Chapter Text
Aemma sighed when Silverwing's immense body touched the ground. The Dragon Pit had welcomed them with open arms, with a squadron of Guardians ready to guide the three dragons inside the Pit. Although Aemma doubted that a bunch of men would be able to convince Silverwing to move from the warm sunny clearing.
Winter was coming and so was the day of the birth.
The day that Gerardys had deemed the limit of gestation was still two months away, and Aemma was beginning to get nervous. One part of her wanted nothing more than to take the baby she carried in her arms, but the other, smaller but fierce part, reminded her of all the babies she had lost.
By now she was haunted by panic attacks that made her heart beat brutally and gave her a feeling of dizziness that could have made her fall to the ground.
But both Daemon and Rhaenyra were always ready to support her.
Master Gerardys claimed that her child was growing healthy and strong. That there had not been a single symptom capable of alarming him. That baby would be born and grow to be big and strong.
A kick hit her right against the side of her rib, and Aemma smiled, stroking her huge, prominent belly.
That day she was dressed in a midnight blue dress. It was a combination of wool and velvet that perfectly enveloped her round breasts and firm belly. It had a neckline that the seamstress had covered with a lighter blue, almost transparent fabric that showed off the curve of her rosy breasts. The gown tightened around her neck, protecting her throat from cold and sickness, although Targaryens were not used to getting sick.
The Arryn crest towered in the exact center of her neck, held in place by a blue velvet cord.
Heavy fur was tightly wrapped around her shoulders and covered her back and legs entirely, reaching up to brush against heavy boots lined with soft white fur.
“Aemma?” asked Daemon standing firm at Silverwing's side.
Her husband kept his hands pressed against his hips. He was dressed in red and black, as was his usual attire. A thick night-colored fur coat covered his back and shoulders. It was less elegant than the one worn by Aemma, but after all, Daemon was going hunting that day. He could not afford to wear clothes that would be easily ruined.
“I'm coming!” she said as she slowly lowered herself down from the saddle. It was difficult to move with her belly that always ended up getting caught in the rope net leading to Silverwing's rump. But eventually she managed to get her feet on the ground.
“Did it enjoy flying?” asked Rhaenyra as she approached her mother to press her cheek against her belly.
That was the first time since Laena's wedding that Aemma had flown. She had taken Master Gerardys' recommendations to avoid as much as possible situations that would fatigue her very seriously.
“It didn't kick until we landed so I guess so,” she replied as she looked at her daughter who with furrowed brows seemed to be trying to listen to her sibling.
After the first hesitations Rhaenyra had become more welcoming of the novelty. Especially after seeing her mother becoming more and more radiant and not disappearing into herself as she used to do in the past.
Daemon smiled at her and then leaned over to kiss her. Rhaenyra was certainly not the only one attracted to her round belly. Daemon laid a hand against it whenever he had the chance. When they were in bed together he would press a cheek against her belly and listen, laughing when he felt the baby move or kick.
“It's a Dragon, of course it liked to fly,” he said, leaving a caress in Rhaenyra's long hair.
The princess that day wore purple and white. Her dress was reminiscent of her mother's but her shoulders and breasts were still well covered and would remain so for another four years, until she turned sixteen. Although Rhaenyra, even at that age, showed a strong attraction to her mother's tight, low-cut dresses. She liked to show off and receive compliments from both the Ladies, the servants and the Golden Cloaks. She then wore a short white fur coat that covered her to the base of her back, blending in with her long snow-colored hair.
"I hope its egg hatches. Not like Helaena's," she said again.
She had chosen a blood-red-shelled egg from Syrax's first brood. Rhaenyra insisted that the father was Caraxes but Seasmoke also seemed to be a worthy suitor.
"Your sibling will be a Targaryen on both mother's and father's side. Helaena's egg did not hatch because her mother is an Andal," Daemon said, stroking her hair.
Rhaenyra sneered. She was sorry that her sister did not have a dragon to share every moment of her life with but at the same time enjoyed Alicent's disappointment.
“She still haven't asked for an egg for the new baby?” he asked as they walked toward the carriage waiting for them at the entrance to the square. Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk were waiting for them so as to lead them to the King's Woods, there where the hunt would be held that day in honor of the unborn child.
“I'm afraid she will ask me for one today,” Aemma replied, greeting the two White Cloaks with a nod. It was then that Rhaenyra could tell the difference between the two and recognize them. Ser Erryk was easier on the smile, his eyes brightening whenever someone showed kindness toward him, while Ser Arryk was more stoic and cold.
“And will you give her one?” asked Rhaenyra as she sat by her mother's side while Daemon sat on the opposite side, crossing his long legs and fixing his eyes in those of his wife.
He would have loved to sit by his Aemma's side. To squeeze her hand and caress her belly, there where their child was growing. But he also understood Rhaenyra's strong desire to always remain by her mother's side. Probably, if Alyssa were still alive, he, too, would have demanded to always remain by her side.
“It would be cruel not to offer her one, wouldn't it?” asked Aemma, and Rhaenyra snorted through her nose.
Her dislike of Alicent was obvious and totally understandable.
"I guess so. But I don't want her to have one of Syrax's eggs," the princess replied, frowning. No one except her mother's children deserved to receive one of her Golden Lady's eggs. Perhaps only Laena. But Laena was the Lady of Dreamfyre, and Dreamfyre would lay many eggs when the time came.
“May I join the hunt?” asked Rhaenyra, fixing her eyes in Daemon's.
"You want to hunt? The sweet princess who hates to get dirty?" asked the Rogue Prince.
Rhaenyra nodded, grinning.
Daemon had taught her how to use the crossbow, and incredibly he had discovered that Rhaenyra had impeccable aim. He had then given her a small dagger that the princess always kept strapped to her thigh.
“You are not wearing the proper clothes,” he pointed out, and Rhaenyra immediately grabbed the hem of her skirt and lifted it.
“I'm wearing my flight uniform down here,” she told him, sneering at his dumbfounded expression. Rhaenyra was, indeed, wearing the heavy black leather pants.
