. “How could you?”

How could he have been such a fool?

With his heart fallen to his feet, he turns away from his daughter because he can’t bring himself to look at his children. The embarrassed artist’s face is no respite either.

When Aegon said he wanted a portrait of Elia, he’d told Soren to add a crown, one befitting her status. Why did he not think the same man who made Lyanna’s portrait was going to take inspiration from what he knew?

He pulls his eyes away but there is no relief for him to be found anywhere. Now, he can even feel Oberyn’s girl glaring at him and the heat of Doran’s usually temperate boy’s displeasure. But, the looks of hurt that Rhaenys and Aegon give him…

As still as Aegon became, Rhaenys was practically shaking as she hissed, “Wasn’t it enough that you forced that woman into mother’s life while she was alive? The whole realm you put her above our mother multiple times. Now, you copy her crown to give to mother’s portrait? And this is the gift you give my brother!”

While it was Aegon who looked most like him, in this moment, both his children’s eyes mirrored Elia’s…but not the warmth he knew but the hurt she showed him after he’d rode past her to give Lyanna that crown of roses.

From beside him, Aegon gives a shuddering breath. His children had always been close. If Rhaenys acts this way, Aegon probably wasn’t too pleased, either. Aegon was always more circumspect but today…This was supposed to be his gift.

Oh gods! What has he done?

He attempts to plead, “Rhaenys, I-”

Rhaenys laughs bitterly, “I suppose you think we should be grateful that you had a golden crown tacked on, not a crown of winter roses. Mother did not get that from you in life, either!”

With that, Rhaenys gave one more wailing sob and fled the room.

Gods, how he wishes the earth would swallow him whole.

Aegon lets out another deep breath as he tells Sarella and Quentyn, “Go with her. I’ll be there shortly.”

His wife’s niece and nephew stay long enough to give sympathetic looks to Aegon and him dark glares before going after Rhaenys.

How could he have been such a fool? His daughter was right. He’d never given Elia a crown in life, as she deserved. While she died the realm’s Crown Princess, in death, he’d named her his Queen because she sacrificed herself to save their children. It was right at the time. He felt he owed her at least that much because he was crowned with Lyanna at his side when it should have been Elia.

Aegon turns to Soren apologetically as he holds out a pouch previously clipped to his belt to the mortified artist. “I do hope you forgive this display, good ser, and be discrete about this.”

To his credit, Soren goes to refuse. “No, my prince, it was my error on my part.”

The artist did nothing wrong; he did. When he’d commissioned it, Soren asked what Aegon wanted done. He was the one to embellish. This was supposed to be a gift for Aegon and he’d ruined it!

Aegon was supposed to take the portrait to Dragonstone. Now, would Aegon use it for kindling instead?

Aegon proffers the pouch again, “You were told to give me a portrait of my mother and you have done so. Please, I insist.”

Soren nods resignedly but, the man cannot look in his direction. “My prince is most generous but still I should have adhered to your wishes.”

Aegon solemnly waves the man’s apologies away, “It was my own selfish desire to see a portrait of my mother, as she had been in life, so that I could have her portrait in a place where she once lived. However, given the pain this piece causes my sister, whose pain is mine own, I cannot use it as intended. That said, it is a testament to your doubtless craft, for that alone, I would see you compensated for the work you have done. You do have my deepest thanks.”

Aegon falls silent as the man and his apprentices, wisely, show themselves out.

If anything, Aegon’s graciousness makes him feel worse. What sort of father was he that he couldn’t even give his son a portrait of his own mother without ruining things?

For a long while nothing was said. It was an empty room save for his son, himself, one of his Kingsguard, and a now tainted portrait.

He starts, “Aegon, I…I will make it right.”

Aegon does not answer. Instead, he looks to Ser Oswell, who looked as though he wanted to sink into the wall rather than have Aegon to speak to him in that moment. “Please excuse us, Ser?”

Oswell looks at him and though he does not want to be left alone with his son right now, he nods. He deserves whatever vitriol Aegon has for him.

The knight flees and his eldest son isn’t even looking at him. Aegon was staring at his mother’s portrait silently.

Gods. He is grateful Lyanna and Jaehaerys had not been here. So many years passed and the disaster of his introducing Lyanna to Rhaenys was still a firm memory. The relationship between Rhaenys and Lyanna only worsened as time went on. And now there was this!

He swallows. “Aegon?”

Aegon turns to him, too solemn. Aegon whispers, “Forgive me, Father.”

No! This was his mistake. Guiltily, he asks, “For what? I was at fault. You never could-”

Aegon glances at Elia’s portrait again before turning back to him, “It seems I asked too much of you.”

Aegon’s voice had quivered. Was it due to anger or sadness, he cannot guess. As if he needed another reason to feel like a failure of a father to his eldest children.

He tries again, “Aegon, please. I did not mean-”

Aegon nods sharply. “I will go talk to Rhaenys.”

His son tries for a smile. It’s not a full one he knows Aegon is capable of. This one is a small misshapen one demonstrating only sorrow.

With that, Aegon leaves him.

To his misery he finds he is not alone. A drawling voice breaks the silence, “Oh well done, Rhaegar!”

Too late he remembers his brother witnessed it all.

“Don’t start,” he begs of Viserys as his shoulders slump.

Viserys lips curl upwards, mocking, “Me?” Viserys laughs derisively. “You are the one who started this…fifteen years ago, wasn’t it?”

He swallows his retort. Public civility is the best he’d ever gotten from his daughter when it came to his wife. Not even sweet Daenerys proved an effective mediator. But, Viserys always took Rhaenys’ part and he’d handed Viserys a perfectly sharp weapon this time.

His brother’s shoulders shake with mirth at his expense. “And to think people used to see me as our father’s heir when you follow him so perfectly.”

In that moment, his misery morphed into the fury coursing through him. He crosses the room, snarling, “Don’t you dare compare me to him!”

Viserys only sneers. “Why not? Dishonoring your wife, making your children weary of you. You both made a sport of it. If the sandal fits, wear it.” Viserys lets out a laugh, “I’d say crown but your second wife’s crown clearly doesn’t fit your first wife, does it?”

He curls his fist. Viserys means to goad him. He knows this. And, yet, he growls, “I did not mean to-”

Viserys laughs again. “Oh, no, you never mean to desecrate their mother’s memory. Yet, somehow you always seem to manage it. Rhaenys and Aegon may be too young to remember how you thought you could make up for their mother’s loss, I was not.”

He bellows, “Leave me!”

Viserys huffs scornfully. “Just as well. I should go comfort my niece and nephew. Gods know they will get none from you.” Viserys ends with a disdainful look to Elia’s portrait.

Now alone, he tries not to look at it, but, his eyes fall on the offending crown and the face below it.

When he’d first taken sight of it, the portrait pleased him. Elia’s expression looked serene to him. That part had been true to what Elia had been like when she lived. She’d only been broken of that serenity twice in her life…and both were his doing. Even if his father had killed her, the blame laid with him.

Now, her painted expression looks as it had at Harrenhal and later when he’d first returned to King’s Landing after ensuring that Lyanna was hidden away; a potent mix of hurt and disappointment.

The crown had been his idea. He regrets it. But, too late. He has regrets when it comes to his first wife, his eldest children’s mother. They always come too late.

Elia’s eyes used to laugh.

But, these eyes…now they damn him as his children’s did earlier. They seemed to say, “We ask for so little and still you found yet another way to fail us?”

Aegon and Rhaenys did not sup in the Great Hall that night. Neither did their cousins who witnessed the debacle. Viserys did not either.

Lyanna turns to him, hesitantly. “How did it go? Did Aegon like the portrait?”

He almost snapped at her but restrained himself. He closes his eyes. He takes a breath. He can’t bring himself to answer her just yet. And it’s not her fault.

Still, she should not have asked. But, nothing has gone right today. Why would this?

Part of him wonders why she even voiced the question. She had balked when he told her what he intended Aegon’s gift to be. She had not wanted to see it and he had not required her to be there to see it unveiled.

At least no one knows yet of his blunder, yet.

He opens his eyes as he takes in the sight of everyone in the Great Hall and those not in it. This will get out, he realizes. He barely holds in a wince.

Viserys’ excuse for sitting this dinner out was a letter to his wife…Princess Arianne of Sunspear.

If Elia died any other way, he would not have had to offer up his brother to Dorne, except a war raged with his Dornish wife and half-Dornish children used as hostages while he’d been preparing another woman to be his wife, hidden, and protected, in their sands without their leave.

He felt cold grip him. Even if Viserys kept quiet, and he knew his brother would not, someone will talk about it eventually. His children already voiced their disappointments, in different yet equally damning ways. Aegon was more tactful than Rhaenys about things usually, but, he doubted his son would spare him in his. Aegon’s excitement at having a memento of Elia had been palpable before it all went to the Seven Hells.

The painter will keep quiet, but what of his apprentices? Two of his children’s cousins witnessed it too and they had no loyalty to him. Both their fathers detested him, though only Oberyn was blatantly obvious about it.

Rhaenys’ Lannister betrothed will be honor bound to take her part. And Aegon’s betrothed was Stannis Baratheon’s daughter.

Damn it all and damn himself!

He takes a calming breath before turning back to Lyanna who was still waiting for a response.

Did Aegon like it? If only it was that easy.

He put a sheet over it. He was going to remove it from the hall.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Aegon ultimately had been the one to give Soren coin for it, his first impulse would have seen it burnt to ashes. It was a failed gift, but, he couldn’t bring himself to destroy it.

Perhaps his children will hate him for that, too; a clear affront to their mother that he tries to pretend had not been one.

Sourly, he thinks that even if they didn’t, Viserys would remind them.

He tells her. “I do not want to discuss it!”

They rarely if ever spoke about Elia to one another. They rarely mentioned Elia when she was alive. After today, to do so felt so very wrong.

She looks confused, “Rhaegar?”

He hisses, “No!”

He cannot share this with her just yet. Lyanna would not take kindly to the fact that his children felt a painted crown modeled after her own was an insult to his first wife. He did not want to deal with her outrage when he had not thought how to approach Aegon, let alone Rhaenys.

She falls silent but her displeasure is clear, and their son’s since he heard the exchange.

He thinks to himself: who wasn’t displeased with him today?

If Viserys was here, he’d likely tell him there was no one to blame but himself and Viserys would be right.

Arthur comes to him that night.

His oldest and trusted friend asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

He gets a chalice of wine that matches the one he already was drinking from and blanches when he realizes that the vintage he is pouring out for Arthur, the same one he’d been drinking, his favorite, was a Dornish red.

He sighs as he sits down. “You know Aegon asked for a portrait of Elia for his name day.”

Arthur nods slowly. “I know.” Arthur knew that part. They discussed it. Arthur would have been there but today was not his day to guard him.

Taking a sip from his chalice, Arthur confirms hesitantly, “He did not like it.”

He grimaces, “Oswell did not tell you?”

Arthur shook his head. “Your brother did.”

He hangs his head. ‘Of course’, he thinks bitterly.

His children were young and while Rhaenys had some memories of Elia, Viserys had more. He did not think there were that many because for most of the damnably short duration of their marriage he and Elia made Dragonstone their home and the time Viserys had spent with Elia in the Red Keep, he doubts, Viserys thinks on fondly. Still, he knew that Elia had been kind to his little brother. Most importantly, Elia was mother’s choice and for Viserys that would have been the only thing that mattered, at least until Viserys married Elia’s niece.

No doubt his brother and Princess Arianne forged a bond based on their shared love for his eldest children and disdain for him.

Remembering what he’d like to forget, his shoulder shook. “Aegon asked for an exact likeness.”

Arthur frowns, “And, it wasn’t?”

His lips turn downward as he says, “It was, except for the crown that Elia never wore I told Soren to paint.”

Arthur frowns, “He didn’t like the look of it? Was that it? It did not match the style of items Princess Rhaenys has?”

If only. Rhaenys had given over a circlet of Elia’s for this. He should have left it alone. It’s too late now. “It was a crown worthy of a queen. Lyanna has one just like it. Rhaenys was quick to point out the crown Elia never got to wear in life was modeled after hers.”

With that the knight who felled the Smiling Knight flinched as though a blow struck him. While Lyanna tried to be a mother to Rhaenys as she had to Daenerys who lost Mother at a tender age, Rhaenys objected fiercely and Lyanna compounded the matter by voicing an objection to Rhaenys, then a girl of ten, who started to wear Elia’s clothes and jewels.

Arthur lets out a soft whistle, “You did not intend on it, did you?”

A mirror of Viserys’ accusations though from Arthur, he knew it wasn’t. Perhaps that would be easier.

He laughs sourly. “Aegon wanted one thing; a portrait of how his mother looked. I could have done just that. Instead, I told Soren to put a crown on Elia, when our children know that I gave handed crowns out only twice and neither one went to their mother.”

Arthur tilts his head, “What were you thinking?”

What had he been thinking? Wasn’t that the question? But, where he tried to pretend with Viserys, but, he cannot now.

He tells Arthur, “I thought Elia deserved a proper crown. That my son deserved to see his mother in the finery that should have been hers by right…that I did not give her while I should have.”

They give each other knowing looks because it was true. He was her husband…a wretched one to be sure. Not quite in the vein of his father, but to Elia he had been a bad husband. There was no way around it.

Arthur presses, “That’s not all is it?”

He sighs deeply. “I can’t give her what I owed her. Before I could start making it right, she was gone. When Aegon asked for this, I thought I could finally do it; not just call her my queen, but, to show that she was, that she wasn’t just their mother, that I valued her.”

Arthur asks, “Surely Aegon understood that even if Rhaenys didn’t?”

He smiles bitterly. “He didn’t flee the room furiously sobbing, but, he hated it, too.”

Arthur’s eyes go wide. “He said so?”

For all that Rhaenys saw no need to guard her emotions, Aegon remained fairly neutral in most of his dealings with his wife and younger son.

He exhales slowly. “He all but shoved coin at Soren to get him away from his sight and said it was a mistake for him to ask me for the portrait in the first place. I should have known better. I did know better.”

At Arthur’s look he sighs and says, “If my father gave me a portrait of my mother wearing something belonging to one of her ladies he’d soiled as a gesture of how much he valued her, I would have thought it a giant farce as well.”

Even Arthur turns away for a moment but ever loyal, Arthur tries to comfort him, “Perhaps tomorrow, they will see your gesture for what it was supposed to be.”

He holds in a defeated sound. Even Arthur does not look like he believed his own words.

He smiles at his friend or at least he tries to. “Thank you, my friend, but, you know that they will not. They are my children as much as they are Elia’s. I was trying for absolution when I should have just focused on giving my son the one gift he’s ever asked for.”

Now, looking at him, Arthur grimaces. “What are you going to do now?”

That was the problem. He just does not know where to begin. Apologies were not going to smooth things over this time.

The next day, to his chagrin, Aegon, tone clipped, says, “That will not be necessary,” to his offer of another portrait, one made by an entirely different painter.

Despite his disappointment, he accepts that Aegon does not want him to try again.

He will not fight Aegon in his. He should have known he ruined the idea for his son.

His son, ever temperate, offers, “A tourney will suffice.”

It still hits him like a spear to the gut.

Suffice.

A king and a father and all he can do for his children is ‘suffice’.

He agrees without question. He asks only, “Did you wish to participate?”

Despite what animus Aegon likely still has for him, the question pulls a laugh from his son. “In the tourney for my own name day? No. They will probably feel honor bound to let me win, even Uncle Oberyn.”

Aegon says it with a smile, but he takes a steading breath.

He’s been in two tourneys and was victor in one. The one where it all went wrong, he’d defeated no less than four members of the Kingsguard to say nothing of others.

Had they let him win?

Would his life be different now if he’d lost?

Would Elia be with him now?

Useless questions but then what was there to think of besides the last of Aegon’s words.

Oberyn.

He asks, “Your uncle is coming?”

Aegon smiles then. A true smile. His son admits, “He’s already on his way.”

‘Oh,” he thinks seeing the gleam in Aegon’s eyes.

If his son cannot have his mother in any meaningful way, his mother’s favorite brother will make for an even better gift…one he cannot deny Aegon now.

Chapter Text

Jaime!

That was his first thought as he saw those blond curls and cat-green eyes.

Too quickly, he was brought back to the present.

The man in front of him is not Jaime. He is no more Jaime any more than the smiling woman next to him was Princess Elia.

