Chapter Text
Some would say Rhaenyra Targaryen was born with everything, but she was not born a man. Rhaenyra Targaryen would say she was born with everything, and her life since has been the slow process of it all being taken away. She lost four siblings, and then her mother, all by the age of eight, she lost her best friend, her governess, the older sister she never had, when Alicent Hightower married her father the next year, and in some ways, she thinks she lost Viserys then as well. He loves her even now, she knows that much, but he’s never been present with her, nor her half siblings, in the way he was before Queen Aemma passed. She knows, too, somewhere in her heart, that his love for her mother is why she’s remained heir after all these years and three healthy sons. Rhaenyra’s lost the comfort one should find in their own home, most of the familiar faces from her childhood, much of the pride in their Valyrian Roots that filled her youngest years; and her Uncle Daemon, the only person who ever truly saw her. She’s lost him twice as a matter of fact, once when he left for the Stepstones, and then years later when they nearly managed to run away from it all on her wedding night. Rhaenyra's lost that too, now. She and Laenor were married barely more than a year when someone snuck him poisoned wine most everyone is convinced was intended for the Crown Princess herself. Now all that remains of her husband—while never the love of her life, certainly her best friend in every possible sense—her mother, her happier, younger years, is the babe whose cradle she’s rocking gently. A babe with black hair, big lilac eyes, and pale skin, Jacaerys, her Jacaerys.
Rhaenyra coos at her half sleeping son, growing like a weed at nearly ten months old, “my brave beautiful babe, my perfect prince, my Jacaerys,” She slips into her mother tongue, into High Valyrian, without quite realizing it, “You are the best thing that has ever been mine.”
“You need sleep, your highness,” She startles as her wet-nurse’s voice sounds from the doorway.
“I know,” she murmurs after a brief pause. “Jacaerys was crying, it woke me, but he settled as soon as I came over, like he was happy to see me.” She gains a soft smile, explaining, “I wished to have a moment of peace together, you know these opportunities are scarce in daylight.”
The older woman walks over, shooing Rhaenyra back towards her bed and taking Jace from his cradle, remarking, “It’s unpleasant, I know, but you have to let them cry it out. It’s the only way he’ll learn self reliance, and you’re smart enough to know how important that is, Princess.”
She sits on the edge of her bed, chewing her tongue, and contemplating how absurd it seems to worry about her son’s self reliance when he only began crawling less than two moons ago. Instead she replies, “My Lady Stepmother says the same.”
“The Queen is a very smart woman, and has raised your half siblings admirably, I can hardly think of a better source of advice on such things.”
“Right,” She returns to chewing her tongue before deciding, “You’re dismissed, do not wake me when the Prince is finished.”
“Would you like him to stay in the nursery until after his morning feeding?”
“I would not,” Rhaenyra responds, her voice gaining a cold edge. Her household staff are more than aware she does not allow her son out of her care for longer than an hour or so, not since Laenor, not since she’s had good reason to fear for his life, not to mention her own. The wet nurse nods and then leaves without protest. Rhaenyra lays back on her pillows, her hand running back and forth on the silk sheets as she tries to calm her nerves, thinking about Jace, wondering if she’ll be viewed as a good mother as he grows, and wishing she knew what her own mother, Queen Aemma, or her grandmother Princess Alyssa, or even Good Queen Alysanne would advise her to do.
The morning comes too early, as it always does, and with it Rhaenyra's duties and responsibilities. She has a precious half hour with Jace while eating breakfast, but then he's whisked away to the nursery, and her attention must turn to her ladies in waiting and getting ready for Court and Council meetings. Rhaenyra has four ladies in waiting; Roslyn and Cecelia Strong, who joined her household upon her marriage, the daughters of her Father's Hand Lyonel Strong, graced with shiny, walnut colored curls and large brown doe eyes, Roslyn, a year older than the Princess, noted to be the more intellectual of the two, and Cecelia, a year younger, known for her tender heart. Janna Tyrell is the newest addition, the eldest niece of the current Lord Tyrell; when Rhaenyra had been given leave to choose another Lady after Jace's birth, Janna ostensibly earned the position through her grace, beauty, and talent for keeping track of household accounts and ledgers. In reality, she's here to piss of her Queen Stepmother, and to remind the Hightower loyalists they do not rule the Reach. Finally, there's her longest serving companion, Elinda Massey, she's the youngest of the four as well, joining Rhaenyra when the Crown Princess was sixteen and Elinda not quite fourteen. She readily admits she would have been lost without Elinda these past two years, a voice of reason, with long fingers that play high harp beautifully, and a love for clothes that finally gave her a friend to share the particular passion with.