“In any case, the hunt will not be particularly exciting,” Aemma said, stroking her belly.
"I remember that it was always the hunters who caught the beasts and then Viserys would give the final blow to it. I doubt Rhaenyra will get dirty," she then added, shaking her head.
She had one memory in particular. A hunt almost six years earlier. She remembered ten men holding a deer still with heavy ropes and Viserys cutting its throat while holding a cup of wine with one hand.
Daemon snorted a laugh.
“My brother and I have a very different idea of hunting,” the prince said, running a hand against his face.
"All right then. Rhaenyra will go hunting with me. And who knows, maybe you'll teach your father what it really means to hunt," said the Rogue Prince with a theatrical grin.
Rhaenyra celebrated enthusiastically. The truth was, she didn't want to hunt, but surely she would rather have been riding her horse in the middle of the woods than listening to the chatter of the queen and her Ladies in Waiting.
The carriage went to stop there where a spacious camp had been formed. Tall red tents had been erected and, of course, the tallest and most imposing was none other than the king's.
Golden Cloaks surrounded a smaller but equally spacious tent. Blue as Aemma's dress was. Of course neither she nor Daemon would allow the Vipers to take care of their safety out there.
Daemon was the first to get out of the carriage and then helped Rhaenyra and Aemma to do the same.
The Dragonstone family was not the least bit surprised to find all eyes on them. They were being watched but without it seeming too obvious. The men were talking among themselves, skinning rabbits or tending to their weapons and horses, but their eyes were firmly on the three white-haired royals.
Of the ladies, on the other hand, there was no sign but giggles and chatter came from the queen's tent.
“Your Highnesses and Lady Aemma,” said Ser Harwin coming toward them.
Lyonel Strong's eldest son had recently turned eighteen. He kept his hair pulled back into a half-tail, and his brown eyes, affected by the late morning sun, were so reminiscent of the color of honey. His clothes were simple and comfortable, black pants and a light blue sweater.
“Cub Strong,” Daemon greeted him addressing him with a grin.
“Good morning Ser Harwin!” greeted Rhaenyra in a tone full of enthusiasm. A bizarre behavior from her who whenever she was approached by some young suitor merely turned up her nose and walked away with straight back.
"Good morning princess. I do not see your golden beast," Harwin said, smiling at the young maiden.
Rhaenyra still remembered the night she had danced with Ser Harwin. She had been only eleven years old at the time, but she had enjoyed herself all the same. Strong had made her laugh as he tried not to crush her feet or shake her hands too hard.
“Syrax is at the Dragon's Pit,” she explained with a smirk.
Hawin smiled back.
“Of course she is,” he replied, hiding his hands behind his back.
Aemma felt a tightening in her chest. Could it be that her little girl was experiencing her first falling in love? Certainly she was glad that it was Ser Harwin. The boy was tall and stocky but noble-minded, and, above all, he had made a good impression on Daemon, who had appointed him Commander of the City Watch.
"Rhaenyra will join us in the hunt. She had better have a suitable horse," Daemon said, giving the Golden Cloak a suspicious look. It seemed that Aemma had not been the only one to notice Rhaenyra's interest.
"You will join us, princess? Really?" asked Harwin wearing a more than surprised expression. Although he shouldn't have. After all, the first two Targaryen queens had been fighters and warriors.
“Yes! Kepa taught me how to use the crossbow,” Rhaenyra explained with a face full of pride. She liked the crossbow because she could stay out of the confusion and not get too dirty. She would have liked to learn to use the bow as well, which she thought was a more elegant weapon, but it seemed quite a bit more difficult than nocking the crossbow bolt.
“Then I shall be more than happy to see you at work,” Harwin said, offering her a smile, which the princess returned.
The Ser then lifted his gaze, determined both to congratulate Aemma and to ask her how she was doing but a cheerful voice interrupted him.
“Daemon!” exclaimed Viserys who had just emerged from his tent. He had probably been warned of his brother's arrival by some guard, perhaps by Ser Harrold himself walking behind him, accompanied by another White Cloak and Ser Otto.
The ruler was smiling enthusiastically, his face red perhaps from too much wine and the leather clothes that made him look ridiculous to the eye.
Behind him men and soldiers were piling wood for that evening's bonfire. They would create a flame so massive that it could heat the entire camp, even the inside of the tents.
“Viserys,” Daemon greeted him, laying a hand against Aemma's back. She leaned against it unconsciously. She did not like being in Viserys' presence, especially when her condition was so delicate and brought back old memories.
“Good morning, father,” Rhaenyra greeted him, interposing herself between him and her mother.
Ser Harwin offered a bow to the royal family and then walked off at a brisk pace, approaching the horses perhaps with the intention of choosing the perfect stallion for the beautiful princess. That morning he had been eyeing a white one that would be perfect for her.
“Good morning Rhaenyra,” Viserys greeted her, offering her a small smile. His daughter was growing by leaps and bounds. Soon, perhaps, she would be as tall as he was. More if Rhaenyra decided to inherit Aemon Targaryen's height.
“And Aemma, I... I see you well...” the ruler said, taking a deep breath from his mouth. His violet eyes lingered on her round, swollen belly. He felt the urge to lift a hand and let it caress it but restrained himself at the last. Daemon would have torn his hand clean off.
“I'm fine,” she assured, laying her hands against her belly at the same instant the baby kicked her. Sometimes it was more violent than usual. Its kicks ranged from gentle taps to blows worthy of a warrior.
“The baby is growing fast and in a little over two months it will be time for us to meet it,” she said again, lifting her gaze to smile at Daemon who grinned enthusiastically, leaving a languid caress against the curve of his wife's belly. His child greeted him with a mighty kick that made the Lady of Dragonstone gasp and the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms's eyes widen.
“So the pregnancy is progressing... well?” asked Viserys as if he could not believe his own eyes or ears. Yet he himself had seen Aemma's belly jerk under the siege of the tiny Dragon growing in her belly.
She smiled.
"Magnificently. But I suppose I will have time to discuss it with Her Grace," Aemma replied, mentioning the large tent devoted exclusively to the Queen and the Ladies who would keep her company that day.