The guilt he still tries to suppress after all these years flares so brightly. The guilt and everything else.

From afar, the pair before him looked like his once protégé and once princess but they were not. Elia and Jaime were long dead. He forces himself to keep looking even though the sight of the pair steals his breath away.

Though he should have anticipated this, it was a shock every time he sees Lancel Lannister. He looks so much like Jaime that it hurts in the same way looking at Princess Rhaenys hurts.

He swallows the lump growing in his throat and blinks away the tears he wants to spill.

It was his fault. He wasn’t there to stop King Aerys from killing them.

The king mentioned to him that the Crown Prince called Prince Oberyn to King’s Landing. Privately he dreaded it as much as the king did, but, he should have known if the younger brother of the Ruling Prince of Dorne was coming to King’s Landing, others would as well.

It was not as though Lancel Lannister was a stranger. Even if the Crown Prince’s name day celebrations were not fast approaching, naturally the heir of Casterly Rock would be at his betrothed’s side. After the princess’ reaction to the king’s gift to the prince, the young man would have jumped for a chance at gallantry.

He thinks Jaime, had he been alive, would have loved to see it.

But, where Jaime once was, now there is Lancel. When Jaime held awe and respect for the king and the Kingsguard, in differing measures, Lancel Lannister had none.

He’d lost his princess and he’d lost his brother. He mourns their loss each day.

Their mirrors are here though. Years ago, he’d been delighted to know some part of his dead lived on. Yet, seeing their mirrors, he must admit, they are gone.

But, he wasn’t the only one who lost them. He was far from the only one.

Her small face looks up at him and he starts to smile but hers drops abruptly.

His throat tightens as she looks this way and that. She asks, “Ser Jaime?”

Jaime. She hoped he was Jaime.

His white cloak.

A shudder passes through him.

She didn’t remember him. It was Jaime she remembered, and Jaime was gone.

Jaime, much too young, failed to defend Princess Elia from King Aerys and also lost his life for it, but, at least the children lived. And yet, Prince Aegon did not know him and now Princess Rhaenys no longer recognized him.

When she said, “You’re not Jaime” with a pout, all he could do is agree.

Now, he looks towards Lannister again.

This wasn’t Jaime. This was Lancel Lannister, now Tywin’s heir.

Jaime had been Tywin’s heir once, but, Jaime was gone. Here was Lancel, who had none of Jaime’s warmth.

Tywin Lannister had always been a cold man and his losses had made him even harder. They’d both felt Jaime’s loss, naturally, in different ways… the loss of Lady Cersei and little Lord Tyrion destroyed any warmth Lord Tywin had left and the former Hand had so little of it to begin with.

Gods, what accursed times he lives in.

For Lady Cersei, losing her twin had been too much to bear. Upon hearing of her brother’s death, so aggrieved, she fell from the highest watchtower of Casterly Rock into the sea. When the house was still in mourning, the youngest of Lord Tywin’s children had been found dead in his bed. They say it was a chill and the boy was a dwarf but still…

Lord Tywin, adamantly refusing to wed again, resorted to taking his nephew as his heir.

The results showed. It was not to say that Lannister did not pay court when required, but for Lancel to his king, it was the type of deference due a king and the father to his future bride. Nothing more and nothing less.

Looking at Lancel now, he can only feel his dread grow. He does not know what Jaime would have made of Lyanna or the king’s younger son, but, Lancel, following his betrothed’s lead, does little more than give them perfunctory greetings before, Rhaenys, with her arm now linked in Lannister’s, guides the young blond man towards the Throne Room; the place where her mother and his cousin died together.

Though the Red Keep was now filling with faces familiar since his youth, the next few days had not been better.

The king had been uneasy, and his own unease grew as well. They both knew Prince Aegon asked for his younger uncle. Yet, that was not the only thing increasing his unease. Before the Dornish arrived, Prince Aegon’s betrothed had come to King’s Landing with her father. While the match was one the king had backed, tying Prince Aegon to Lady Cassana Baratheon, was one born of politics. A Targaryen interfered with a Baratheon betrothal and a new one was forged in its place.

It was something of a relief Prince Aegon seemed to enjoy his betrothed and the same seemed to hold for the girl as well. However, that had not softened Lord Stannis’ towards the king or queen though so many years had passed.

Still, that was nothing compared to the animus of the princes of the House Martell. It was not so blatant, but, whatever warmth the princes of House Martell had towards those in King’s Landing, was reserved for the king’s eldest children, even now.

While Prince Doran was not in King’s Landing, his heir and his brother were.

One could be tricked into thinking such actions were a sign of reconciliation because Prince Doran was of a mild temperament…if they were a fool. The truth was the Martells distrust the king and feared that they’d be kept from their sister’s children otherwise. And the king was unable to fix that. Queen Elia’s death saw to it. Not even offering up Prince Viserys for Prince Doran’s heir managed fixing it.

Now he stood sentry in full view of court, where bracketed by Dagos Manwoody and Myria Jordayne, Prince Oberyn and his paramour Ellaria Sand beam at Prince Aegon.

Most of the gifts from House Martell have already been given, including a large chest which was already sent to Prince Aegon’s chambers, but, it seems there was one last one to be given.

Prince Oberyn smiles, “My dearest nephew. I have one more gift for you in honor of your name day.”

The prince smiles at his uncle and bows low. “You honor me, Uncle!”

There was already a pile of gifts of various sorts for the prince from his Martell uncles but of course there would be more. Prince Oberyn gestures and from the open doorway two men carry in a very tall and thin rectangular package.

His heart sinks as he glances at the king.

To most, the king looked serene. He knew better. Rhaegar’s eyes, usually dark with melancholy, had a wet sheen to them. His hands were hidden; no doubt each hand clenched at a thigh to not give away that they were shaking.

He pulls his eyes way. His sense of foreboding spikes when Prince Oberyn’s smile sharpens. “As I should. You are my nephew; my dearly loved sister’s youngest child. Doran and I will never deny you. You asked for one thing. What sort of uncles, men, would we be if you denied you this?”

With that, the court grows eager as he tenses, feeling the opposite of eagerness. He can see the obvious question on some of the faces around; what could the prince possibly want?

He knows the answer. The king knows the answer. The prince in question knows the answer.

A soft voice cuts through the air. “A good likeness?”

Princess Rhaenys asks.

He tries to keep his expression neutral as he looks towards the princess. Now, the princess dressed in a copper-colored gown once worn by her mother with a string of rubies set in gold which was a new gift from Lannister around her neck.

Prince Oberyn’s smile only widens as Princess Arianne nods from where she and Prince Viserys stand.

Prince Aegon visibly grows excited when Prince Oberyn cajoles, “Come see for yourself.”

Prince Aegon pulls the sheet away.

A portrait should be innocuous. This one is anything but.

Despite himself, he starts to compare it to the other portrait.

The portrait was just as beautiful and grand as the now hidden away portrait Soren crafted. In some ways it felt…more. That fact made this gift beautiful and terrible.

Soren had never met Princess Elia. Whoever Prince Oberyn commissioned clearly did. It showed. That was worse.

He wanted to turn away. He could not look anywhere else.

The prince asked for a good likeness.

The other portrait was beautiful, but this was exactly what the prince had asked for.

It was a very good likeness. Too good.

The spear of House Martell strikes true!

He knew this for a fact because the portrait depicted a moment in time he’d been present for.

His head hurt. His heart hurt.

He tried so much to focus on the bright hues and lushness of the Water Gardens which was used as the background. He tried to look at the rich orange and red gown that seemed to shimmer with life as light reflected upon it.

He wanted to see anything but the smiling face of the woman who had been his princess.

Try as he might, his gaze travelled back to large dark eyes, dusky skin, the soft ringlets of hair as dark as a raven’s wing. It took all the strength he had not to flee the hall.

He hears Prince Aegon ask his sister, his voice so soft in its breathlessness, “How is it?”

Is it a good likeness? This time, the prince does not ask.

Princess Rhaenys smiles, “This is exactly the truth.”

It was! By the gods, it was!

This time, he doesn’t even bother blinking the wetness away.

But, no one was looking at him. Instead, most were watching the prince embrace his smiling uncle who gave the young man what he asked for.

“I am glad,” Prince Aegon says.

“Anything for you both,” the Red Viper promises.

He likes to think he only imagined the look Prince Oberyn gave the king. He knows better. Not when he remembered what caused the moment depicted in the scene.

To avoid looking at the king and queen who have yet to say a word, he looks at the portrait again.

A good likeness of Queen Elia, though she was not a queen then, just a princess. So young, regal, and alive.

He pretends to ignore the whispers that grew around him. The whispers will only grow. He only wished it was because of the potential for surprise that this was the one thing the prince wanted for his name day.

He knew better.

After all, this was not just a portrait of his princess’ smiling face, this was the smiling face of the realm’s uncrowned princess. This was Princess Elia as she looked after the king, then only a prince, took the princess and their daughter to Dorne.

It was a moment when she was not yet fully showing she was with child, with Prince Aegon. This was a portrait depicting Princess Elia as she was, happy to be where Princess Elia was certain she was loved, mere weeks after the Crown Prince, in front of his wife, crowned another woman his Queen of Love and Beauty.

Soon, the word of the portrait spread. The portrait of a princess spurned by her own husband. A queen only named so in death.

The king and queen did not attend the feast that night.

As she did when the queen was not in attendance, the princess acted as hostess. More frequently that seemed to occur. Ordinarily, that suited both women just fine as the queen never quite took the press of circumstance required at court and the princess was not one to demure.

The princess whispers to her brother’s betrothed, “Well, I should enjoy it as much as I can. Once you wed Aegon, it will be your turn.”

He holds in a sigh at the implied insult to the queen. He bites his tongue.

He could argue. He does not. What would be the point? Princess Rhaenys knew he was listening. She never did care. From the beginning, it was clear where Princess Rhaenys stood on just about everything.

Lady Cassana Baratheon remarks lightly, “You say that as if you would not miss it.”

Princess Rhaenys laughs. “I would never deny a proper queen her due and, it’s been years since we knew you would be our queen. I feel comfortable leaving for Casterly Rock, knowing King’s Landing is in your hands!”

He bites his tongue and remains silent. There’s no point in voicing his objections to the obvious oversight.

If he does say something the princess will counter him. He’d never said anything when it was Queen Rhaella who suffered and he completely failed Princess, and later, Queen Elia…Queen Lyanna is already someone Princess Rhaenys never loved.

He thinks back to the portrait…the one whose existence caused both the king and queen to flee from their own court.

He bites his tongue again. He does not wince at the taste of blood.

Why would he? He is already familiar enough with the taste.

Despite himself, that night he ends his rounds in the gallery.

He had not seen the king all night and here he was standing in front of the portrait, transfixed.

It hasn’t been hung in the gallery. Instead, it was propped up on a table.

In answer to his unvoiced question, the king answered in a voice filled with roughness: “Aegon is taking it to Dragonstone with him. It was to be his gift after all.”

The king ends speaking with a shuddering breath.

The king’s gift to his son is nowhere to be seen.

The realm never forgot and the Martells never forgave.

Neither did the princess.

The next morning, Lannister, obviously having seen the portrait, asks Prince Oberyn, “Who painted it? Would they be willing to come to Casterly Rock?”

Prince Oberyn glances at Lannister curiously. “What is it you wished to have done?”

Lannister turns somber. “I would have a portrait of my cousin, Ser Jaime. It would give my uncle much-needed joy. I will pay any price to have them brought to Casterly Rock if I must.”

The queen adds, “Perhaps we can commission Soren to do the portrait instead. We owe him one.”

He inwardly sighs as the rest of the table stiffens. With great reluctance, the king had informed the queen of what happened with the first portrait. She wondered why Prince Oberyn would bring Aegon another one. It hurt her that the king’s effort was for naught.

Princess Rhaenys snorts disgustedly. “Why, so he can ruin a portrait of another member of my family?”

The usually muted hostility Princess Rhaenys has for Queen Lyanna only intensified of late. Queen Lyanna had not directly caused the offence the princess took however Princess Rhaenys took the first portrait as another honor the king leveled at Queen Lyanna at her mother’s expense.

It was only Lannister’s obvious pleasure that the princess considered his cousin, family, that stopped an argument from raging in that moment. Lannister had given his betrothed a besotted look, “I once read a letter from him. He was quite fond of you.”

Most of the table sinks back into ease but, he knows another argument between the king and queen will flare.

And later, it does.

The queen shakes her head, distraught. “Do you see how she treats me? She even disrespects me in public now! It was just a portrait!”

A portrait with all the wrong connotations, but, there was nothing to do about it now!

The king sighs, “Lyanna! What would you like me to do?”

The queen cries, “Something! Anything! She acts as though everything I do is a crime. Now, I cannot even speak without her finding ways to contradict me!”

The king swallows a sigh. “Lyanna, please. Calm yourself. You know how deeply she feels.”

And there was one subject that was felt the most keenly.

The queen struggles for breath. “She acts as though I killed Elia, even now! I never wanted to see Elia harmed! Why doesn’t she see that? If I could bring back Elia from the dead, I would, but, I cannot! What more does she want from me?”

Something Lyanna cannot give her, he thinks.

The king tries again, takes her into his arms, “Lyanna, please. I know it’s been difficult. Be patient.”

The queen shakes him away. “Patient? I’ve been patient. How much longer? It’s been years. I tried to be kind and at each turn, she rebuffs me. What will happen when Aegon goes to Dragonstone? And even he stopped trying to curb her.”

It was an old hurt that started from the very beginning.

The little princess beams at her father. “Papa! You’re home!”

Even his warrior’s heart is moved at the reunion.

Her little face turns curious. “Where is Mama?” She looks at each face, not finding the one that she was searching for. She turns back to her father. “Papa, where is Mama? I miss her.”

The faces around them go white in dismay. The king puts an uneasy smile on his face. “She misses you too.”

Princess Rhaenys asks again, “Where is Mama?”

The king was trying not to shake. He looks away. But, all around him are tear lined faces, even the Queen Dowager who had Prince Aegon clutched at her breast.

The king unsteadily answers, “Away, sweetling.”

How were they going to tell the little princess that her mother was dead?

Lyanna tries to move forward, clearly to comfort the king.

Seeing it, the princess asks, “Who is she?”

The king answers uneasily, “Lyanna. My wife.”

The crowd hushes but the tense atmosphere crackles with uneasy energy.

The little princess’ lip wobbles. “She’s not Mama.”

He exchanges tense looks with Gerold and Oswell. Of course, the child doesn’t understand. Princess-no-Queen Elia had been the king’s wife. Now, they were introducing Lyanna as such. How were they going to explain any of this to the young princess? He spies Prince Viserys’ young face frowning in disapproval. Whether at what was coming or at his niece’s distress, he cannot say.

Lady Lyanna steps back, horrified.

Uneasily, the king starts, “No but she is-”

The princess asks again, “Where is Mama?”

This time her voice was higher and insistent. His chest squeezes. He between the now silent king and his daughter, unsure and unprepared for once. How were they going to tell the child her mother was dead?

The princess begins to struggle in her father’s arms. “Mama! Where is mama?”

By now, Prince Aegon wakes, snuffling. The Dowager Queen rocks him, no doubt hoping the young princes goes back to sleep. Gods. At least, he was too young to understand.

The king tries again, “My dear-”

Growing more confused, the little princess asks, “Where Mama go?”

He hears a gasp. Prince Viserys looks at the king, his pout growing into a frown. The Queen Dowager must have told him, but, it was growing clear, even to the little boy, that no one told the little princess.

“She’s gone.”

The princess looks at her father. “When is Mama back?”

His heart sinks further. For once, he is glad of his vows. He will never have to answer such a question.

There are tears in the king’s eyes. “Oh, sweetling. Your Mama cannot come back.”

She lets out a cry that tears at his heart and Prince Aegon starts to snuffle. The princess now looks terrified. “Was I bad? Aeggy? Is that why-”

Aghast, the King goes to assure her, “No, precious. He corrects, “You were not bad. Neither was Aegon.”

The princess wonders, “Why did she go? She can come back.”

The king’s body shudders along with the little princess, “No, my sweet. She can’t come back. She’s gone.”

“Bring her back,” is the watery command.

The king was shaking now. “She’s gone, my sweet. I can’t.”