"Black with pearls or rubies?" Elinda asks as Cecelia braids Rhaenyra's hair for her, the Crown Princess quickly responding,
"Pearls, it is good to continue paying respect to the Velaryons whenever the opportunity arises."
There are general murmurs of agreement, before their usual chatter and gossip resumes; Rhaenyra enjoys it endlessly, the first requirement for all her Ladies is that they must be good gossips. Besides, one cannot strive to be the most powerful woman in the realm if she doesn't know what goes on throughout her Court and Kingdom. Nevertheless, the pleasant distraction isn't enough to fully alleviate her anxiety for Jacaerys, ever since that dreadful night when Laenor wished her goodnight and never woke up, her worry her son may somehow meet the same fate always feels on the verge of eating her alive.
Rhaenyra's day of royal duties passes quickly, uneventfully, and with little fuss, as most do. With her marriage, the Crown Princess gained a new place in her father's small council chamber, no longer suited to the role of cupbearer, now allowed to sit at the edge of the room, acting as her father's secretary, taking notes, and listening so they might discuss further in private; though still not allowed a seat at the table proper. The year earlier, when she came of age, she graduated from sitting on the steps the Iron Throne as well, now permitted to stand at Viserys' shoulder; in both roles, however, she's only given leave to speak when spoken to, and only for the purpose of supporting positions already posited by the king. With the Small Council dismissed early on account of little pressing business at the moment, she manages to sneak in some time to see Jace in the nursery before dinner. Rhaenyra beams as she takes Jace in her arms from his nursemaid, sitting down in an armchair as she presses a kiss to his forehead, murmuring, "My beautiful boy."
Jace babbles, seeming pleased to be in his mother's presence, large lilac eyes peering up at her interestedly, "How was your day my sweet Prince?" He continues making sweet coos and almost-words and her smile only grows wider, "Is that so? I'm afraid I don't have much to remark on myself, but I'm glad that tedious council meeting let out early so I could be with you."
The ten month old babbles some more, managing a fairly distinct "Muna", High Valyrian for both Mother and Aunt, for well, obvious reasons. Then he reaches out excitedly for the toy on the table next to them; a small, plush, red dragon Viserys had made as a small gift for his grandson when the egg placed in his cradle hatched two moons previous.
"Do you want to play with your dragon?" Rhaenyra asks with a smile and Jace nods, although he's not talking much yet, he's gotten rather good at nodding and shaking his head, which, of course, has made everything both immensely less and immensely more complicated.
As she takes the toy to place in Jace's arms, however, she hears, "Rhaenyra, my love, a word?" Queen Alicent's voice is as piercing as ever and Rhaenyra turns to see her stepmother's perfectly-plastered, fake smile. To outsiders, it would seem Alicent is as caring and affectionate to her adoptive daughter as if she were her own, what with all her pretty words. She's well aware it's all a farce, however; Alicent's children are her darlings, her ducklings, and occasionally her dragons. Helaena is her sweet girl and Aegon is her brave boy. It's a guise, a platitude, a reminder that The Queen has never, and will never, love her.
She responds in a sweet tone, "Of course, your Grace, you know how deeply I value your council."
"Hm," Alicent seems unable to decide whether or not to be pleased with her response, plucking the toy out of her hands, and cooing at Jace while holding the dragon out of reach while he tries to grab it. "You've got to make them work for it, he'll never develop the skills otherwise."
"Of course."
The Queen continues to fawn over her babe before musing, "Poor little lamb, we'll have to find you a father soon enough, so you can grow to be a strong, brave Prince."
Rhaenyra grits her teeth to keep tears from welling in her eyes, "My Lord Husband passed not half a year ago, Lady Stepmother, I hardly find it appropriate to discuss such—"
"All true, Rhaenyra dear, but the circumstances you and Prince Jacaerys now find yourselves in calls for, perhaps, an unconventional approach. No one wishes to insult Ser Laenor's memory, yet no one wishes to see our new sweet Prince grow up without a father."
She chokes back a laugh, sniping back, "Convention has always held pride of place amongst your priorities, your Grace, forgive my surprise at your change of heart."
"We must think of the children, love. Why do we do any of what we do if not for them?"
"Of course."