Aemma was not happy to see Alicent but at the same time enjoyed the idea of showing off her full and healthy belly. And she had no worries that inside Alicent's belly a boy was growing. The queen could pray all she wanted. She would give birth only to daughters, earning the same stares that Aemma had drawn to herself all the years she had spent in King's Landing.
"Ah, of course. You will be pleased to know that Rhaenys also joined us on this pleasant occasion. She even brought little Vaelion with her. He really is a delightful child even though he looks everything like his father," Viserys said with a smile returning to bend his lips.
Vaelion already showed the dark complexion that all his siblings had inherited from the Lord of the Tides and alabaster-white hair, inherited from both his parents. Now Rhaenys remained waiting to find out the color of his iridescent eyes as, in that single month, Vaelion's irises had gone from blue, to green and purple, never dwelling on a specific color.
"Is Rhaenys here? I did not expect to see her," Aemma asked with a more than surprised expression. She could not conceive that her cousin had voluntarily chosen to fly all the way to King's Landing to spend the day in the company of Alicent Hightower.
Daemon also raised his eyebrows.
The ruler nodded.
“Yes...it seems she did not... she want to keep you company...” explained Viserys fumbling for the correct words. It was evident that Rhaenys had not been so kind in expressing the reason for her visit.
"A very kind thought on her part. And so I will see about reaching the queen so that you can begin the hunt," Aemma said, joining her hands in her lap.
“I, too, will participate in the hunt,” said Rhaenyra drawing the gaze of her father to her, who squinted his eyes and bowed his head forward, as if he thought he had misheard and wanted to get closer to his daughter's mouth to hear better.
“You?” the king asked, blinking rapidly.
And as Rhaenyra told her father how the decision had been reached to allow her to participate in the hunt, Daemon and Aemma walked away at a slow and measured pace. They passed Ser Harrold and Otto, and Daemon did not miss the opportunity to give the Hightower a chilling smile.
“I doubt he has any poison with him, but avoid drinking or eating anything he or the Bitch offers you,” Daemon told her as they walked arm in arm, she pressed against his side and he with his height sheltering her as much as possible from both wind and stares.
"If Rhaenys is here with Vaelion, I am sure she has brought her Dames and the baby's wet nurses with her. I will rely on what she eats or drinks," Aemma replied, patting her belly.
She offered a few smiles to the Lords who crossed her gaze, and they smiled back. There were those who merely made that gesture of courtesy and those who, as soon as she had passed by, took up a conversation with the nearest man.
“ will have to thank her for deciding to undergo this torture just to keep an eye on you,” Daemon said, licking his lips. He was more than certain that if Rhaenys had not just given birth he would find her riding and ready to hunt by his side. After being crowned Queen of the Stepstones his cousin had taken a special interest in hunting and fishing. Perhaps she wished to keep up the admiration of the men who had given her that title.
"That was a very sweet thought on her part. But after all, I will need an ally when I set foot in the nest of Vipers," she said, fixing her eyes on the tall blood-red tent. It stood close to the king's but not close enough for Lady and Lord to annoy each other.
Ser Criston and a second White Cloak watched over the entrance.
“Your Highness,” Criston muttered, resting his brown eyes in Daemon's purple ones. The White Cloak felt no particular love for the Rogue Prince but, after all, being Alicent's mistress, nothing else could have been expected. Who knows what the Bitch had whispered in his ear.
“Lady Aemma,” he said again, and his gaze grew vaguely kinder. Aemma had made a good impression on him. She had showered him with compliments and he had fallen at her feet like a ripe pear. Of course he remained loyal to his mistress but, if nothing else, he would have no reason of his own to hate Aemma.
“Ah, Ser Crispin, am I right?” asked Daemon with his lips bent in a grin filled with amusement. Aemma had told him about the stay that Alicent and Viserys had spent at Dragonstone while he was away and, of course, had also spoken of her little encounter with the Queen's Shield.
Ser Criston gritted his teeth and frowned.
"Ser Criston Cole, my beloved. Remember, I told you about his impeccable manners," Aemma good-naturedly corrected him.
Daemon held back a grin. Ser Criston Cole was a silly, attention-seeking man, and Aemma was more than willing to make him capitulate at her feet.
The White Cloak's eyes lit up and his chest swelled with pride.
Daemon closed his eyes, so as not to throw them to the sky, and pretended to reflect.
"Ah, yes, I remember. Ser Criston Cole, you must be an excellent soldier to have been chosen to guard the queen," Daemon commented, licking his lips.
Aemma smiled smugly at him.
“I am, Your Highness,” replied the Shield, and this time his tone had none of the irritation and coldness of just before. It had really only taken a few words to completely change Criston's opinion of Daemon.
Aemma laughed sibilantly and then patted her belly.
"My wife will spend the time, until I return, together with my cousin Rhaenys and the queen. I trust to leave her in wise hands, Ser Criston. I am entrusting you with the life of my beloved and our child," Daemon said, looking him straight in the eye. Then, gentle he stroked the prominent belly and his child kicked against his hand. It was amazing how lively that little one could be. Often, during the vigil, not a moment passed when he did not make its presence clear.
Criston straightened his back.
"Of course, Your Highness. Lady Aemma and your child are in very good hands,“ assured the White Cloak, and the Rogue Prince grinned.
”Well, announce us Ser Criston, my wife needs to sit down," Daemon ordered, hinting toward the thin flap of the curtain that served as the front door.
The Ser nodded and slipped inside, interrupting the Lady's incessant chatter that would almost certainly have given Aemma a headache.
Living at Dragonstone she had grown accustomed to having few people around her. Her Ladies were a small group who had recently lost Marella. Her sweet niece had married and moved to Driftmark so that she could start her own life together with her beloved.
Often Rhaenys visited her together with Laenor, and rarely even Laena went as far as Dragonstone.
But, in any case, the people with whom she had constant relations could be counted on the fingers of her hands. Excluding Daemon and Rhaenyra.
Criston beckoned them in and took care to hold the flap up for Aemma and her groom.