“Noooo”, the little princess wails. Her little fists beat at the king’s chest.

Prince Viserys, who’d been holding Princess Rhaenys’ cat holds Balerion higher, trying valiantly to distract the little girl. “Look, Rhaenys, Balerion! He wants to play.”

The cat lets out a playful mewl at his person. He prays it works but quickly he sees the gods won’t answer his prayers today.

Princess Rhaenys shakes her head ferociously. “I don’t want Bal’rion. I want my mama!”

The little boy seems crushed as his attempt to calm his niece failed and turns to his own mother for comfort. Yet, there is nothing the Queen Dowager can do. There is nothing any of them can do!

They cannot bring back Queen Elia from the dead.

Sensing the futility in the others, the little princess begins to struggle in her father’s arms, the Queen Dowager clearly longs to step forward to take her, but she’s got the now fussier Prince Aegon in her hands. The king tries to soothe his daughter, but nothing works.

Eventually, the attendant standing beside the Queen Dowager, he belatedly realizes Lewyn’s paramour, plucks her from the king’s helpless hands.

Nyssa, starts to cajole, “Hush now, child. There, now. Breathe for me.” The woman rubs circles against the princess’ back.

The princess, usually comfortable in a no-doubt familiar embrace, tries to what the woman asks but still turns back to the king. “I want Mama! Papa please?”

He knows the king would tear down the sky if the princess asks, but, this is not in his power to give.

The king is freely crying now. “Rhaenys, I cannot-”

The king trails off and Princess Rhaenys screams, face teary and red: “I WANT MY MAMA!”

Hearing his sister’s distress, the infant prince starts to wail.

The Queen Dowager tries to hush him too. Gods, he’s never felt more useless as the little princess grows even more agitated at her brother’s cries.

The king sobs in earnest, his newest wife now looks unsure. Her last attempt at comforting the king had only exacerbated matters.

Lewyn’s paramour, sensing that nothing will cure this, pushes past them all with the princess in her arms.

Even after the door closes behind the quickly retreating pair, he can hear the little princess scream, “I WANT MY MAMA!”

Now, the King murmurs, “I will talk to Lannister, then. She will listen to him at least. She will want to be seen in the best light by him.”

With that, the king, now resolved, sought to have a private word with the only man alive who could possibly soothe cool the princess’ ire.

The next morning, he witnesses Lannister’s outright stating to the king: “Your Grace, as much as I would like to aid you in this, I cannot help you.”

The king demands to know, “Can not or will not?”

He’d laugh but he doesn’t think he’s capable of that anymore.

Lannister sighs. “My king, I am but a man. I am not a god. It is a miracle you seek. You will sooner see the Brackens and Blackwoods declare their unending love for one another. If the years have not healed what wounds there are, I do not know what it is that you wish from me.”

King Rhaegar, frustrated, begins, “I am not asking for a miracle.”

He spies Prince Aegon shaking his head. Usually, the prince is a deft hand at soothing the tensions between the princess and their father, but, clearly, even he has doubts.

Lannister shakes his head, “I can try to convince her to be kinder, but, I can go no further. She is rather upset by it all. It is not in me to pick a fight with the woman who would be my wife.”

An admirable sentiment on most days. Today, it was useless for the king.

This second portrait has not helped matters that were already fraught for years when it came to Princess Rhaenys’ honoring her mother.

The breath was almost knocked out of him. It was like looking into the past. Queen Elia’s gown…on her daughter.

The princess says as she twirls in orange silks. “Look Father! How do I look? It fits perfectly, doesn’t it?”

His breath catches as the king’s does. Not knowing what plagues them, Prince Aegon smiles at his sister and says, “You look pretty, Sister.”

Princess Rhaenys turns back to her father “Father, don’t you like it?”

The king looked as though he was trying to fight tears and he was not that far behind, in truth.

The king says brokenly, “You look so much like her.”

It was after the second time the princess wore a dress of her mother’s that the king asked the princess to stop wearing Queen Elia’s clothes.

Pretending not to see the subtly furious expression on Nyssa’s face, he glances at the king in askance.

The king, drawing a deep, shuddering breath, explains, “You looked so much like your mother. I wasn’t expecting-”

The princess’ face falls. “Do you not want me to wear them?”

The king tries to smile for his daughter, but it does not fool him. It was difficult for him seeing the princess in her mother’s clothes, but, seeing his daughter like this was tearing at the king. “I want you to have them, but, perhaps…give us some time to get used to them. It’s been a while since-”

The princess kisses her father on the cheek as she leaves them. “That’s alright, Father. I understand.”

The queen with a hand over the king’s shoulder. “It was too soon to give her the dresses.”

The king sighs, defeated. “She is already starting to fit them completely. My mother wanted me to give Rhaenys the dresses earlier. I allowed the jewels, but, she already looks so much like her.”

The king shakes his head. His voice wetly wavers as he says, “I am just not ready for that yet.”

The queen nods her head, agreeably. “Of course, it is better this way.”

Though he understood, he could feel a cold sinking into his bones.

He was right to feel as he had. A few days later he witnessed the scene that truly changed the course of the relationship between the king & queen and the king’s only daughter irrevocably.

Princess Daenerys turns to Princess Rhaenys confused, “Why not?”

In her innocence, the princess begins, “Father said it hurt him to see me in my mother’s dress. You look just like Grandmother.”

The ever-sweet princess Daenerys turns to her brother distraught at the prospect of causing him pain. “Brother, is this true? Does it hurt to see us in their dresses?”

The king stammers as he shares a look with the queen. “I-That’s not quite what I meant.”

Princess Rhaenys, her face showing her confusion says, “But, that is what you said, Father!”

The king had the look of a trapped man, but, the king was not the type of man to lie to his children. Despondent, the king softly admits to his daughter, “I only meant for you to stop wearing the dresses.”

He feels his heart sink.

He can see Prince Aegon’s growing confusion and Prince Viserys’ growing disgust. But, the bulk of his attention on Princess Rhaenys’ young face, now marred by a frown. “But, Father, you said not to wear the dresses because it was too painful. Mother passed away a long time ago. Grandmother only passed. Wouldn’t it be more painful for to see Daenerys in Grandmother’s clothing?”

Prince Viserys growls low in his throat. Prince Aegon stiffens in his chair. The queen grows uncharacteristically still while Prince Jaehaerys’ eyes go wide while Princess Daenerys is equally nonplussed.

The king hesitantly shakes his head. “No, Rhaenys, that was not quite what I meant. It’s a bit different-”

The princess’ face crumbles. “Why?”

Obviously troubled, Prince Aegon murmurs, “That wouldn’t be fair, Father.”

A wife versus a mother. It is different, but, how to explain it to a child?

The princess, with her distress growing, asks hesitantly, “Did you not like Mother? Was that it?”

Stricken, the king cries, “Of course not!”

“Then, why?” The princess’ face twists into deeply held hurt. “What did mother do to you to get her to hate you so much?”

Aghast, the king stumbles out of his chair. “Rhaenys, no. I don’t hate your mother. I could never hate her.”

This time, the princess’ question was louder, sharper. “Then, why can’t I wear her clothes?”

How to tell a girl that the sight of her looking so much like her mother hurts? That the king felt he failed Queen Elia so much that seeing her daughter in her clothes was too much! The guilt was always there, in the king and him both, but now that the princess looks so much like the queen it was as though being stabbed in the heart every day.

The queen starts, “Oh, my sweet. It isn’t that.”

The queen grasped the king’s hand to give comfort and for a moment it worked because the king squeezed her hand back.

That failed to soothe the young princess. If anything, it did the reverse. “Oh, I see now.”

The king, recognizing his error, shook his hand free of the queen’s. “Rhaenys, please. It is not-”

By this time, the princess was already up from the table and backing away, fury and pain warring on her little face. “Why are you letting her erase mother?”

The queen’s face goes bone white, but it was the king, with horror written across his face, who argues, “I am not. I promise you, Rhaenys. It’s not that.”

The princess wails, “No? What else could it be? You never tell us about her. You never talk to us about her. Viserys is betrothed to Arianne, but, you almost never have our uncles or cousins visit court. And now, I can’t even wear her things? It’s because of her, isn’t it? You would allow it all if she wasn’t here!”

The king denies it, “Rhaenys, no! It isn’t-”

Most of the princess was shaking now. Scowling, she asks, “So, she never said anything about it to you?”

The king’s face crumbles. Because he cannot refute that fact, even if it was ultimately his own decision.

She shrieks, “Isn’t it enough she’s stole mother’s life?”

“Rhaenys-“ “Mother didn’t do that!”

Rhaenys takes a deep breath, but the young girl was nearly in hysterics. “I see it now. You always pretend mother never existed because it upsets her! I don’t want to give her a reason to try and have me and my brother erased from your life, too! Maybe, I should take your leave since I already offended the queen with my Dead. Mother’s. Clothing.”

The girl ends with a howl of pain.

The king tries, “Rhaenys, do not-”

The princess demands to know, “Are you going to punish me?”

He wonders if she feared the clothes would be torn from her.

Distraught, the king cries, “What, no? Rhaenys?”

The princess shakes her head wildly. “Punish me all you want, but, I won’t give up my mother’s things. I won’t!”

His heart sinks to his feet when the princess practically flees.

The stunned silence is broken only by the fading echoes of the sobbing princess and Nyssa’s footsteps hurrying behind the princess’.

He’d heard from both Prince Viserys and Oswell that Prince Aegon went after his sister to console her about the first portrait. The incident with the clothes initiated the pattern.

Prince Aegon was half-way through the door already. “I will go to her. Excuse me.”

The king hesitantly asks, “Aegon?”

The young prince frowns, insisting, “Father, I need to get to Rhaenys!”

The king begins, “I will-”

The prince replies, insistent and sharp, “Father, I have to go to Rhaenys.”

The prince, he noted grimly, hasn’t looked at the queen or his brother since the princess’ exit.

The king begins, “Aegon, I-”

Aegon shakes his head, saying dully, “Rhaenys did nothing wrong.”

Without another glance around the table, the prince leaves to give chase to his sister.

The silence was quickly shattered by the scratch of Prince Viserys’ chair.

Defeated and having fallen back into his own chair, the king demands, “You too, now?”

Princess Viserys sniffs, as if the answer was obvious. He says, sneering, “The kitchens. Then to my niece and nephew. Someone must ensure they eat. It clearly isn’t going to be you.”

The king begins, “Viserys! Don’t you dare talk as though-”

Prince Viserys’ eyes flash dangerously. “Since you begrudge Rhaenys having Elia’s things, why should I not be surprised you begrudge Rhaenys and Aegon having food, as well.”

Distraught at being thought of in such a way the king futilely argues, “Viserys! I am not-“ The king stops and starts again, “Viserys you have to understand-”

Viserys sneers, “Do I? Really? From what I see, our mothers are too dead to care for them and you do not think it is required of you.” The prince’s sneer grows, “You both couldn’t wait, could you? You would have never dared this if Mother was still with us!”

The queen looked fit to burst into tears. “I had not meant that she couldn’t wear them. I just couldn’t stand to see your brother’s pain.”

The prince’s sneer only grows, “Yet you never have a problem causing my niece’s. Then again, you happily claimed another woman’s husband for your own while she was alive. Why would you care for that woman’s daughter when the woman is long dead?”

The king roars, “Viserys! Don’t. Lyanna wasn’t trying-“

Viserys sneers, “Right? She wasn’t trying to hurt Rhaenys, like she wasn’t trying to take Elia’s place.” Viserys laughs, harsh and loud, “Oh, wait, you already started calling her your wife before Elia was dead! Weren’t you, brother? Don’t make me laugh.”

The king tries again, “That is not what she means.”

Viserys laughs. “How easily you come to her defense, brother mine. Then again, it’s to be expected. The entire realm knows you put her safety above our mother’s and Elia’s. Is it a surprise you would place her above your daughter, too? Your elder children just realize it now.”

The king takes a sharp breath. “Vis-”

The king’s younger brother sneers. “No one believes you. Not I; not even your own children.”

Now, clearly frustrated by Lannister’s refusal to intercede, the king threatens, “Then, perhaps, she does not need to be your wife.”

A shudder runs through him as he looks away. He turns back quickly. Prince Aegon’s displeasure at his father’s pronouncement was evident.

His mind forces him to recall all the events of that accursed evening. He’d joined the king in going to the princess’ chambers. While Nyssa had worn a look of displeasure, she said nothing while the king and the girl’s father entered the room.

True to her promise the princess, though asleep, was still in her mother’s dress. The young prince Aegon and she were wrapped around one another.

As peaceful as the scene had been, they both had to pretend they hadn’t remembered what had transpired or that seen the dress dotted with tear-stains.

After that, no matter how painful it was to see Queen Elia’s miniature in her clothing, they let the princess dress as she liked. But by then, the damage had been done. Despite how it was the king’s wish, rumors spread that it had been the queen who tried to forbid the princess from wearing the dead queen’s clothes.

Even now, the princess had not softened to the queen. That lack of softness seemed to infect Lannister as well.

Uncowed in the face of the king’s growing ire, Lannister only cocks his head to the side. His hackles rise when Lannister bows sardonically, “As my dear Rhaenys’ father that is for you to decide. While I would loathe to see us part, and we both looked forward to being wed, I would never do anything to cause her to be called a disloyal daughter. However, should you take such a step, please remember why you called me to attend you today.”

Once again, he mourns how Lancel was nothing like Jaime. Now, the King must feel the same. He sees Rhaegar’s anger and the frustration…because Lannister was right.

Yes, Rhaegar could cancel the union, but, knowing the Princess wants it and what Rhaegar wants is for Rhaenys not to constantly be angry at him.

Yet, nothing ever worked.

The king growls, “I called you here to intercede, because I thought you care for my daughter.”

Lancel only sneers, “I do care about her. That is why I do not wish to intercede. And I am a Lannister after all.”

That confuses him; and the king.

Yet, still in his ire, the king demands, waspishly, “What does that mean?”

Though the prince remained quiet, he can practically hear Prince Aegon’s dismay.

Lannister sneers. “My king, it means I want peace for my own house. You know perhaps better than I, Rhaenys is already terribly upset. Ellyn Reyne still in Casterly Rock after having made designs on my grandfather made my grandmother, Jeyne, terribly unhappy. It was only through my great grandsire making other arrangements for the woman the peace of my house was restored.”

That unsettles him. The king likes Lannister’s words even less.

The king barks, “This is nothing like that!”

A short glance at Prince Aegon tells him the prince disagrees.

He frowns.

Why? Ellyn Reyne’s machinations failed to work, but that was not the subject of the princess’ distress.

Lannister tilts his head, sighing in resignation. “Alright then, another example. If we ignore the squabbling of women, I am the son of Kevan Lannister. A proud man, to be sure, and still, there was not one thing my father did which did not have my uncle Tywin’s stamp upon it. He never disagreed with anything my uncle did, no matter how unsavory.”

Lannister frowns and lowers his voice, “That included what happened with my grandfather, Tytos’, mistress.”

His eyes go as wide as the king’s. Gods above! Surely, Lannister was not saying-

Lannister waves a lazy hand. Drawling, he starts, “I do not condone what was done-”

The king growls, “Why. Mention. It?”

He frowns at the Lannister upstart. Why, indeed?

How bored Lannister looks makes him want to shake the man. Lannister drawls, “My grandfather was not a man of strong character but even he would not have allowed a portrait of my grandmother to bear any stamp of another woman’s. Surely, you could see why that would upset Rhaenys so.”

The king looked as though stabbed through the heart. The king knows he erred. Why else would he want Lannister to fix it? But, this will not!

The king reluctantly grinds out, “That is why I am asking you to intercede!”

Unmoved, Lannister gives the king a disappointed look. “As I said, I do not condone what was done to her, and nor am I saying that the future will mirror the past. However, please remember Grandfather Tytos took up with the woman after Grandmother Jeyne died and she had his permission to wear my grandmother’s clothes and jewels. While my uncles, father, and even my aunt resented my grandfather, even then, most of the disdain fell upon her. I will not pretend otherwise; neither should you.”

The king growls, “It is not the same thing.”

Lannister does not seem to agree. This time, he doesn’t turn towards Prince Aegon. He almost fears what he would find. He knows the king despaired of the prince’s reaction to the portrait, or rather his reaction to his sister’s reaction.