About twenty ladies were scattered here and there around the circular room. The queen stood in the center, seated in a comfortable dark red armchair that was so reminiscent of a throne. Carpets and pillows had been thrown on the floor, so as to make that place encamped in nature as comfortable and regal as possible. Alicent kept one hand pressed to her swollen belly. Smaller than Aemma's, who would have given birth a full three months earlier than the Bitch.
Rhaenys sat on a comfortable red sofa. She had kept to herself but not too much, almost at the end of that small group but still fitting well within it. Two Ladies and a wet nurse stood behind her while the Queen of the Stepstones held her sleeping son in her arms.
The chatter stopped when the Ladies became aware of their presence.
“Prince Daemon and Lady Aemma!” exclaimed Alicent with a face filled with joy. A well-constructed facade that almost disappeared when her doe eyes rested on Aemma's round and obvious belly, much more obvious than her own.
The Ladies rose and paid their respects to the prince and heir to the Throne while Aemma merely smiled sweetly.
“Alicent,” Daemon commented without bothering to address her with the proper title. He looked around with a decidedly unimpressed air. The tent smelled too much for his liking and he was certain that by the end of the day Aemma would have a terrible headache.
“Your Grace,” Aemma greeted her by giving her a small bow that sparked interested glances. It was still strange for many to believe that the roles of Aemma and Alicent had once been reversed.
The queen smiled at her and pressed her hands against her red-covered belly.
She seemed to wish to show it off, and Aemma deduced that was her goal. The Lady of Dragonstone did not need to touch her belly to remind everyone that she was pregnant, not like Alicent, with her small belly hidden by heavy layers of red clothes and night-colored fur.
"What a pleasure to see you here. In your condition I didn't expect you to leave Dragonstone," Alicent continued, fixing piercing black eyes on her belly.
"I would not have missed these celebrations for anything in the world, Your Grace. Soon a new prince will join the royal family and its closest family is here to celebrate," Aemma replied, smiling full of joy.
Alicent bit her cheeks. She had not liked Aemma remembering how close she still was to the royal family. After all, if she had not given Viserys a son, Aemma might have become queen again.
“Cousins,” Rhaenys greeted them, drawing to herself the attention of the maidens gathered in the room.
Vaelion puffed audibly against his mother's chest and gently moved the small head full of white hair that was already beginning to take on a curly appearance.
Alicent wrinkled her nose, not at all happy to no longer be the center of attention, but said nothing. After all, it was more than natural for family members to greet each other.
“Cousin, I did not expect to see you here today, not a month after giving birth,” Aemma said as she approached Rhaenys and then leaned down to kiss her cheeks. It was an awkward movement. Both because of the baby bump and because of Vaelion.
“I didn't want to leave you alone with the Vipers,” Rhaenys replied.
The Ladies looked at each other in confusion, perhaps hoping that one of them knew High Valyrian, eventually turning to the queen, the one who by marrying into the royal family could, if not should, have learned that ancient language.
But Alicent had no answers.
Viserys had never hinted that he intended to teach her High Valyrian. He did not even speak it to Helaena, who even at that age could have learned a few words.
But now that Alicent thought about it, she had never heard her husband speak in that language.
"Of course. I'm grateful," Aemma replied and did so without bothering to disguise her words. From her response it might simply have seemed that Rhaenys was making sure of her health.
The princess laid her eyes on Daemon.
“Do you think you can get something for the bonfire tonight?” she asked him as Daemon reached out a hand to caress little Vaelion's pale forehead. His skin was not as pale as Rhaenys' but not as dark as Corlys' either. He would have had a splendid hazel color, just as his older siblings had.
“Do you have doubts?” he asked her and Rhaenys snorted a laugh.
The horn calling for the hunt trilled outside the tent, and the Rogue Prince straightened his back.
“I entrust you with my wife and child,” he told her with a significant raise of his eyebrows.
“Make sure no one poisons her,” he then added just to make sure he didn't miss anything.
Rhaenys nodded a single time firmly, and Daemon helped Aemma sit by her side, then leaned over her and left a kiss against her forehead, making her smile tenderly and causing an admiring and tender murmur.
After all, no one would have expected such sweetness from the Rogue Prince.
“Ladies, I will leave you to your chatter,” Daemon said before turning on his heels and leaving the tent.
"Lady Aemma have you bewitched the prince, perhaps? I never thought I would see him show such tenderness," asked Johanna Lannister, younger sister of Lord Jason and Ser Tyland. The Lioness did not sit particularly close to the queen; she wielded a wine cup filled to the brim, and her long red and gold dress sensually swathed her curvy body. It appeared that the Lady was looking for a husband and probably intended to take advantage of that gathering to show off in front of bachelor or widowed Lords.
Aemma laughed and patted her belly.
"Daemon simply needed the love of a good woman, Lady Johanna. As much as I love Lady Rhea, it is easy for me to understand why she and my husband never got along. They were too much alike... too..." she muttered thoughtfully.
“Hotheads,” Rhaenys concluded, making the Ladies laugh.
For as much as there were many Lords who blamed Daemon for the failure of his previous marriage, there were many Ladies who looked critically at the Lady of Runestone. After all, not everyone was offered the chance to be given in marriage to a prince, and Rhea had done nothing to keep Daemon by her side.
“And where is Rhaenyra?” asked Lady Bethany Hightower, who sat to the queen's right. The girl, who wore white and silver, was one of Alicent's many cousins. One of the youngest and closest in age to the queen.
She looked a little like her. Her hair was the color of straw and her eyes a deep green. Her face was sharp there where Alicent's was round and youthful.
Lady Bethany did not have the beauty of her cousin, much less the beauty of a Targaryen.
“Princess Rhaenyra, Lady Bethany,” Rhaenys corrected her, cradling little Vaelion.
“You may be the Queen's cousin, but a princess of pure Targaryen blood is entitled to more respect than is owed to the Queen,” she then continued, fixing the piercing violet eyes in the Lady's emerald ones.
“Remember your place,” Rhaenys concluded.
Aemma restrained herself from sneering at seeing Lady Hightower's red cheeks.
The other maidens looked at each other. Many seemed amused by the way the princess had put young Hightower in her place while the others, an insignificant minority, wore contrite expressions.
“But-but of course Your Highness-I made a simple mistake,” Bethany stammered with her face on fire and her hands clasped in her lap.
It took so little for the Hightowers to forget what their place was.
“May it never happen again,” Rhaenys said, casting her one last chilling glance.
Aemma smiled cordially, as if nothing had happened.
“Rhaenyra will participate in the hunt,” explained the Lady of Dragonstone.
She had heard the men riding away on their horses, leaving the camp almost completely deserted except for the White Cloaks, the Golden Cloaks, and a small group of Lords too old or too young to participate in the hunt.
"On the hunt? A princess? That doesn't seem like behavior worthy of a maiden," Alicent said with squinted eyes and a hand pressed against his chest.
Aemma restrained herself from rolling her eyes. Sometimes Alicent made her job of humiliating her even too easy.
“Visenya and Rhaenys Targaryen won a war, and Alyssa Targaryen fought with shield and sword along with her husband Baelon and her brother Aemond,” she said, taking a small sip of tea that one of the Ladies of Rhaenys had offered her.
The princess sneered silently.
"I'm afraid Rhaenyra's behavior is worthy of a princess of Targaryen blood. Unless you mean to say that the Conquerors and your husband's mother were not proper Lady's," Aemma continued, looking her straight in the eye.
Women of Targaryen blood were no different from other maidens. Aemma loved luxury, sparkling, fluffy dresses and the jewelry Daemon gave her at every opportunity. She loved walking in the gardens and taking tea together with her Ladies in Waiting.
But dragon blood ran through her veins, and so Aemma had bonded with Silverwing and could lead her dragon into battle if she wished.
She could be as soft as a feather and as sharp as a sword.
And often women like Alicent Hightower, or the other maidens locked in that tent, did not possess the ambition to be both.
Alicent turned as red as her own hair.
“No... I did not mean to imply anything of the sort,” she blurted, hiding her lips against her own cup.
Two of the maidens closest to Aemma giggled under their breath, and the Lady of Dragonstone Rock restrained herself from sneering. Now that she had started it would be hard for her to stop at just that demonstration.
“I thought so,” Aemma said, offering her a small, understanding smile.
“I understand your mistake,” she then added, licking her lips.
"When one does not grow up within the family, it is easy to forget how valiant our ancestors were. My mother did not have the chance to teach me everything I should have known as a Targaryen but I remember the Good Queen visiting me very often riding the saddle of what is now my dragon," Aemma said, smiling full of affection.
That was no lie. Alysanne had visited her very often during her early years. Or so her father and brothers had told her. But then she had grown up and the queen had disappeared, only to reappear when she turned twelve to give her in marriage to Viserys.
Rhaenys snorted a laugh and Alicent turned even redder.
After all, she was the first, if one excluded the wives of Maegor the Cruel, to become queen despite not having Valyrian blood.
“But, Lady Aemma, are you certain that Princess Rhaenyra will be safe?” asked Lady Redwine, the oldest woman inside that tent. She must have been in her late sixties, her face covered with wrinkles and a small dog sitting in her lap. She was holding a slice of cake on a small round plate, and the little beast kept stretching out its tongue in an attempt to take a bite.
Aemma offered her a smile.
“Fear not, My Lady, my husband will be by her side at all times,” she said, thinking of her groom showing her daughter how to track a deer. Or how to leap off a horse without hurting himself. Or how to take aim while running.
Daemon had always been a patient teacher, especially with Rhaenyra.
When Rhaenyra learned something Daemon would give her a jewel.
When Aemma learned something Daemon would slip between her legs and give her a good reason to continue with her studies.
“You know, Daemon taught her how to use the crossbow, and Rhaenyra is looking forward to nothing more than showing off her skills,” she said still smiling to Lady Redwine who raised her eyebrows in surprise. Her dog bit into the cake and leapt off her lap, hiding under her chair so he could eat in peace.
“A crossbow?” asked Alicent with a wrinkled nose.
"Princess Rhaenyra is certainly a descendant of the Conquerors! Let's hope she doesn't feel the desire to conquer anything," said Lady Johanna taking a long sip of wine. The Lioness sat disheveled, and her dress, despite the cold winter air, left little to the imagination. She looked like a predator on the prowl.
And that day Lady Johanna was on the hunt for men.
“Ah, Rhaenyra will be more than satisfied to reign over Dragonstone,” Aemma said with an amused chuckle.
If she had to be honest, she did not think her daughter had the makings of a Conqueror. Rhaenyra loved luxury and beautiful things. She did not like to sweat and get dirty, and that would probably be her first and last hunt.
"What about her husband's domain? Surely the princess's husband would not want Rhaenyra to put Dragonstone before his own castle. Or their children,“ Alicent asked, and in naming the word ”children" she patted her belly, reminding everyone that she was pregnant.
Lady Johanna rolled her eyes and took another sip of wine.
Aemma looked at her with confusion.
"Of what husband do you speak, Your Grace? My daughter is far too young to think of a husband!" she exclaimed then pressed a hand against her breast, which jerked with each of her laughter.
The Ladies laughed with her, sincere and amused.
"But you married when you turned thirteen. Only one year older than Princess Rhaenyra's," commented Bethany who evidently did not like the way those women were making fun of her cousin.
At those words the room fell silent and many gazes were fixed on young Lady Hightower.
Alicent shrugged her shoulders, wondering why Bethany would say such a thing. Imperceptibly she shifted a little in her chair, moving away from the young woman with straw-blond hair.
Rhaenys gave her a chilling look, and Bethany shrugged her shoulders.
Aemma licked her lips and fixed her big blue eyes on the Lady.
“And you really believe that I will subject my daughter to the same torture?” asked Aemma with an expression so icy as to resemble that of a statue. Her face no longer seemed to radiate any warmth, her eyes had been devoid of the delicious sparkle of amusement that had filled them until just now, and her red lips were bent in an annoyed line.