Lannister huffs. “Your Grace, I cannot give you a solution to this, however, you can at least take heart in two things.”

Very little shocks him. This does!

Between clenched teeth, the king demands to know, “What?”

Lannister, in a way that reminds him too much of the man’s uncle, drawls, “For one, no one treats a sister of the Warden of the North like a candlemaker’s daughter.”

He almost stumbles back at the audacity!

Then, Lannister turns to Prince Aegon, who of yet, has said nothing. To him, Lannister says, with a smile even, “And that Prince Aegon, who my Rhaenys honors and loves above most others save myself, is a much better son than my father and uncle ever were and ever could be.”

To his greater horror, Prince Aegon replies in kind, “I welcome your continued faith in me as my future good-brother. I believe in our family’s future together.”

He looks towards away to see the king’s gaze fixed on the prince.

If they were stunned by the nerve of the Lannister, they were doubly so by that of the prince. Had the prince heard nothing of Lannister’s disgusting drivel?

Lannister’s green eyes fly between looking at the king and then at the prince, “Even if our future was in jeopardy?”

Despite the king’s obviously growing wrath, the prince shrugs dismissively, “Words spoken in frustration.”

The prince even has the cheek to smile, “Who amongst us does not get voracious in the defense of our women? And you know my sister’s thoughts on most things. What time failed to heal, distance between King’s Landing and Casterly Rock can. Surely, you agree?”

Uncaring of the king’s stormy expression, Lannister nods along idly, “It is most unfortunate, but I do. I am not sympathetic to the king’s plight, but my loyalty is with your sister, even in this.”

His horror grows as Prince Aegon makes a promise as he guides the Lannister heir to the door. “I would have it no other way. That is why you shall have a bride in my dearest sister. You have my word on that, as a man, a brother, and a future husband in my own right.”

Only the years of being a Kingsguard allowed him to remain quiet as the prince shut the door behind the Lannister with a quick snap.

The king did not remain quiet. He demands of his son, “What do you think you were doing?”

Still with his back towards them, Prince Aegon put his head down for a moment. Then he straightens and turns around sharply. Though with a nearly impassive face, Prince Aegon tells the king, “I am preventing a costly, avoidable mistake.”

Now the king bellows, “You had no right!”

With his face hardening, the prince squares his shoulders as he looks the king directly in the eyes. The prince hisses, “Don’t I?”

That shocks the king as much as it does him.

With his eyes narrowing, the prince steps further into the room, towards the king. “I have every right! The last time a Crown Prince failed to act timely after a king unwisely gave into his temper, a war erupted and my mother was murdered!”

His mouth flew open.

He wants to vomit!

What was the prince thinking?

The king’s anger melted away. In its wake, is an expression of a man crushed by despair. “How? Why?” Then, the anger makes a brief resurgence. The king demands of his son, “How dare you?”

Undaunted, the prince stands his ground. “I dare because I must.” He steps forward again. “I dare because to do nothing will cost us allies already won.” Another step, “I dare because it’s not Lannister who will suffer from breaking our ties, it is my sister.” Another step. “I dare because already in my lifetime one king picked an unnecessary fight with an heir of a high lord and caused calamity for our house.” And another step. Father and son are so close, but, the prince stands with his back straight and chin held high. “I dare because I have spent enough of my life soothing feathers you insist on ruffling!”

The prince is met with stunned silence. He scrambles to understand why the sudden vehemence. The prince was never so direct. The princess, yes, but, the prince is usually more temperate. He cannot-

Either the king does not understand, or he is still shocked. Gods, he knows the feeling. His head swims.

So, too, does the king as he whispers, “Ruffled feathers? Is that all you care about?”

A shudder runs through the prince, but, that does not stop him. “I have grown weary of taking up this task because I care!”

The prince sneers and takes the king’s silence as cue to continue, “My uncles on either side have no love for you. I’ve been given to the Baratheons to soothe their ire since I was a child. Now, you wish to alienate the Lannisters and Rhaenys? For what? Tell me!”

The prince’s usually handsome face is now twisted in an uncharacteristic snarl.

The king growls low in his throat. “You cannot possibly want your sister to marry a man such as that!”

“Rhaenys does,” the prince argues heatedly. “And I want to see her happy! I will not see Rhaenys’ life ruined for no good reason. If the betrothal breaks it will be seen as Rhaenys’ fault. I will not have that happen!”

The king argues back, “He is clearly unfit!”

The prince laughs sharply. “On what grounds?”

His mouth almost falls open.

The king demands to know, “Did you not hear what he said?”

The prince is unfazed or at least seems to be. He replies tartly, “He spoke about what his uncle did to his grandfather’s mistress. It has nothing to do with him.”

Undoubtedly incredulous, the king growls, “Nothing? Have you gone mad? Or deaf?”

He would like an answer to that, too! “Neither! That ugly business with Lord Tytos’ mistress was his son’s doing, not his good-son’s. What do you have to fear, then?”

The king’s face morphs into a pained scowl. “You think giving Rhaenys more reason to feed her lack of regard for the queen to others is wise?”

At that, the prince’s irritation flares again. “Despite your best efforts, in the 15 years she has been your queen she has never been well regarded.” The prince narrows his eyes, “Unless, it’s me you distrust.”

The king blinks horrified at the prince’s dare. “What?”

Through clenched teeth, Prince Aegon recounts, “Tywin Lannister, not Emmon Frey, was responsible for that. Son. Not good-son. Not daughter. Son. I ask you, again. Is it me you do not trust?”

Before this moment, there would have been no doubt. The prince never showed the queen vehement dislike such as his sister had. But, now....

Was the prince trying to goad the king? Why?

The king bellows, “I do trust you!”

Prince Aegon gives a huff of disbelief. Then, the prince’s lips turn into a bitter sneer, “So, trust me now! Father, we both know my dear sister and the queen never got on. Mucking up this betrothal is not going to solve matters. The opposite, in fact!”

The king tries again wearily, “It is not the queen’s doing and I am liking it less.”

Prince Aegon looks as though he wanted to bite back a curse. “Rhaenys will not think of it this way. I know it. You know it. Nothing will change that. Perhaps we can wed Rhaenys to Lancel sooner. The only thing we can do now.”

The king sharply counters, “If I refuse to allow it?”

Prince Aegon raises his chin once again, daring his father, “Then, I will do what you do not. I will see to the dowry myself. I will walk her down the sept myself if that is what it takes!”

The king barks, “You do not speak for me. You have not even been invested with Dragonstone yet!”

The prince only laughs.

He wonders at it, but the prince speaks again, his voice flat, this time. “You will invest it with Jaehaerys, then?”

The prince does not register the King’s shock, or his for that matter.

Instead, the prince continues, soft as silk and harder than steel, “Is that what you are threatening me with? Is that all it takes?”

Like him, the king was horrified at the accusation. The king lets out a stunned gasp, “Aegon! What I would never-”

Rather than reassured, Prince Aegon looks resigned. But, bitterness crept into the prince’s expression. “Let’s not pretend, Father. You replaced my mother with his mother. Clearly, you are willing to tear apart my sister’s life for her, too. Why would you not replace me with her son? Do you think the realm hasn’t been waiting for it? That I haven’t? You were going to take Dragonstone from me because cannot see I am trying to help you!”

He feels his knees shake. The king never would have!

The prince ended with a strangled laugh. Now he looked embarrassed; not embarrassed that he believed the king could think this, it was that the prince was embarrassed he revealed his innermost thoughts.

But, how was he to reassure the prince? What could he do? Could he do anything?

The long silence that descended was finally defeated by the sound of the king’s weary, nearly breathless voice, “How long have you thought the worst of me?”

Prince Aegon lets out an unsteady chuckle, “The Blackfyre rebellions started because Aegon the Unworthy favored his younger son over his elder. Men say during the war Grandfather Aerys sat Uncle Viserys in your chair. You say I think the worst of you, but, tell me true, how much regard did Aegon the Unworthy have for his eldest son or Grandfather Aerys for you? You were creating Jaehaerys before I could even walk. And, now you mention Dragonstone, the seat of the realm’s Crown Prince!”

The king’s eyes were red now and his voice hoarse. “I am nothing like my father! You know this!”

Giving his father a disbelieving huff, the prince cries, “Grandfather was supposed to treat my mother like a daughter. He never did. You are isolating Rhaenys, just like he did Mother. He took Mother’s life; you’re robbing Rhaenys of her future. Are you that different?”

It was those impassioned words that caused the king’s knees to buckle as he stumbled into a chair.

The prince uses the king’s silence and kneels in front of his father and bows his head. It was as though all the fight in him vanished. The prince whispers, “My father and my king, you can do what you like when it comes to me. I will accept it. I have accepted it. But, do not ruin Rhaenys’ life for anyone’s pride, not mine, or even your own.”

The king, weary, asks his son, “Why do you fight me this so badly?”

Prince Aegon glances up to give his father a look of disbelief. “What choice do I have?” Prince Aegon reminds the king, “Daenerys is already promised to Willas Tyrell; the old crone will not have it any other way. Stannis Baratheon is not the Laughing Storm to accept a good-daughter when queen of their line was promised, not after Robert’s demise. Edmure Tully is wed already. Harold Arryn will not be a good husband to my sister. And Rhaenys will never take the queen’s nephew. Turn Lannister away and the stability of this household will suffer for it, mark my words!”

Gods!

It’s true!

With despair, he thinks it all is true.

The king knows it as well.

The insistent prince pleads, “Things are already set, Father. If you break the betrothal now, the blame will go to her. She will not recover from this; neither will any affection she has left for you. Please, if you have any semblance of duty to my sister or myself-”

For a moment, the king looked torn but the pleading from his usually stoic son appears to move the king in a way that makes him glad he is bound by his vows.

The king whispers, “I will let you have your way in this.” The king takes a deep breath, a shade hopeful. “Do you think it will work?”

To his dismay, the prince sags, but, not in relief. The prince whispers, “I was not completely honest with Lancel.”

There is a bitter twist to the prince’s expression that breaks his heart. No doubt the king’s was torn asunder.

The prince says, “Time has not healed the wounds Rhaenys carries. That part is true. The distance part…I think, no, I know, only the appearance will fade.”

Brokenly, the king asks his son, “Then, why?”

That was the question, wasn’t it?

For once Aegon looked as though he carried the world’s burdens on his shoulders. “It would allow me some measure of peace. Having both under this roof will not allow for it! Nothing else worked so far.”

‘Nothing you attempted worked so far’ is what the prince does not say, but, the king feels it and so does he.

Because it was true! Ugly, but, true!

The king, now defeated says, “Fade?”

Shaking his head, the prince sighs deeply. “My sister and your wife…I wish I could tell you otherwise but…Please, father, I can’t…” The prince tapers off unable, or rather, unwilling to finish the sentence.

As much as he despairs and he knows the king does, the prince was right.

The prince was always right.

With a lead weight growing in belly, he recognizes too well why the prince always strove to be and it nearly tears his heart in two.

The king could only manage, “Alright, I will let it stand.”

Rather than content, the prince looks haunted as he rises. “Now, if you will permit me, I will try to head Lancel off before he tells Rhaenys you tried to end the betrothal.”

The terrifying prospect lingers as the king shudders. They watch the prince silently leave the room. He wonders if Lannister already told the princess. He fears what the princess will say or do.

But, as always, his gaze turns back to the distraught king, his face hidden in his hands.

He ventures, “Rhaegar?”

The king looks up, desperate and now with tears in his eyes. He asks, “Gods, Arthur, what have I done? My children! Rhaenys, I knew, but, look at the things Aegon said! They- Do they truly think the worst of me? What sort of father have I become? What sort of man do they think I am?”

He does not answer. There is no answer that he can give the king any respite. No matter how much he wishes, there is nothing he can do to ease his friend’s pain.

But, while the king was filled with sorrow, remembering what the prince just set out to do, dread began to fill him anew.

Chapter Text

Rhaenys bursts into her father’s solar, ignoring the way Aegon and Ser Oswell flew at her heels.

Her father startles. “Rhaenys!”

Her father wasn’t alone. Of course, her father surrounded himself with that woman and their spawn. Naturally, the other so-called knight of his was present, as well.

Father. Lyanna Stark. Arthur Dayne. That boy! They ruined her mother’s life. Now they conspire to ruin hers…or at least tried to. How completely unsurprising, she thinks disgustedly.

She flicks her gaze back towards her father, sneering. He should want the best for her…but always found a way to fail at providing what she needed.

He gives her a look of concern. He asks, “Are you alright?”

He says it so kindly. Her father was never kind to her. Never, in the way she needed.

She almost laughs. She hasn’t been alright in years. And to find out he wanted to end her betrothal? A future with Lancel was what she wanted. A life away from King’s Landing…free of them…and he tried to take it away. And for what? Because she hurt his precious wife’s feelings? Why had he never cared so much about his first wife’s? There would never have been a second wife, if her father cared about her mother.

She seethes. “Am I alright? Am I alright? Why would I be alright? You always try to snatch away any source of happiness I can muster. You tried to take my mother’s things from me. And now, you want to take Lancel away? My future and security away from me! Did you think I am just going to sit passively and do nothing?”

He doesn’t have an answer for that. Why would he? He never thinks he must answer for anything he does!

“Why?” She demands, “I want to know why you insist on ruining my life! And my brother’s! Not only did you try to take Lancel away, you threatened to take Dragonstone from Aegon!”

He looks between her and Aegon and pales.

Did her father think that Aegon would hide such a thing from her? That Lancel would?

Guilt mars his face. It should! He was guilty! The miseries in her life all came down to him. At least he doesn’t try to act a fool this time.

Too quickly, however, her father starts talking. “I was never going to take Dragonstone from Aegon and I am not trying to ruin your life-”

She counters, “My peace, then! You tried to take Lancel away from me. You always tried to take things from me! And now you thought what? That you would do it again? Why are you trying to take my one chance to be free from this place away!”

He gives her a mournful look. “You hate it here so much?”

She scoffs. “Do you truly think I have not been waiting for the day I can be free of this place.” ‘And you,’ she does not say but she knows he can see it.

Her sire takes a shuddering breath. “I never meant to make you unhappy.”

Her hands clench at her sides. “But, you always try. So, I am going to ask you again. Why are you trying to ruin things with Lancel?”

He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “I started to think he wasn’t right for you!”

She lifts her chin. “He was right enough for you to make the betrothal in the first place! What changed now? Why did you try in the first place?”

Her father doesn’t speak.

She sneers, already knowing the answer. It was obvious. This was her father. Naturally, there was only one answer. She snorts. ‘Well, two,’ she thinks.

Because her father stays mute, she says, “Oh, right. Because he doesn’t kowtow to her.” She glances quickly to and away from the woman. But, she looked long enough to see the woman’s spine stiffen, along with that of her gormless son’s.

Her father’s face twists in misery. “He has no honor. You should have heard the way he spoke-”

She laughs aloud. “Honor? You wish to talk about a man who has no honor? You? Shall we take a stroll down to the Sept’s crypts to visit Mother? Let us ask her how honorable you were to her.”

Her father looked as though he was going to cry. But, what good were his tears now? He’s only upset he got caught trying to steal from her again!

Her father starts, “Rhaenys, please? This doesn’t have anything to do with your mother!”

She shakes her head wildly. “Doesn’t it? This has everything to do with her!”

She brushes the tears threatening to spill from her cheeks. After the time Father forbid her to wear Mother’s dresses because of how it made that woman feel, she swore long ago, she will no longer let that woman see her cry or her father. She already spilled too many tears because of them.

But, it was hard not to. He still tries to act as though he treated her mother well knowing no titles bestowed in death can make it right! And now, he was trying to ruin her life now!

She takes a shuddering breath. “You were not honorable in your actions towards my mother and so you are not honorable in your actions towards me.”

Her father shakes his head, “No, Rhaenys. I would never-”

She flinches away as he tries to take her into his arms. “A man who can betray his wife shows other men what they can do to his daughter.”

She takes another step back. Still, she has her chin held high as she tells her father. “It has nothing to do with his honor or lack of it. You just do not like him because he will never be like you!”