“Torture... you are using words too strongly, Aemma,” Alicent said, swallowing. Because it was her job to defend her husband who was not there at that moment. She thought that perhaps she could have Aemma's tongue cut out just for using the word torture. But then she imagined that Daemon would cut off her head cleanly.
Aemma opened her mouth but Rhaenys anticipated her.
“Lady Aemma, Alicent,” the princess said, offering her son to the wet nurse. Little Vaelion had begun to mumble and squirm in his mother's arms. That was the time when the little one should have been sleeping, and it was evident that all that chattering was not conciliating his sleep.
“How do you say, Your Highness?” asked Alicent, blinking rapidly.
The Ladies became attentive, anticipating another verbal confrontation.
"Aemma is of royal blood, and as you should have well understood blood runs thick in Targaryen veins. That is why you should address Lady Aemma by her correct title," Rhaenys explained in the same tone of voice she would use to explain something to a child.
Alicent stammered, her face red and a vein that had begun to pulse on her neck.
Aemma was grateful for Rhaenys' presence. She was truly grateful. Perhaps, without her watching her back, she would not have been so swaggering. But Rhaenys was a princess of royal blood. The Queen of the Stepstones and the daughter of Prince Aemon Targaryen.
She could speak as she pleased.
“Forgive me, Your Highness, but should not you yourself speak with more respect to the queen?” asked Bethany looking her straight in the eye.
“Are you hard of hearing, Lady Bethany?” asked Rhaenys looking at her sufficiently.
The queen's cousin was even more irritating than the queen herself. If nothing else, Alicent had a right to be a nuisance because she had married the king. Lady Bethany felt entitled to pose as the next princess simply because she had been fortunate enough to be related to Alicent.
“I-no, Your Highness,” stammered Lady Hightower.
Rhaenys sighed and ran a hand against her forehead, as if she did not want to believe she had to explain such a simple concept.
“I, as a princess of Targaryen blood, may address Queen Alicent as I see fit for the same reason my cousin Daemon addresses her by name,” Rhaenys began, reaching her hands into her lap. Her belly was still swollen after Vaelion's birth and, probably, given her age, would take some time to return to an almost completely flat belly.
“My cousin Aemma might also demand the same treatment, but the Lady of Dragonstone is humble and true to the title she earned after the annulment of her marriage,” Rhaenys said again.
“So, Lady Bethany, why should my cousin and I be able to speak as we please but the queen should bite her tongue?” asked Rhaenys looking straight into her toad-green eyes.
“Because the queen has no Targaryen blood... you do,” replied Bethany after a moment's hesitation.
Rhaenys smiled smugly.
“W-what were we talking about?” asked Alicent, setting down the cup that had begun to shake in her delicate hands.
Aemma felt so elated that she could have caught fire.
Oh! The expressions of pure amusement painted on the faces of the Ladies gathered there she would never forget. And she knew that conversation would not remain preserved within those cloth walls. It wouldn't. Soon the whole of Westeros would learn of how the Queen had been humiliated by the Queen of the Stepstones.
“About why I will not thrust my twelve year old daughter into the bed of the first man who offers to marry her,” Aemma replied, offering her a smirk.
“Lady Aemma-” Lady Redwine began, perhaps in an attempt to put an end to that long discussion but the Lady of Dragonstone did not let the old Lady's pleading words stop her.
The Queen had asked a question and she would answer it.
“The answer is because my husband-” she said before interrupting herself and shaking her head.
“Well, my old husband, he took me into his bed at the age of thirteen despite the fact that the Masters, including Grand Master Mellos had instructed him to wait until I turned sixteen,” Aemma explained and then laid a hand against her belly. Her child had just dealt her a decidedly painful kick. Straight against her side, as if he wanted to break a rib or perhaps, more simply, express its amusement in the only way it knew how.
"But Viserys would not wait, and with Rhaenyra's delivery, my womb shattered. I could have recovered, of course, if Viserys had given me time. But as many of you well know, I have spent every year pregnant, either mourning a child who died because of my husband's thoughtlessness or managing a new pregnancy that might not have succeeded..." continued Aemma, curling her lips thoughtfully.
Rhaenys took one of her hands in her own and the Lady recoiled, smiling again as if she had not just recounted the most terrible of events.
"So this is why I don't want to hear about marriage until my daughter turns sixteen. All clear?" asked Aemma, fixing her eyes on Alicent's pale face.
She wondered what those women would have done if they had known Otto Hightower's role in all that. If they had known about the poison.
She wondered if they would have risen to her defense and abandoned the young queen sitting there.
“Impeccable, Your Highness,” said Lady Tarh, who had remained silent until that moment.
The Lady of Dragonstone inclined her head.
“I am a Lady, My Lady,” she said, offering her a small smile.
“But you married Prince Daemon and you are Princess Daella's daughter, does that not make you a princess?” asked Lady Tarth.
Aemma laughed amused.
"It would, that is true. But I'd rather be known as Lady of Dragonstone and not as Princess, wife of Daemon Targaryen," Aemma explained, licking her lips. She had struggled for ten years to earn that title and would wear it proudly.
She did not need the title of princess to be worth more than the queen.
လလလ
Daemon, riding his horse, flanked Viserys. His was a stallion with a shiny brown coat. He moved confidently along the path lined with tall trees and red and blue berry bushes. Viserys' stallion was dappled with gray and white, walked with a more unsteady gait and puffed very often. He did not seem happy to be in that place and showed it insistently.
“I didn't think she knew Ser Harwin...” muttered Viserys with eyes fixed on his daughter who stood before them in the company of the Commander of the City Watch.
Rhaenyra had slipped off her long purple dress and was left wearing only her flight uniform and white fur. Her hair was gathered in two thick braids that fell down her back, brushing against the black saddle. Her eyes were fixed on the profile of Ser Harwin, who seemed to be telling her some story of an old hunt in the company of his father.
Rhaenyra looked at him as if he were the one who hung the moon and stars in the sky. More than once her white stallion had shown signs of wanting to stray from the path, and it had been Ser Harwin who had grabbed the reins and led him back to the right path.