She takes another unsteady breath, “He will never treat me like you treated Mother. He won’t be the type to shove a mistress in my face if he is even the type to take mistresses. He is not, by the way. Most fathers would be glad of that. Not you, I suppose. Even if he was, I can trust him to never think to raise a mistress’ child alongside the ones I will give him. You dislike him because he will never humiliate me like you did Mother. He will never allow a mistress to have any say on whether his legitimate children use their mother’s things as you did. He will never put his true wife and children last. He will never abandon them to danger so he can go swanning to create a new family. He already proves himself to be loyal to me in a way you never were to Mother, and everyone knows it! That’s the part that rankles, isn’t it?”

Though he steps back in shock, he warns, her father warns, “Rhaenys-”

This time, she stands her ground. She sneers.

“Take a breath.”

That whispered command came from Aegon, who stood next to her.

Despite being the elder, she listens. He was wise, her brother. And in truth, they usually only had each other. Her mother’s family was not in the room and her father’s loyalty was never theirs, if it ever was.

She breathes deep and starts again.

She shakes her head. “You trying to upend the betrothal has nothing to do with honor. How could it? You do not have any right to talk about anyone else’s honor when they-“ she gestures sharply towards her father’s other family, “Are here!”

When she finishes, she takes deep, gulping breaths. Though she tried to keep her voice level, she had not managed it.

Her father, looking mourning, holds out a hand. “Rhaenys, please? I know I treated your mother ill. I will never forgive myself for it but, you cannot let my treatment of your mother to cloud your judgment or ruin your life.”

The audacity of his words stink!

She snarls, “You think this is just about Mother? And you think my judgement is what would ruin my life?” She shakes her head. She lets out a watery chuckle. “Part of me will always hate you for hurting my mother. But, that’s the thing, Father. You and that woman are the ones who ruined my life! And once again, you are the ones who want to ruin it! Why?”

She snarls as she looks at them before turning back to her father.

Naturally, that woman begins to speak, “Rhaenys, we are not trying to ruin-”

But, was she supposed to laud him for that? She will not!

She hisses, “I was not asking you.”

The woman looked stricken, but, not enough for her to keep quiet. “I only meant that-”

She screams, “Shut up! I will have no words from you on betrothals, you horse-faced hypocrite!”

“Rhaenys-”

She turns to her father’s other son. “Stay quiet, you.”

“Rhaenys!” Her father exclaims, “He is your brother!”

She laughs. “Brother? What brother? Him? No. He is not my brother. Aegon is my brother! I have no other. I am sick of having to pretend it.”

Her father looks betrayed, “How can you say it?”

Aegon whispers, “Calm.”

She turns and nods. But, seeing her father’s expression, she scoffs. “It is the truth and you heard what I said. He might have your blood, but, he is no brother to me!”

She grimaces as she looks towards that woman and points, “No son of Lyanna Stark could be my brother! He never has been. He never will be!”

Gods, it felt so freeing to finally say it! But, this should never have needed to be said.

The look of shock and dismay only fuels her anger. Her father should have known. And still, he barks, “Rhaenys!”

She demands of her father, “Can you stop pretending? For once! Your wife, your other son…Whatever you feel for them, they are nothing more than living reminders of the worst thing that ever happened to me. Their very presence means that I can never trust you. And, once again, I was proven right.”

Her father takes a step closer and tries again, “Rhaenys, please. I know I hurt you. I will never forgive myself-“

She clenches her fists so tightly. “Good! You do not deserve forgiveness!”

Father looked so dismayed. “I accept that. But, Rhaenys, please do not take your anger towards me out on family.”

Gods, the rage she has always felt built and built. “Family?” She shakes her head wildly. “Aegon. Mother. You. That was my family. Those two? They are not family. Not now or ever.” She laughs wildly. “My family was already complete before them. My family was destroyed when you brought them here!”

Desperate, her father begs, “Rhaenys? Do not-“

She screams, “YOU ABANDONED US FOR THEM!”

Her distraught father shakes his head wildly. “Aband-Rhaenys, I’m right here!”

Now shaking, “You left us, you left me…With your father who hated me the minute I was born. You abandoned me and left us with the man who killed mother…the man who could have killed us too if it wasn’t for Ser Jaime. Ser Jaime? You remember him? He a boy who was barely older than Lancel and Aegon are now!”

Her face sours taking in the sight of the woman she never loved once again. She gestures sharply. “You left and it was for her! You kept her safe while grandfather held us hostage. He rounded us up to answer for why you went missing! War raged all around us, but, you kept her and her hellspawn hidden until your father killed Mother! You don’t get to ask me to love them when you couldn’t even bother protecting us! You are here, you say. Where were you when we needed you?”

Practically shaking, she pushes herself back from her father. “I already suffer their presence for you. Even if you are here now, they should never have been. They are not family. They are a scourge you insist on forcing upon my brother and I!”

“A scourge?”

The woman deigns to ask.

She laughs. She will not be silenced now. That woman wants to hear her truths, so she will tell it! The fool honestly thinks there could be anything between them? Was it the ignorance or the arrogance that drew her father to this person? Whatever it was, she only felt revulsion.

She huffs, “My happiness and peace shattered the moment you darkened my doorstep. What else can you be?” Rhaenys’ lips curl in disgust. “You ran away from your duty claiming Robert Baratheon couldn’t keep to one bed but welcomed a married man sliding into yours. You danced your way across a sea of corpses to a crown anyone with an ounce of shame would never have accepted. You’ve grown no wiser since then if you think anyone, let alone me, could ever have kind thoughts of you!”

The woman’s eyes fill with tears. “You think you are the only one who suffered? He killed my father and my brother.”

She shakes her head. She nearly retches at the audacity. “You and I are not the same! Your brother or father would have never been here if not for you. My mother did not die because I ran away from my responsibilities. You suffered losses. Fine, I grant it, but, I suffered losses for something you had a hand in!”

Her father interjects, “Rhaenys. Please. You know full well, I am the cause of that. I was to blame. I took her away.”

She scoffs. She demands to know, “How did you know where she was? How did you find her? Brandon Stark? Did he tell you where to find his sister? Surely not. From what I hear, he was quite wroth with you, at Harrenhal and here. He wasn’t likely to tell you where she was. Was it our cousin, Robert?” She shakes her head again, “You knew where she was because she told you where to find her. She is not blameless, no matter what you pretend. She participated.”

It’s the one thing no one ever talks about.

The woman cries, “I was young.”

She laughs.

Ten and four is not four. Her grandmother was a wife, mother, and queen before that. There had been kings and queens younger than ten and four. It’s old enough to know what is acceptable in their world and what is not.

It’s on the tip of her tongue to mention how she was much younger than that when she first saw death.

Instead, she sneers. “But, you were old enough to know what the word “married” meant? You did know you were promised to someone else. You did know being the daughter of the Warden of the North came with responsibilities. You were old enough to know when people go missing, people go looking for them.”

Her father, nor his woman, cannot say anything to say to that. Her father will accept the blame, but, there is plenty of blame to go around. She has every reason to lay it everywhere.

“Rhaenys!”

She turns to her father’s other son. “Do not address me. You think you matter to me? You don’t. You never did. You never will!”

He flinches. “Never?”

She recoils in disgust. “Haven’t you been listening, son of Lyanna Stark. She is not my mother. You are not my brother! I have a perfectly good brother and you are not him. I do not need you and I do not want you!”

His voice is harsh, “You don’t mean that!”

She cares not for his tone or his willful ignorance or anything else. She finds herself screaming now. “If you do not believe me, you are a fool. I would have been glad to have nothing to do with you. Hear me now: I would trade your life and your worthless mother’s for just one second more with my mother and not think twice. I would settle for an illusion of the way my life used to be before your presence sullied my life. Your existence is a burden I must suffer because my father spit upon his duty. Your presence is why I cannot stand being under this roof.”

With a snarl on his face, he orders her, “Take the words back!”

She laughs harshly. He thinks to make demands of her? She refused to let his mother and she will not allow it of the son! “I won’t. Why should I? The only things your mother has given to me are misery and pain. No son of hers could be dear to me. You, like your mother, are anathema are forced upon me. The only days I curse more than the day my mother died are the day my father met your mother and the day I learned of you.”

He cries, “I didn’t do anything to you.”

Too worked up, she ignores him, “Don’t pretend I didn’t see what was going on in here when I first came in. My once beloved father wants to take from me and my brother to benefit you and your awful mother. I refuse to let your mother take from me and I will not allow you to take from my brother! You’re her son. It was only a matter of time before your nature, like hers, would come out; just as grasping, just as poisonous, and just as grotesque!”

Before she even finished, he lunged at her. Too late she saw the dagger she recognized their father gave him for his last name-day in his hands.

But before he could strike, she was pushed towards the ground.

Aegon yelled her name.

Pain lanced through her body.

She looked up. It wasn’t her father’s beastly spawn on top of her.

Aegon was slumped over her legs.

Confused, she whispers, “Aegon?”

His only answer is a pained moan and nothing more.

Dread starts to set in. Tremulously, she asks, “Aegon?”

This time, there was nothing.

She tries to hold him up but…There was a red stain seeping into her dress from his tunic.

She doesn’t understand. His tunic had been white!

Why?

She starts to shake.

Where was the red coming from.

She tried to push her brother off her. But, he was so heavy, and warm. She couldn’t stop shaking.

Her hands started to feel warm. It wasn’t a good sort of warmth.

Her hands felt wet.

They shouldn’t be wet, she thought.

She lifted them and like the rest of her, her hands shook.

Red.

All she could see was red!

She heard noise all around her, but, she paid it no attention as she began to scream.

Even though she heard the shuffle of footsteps and saw the sight of others rush into the room, she kept screaming.

She sits dutifully at Aegon’s bedside.

She looks at her brother. Usually, he’s so full of life. He was tall and had broad shoulders but now, he looks so small. Now, he looks so still. He’s so unlike himself.

She tried to imagine he was asleep but he wasn’t.

Uncle Oberyn fed him Milk of the Poppy to keep the pain at bay while they treated his wounds. But, he hasn’t woken yet.

Her eyes start to well with tears she tries to suppress.

It should have been her; she thinks.

Seeing him, eyes closed and in bed, she wanted to look away, but, she can’t! She dares not. If she looks away, she might lose him for good. She doesn’t want to lose him. She already lost Mother to her father’s callousness and her grandfather’s bloodthirst. She cannot lose Aegon because of her father’s other son!

She takes a breath that runs through her entire body.

She forces herself not to think of him!

Aegon deserves her attention, not that creature!

She will have time to think about what to do about him, but, now, she has Aegon to worry about. She just needs him to be well again. She needs him to wake.

She takes his hand in hers, clutching at what little warmth she feels in her grip.

Where there is warmth, there is life.

Her Uncle’s words. Her family’s presence and Lancel’s were the only reason she hasn’t broken completely. She needs to be strong for them and Cassana who was just as upset.

Aegon still hasn’t woken. Uncle Oby who’d dutifully helped her change Aegon’s bandages, said it was shock. She did not want to doubt her uncle. He forged links, after all. Then again, maybe her uncle was lying to protect her feelings.

Sarella agreed with Uncle Oby. Still, surely the shock would have worn off by now. He wouldn’t be like this if it was only shock.

She holds in a sob. It would only upset Cassana, who was seated on the other side of Aegon’s bed, holding on to Aegon’s other hand.

She tried not to look where metal collided with flesh.

Valryian steel. His father’s gift to that creature nearly killed her and may kill her brother yet!

She takes another breath.

‘Oh, Aegon,’ she thinks with a sob. ‘What did you do?’

For a moment, she was angry at him.

He should have never got in the way!

She would have gladly accepted that monster’s knife.

She was the elder. She was supposed to protect him. Not the other way around.

But, this was her brother! Her stupid, courageous, little brother.

She should have known he’d never let anyone harm her. He always took her side, even in the face of their sire’s disappointment, knowing he’d be the one to suffer a king’s wrath most.

And she’d given in to her impulses. Damn her! She should have known Aegon would suffer for her insolence.

She doesn’t know what she’d do if Aegon- She needed Aegon to be awake.

She almost glanced up at the raised voices outside. While Cassana was here, Viserys kept company with Stannis Baratheon and it wasn’t them.

She turns to Arianne who looked equally nonplussed. Sarella shrugged, but, she too, looked concerned.

Even from the other side of the door, Quentyn’s voice, she recognized immediately. If Uncle Oberyn was away, then Quentyn and Sarella stayed near and now Arianne joined them in King’s Landing. She also recognized Lancel’s kinsman, Ser Daven’s voice as well.

There were two more voices. The voices were loud enough for her to understand what was going on.

Her face darkens in a cold anger. They weren’t welcome. But, here they were, bold and interfering.

Only the thought that Aegon needed her and Lancel had his hand clutched in hers forced her to stay seated rather than fly at her father and his pet knight who barged in and disrupted what little serenity she was able to gather!

She forces herself to calm down in the face of Ser Daven and Quentyn’s embittered faces, as she takes another long glance at her brother. The last time she’d given into her rage allowed that monster to do this to him. Aegon deserves better.

Still looking at her brother, she asks her sire, “Have you come to give me his head?”

She gets a startled, “What?” in response.

A poor answer, but, she does not expect a better answer from her sire.

She unfurls her hand from Lancel’s to point to her motionless brother. “The head of the one who did this to my brother! Have you taken it, yet?”

Seeing that broken face only strengthens her resolve to remind her sire of the importance of this. She adds, “The head of the one who did this to the realm’s Crown Prince.”

Cassana, who had seemed concerned at the newest entry into Aegon’s rooms, turns to look at her sire expectantly. Aegon’s betrothed deserves an answer, too! The Baratheons were owed a marriage and Lyanna Stark’s thumbing up her nose at the Baratheon’s severed any goodwill Lord Baratheon would have had. If Aegon should perish-

She forcefully pushes the what-ifs from her mind. They will do her no good and she is not at her best right now.

Seeing her sire’s horror, she turns back to gazing at her brother.

No, he will not give her what she deserves, what Aegon deserves. She’s had years to learn this.

She only says, “Leave!”

Her sire begins, “Rhaenys-”

She almost gets up to push him out of the room, but, Lancel squeezes her hand and she stays seated. “Leave. If you cannot give my brother justice, then give him peace.”

Oh, how she longs to say more but Lancel is there and Cassana is watching. She already failed Aegon. She needs to keep herself calm for them. Her father will be of no use in that regard.

True to form, her father hums mournfully. She looks up. His despondent expression is one she long since stopped trusting. “Rhaenys, you need sleep. You are not thinking-”

Incensed, she rears her head back. She feels her face heat with the fire of a thousand suns. She tells him: “I will sleep when Aegon wakes or the monster who took a knife to my brother is dead at my feet. You cannot heal my brother. That leaves that butcher’s head. If you cannot give me that, then, you are no good to me.”

Her sire gasps. High and plaintive, he shouts, “You don’t mean that!”

She scoffs at his incredulity. “I mean every word! He tried to kill me. He almost killed Aegon. Aegon still may die yet!” She rises, and tells her father, “If Aegon dies, his worthless life is forfeit. This, I promise you.”

Her exhausted father looks at her, stricken. “You know I cannot give you-”

She cuts in, “Why are you here, then?”

She knows why Arthur Dayne was here. Her father has no friends in this room. He feared for his life. Even though Dawn was long since wrenched back from Dayne, he was still a formidable swordsman.

Her sire whispers, “I am here to see my son.”

She holds in a bitter laugh. “Are you? Truly. Here to see your son? Look at him.” She removes Aegon’s blankets to show her sire and his pet knight just exactly what they allowed!

She pretends she doesn’t hear Cassana’s sharp breath. “Look at what that monster you brought into our lives did! I ask you again. What are you going to do?”

Her father looked close to tears. “Rhaenys please. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I know you don’t think that I care, but, I do.”

She scoffs. “It seems to me you care more about absolving the monster than caring for my brother.”

Ser Arthur cannot handle his master being spoken to. “It’s not so easy, Princess!”

She turns to look at Ser Arthur. “Easy?” She snarls, “You think any of this is easy?”

She shakes her head widly “If anyone’s life has been easy it’s been yours. Hasn’t it, Ser Dayne? You were safe and sound, hidden away while our people were fighting and dying in a war he started. You had it easy while my mother was being murdered. Uncle Lewyn, Ser Jaime…now, those were men worthy of Kingsguard. Uncle Lewyn died for us. Ser Jaime died for us. Ser Barristan fought for us. To protect us. But, you? What were you doing when that thing nearly took a blade to me? You just stood there. You both just stood there! King and Kingsguard who do nothing when a beast pulls out a blade and stabs the Crown Prince! You are not men. My mother died because of the monster you both did nothing against. And now, another monster nearly kills me you did nothing to stop him. You were useless then and you are useless now! Look at what you allowed to happen. My brother may die because You. Did. Nothing!”