And each time Rhaenyra had giggled and blushed.
“They danced together at your wedding party,” replied Daemon, who had his eyes fixed on the Knight's back. He had been watching him since they had ridden away from the camp and Rhaenyra had moved her horse so that it would flank Harwin's.
If he had even dared to extend a hand Daemon would have cut it off.
“Ah... that's right,” muttered the ruler who, in all honesty, had been too busy looking at his old bride to pay attention to his daughter.
“I think she likes Ser Harwin,” Daemon added again and had to admit to being irritated by it.
Rhaenyra was only a girl of twelve and he a man of eighteen. Although, on careful reflection, their age difference was not so terrible. Rhaenyra could have been impressed by someone worse.
A Lannister, for example.
Jason and Tyland came a few steps behind. Seeing them together was unnerving. They both wore the same clothes and the same sassy expression. They looked at Rhaenyra as if she had been a prize to get their hands on, and Daemon, before he left, had shoved one command into Harwin's head: never leave Rhaenyra alone.
For as much as he did not appreciate that Rhaenyra had fallen in love with Harwin, Cub Strong remained a man he had always trusted.
"You think so? I was convinced that she and Laenor..." began Viserys without, however, completing that sentence.
Daemon cast his eyes to the sky and took a sip of wine from the flask he clutched at his side.
"There is nothing between her and Laenor. I think he has quite different tastes," Daemon said, licking his lips.
Viserys raised an eyebrow.
“Different tastes?” he asked as if he could not conceive that anyone could prefer another maiden to his daughter. Rhaenyra was the last woman of Valyrian blood to be without a husband.
She was a more than desirable maiden.
“Gold-colored hair and blue eyes,” Daemon replied without going into too much detail. But, after all, he would not ruin poor Laenor's good name.
He had seen him and Joffrey Lonmouth secretly exchange a kiss. They had taken refuge in one of the many alcoves scattered around the corridors of Driftmark's palace, and Daemon had seen them purely by chance.
In any case he would have kept that secret to himself. If Laenor had been Corlys's only son he might have even thought of talking to the old Sailor about it but Laenor now had a brother and, in the likely event that Laenor had no children, the lineage and throne of Wood would pass to Vaelion's sons.
“Oh... am I to believe that another wedding will be held soon?” asked Viserys. In his heart he prayed it would not be so. Otherwise that would be the third marriage for the Velaryons, and the king did not even know who Laenor's sweetheart was.
Daemon sneered and snorted a laugh.
"I can't tell. And in any case Laenor is only fourteen years old. He will want to become a Knight before he gets married and thinks about having children," said the Rogue Prince.
He doubted fervently that Laenor would want to marry. But he would marry, that much was obvious. Corlys would not allow him to carry on a bachelor life spent in the company of Ser Joffrey.
Viserys smiled, vaguely soothed by those words.
"Of course... well, if Rhaenyra is happy, so am I. After all, the difference with Ser Harwin is not so terrible. Only a year older than me and Aemma..." he mumbled, licking his lips.
Just thinking about his old bride caused a pit in his stomach. He loved Alicent, he really loved her, and yet every time they lay together he felt strange. Before the wedding he had been pervaded by the intoxication of the forbidden and the perverse. He had taken her everywhere and she had been more than obedient. Now, however, there was something different.
Alicent seemed less happy.
He shook his head and licked his lips. He had attributed his wife's despondency to the birth of a baby girl. Soon, as soon as their heir came into the world, Alicent would be sweet and carefree again.
“And look how well it turned out for you,” Daemon commented without being able to contain himself.
He still did not understand why Alysanne had arranged the marriage between Viserys and Aemma. She could have united her grandson with any wealthy maiden in Westeros. Instead, the Good Queen had chosen to unite those two people.
Viserys wrinkled his nose.
“We were happy, Daemon,” he told him with annoyance.
Those with Aemma, despite the suffering that had befallen them year after year, had been the happiest years of his life. His old bride was always kind and patient. She never raised her voice to anyone and in most cases acted like an ordinary woman.
Not like she was the queen.
She was humble unlike Alicent.
“Aemma doesn't think so,” Daemon retorted and did not worry that the Lannister twins could hear them. He knew Rhaenyra was not listening to them. His niece was too engrossed in Ser Harwin's stories to pay attention.
“I never did anything to hurt her,” Viserys retorted, frowning.
Daemon huffed out a laugh and threw his eyes to the sky.
"Of course not. You just knocked her up year after year and disregarded the will of the Masters. You could have just waited and you would have had a healthy wife. Instead you were in a hurry to dunk the cookie and ruined her," hissed Daemon, wrinkling his nose.
He hated talking about Aemma like that. As if she were an object to be fixed. Ruined.
Aemma had been wrecked.
Viserys gritted his teeth but forced himself to keep his voice low.
"She's pregnant. She doesn't look ruined to me. I didn't even know she could still be pregnant," he said gesturing with one hand.
Perhaps if the Grand Master had told him that Aemma was still capable of giving him heirs he would never have proposed annulment. He would have kept her by his side and continued to have sex with Alicent.
He could have kept her as his wench.
Daemon shook his head, as if he could not believe his own ears.
"Tzs. You don't even know what Aemma went through. How long it took her to heal. How much medicine she swallowed and how much the bond with Silverwing helped her... if she had stayed at the Red Keep you would have killed her," he told him, gritting his teeth.
Gerardys had confirmed that fear of his. If Aemma had faced another pregnancy so soon after Aegon's death, she would surely have died. Whether it was during childbirth, before or after. Aemma would not have survived another pregnancy and would have died, leaving sweet Rhaenyra alone.
Daemon fixed his eyes on his niece and bit his cheeks. He was grateful that Rhaenyra did not have to grow up without a mother.
"Aemma is strong. She would survive anything," Viserys retorted, tightly gripping the stallion's reins.
Daemon snorted a laugh.
“Well, I'm glad she doesn't have to survive now but can live,” he said, staring piercing purple eyes into his brother's faded ones.
“You speak of me as a monster and yet you yourself knocked her up!” hissed Viserys gritting her teeth. His cheeks were red with rage and his knuckles had turned white such was the strength with which he had gripped the reins.
Daemon smiled at him.
"After she asked me. After she is fully healed. And indeed our child is healthy and will be born soon," he assured, licking his lips.
He knew that for Viserys to see Aemma so healthy and happy had been like receiving a stab wound. He knew that swollen belly was instilling doubts in his brother's mind. He knew him well enough to know that Viserys was wondering what would happen if the one in Aemma's belly was his child.
The ruler snorted through his nose and shook his head. He muttered to himself as a pot boiled over the fire.
Daemon sneered and licked his lips. He heard Rhaenyra ask Ser Strong a question and he burst out laughing, letting a caress on her shoulder as if she had been one of his comrades among the Golden Cloaks and not a princess of the kingdom.
“What do you hope it will be?” asked Viserys.
“A boy, I suppose,” he then said without even giving her time to answer.
Years ago, during one of their countless quarrels, Daemon had confessed to him that he already had a name in store for a possible male child.
The Rogue Prince curled his lips into a small smile and then shook his head.
“I'd actually prefer a girl,” he admitted, stroking one of the rings he wore around his ring finger. It was Aemma who had had it forged. A simple black band set with rubies, sapphires and amethysts. So as to symbolize their little family at Dragonstone.
“A girl?” asked Viserys, raising an eyebrow.
Daemon nodded and then laughed.
“I was always good with Rhaenyra,” he said, fixing his eyes on his niece. She who as an infant struggled to fall asleep but who as soon as she was laid in her uncle's arms fell asleep instantly. She who waited impatiently for him to return from his travels bringing jewelry and gifts. She who waited for nothing more than to show him how good she had become with High Valyrian or how much Syrax had grown.
And now she was a woman.
"Boys only bring complications and misfortune. A girl could stay at Dragonstone forever, along with me and her mother. And Rhaenyra could visit her sister without being costly cast out by your wife," he then added in a venomous tone.
Rhaenyra missed no opportunity to turn bad thoughts toward Alicent. The princess loved little Helaena but the queen seemed to do the impossible for them to have a real relationship.
"Alicent is just being protective..." muttered Viserys who, however, had noticed Alicent's unfriendly behavior in turn.
“Alicent is afraid Rhaenyra will throw Helaena out a window,” Daemon corrected him before chuckling.
Maybe someone should have thrown Alicent out a window.
လလလ
Aemma and Rhaenys were in the large tent dedicated to dinner when the hunters returned. The two women were talking in whispers when they first heard the horn blowing, followed by the sound of horses' hooves and men's chatter.
Alicent was already sitting at the table, her nose curled up and her hands resting on her stomach.
She was not happy that both Rhaenys and Aemma had a place at her table.
Nor was she happy that Ser Criston seemed to pay more attention to Aemma than to her.
“Here, My Lady,” said White Cloak, handing a cup of wine diluted with water to the Lady of Dragonstone.
She smiled affably at him and patted her belly.
"I thank you, Ser Criston. I'm sorry to have disturbed you but all the Ladies in Waiting are gone," she muttered without malice or stinginess in her voice.
The Ladies of Rhaenys had retreated along with the nursemaids of little Vaelion. At that very instant they must have been tending to the weeping little Lord whose cries had ceased a short while ago. The baby was overstimulated by all the people, chatter and smells.
And so, falling asleep had been more difficult than normal.
"It is a pleasure to serve you, My Lady. Should you still need me, do not hesitate to call," Ser Criston said, offering her a small nod.
He then turned a glance to Alicent who was looking at him as if hoping to burn a hole in the center of his chest. Only six months earlier Criston would have felt guilty and immediately rushed to her side to ask for forgiveness but now he no longer felt that way.
He was just doing his duty and at the same time making sure Alicent was okay. If the queen wanted to earn his attention again she could have sucked him off.
He sneered and made to move away when the flap of the tent lifted to allow Viserys, Daemon, and Rhaenyra to enter.
“Muña!” exclaimed Rhaenyra as she approached her mother at a brisk pace. Her braids were disheveled and some strands hung out of the weave. One of her cheeks was smeared with what looked like dirt, and so were her hands and clothes.
It almost looked as if the princess had rolled in the mud.
"Rhaenyra! You are so dirty! What happened?" asked Aemma taking her daughter's face in her hands.
Daemon stopped behind them and so did Viserys who, however, perhaps realizing that he was not welcome, walked over to his wife and sat down beside her, leaving a kiss on her cheek that made her smile in delight.
Alicent then leaned toward him and clasped one of his hands in her own, whispering something in his ear that made him blush.
“I fell off my horse!” exclaimed Rhaenyra giggling.
The fall had not been pleasant. She had gotten dirty and scratched her knees, but Ser Harwin had immediately leapt off his stallion and caught her in his arms, holding her tightly against his own chest and looking at her with eyes so big and worried that they made her heart beat wildly.
“Fall off your horse!?” asked Aemma, widening her eyes. Then she looked at her more closely, making sure nothing was broken.
“Don't feel bad, my love, your daughter has made her first kill!” said Daemon before joining his mouth to his wife's. He did so at the exact instant the tent began to fill with Lord and Lady looking at them in amazement. Such displays of affection were frowned upon.
"I hunted a jackrabbit! It was so cute though... I was sorry to kill it," Rhaenyra muttered, curling her lips indecisively. It was such a pretty little creature, with brownish-gray fur and ice-blue eyes.
Ser Harwin had snapped its neck to make its death quicker and more painless.
"Oh, darling. I'm sure it was a great honor for it to be killed by the princess," Aemma assured, leaving a kiss against her forehead.
“Ser Criston, I see you have kept your promise,” Daemon commented, fixing his gaze on the face of Ser Criston who had remained motionless at Aemma's side. He probably did not even realize he had done so.
He straightened his back and nodded.
"Your Highness. I protected Lady Aemma just as you asked," he replied, puffing out his chest with pride.
Daemon found himself sneering.
Perhaps Bitch Hightower's lover was not as loyal as he thought.