Lancel pulls her to him. But, as much as she wants to bury her head into his shoulder, to hide away, she cannot allow it of herself. Even though she knows her tears flow freely, she cannot and will not hide her feelings. Not now. Not when her brother-

She has neither the will nor the inclination to hide her fury. “Maybe that’s why you’re here now. To do what that thing failed to. Kill me and my brother so the path was finally clear for that strumpet’s hellspawn!”

Frustrated, her sire bellows, “Rhaenys! That’s enough now-”

Another yell follows, “What is this madness! Aegon needs quiet!”

Uncle Oby!

Now she allows herself to slump into Lancel. She is relieved. Lancel and Cassana might be polite to her father due to his position, but, Uncle Oberyn never had any such qualms. Today of all days, she loves him for it!

She looks up to see Uncle Oby hadn’t come alone. Arianne, Uncle Viserys, and Lord Stannis had accompanied him.

Ever stern, Lord Stannis went to stand by his daughter’s side. “What is the meaning all this?”

Before her sire opens his mouth, Rhaenys turns to the irritable lord. “My brother needs peace and safety and they mean to disturb both. My brother lies here while the creature who did this still runs free! He refuses to do anything!”

Her sire shakes his head. “Lord Stannis. That is simply not true. I simply think at this time-”

Disgusted, she thinks he will try to mount some defense of the indefensible. It is exactly his wont.

Lord Stannis, frowning, turns sharply to her sire. “Yes. We must discuss the trial. The sooner the better.”

Uncle Oberyn snorts and Uncle Viserys frowns as her sire, with his face red, looks away. No doubt, that’s not at all what her sire had in mind.

From besides her, Lancel scoffs loudly.

To Lord Stannis he says, “What is the point? We all know he did it. He nearly killed my betrothed and still may my future good-brother yet. A would-be kinslayer either way. We do not need a trial. We need justice! Something must be done soon.”

Lancel was warm against her but still she shudders. Though it pains her, she looks to Aegon again and how this all started came flooding back.

Her sire looks apoplectic.

She laughs bitterly. “There will not be a trial. Not a fair one, and there will be no justice! We are deluding ourselves that Aegon or I will get any true justice. The king as a witness, his queen, and Sers Dayne & Whent. It will be their word against mine. They will say that I started it. That I was the one at fault though he was the one who wielded that weapon. That I was the danger though I bore no arms. That I deserved it because I objected to my betrothal being severed on useless grounds. Or that when Aegon argued, our father threatened to take Dragonstone away from him-”

Shock abounded for those who weren’t made aware, but, it took the combined strength of Daven, Quentyn, and Uncle Viserys to hold back Uncle Oberyn from flying at her sire.

Angrily, she noted how swiftly Ser Arthur came to stand in front of her sire. She sneered openly. So, the man was still capable of defending someone…when he wanted to.

Knowing that people finally cared filled her with warmth. If she’d not been wracked with guilt and worry over Aegon, the sight of both Baratheons were glaring openly at their sire would have had her braying with laughter.

At least he had the grace to look abashed, though she doubted her sire truly felt it.

He turned to her, pleading, “Rhaenys, please? You know I have not cancelled your betrothal and I will not! And I would never do that to Aegon!”

She laughs bitterly.

Once, she would’ve believed her father. Once she would have wanted to. But, any hope she truly had started to die when her mother did. Whatever faith she had in him had long since been snuffed out.

She shakes her head wildly. “When I came to you, you were huddled together with that woman, him, and your pet knight; whispering together. And who was guarding your door? Oswell Whent. The same men who witnessed your secret, so-called second marriage. The same ones who served handmaidens and wetnurses to that creature and his mother while my mother, my brother, and I were hostages! And, now what? Are they to act as witnesses in a trial against him? Or that foul “wife” of yours? Or you? You haven’t even put that monster under heavy guard! What if he comes after me? Or Aegon? He can’t even defend himself. My brother is like this because he tried to defend me against your creature!”

As she becomes more agitated at the thought of that thing coming after her brother. “What if he succeeds this time? Are you just going to ignore-”

She starts shaking entirely as tears flow freely from her eyes again!

“Rhaenys, darling please-”

Her breath quickens as he tries to take a step toward her.

She presses closer to Lancel though Uncle Oby had already stepped in between them.

Before, if such a thing happened, she’d fear for what it would mean for her uncle, her brother, and herself. Today, she is so glad someone is willing to stand up for them!

But why did her father become someone they needed to be guarded from?

Unable to look at her sire, she turns her head into the crook of Lancel’s neck. She tries not to stiffen even as he tightens his arms around her.

She hears her Uncle Viserys say to Lord Stannis, “Perhaps my lord, you should take the Lady Cassana to rest. This has been quite a lot.”

Trying to come back to herself, she turns back to see Cassana looking torn, at least, until she tells Aegon’s betrothed, “I apologize. I shouldn’t-“ She swallows heavily, “Go rest. I will be here. Please! Aegon would not like to see-”

Cassana glances quickly at Aegon, her face falling. Then, she glances between their fathers, unsure.

Spent, she tries to get out more words, but, she was no good right now.

Thankfully Arianne offers a hand to Cassana, “Come, if not to rest, we should go to the Sept. My cousin, Tyene, is expecting me and I have an audience with His Holiness the High Septon. We can pray for Aegon’s swift recovery together.” To Lord Stannis, Arianne says, “If you will permit it, my lord, I will see her back to your rooms in due time.”

Lords Stannis, who ordinarily balks at talk of prayer gives his daughter a nod. Even in her compromised state, she had not missed the sharp looks Lord Stannis sent her sire or the look her sire sent Arianne when he heard of her plans.

Of course, he’d be worried. He may deny justice as a king but a matter of the faith…And Cassana was to be Aegon’s queen; to make up for the betrothal that her sire and that woman dishonored. Even if it was different circumstances Maekar killed his brother and still became king. But, Lord Stannis would not take kindly to Lyanna Stark’s son being elevated.

Yet, Cassana, who’d pulled her chair closer to Aegon’s bed, hesitated. Like her, Cassana hadn’t left Aegon’s side much. And she knew her father’s false platitudes wouldn’t work on Cassana any more they’d work on her or Lord Stannis.

If Aegon’s condition worsened…

Her throat goes tight as she considers what her sire would do if Aegon was to succumb to his injuries. She almost vomits.

She takes a breath and tries not to think of such things. That would mean that Aegon had perished, and she cannot and will not think of it!

Surely, he wouldn’t…

She takes a deep breath.

Aegon will be fine. Aegon will recover. Aegon will wake.

It is only a matter of time and hope.

She repeats the thoughts in her mind but that doesn’t stop thinking about what other calamities she’d be subjected to if Aegon does not wake!

She can’t trust her father. That his creature runs free while Aegon was like this proves it!

She holds in another sob as glances at her prone brother before looking back to Cassana. “Please?”

Cassana pats her still shaking hand. “I will be back.” Cassana bends over Aegon whispering, “Come back to me. To us.”

Gods, she wants exactly that. She needs him to come back!

Aegon’s betrothed gives his cheek a kiss and follows Arianne out of the room. After a few whispered words from Uncle Viserys, Lord Stannis follows him, as he too, takes his exit.

Her distress grows as her embarrassment sets in. Aegon would not want to cause Cassana embarrassment or look badly in front of Lord Stannis. And she’s managed to do that for them both! But, darkly, she thinks, this wasn’t Aegon’s fault, was it? Or hers. Not really.

Still, she should not have lost her temper. That will only weaken her cause when Aegon needed her!

Though she doesn’t even want to look at him, she forces herself to look her sire in the eyes. She tells him: “Aegon protected me. I will do the same for him. I will protect him from those who mean to do him harm. Even if it is you!”

Her sire was shaking. “Rhaenys, that’s will never-”

She turns away from him.

Daughters are supposed to believe their fathers…but, she can’t believe him. She cannot afford to. Aegon cannot afford it.

Uncle Oby turns to her father and his knight. “Leave now. I must check on Aegon. This certainly will not be good for him.”

Her sire reminds them, “Aegon is my son!”

Furious, she turns back to her sire sharply, “Then, prove it! You did nothing when that monster put a blade through my brother! Aegon did nothing to deserve your lack of care. And you’re still trying to deny him justice!”

Her father begs, “Rhaenys! This is not the time-”

Furious, she screams, “What will it take for you to care about us?”

Despite the fear for her brother, she was vibrating with renewed anger. “I recognized that blade. You gave it to that beast…the weapon that did this to my brother! And still? This?”

Her tired sire tries to placate her. “You know it’s not that easy. I am sure he did not mean-”

Oh, but, it was just that easy…if it had been anyone else, he’d have them killed without a thought. But, because it’s that woman’s son…

She swallows the bile rising in her throat. “Your negligence killed my mother and I had to forgive you because you were my father. But, if Aegon is taken from me because of that abomination you forced into our lives, I will never forgive that!”

Distraught, but, still seeming so sure, he tells her, “Aegon will survive.”

But, she can’t believe a word he says. Her mother believed him when he said words when they wed. Those were clearly lies. She knows better than to trust him!

She shakes her head and says, “You probably wanted him to succeed! You probably lament that your father didn’t manage to kill my brother and I when he killed Mother! That would have made things so exceptionally neat for you, wouldn’t it?”

Though she hears sharp gasps and cries, she cannot even pretend to feel remorse. She’d never said the words out loud. But, how can she not think these things? She’d never be in this position if it had been unlikely.

Seeing how her father was going to speak, probably to give her nothing but platitudes and justifications, she screams, “Get out! Get out! Get out!”

She only falls silent as Lancel tightens his arms around her. She remains tense until Uncle Oberyn, Quentyn, and Ser Daven finally push her father and his knight out of the door.

She says nothing else. Instead, she focuses on Sarella as she starts to remove Aegon’s bandages. She puts a fist to her mouth as she sees the wound to stifle her cry.

Still shaking, she forces herself to try and be calm. She tries to listen to Lancel’s soothing whispers.

It doesn’t work. She loves Lancel but, he doesn’t bring her much comfort today.

How can anything?

She’d never be right…not when Aegon was like this.

She was staring fixedly at her brother, willing him to speak, to move, to wake! Aegon just had to!

She’d never forgive herself otherwise.

He’s not supposed to be like this. He was never supposed to be in danger.

It’s her fault.

Again, she finds herself shedding tears freely.

He was fine. He was supposed to be fine.

This was not supposed to happen to him.

It should have been her!

Chapter Text

Pained, Aegon shifts because the light blinds his vision.

Even from behind his closed eyes, he can tell there was just so much light.

What time was it? Surely, he had not slept that late. It’s not his way. He cannot afford it.

He tries to open his eyes, but he can’t. Not fully anyway.

It just…hurts…

He takes a breath to calm himself.

Why is his mouth parched?

No, not parched. It hurts.

Why?

He doesn’t understand.

He shifts and lets out a gasp at the sharp pain coming from his side.

He is confused.

Why does everything hurt?

He forces himself not to panic. He just needs to calm down!

Why was someone calling out his name?

He was right here! And with such worry and fervency, at that?

And that voice…it sounded so familiar and not.

Soft, honeyed even, tones…calling his name?

Mother?

Was that his mother?

But, no, he thinks tremulously. It wouldn’t be.

He doesn’t remember what she sounded like.

He hears that voice calling his name again.

But, was it his mother?

His eyes start burning but it has nothing to do with the pain he is in.

It couldn’t be her.

He’s heard her voice. He is sure of it. He’d been told that his mother used to sing to him.

But, he can’t remember.

Why would he?

He can’t remember what her voice sounded like. She was taken from him before he’d even learned to walk upright.

So, if not her, then, whose voice is it? Who?

Who’d be calling his name like this?

Rhaenys!

His eyes fly wide open.

Rhaenys!

He tries to make a sound but he can’t. His throat hurts.

He goes to get up, but it hurts. Oh, it hurts! Why does it hurt?

His throat, his head, everything! Why does everything hurt?

He remembers now. The knife. His half-brother. Pushing his sister out the way.

Oh, no!

Rhaenys! He had to get to her! To protect her. He had to know she was safe! For a long while, they used to only have one other! He can’t lose her. His sister. His champion. He’s supposed to protect her.

“Aegon!”

His sister’s sharp cry breaks through his panic.

Rhaenys!

He forces himself to take deep breaths even though it hurts!

When he can force himself into a state of calm.

Relief warred with elation on that dear face of his sister who presses even closer to him. But, gods, why was he crying too. She was here. She seemed well.

Gods, she was safe!

She soothes him. “Calm yourself, Little Brother. Don’t move too quickly.”

His sister smiles. It was a pained smile. Gods, he detested that look on her face. He hated how familiar he was with that look.

But, she was safe! Thank the gods his sister was safe!

Not trusting the sight of her in front of him, he takes her in from the top of her head to her sandaled feet.

Gods be good, his sister was safe!

“I-” He stops when his throat feels heavy and far too dry.

He tries again, but, “Wh-”

He has to stop because his voice won’t work right.

What was wrong with him?

He hates himself for being this weak. He cannot afford it! Rhaenys needs him!

She shakes her head. “Stop, trying, here let me get you some water. “

Why were her eyes wet?

Was she crying?

As if she read his mind, she answers, “I was worried for you.”

“We both are.”

While his sister pours water into a cup for him, he turns to the only person dearer to him than his sister. He tries to smile to reassure her but the pain hasn’t gone away, even if the embarrassment is setting in.

He shouldn’t be weak. He cannot allow it of himself. Rhaenys and Cassana need him to be strong. None of them can afford him to be anything else.

Rhaenys thrusts the cup in front of him. He sips the cool water as it slides down his throat.

Gods, how long has he been like this? How long have they been keeping vigil? How much danger had he been in?

He forces those thoughts down. He cannot think about that just yet!

Though the pain receded somewhat, he smiles softly at his betrothed. “Dearest.” He winces. His voice sounded horrible. He sounded like a sick crow.

He pushes himself up.

Or at least tries to.

He groans. It hurts.

His dear sister and his beloved betrothed lurch forward to press themselves closer to him.

Usually, he’d balk at them at such a simple thing as helping him up, but, pain still courses through him. Though ordinarily he’d want to argue, he’s in no mood to fight these two women. He will not. It takes a bit of effort and, just this once, he’s not too unmanly to take comfort in the assistance of his dear betrothed and his sister.

Bitterly, he remembers, he was stabbed. He earned tender care! And theirs he will never refuse.

This time, Cassana, says, “I am so glad you are awake. You worried me so.”

Her tears drip down onto his cheeks. He blinks back some of his own as he gently tries to squeeze her hand as much as he can.

With sips of water easing their way down his throat, since his voice was working better now. He whispers, “There, Dear One.”

He’d never regret keeping his sister out of harms way but, he hadn’t meant to worry his Cassana. He knows she must have fretted over him. She must have been terrified. They’ve been betrothed since they were children. She was to be his wife. He wanted to be a good husband to her from the moment he learned she was to be his wife. He doesn’t want to be her source of pain.

Now, with this throat less dry, in a much stronger tone, he manages, “You needn’t worry. I’m here.”

Fervently, Cassana tells him, “Don’t you ever tell me not to worry!”

He laughs at his stag’s ferocity cutting through her anxiousness. But, his laugh turns into a quick wince at the stab of pain runs through him.

Seeing it, Rhaenys turns to Cassana, grumbling, “You’d be right to do it. He was quite foolish launching himself in the way of-”

Both their dear faces darkened at the events that led them to this moment.

He interrupts, “Hush now.” He shakes his head slowly.

He should ask what happened after…He should want answers.

But, he does not want to think about that. Not yet. He is not well enough for that! Everything hurts too much.

Still, he tries, “It’s done. I am here-”

Ever stubborn, Rhaenys rounds on him. “It was such a good stroke of fortune that our Uncle Oberyn was here. He was able to stop the bleeding quickly.”

Growing fond, he says “Aye. Uncle always did say his time at the Citadel was short, yet, worthwhile.” He lets out a watery chuckle. “I am grateful.”

“So am I,” Cassana says.

“And not as much as I,” Rhaenys adds looking rueful.

Yes, he was quite grateful.

Thinking of that day, he holds in another wince that has little to do with the pain that lingers.

Though he is upright already, he still lets them fuss over him. But, he cannot stay in bed and do nothing. He needs to know what he missed while recovering.

First, he asks, “Where is Uncle. I want to thank him. Is he near?”

Cassana smiles at him. It’s a beautiful sight, he thinks.

With her face growing even more bright, she tells him, “He’s with Father. I will fetch them both. They will both want to see you.”

He nods slowly.

Good, he thinks. They will want to see him for reassurance…for vastly different reasons.

His uncle because it’s his uncle who loves him and Lord Stannis because, well, if he did die, the Lord of the Stormlands would have a very interesting choice to make.

He breathes out slowly.

He likes to think that Lord Stannis likes him well enough, but, would Lord Stannis overcome his distaste for Lyanna Stark to marry his daughter to Lyanna Stark’s son if it meant she would be queen? Maekar became king after kinslaying, didn’t he? Then again, Maekar won a sanctioned duel. This had not been…that. However, Father was his father.

He wonders how his father would have chosen for his heir even if he was forced to repudiate Jaehaerys’ actions: Rhaenys or Viserys? The results of the Dance were clear in that regard. Then again, the first Jaehaerys in favoring his younger sons over his dead eldest son resulted in the Dance in the first place!

He sighs inwardly. But, those were questions for another day. He’d clearly lived!

Once Cassana leaves, he sags into the bedding. He frowns at himself. He should not let himself be so tired!

His sister frowns. “Are you alright? Shall I-”

She cuts herself off when he slightly holds up a too-heavy hand. “I am well.”

She glares disbelievingly.

He sighs deeply, “Forgive me. Mostly, well. It’s the truth. I just…don’t like you both seeing me like this.”

His sister turns even more solemn as she comes closer to him again. “I did not seeing you like this, either. We were so scared. I thought I lost you.”

His usually bold sister ends with a shuddering sob.

Though still in his bed and uncaring of the pain still ebbing in him, he tries to meet her. “You haven’t. Enough now. I am here.”

Rhaenys cries, “I won’t! You got stabbed! You got in the way.”

Though his head is dull with pain, he shakes it. “As if I would let anyone stab you.”

His sister gives him a broken look. “That was foolish. You were not supposed to be hurt.”

He tells her heatedly, “And I’d risk it again if you were in danger!”

She does not say anything to that. There wasn’t much point. They both know it’s true. This was his sister. He’d kill for her and die for her, too!

But, there is something he needs to know and he can’t ask it if their uncle and Lord Baratheon are here.

Resigned, he asks, “Has he come to see me at all?”

She turns away, “He comes at night, when no one else is here.” He does not ask why her tone is far from charitable.

Still, he is surprised by that. “What keeps him away?”

Did his father want to keep away?

Rhaenys gives him a sour smile, “He does not come when I am here.” Pride fills her face as she admits, “I told him to leave.”

Surprised, he asks, “He listened?”

Now, his sister snarls, “His men failed to move. He failed to move. His son stabbed you. It’s the least he could do.”

Her face turns placid as she adds, “It was for the best. He’s been holed up with his Small Council now. He’d had to make some difficult decisions of late.”

She sneers.

Though he suspects what those difficult decisions are, he goes to ask, but then his Uncle Oberyn and his future good-father arrived. He nods at them before retaking Cassana’s outstretched hand.

While he lets his uncle fuss over him and greet his future good-father, he shares a glance with Rhaenys. They will continue this later.

It can wait until he is better.

Aegon rises.

His cousins have just left him but both his uncles give him a look.

Uncle Oberyn glares, “Where do you think you are going?”

He bites back a frown. “I am going to see him.”

He does not want to, but, he deserves answers. And he won’t get them while tied to his bed.

He is well now. He no longer is hampered by pain. He no longer needs a cane to assist him in walking.

He is well and it was well past time to speak to his father about the important things.

Uncle Oberyn demands, “Why?”

Uncle Viserys sneers, adding, “He will see you later today.”

During the early days of his recovery, most of the visitors he had during the day weren’t likely to be at ease with his father. As such, on the days his father visited him, for it to be done in the late evenings turned out to be something of a tradition.

He shakes his head. He understands their worry, and gods knew they disliked his father for vastly different reasons, but he can’t continue to lie in his bed. He will not be accused of hiding. He’s already spent too much time recovering. He was well now.

And he does need to see his father. They have much to discuss and since his father only sees him at night, what needs to be said between them is already much delayed.

He frowns at his elder uncle. “I let you fuss over me far too much already. I am out of danger, yes? And you’ve seen me able to resume my normal activities?”

Stubbornly, Uncle Oberyn snaps, “That’s not the point.”

He argues back, “I refuse to sit here when I am well.”

Softening, Viserys asks, “Do you want us to come with you?”

He holds in laughter. The last meaningful conversation he had with his father seemed like so long ago.
And the last time there was an angry relative with him while with his father, he’d gotten stabbed. He’d only just fully recovered. He can ill afford that again.

But, he doubts either man would let him out of their sights if he said that aloud!

He hadn’t been lying to himself about both his uncles’ feelings towards his father. No, better he goes alone. “There’s no need unless you think he will try where his son failed?”

Uncle Oberyn shoots up from his chair with fury. “That’s not funny.” Uncle Viserys growls.

He’s thinks he is fortunate both men love him. He’d fear being someone both of them hate! The only thing that stops them from being worse towards his father is that he was their king, and in Viserys’ case, his older brother.

He sighs. “Neither is being stabbed but I am healed. Even you say that.”

He pretends to ignore their glares.

Uncle Viserys asks, “Will you take the cane?”

He turns to Uncle Oby. “I will not go to him with a cane when I can walk without it.”

No. He was already stabbed. He recovered. He cannot afford to look weak. Not now.

He appreciated their concern. He really did. But, he needed to do this on his own.

As an afterthought, he mentions: “Arianne is there, isn’t she?”

Even if they don’t want him to go, that would work on both, though for different reasons. He’d have at least one friend there.

Thankfully, neither uncle tried to stop him, this time.

Aelyx, the guardsman at the door, smiles at him, as he is led into the chambers of the Small Council. It was a comfort to see. Throughout his walk, there were pleased faces when he came across them.

While he’d been building up his strength, when he’d travelled these same halls, there used to be pity or curiosity dotted amongst the relief in the faces of those he came across. He didn’t see any of that anymore.

It was a pleasant realization.

It meant they did not see him as being in danger or weak. Even though the threat to his life was firmly in his past, he couldn’t allow such a perception to continue.

While in the chambers of the Small Council, for a moment, he sees his father’s joy and relief at the sight of him. He also sees the latter in the others who sit around the table: his cousin, Arianne; Lord Connington, the Hand; Lord Baratheon who nods at him approvingly; and Ser Baelor Hightower.

He smiles at the seated group, “Forgive my interruption, but, I should like a word alone with my father.”

Arianne is the first to rise and pull him into a hug. She smiles against him, “You don’t know how happy I am to see you up and about.”

Though she’s been a frequent visitor, he allows that. He embraces her back.

He tells her, “I am glad to be up.”

She grins at him conspiratorially, “You’ll be happier soon enough.”

Before he can ask her to explain, she rushes off muttering about needing to see Viserys. She’s rather eager for something. But, what?

Before he could ask, Baelor was the next one to speak. Smiling broadly, Baelor says, “Though I would have to tell my Willas his trinket is no longer of use, it is beyond a relief to me you do not need it. It is good to see you well.”

While he feels that bit of discomfort knowing that Willas will have to use a cane for the rest of his life, he knows both men meant well for him. Though Baelor was the one who’d brought over the cane he’d been using, it had come from the man’s nephew. “His kindness, and yours, will not be forgotten.”

Ser Baelor, one of many, was invited to King’s Landing in anticipation of his name day. Because of his injuries the celebrations had to be pushed back. There were quite a few, like Ser Baelor, who’d stayed in the city while he recovered enough to attend the resumed festivities. Darkly, he thinks most stayed because they wanted to see for themselves what would happen to him. In a way, perhaps Baelor was one of those, but, he doubts it.

Outside of Lord Stannis, Baelor Hightower was the only lord in King’s Landing that Uncle Oby could stand. Despite the enmity between Dorne and the Reach, Ser Baelor and Uncle Oby got along so well, despite the thing with Willas. He asked his uncle about it once.

Uncle explains, “I’ve been to Oldtown a fair number of times and he’s been a friend to me even when I didn’t deserve it.”

“Is that right?”

For once, his uncle looks…ashamed? It’s not an expression he’s used to seeing on his uncle.

His uncle lets out a slow breath. “One of those trips was even under the guise of a betrothal tour for your mother and I.”

Curious, he asks, “Guise?”

Uncle Oberyn laughs, shaking his head. “The end goal was Casterly Rock.”

He jests slightly, “Obviously, that didn’t work.” It worked a generation later, but, there’s neither here nor there. He does wonder…what would life been like?

Uncle nods, “Aye. However, if I learned to keep my mouth shut before I got to Oldtown certain things could have been different.”

Though it’s not often said, it’s not the first time he’d heard that Baelor Hightower could have been a possible match for his mother. He argues, “If things were that different, you and I would not be here like this. I don’t think I mind so much that things weren’t different.”

Startling a laugh from him, Uncle gives him a rueful smile. “There is that. I wouldn’t trade you or your sister for anything. Neither would your mother.”

He’d wanted to say something else but there was a suspicious sheen in his uncle’s eyes he suspected the cause of, and he did not press further.

Pick your allies well and pick them early. Know when and when not speak and know when and when not to listen for your own advantage. Excellent lessons for a prince.

Now Baelor smiles at him reassuringly. He suspects the gesture is genuine. But, he was not here to speak to Baelor Hightower. Since the man knows it, he, too, takes his leave, though not without a comforting pat to the shoulder.

The remaining men look between him and his father but are also quick to leave at the heels of Ser Baelor, though he doesn’t quite understand the odd sense of satisfaction on Lord Stannis’s face he saw.

He'd almost turned back to his father, except one man remained where he was.

He shouldn’t be surprised. Honestly, he wasn’t. It did not mean he was pleased.

He finds his voice hardening, “I said alone, Ser Arthur.”

Ser Arthur looks away. There was a noticeable dip in the shoulders of the former Sword of the Morning. He knew Ser Arthur was his father’s dearest friend, but, he would never forgive him. He certainly does not pity the man in his sorrow.

Ser Arthur’s hesitation got him stabbed! But, more than that, Rhaenys had been in danger and this man hesitated. What sort of Kingsguard does nothing when there was a blade aimed at the realm’s princess?

Though reluctant, the knight leaves but only when his father gives him a brief nod.

What joy there had been in his father at seeing him had already vanished. Naturally, sorrow and regret quickly follow.

His father does not speak and so he takes his turn.

He asks, “Is it important?”

His father startles.

He asks pointedly, “The purpose of the meeting. Is it important? Is it the changes you mentioned?”

His father hadn’t wanted to burden him during recovery and there was a break in the work of the council to celebrate his reawakening and the resuming of his name day festivities. But, he had recovered. His time for rest was over now.

He hadn’t been told what this was about, but, he had heard stirrings of some sort of change. His father had admitted at least that much on his last visit.

His father replies grimly, “Yes, it is.”

He nods expectantly.

Not quite looking at him, his father explains, “As I said, I was making new arrangements with the council. Necessary changes.”

He wonders aloud, “Arrangements for what?”

The major decision of his father’s other son’s fate had already been made before he regained consciousness. The Wall. That was to be his punishment. Jaehaerys was to remain away from court for his natural life, renounce all of it; stripped of all honors and possibility of titles.

Rhaenys would have preferred Jaehaerys’ life be forfeit but he knows his father. And to punish an attempted kinslaying with a kinslaying just wouldn’t do, would it? Besides, they all knew it wasn’t a planned attack. And thankfully, there was no lasting damage.

He accepted it.

For that, he would never forgive his father’s son because he’d been aiming for Rhaenys, but, the punishment satisfied most others. So long as Jaehaerys was not a danger to them anymore and would forever be the length of the continent away, that suits him just fine.

And well, if for whatever reason Jaehaerys decides to forsake his vows, what to do with him won’t be his problem. It would be laid at the feet of Jaehaerys’ uncle. Whatever passes for the reputation of Stark honor under those circumstances is no business of his.

Of course, the woman had argued against it. But, this time, his father had not relented. Probably out of fear of reprisal if he did nothing. In response, the woman left court vowing never to return. He’s heard it said she escorted her son to his new home. She hadn’t come back and as far as he knew his father hadn’t demanded she return. Though he will never admit such a thing to his father out loud, he will not be doing that, either.

So, what was it that the council was discussing?

For some reason, his father looks unsure. Then, he admits, “The household at Dragonstone.”

He nods. Of course. “For me. Now that I am well enough.”

His father lowers his eyes in shame. “No.”

Confused, he asks, “No? I will not be going, then?”

His father shakes his head, not quite looking at him. “You already had enough upheaval with the incident-”

“Incident?” Sharply, he demands, “I think you mean attack.”

With his shoulders slumping, his father takes a sharp breath. After a moment, his father corrects himself, “Yes, attack.” He sounded pained having to admit it.

Ordinarily he’d attempt to ease his father’s pain. About that, it wasn’t in him to try.

He is fairly certain Jaehaerys hadn’t meant to react violently, but, he should not reacted at all. Like Rhaenys, he’d had his own admonishments from Father in his early years: his doings were not Jaehaerys’ fault.

His father thought he was being oh-so-noble in taking the blame. Then again, perhaps not. He’d let Rhaenys heap enough on his conspirators. Guilt was a funny thing, he supposed. But, Jaehaerys’ doings are his fault. And because of Jaehaerys’ faults he’d spent weeks recovering from injuries he should have never received in the first place. It was worth it to see Rhaenys safe, but it should have never gotten that far.

If Father and the woman hadn’t coddled and protected Jaehaerys from the reality of others’ feelings, perhaps he would not have acted as he had. Yet, he did.

Where a prince can have a soft ear, it does not do to have a soft heart for those who do them wrong. His predecessors Aegon the Unlikely and Daeron the Good learned that with great difficulties. And another lesson he learned early in life: one does not let someone attack an ally and do nothing. And it was Rhaenys, his sister, who was his biggest ally. On that day, in those chambers, she had been his ally.

His father sighs heavily. “When your mother and I went to Dragonstone it was to keep away from my father.” He shakes his head, looking haunted. “I was a fool to think that would have been enough.”

Idly, he internally muses, that’s one thing his sister and father both can agree on.

His father continues, “It also had the drawback of keeping your mother and I from court. I cannot allow such a mistake again. After, well…The whole of the kingdom feared for your safety.”

Did you, he wondered? He doesn’t ask. His father did try to spend time with him, but, he could tell his father was still conflicted. And he hadn’t wanted to hear any justifications. He still doesn’t.

His father shifts in his seat. “You are here. You are well. But, the realm needs to be reassured… to see you and it would be best done from here.”

Sound thoughts. Still, he asks, “What is to become of Dragonstone? Viserys? But, Sunspear will not spare him. Surely not Rhaenys, if she’s destined for the Rock.”

His father shakes his head. “No.” His father pushes parchment towards him.

His eyes snap up to look at his father’s.

To say he is surprised is an understatement.

Appearing even more tired, his father nods, “I do not have to tell you that I’ve made some grave errors and missteps in judgement over the years. I can’t afford it anymore. Neither can the realm, nor you. And this was always going to be a natural consequence.”

While it was quite late, as he expected, Rhaenys was waiting for him. Thankfully alone.

Though he doubts, it, he asks, “You knew?”

She shakes her head, smiling a bit. “Arianne practically raced here to tell me. She was surprised. So was I. He’s making the announcement tomorrow.”

Even though he’d seen the proclamation himself, he still cannot believe it. “Abdication. Quite the late name day gift.”

She scoffs disdainfully. “It’s literally, the least he can do.”

Still not quite believing it, he muses, “He’s clearly still shaken by it all.”

Rhaenys rounds on him, “You aren’t giving him the benefit of the doubt!”

While he’s recovered, he has not forgotten!

He sniffs derisively. “Of course not.”

She folds her arms against her chest. “Good. Don’t. He doesn’t deserve it.” His sister’s face shifts between amusement and misery. “You were injured, in a bed for weeks. We didn’t know if you’d survive. If he never brought them here, none of this would have happened.”

He huffs, “If I knew this was a possibility, I would’ve told you to pick great fight with the woman sooner.”

His sister’s face twists in a mix of grief and fury. “Don’t you dare joke like this!” His sister glares reproachfully, “You were stabbed!”

“I am well aware.” Before Rhaenys rounds on him, again, he takes his sister into his arms. He tells her, “A crown is well worth a stabbing.”

She shakes her head wildly. “Brother, you’re worth more than a crown to me! It should have never gotten that far.”

He shakes his head. “He was aiming for you. I couldn’t let anyone hurt you. I don’t care who it was.”

Rhaenys cries, “But, I cared!” She drops her head to his shoulder.

Though he pats her head to offer comfort, he argues back, “It worth it if it keeps you safe.” He adds humorlessly, “It’s not my fault he had little to no self-control. He should have never tried to stab you in the first place.”

She lifts her head and sharply exclaims, “So you pushed me out the way and let yourself be hurt! You think I cared if he hurt me?”

He tells her flatly: “I am your brother. It’s my duty to defend you. Even if it’s against our own father or his creatures. I would have stepped in a hundred times; a thousand, even.”

Rhaenys cries, “You were not supposed to be hurt! You could have died!”

Trying for reassurance, he smiles softly. “But, I did not. Have some faith in me.” To lighten the mood, he jokes, “You must believe me. I am to be your king, after all.”

As he hoped, now more amused and much calmer, Rhaenys shakes her head, no doubt thinking of the situation at hand. “You’re going to be king…a lot sooner than either of us expected.”

He tries, but, he cannot hold his laugher in. “To think, we were trying to rid ourselves of her; not all of them.”

At last, Rhaenys smirks, “We managed that, too, didn’t we?”

He smirks back, “Yes, we did.”

They both laugh.

Oh, yes, he thought.

While he did get injured, he can safely say it was well worth it.

Chapter Text

Rhaenys meets him in the gallery. Aegon is glad. He has news for her.

He says, “Father’s ship landed safely. He made it to Dragonstone.”

Rhaenys huffs in amusement. “Arthur Dayne as well, I trust.”

He laughs softly. “Of course”. If their father left, so too, had his father’s most trusted knight.

He shakes his head, “I wouldn’t have him. They both know that.”

“It is a pity Kingsguard serve for life,” she says dismissively.

He doesn’t argue with Rhaenys if he can help it. And honestly, it was only that fact which kept him from trying to dismiss Arthur Dayne from the Kingsguard. That and how he wanted to make no waves where they were obviously unnecessary. His people already suffered enough upheaval under his father’s reign for him to cause more of it.

Aegon smiles ruefully. “At least both acknowledged their guilt.”

Rhaenys scoffs. “It’s the least they could do. His heir was nearly stabbed to death by his second son and the king’s most trusted knight stood by and let it happen.”

He rolls his eyes. Ever ready for an admonishment towards those two. He tries for a smile. “I was there, you know. I was the one being stabbed.”

True to form, she adds harshly, “That’s because you deviated from the plan.”

Because it’s just them, he drops the façade.

He smirks, “It all worked out, didn’t it?”

He points to the crown on his head.

A new crown for a brand new king, Aegon VI of His Name.

He adds, “We didn’t anticipate this at all.”

She gives him a stern look. “It wasn’t supposed to come at a cost. Not when the cost was to be your life. You were never supposed to be hurt.”

He scoffs, “Father gave me a younger half-brother. Hurt nor not, perhaps, it would have come at a cost for me, sooner or later.”

Rhaenys doesn’t disagree with him now. She cannot. Their Father was rather indulgent when it came to his other family. They both knew that. They both experienced that until their father could no longer afford it.

He tries to be reassuring. “I was ready and willing to pay the cost to see this through. I would have never allowed Father’s son or pet Kingsguard to hurt you.” He feels face becoming resolute. “I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I lost you, too.”

Rhaenys embraces him tightly. She sighs in a mix of defeat and understanding.

His father was never truly his to lose, but, he’d already lost his mother. He’d tear the world apart if he lost his sister too. If she had been hurt, he would have turned more than vitriol towards that half-brother his father forced upon them!

His older sister still scoffs. She adds blightly, “It wasn’t you who he was supposed to try to kill.”

For Rhaenys, he forces himself to keep his expression as neutral as he could. “I would never risk you.” Aegon shakes his head, “He should not have been trying to kill anyone.”

Rhaenys sniffs. “He always did have his mother’s temper, didn’t he? The ambitions, too, perhaps.”

‘True enough’, he huffs internally. ‘But, he will pay for it with his freedom.’ Though he doubts Rhaenys wants to know, he adds, belatedly, “We got the ravens from Winterfell and from Castle Black.”

Rhaenys shrugs, “Just as well.” Rhaenys shrugs, but, her mouth curls downwards. “No one fought that hard to make her stay. For once, even Father did not fight for her. She’s her brother’s problem now. Just as it should be and he is the Night’s Watch’s.”

He doesn’t mention that the woman accompanied her son as far as she could. She’s taken up lodging in at that settlement near Castle Black once visited by Alysanne: Mole’s Town. They say men of the Watch occasionally go there for drink and other things spoken about only in the quietest of whispers. Some would say it was fitting. He doesn’t much care where she remained, whether it be Winterfell or Mole’s Town.

Instead, he says, “I suppose Father still had his uses.”

Rhaenys hisses a harsh laugh. “It’s a shame you were asleep for it. She looked so betrayed, too. She thought that their love would be enough to prevent justice from being done. Bloodraven was sent away because he killed a Blackfyre. Her son almost killed the Crown Prince because he was aiming for me, a princess. It’s still the talk of the city.”

Shaking his head, he smiles tightly. “Westeros always did love a good story. There are so few better than a gallant prince protecting his sister from an evil, grasping younger brother.”

His sister snorts indelicately. “Much better than the melancholy prince and the desperate wolf-maiden.”

They both sneer.

He shakes his head ruefully. “No, that one does not sound like it has the makings of a good story.”

It certainly ended badly enough.

Rhaenys muses, “I never did care for that one.” His sister snorts nonchalantly, “It didn’t not help that the Kingsguard acted slower than they should have to stop him. Can you imagine…perhaps the king, still so infatuated with his second wife, wanting his elder son to die so his second son could succeed him.”

He cannot help himself; he laughs. “You spread that tale so beautifully.”

Rhaenys smiles. “It wasn’t just me.”

He bites back a knowing grin.

Would House Baratheon be once again deprived of a betrothal by Rhaegar Targaryen? If Prince Aegon died, would King Rhaegar for Robert Baratheon’s younger brother force him to marry the son of the woman who jilted his brother?

And the Lannister’s as well…The rumors spread of the King trying to cancel the betrothal of Princess Rhaenys…only to have Prince Jaehaerys try to take her life when she tried to argue to keep to their oaths. Can anyone deny the justified fury of Lancel Lannister seeing how distressed his betrothed was at the attempt on her life? The one that almost killed the princess’ brother?

And the Martells! It was no secret the Ruling Prince and the younger of the living Martell siblings detested the king. But, Prince Oberyn had to be kept away from King Rhaegar…for there was murder in his expression unless the man’s gaze was fixed on his children or those of his siblings’.

Oh, he can imagine his father’s and his hangers-on’s shame and humiliation that people should think such things about them.

No wonder why Father wanted to flee King’s Landing so badly.

He’d smile except…Truly, was such a thing so far beyond the realm of possibility? Maegor and Aenys…Maekar killed Baelor and still become king. And well, Daemon Blackfyre would have likely killed Daeron if he could have…if Aegon the Unworthy was alive to see it, he’d probably welcome such discord.

She gestures to the crown on his head. ”I like this one better.”

They both fall silent to remember the day he was crowned. It had not been the High Septon who crowned him. Rather, Father himself crowned him.

A comfortable silence descends. But, as with all things it ends quickly.

His sister asks, “You will keep the portrait up?”

He turns to look where Rhaenys gestures.

The portrait of Lyanna Stark. He practically forgot it was there. In truth he had more important concerns.

He nods and then he shrugs.

Predictably, Rhaenys hisses, “She wasn’t fit to shine a washerwoman’s shoes! She doesn’t deserve to have her portrait here.”

Some things never change.

He swallows a laugh. “None the less, Father gave a crown and a title. I will not be him and pretend history did not happen.” That was one thing about their father he could never reconcile; his willingness to ignore the past.

He can see Rhaenys’ pursed lips and he adds, “If I hide it away portrait and people will ask why or at least not-so-secretly wonder. No reason to give speculation a voice.” He shakes his head, “What is a portrait? She will be patron to no orphanages or motherhouses. No alms will be given in her name. She was not of the Faith of those who would see it. Now she’s a woman at the edge of our world. History will remember her as an ill-begotten queen and a mother to a traitor and would-be kinslayer. She will be little more than a cautionary tale. It suits me just fine.”

His sister demands, “You will see to it?”

He growls low in his throat. “Aegon III and Viserys II both won that tilt and never bothered to rehabilitate Rhaenyra’s image. Lyanna Stark was never my mother.” He gestures to the portrait he does look at. He smiles as he turns back to his sister. “Mother’s portrait is much more beautiful anyway.”

This time, Rhaenys laughs.

He turns a touch stern, “Now, enough of that unpleasantness. Don’t you have a wedding to prepare for?”

His sister huffs, “As if you do not?”

He smiles thinking about it. Cassana will make for a fine bride and a queen. He does look forward to it.

He nods, “In time, but, you are my elder, are you not? And besides, I know that betrothed of yours is quite eager.”

His sister jests, “Are you that eager to see me gone?”

He tells her seriously, “It will be my honor to walk you down the Sept.”

Their father may attend…or not.

Either way, Rhaenys wants him to do it. She could have asked any of their uncles, but, in the end his sister chose him. His sister always chose him. Rhaenys always risked their father’s possible rage and directed attention towards her so he could live peacefully. He will oblige her in any way he can. It’s only fair. He owes her that much.

His sister loves him and cares for him above most others, except for Lancel.

And, in truth, he did like Lancel as much as he could a Lannister. He’d be lying if he hadn’t thought about what Lancel would have done had he died. Perhaps Lancel would have preferred it…The second Rhaenys hadn’t managed to be her grandsire’s heir despite being her father’s. Should he have succumbed to his injuries, this Rhaenys was in prime position to be named their father’s heir.

Of course, it was also likely, that the throne would have gone to Viserys one day…So long as his sister was secure, he could be at peace at the thought of his uncle being king.

Darkly, he thinks his father perhaps would have gotten over his grief enough to name his other son heir, despite the circumstances. Maekar killed his brother and still was bestowed the crown, after all. Then again, Maekar bested Baelor in a sanctioned duel, a Trial of Seven. Such was not so for Jaehaerys’ actions.

At any rate, he had survived, and for Lancel’s support of Rhaenys, he increased a part of the dowry his father set aside for Rhaenys by using a portion of the funds his father had been squirreling away for Jaehaerys’ use.

It, perhaps made him a poor brother to one of his father’s other children, but, he could only be a good one to either Rhaenys or Jaehaerys and well…Jaehaerys would need none of it at the Wall and the rest of it would be far more useful here.

Septa Alayne at the orphanage and Septa Leorra, matron at the local motherhouse, were not women who typically smiled. He recalled how widely they had both done so at his extension of charity. And they sniffled when he said it was to be in memory of his mother.

Still, when Rhaenys always chose him, he would always do the same!

Now blushing, Rhaenys lets out a long-suffering sigh but plants a kiss to his forehead before she leaves.

The warmth of it lingers for a bit. A gesture done many times between them; a gesture he’d seen countless times that woman gave to her son.

It only reminds him that he received so few from his mother, through no fault of his own or hers.

He looks across the gallery, once again. The portrait of his mother. Not the one his father ruined; rather, the one his uncle made. An act of love, his uncle called the portrait given to him.

Seeing her smile…

He is pulled closer to it.

He truly looks at it!

Gods, this portrait was absolutely an act of love. Because under his uncle’s direction, this portrait was imbued with the love his mother had known and could trust.

For a moment, he thinks about the portrait his father tried to give him as a gift. He’d found it after his father had removed it from the gallery. His first instinct had been to destroy it; use it for kindling or some such. Even though its presence caused Rhaenys distress, he ultimately refrained. His father had commissioned it, and it was a portrait of his mother’s likeness. He’d never destroy such a thing.

Instead, he’d given it back to Soren. Soren made it and so he needed to fix it. He doesn’t know if Soren simply removed the crown or created an entirely new portrait. He hadn’t asked, and the answer really doesn’t matter. He had not even looked at it. Instead, he instructed Soren to have it sent to Dragonstone. But, that was before he learned he wasn’t the one going to Dragonstone.

He wonders if his father will write to him, to ask him about it. Perhaps his father will and perhaps he won’t.

Idly he wonders if his father will recall Jaehaerys’ mother to him. He doubts she would desire such a thing now. Rhaenys had not lied about his father not making demands of her to stay after Jaehaerys was sent north. While he’d been preparing for his investiture, he’d learned vestiges of his mother’s time were still in place. He doubts she would go where Elia Martell once lived after everything.

At any rate the letters from Dragonstone would come here first and the castellan was the brother of a man who perished at Ashford, a battle his father missed being so occupied with Lady Stark. That’s not the sort of thing one forgets.

He pushes the thought out of his mind. His father will do what he will, and Dragonstone was his to do what he liked.

As for his father’s attempt at a portrait, he long since stopped considering it his gift.

No, this one, the one in front of him, was his gift.

He admits, if only to himself, his father would never have been able to give him such a gift.

His father had not loved his mother. Despite his father’s weak protests, that is fairly obvious.

Giving in to his bitterness, he must admit that if his father had loved his mother, so much would have been different. He would have never needed this portrait if his father could aim his love where it should have gone. If his father had, his mother would have been alive today. But, she wasn’t.

And so, he welcomes this portrait of his mother, made at the behest of someone who he knew cared about his mother to want to give him a piece of her.

He is grateful for it.

He takes in each part of the portrait. The background, depicting the Water Gardens, was lovely, but, it was her who transfixed him. He may see her with a son’s eyes, but, to him, she looked beautiful like this. The way she smiled at him was radiant. Though he would not truly know what it was to be held by her, to hear her voice…but, he sees her. That smile, it was she smiles for him…because of him. The fold of her hands as they rest on her belly.

To his uncle, it had been a scene of a dear woman recovering from the wrongs done her. To him, it was something different.

That scene depicts her as she carried a child: him. The placement of her hand was a symbol of her protection. The serene expression on her face was a symbol of her hope.

She’s gone but he can see her and feel her.

His mother.

She had done her duty to him.

She almost gave her life to see him born. She protected him as best as she could. She died for him. She loved him.

He owes her.

Like a proper son, he will do his duty to her.

And he had, hadn’t he?

Though he put himself in danger, he’d done it to protect the only other person his mother loved more deeply than himself.

He had not been lying that the result of telling Rhaenys what his father had intended about her betrothal and how his father threatened to take Dragonstone from him was a surprise. Of course, he’d known Lancel would tell her, greedy for “their women” as Lannister men always were. And, as he explained to his father, he could never be surprised at the depths of propriety his father could reach. He knew he would cause her hurt. Still, Rhaenys deserved the truth from him.

As shocking it was and how he’d been injured for it, he cannot say he is displeased at the result.

He glances at his mother’s portrait.

He likes to think he survived the attack because he had her blessings and that she would be satisfied knowing that her children were truly safe.

And he thinks if his mother was alive, she’d be pleased as well.

His repentant father finally bears the weight of his actions and now lives in the place where they had once tried to build a life that he threw away so easily.

The woman who assisted in tearing apart her life would never darken their doorstep again.

The stain on his mother’s honor they birthed together was sent away and could never be a danger to them.

His beloved sister was safe from harm and soon to set out on her own life unencumbered by fear of what their father would do to them.

He was taking up the mantle his father left behind.

He will thrive, he will ensure his sister thrives, and he will ensure her legacy is secure.

He owed his mother nothing less.

Truly, what greater gift could there be from a son to his mother?

Perhaps he imagines it, but, he cannot help but think the smile on his mother’s face widens.