Alicent stands, carelessly dropping the toy, and beginning to walk away, deciding from the doorway, "Oh and do let me know if he continues to wake you in the night, it may be time to arrange separate sleeping arrangements. We must protect your rest, and kind heart, and ensure Jacaerys learns all that wailing won't get him what he wants."
The Queen's words echo in Rhaenyra's mind throughout the day and into the next, never mind the implications of the so-called "self-reliance" everyone expects her infant to learn, the thought of marrying again had not crossed her mind in earnest until Alicent brought it up. She had not wished to wed Laenor, but did, because it was her responsibility, to her father, to their family, to the realm. Besides, of all the men she might marry, the Princess' life-long close friend, who she loved like a brother, was practically the best she could've managed. His death shattered her in a way not even Queen Aemma's had, all those years ago she was a child, comforted, pampered, and fawned over throughout her grief. When Laenor died it was just her, and Jacaerys, and the endless, gaping stretch of a life she had planned to spend with her best friend.
Unfortunately, such an unappealing prospect is not given time to fade from her thoughts. A few days later, while eating lunch with her ladies on a private terrace, Rhaenyra is lost in thought, mainly continued concern for her little boy, currently happily playing with a nursemaid on cushions laid out on the floor near the edge of the balcony. “I’ve had a raven from my older brother, it seems a Volantian wine merchant passed through Driftmark’s harbor before turning up on Massey’s Hook,” Elinda attempts to elicit Rhaenyra’s interest with new gossip, but even the mention of her cousins’ island isn’t enough.
Nevertheless, she responds when Cecelia questions, “Any news of the Velaryons?”
“Lord Corlys isn’t expected back for another three or four moons, which remains too soon for the Princess. It seems Lady Laena scared the merchant’s helmsman half to death when she returned from a flight with Vhagar as they were laying anchor.”
“What of a potential engagement? I can hardly imagine there were no suitors on the island. Laena’s two and twenty already, if Princess Rhaenys insists on waiting much longer the options will dwindle, few men of good standing will wish to wed an old maid.”
“And you are only two years her junior Lady Janna,” Rhaenyra responds, taking a long sip of her wine before continuing, “My cousin is the blood of old Valyria, a dragon rider, not to mention a great grandchild of the Good King and Queen. Lady Laena will marry who she wants, when she wants, for now my good sister is where she’s needed most, at the Princess’ side. In a year, perhaps a few moons longer, she’ll seek out what she truly desires, now she’s free of that lackadaisical Braavosi Prince.”
It’s silent for a moment after the Crown Princess’ rebuttal, before Roslyn finally gets the courage to point out, “She’s no longer your sister, Princess, you’ll alienate half the court by calling her such in public.”
She rolls her eyes at the reply, “I have alienated half the court by merely existing. Laena is the Aunt of my firstborn son, and Princess Rhaenys is his grandmother, as long as Jace bears the Velaryon name, we are one family.”
“And when you remarry?” Elinda enquires more gently.
Rhaenyra scoffs, “I don’t think there’s any man of station who wishes to marry a widow of nearly nine and ten with an infant.”
“Your Lord Father—“
“There is no one left for my father to sell me off to for another alliance. Lord Strong is already hand, both Lannisters have been wed for several years, there are no main lineage Arryn men left, Janna’s brother is twelve, Lord Baratheon has no sons, the Stark heir is a toddler, as is the Tully’s, and Lord Greyjoy has not answered a court summons for nearly five years. Neither Lord Celtigar nor Vaemond Velaryon’s sons are of age, and the Blackwood, Westerling, Manderly, Redwyne, Darklyn, and Royce heirs are all married with young children. There is no one left to leverage.” She laughs harshly, “It seems increasingly likely I shall be like my cousin in the Vale, although there’s no pretending I am a Maiden. Anything short of a miracle and it will be you lot, Jace, and I for the foreseeable future.”
When she’s finished speaking, Cecelia pipes up a bit nervously, “There is, well…you know, the reason Lady Laena is no longer betrothed.”
Rhaenyra begins to cackle at the suggestion, “If you find out which gutter Prince Daemon has passed out in around Lys or Pentos or wherever the fuck else, do let me know. Until he turns up, or even has the decency to write for the first time in two years, the possibility is a nonstarter. You’re all dismissed, I wish to have peace with my son now, please.”
The peace she requested lasts for a few hours, but it's interruption is a pleasant one, finally. After dinner Rhaenyra is in her apartments, drinking wine and reading a new novel shipped in from Dorne, when the guard at her door announces Ser Harwin, and a small grin grows on her lips as she nods to send him in.
"I heard you got into a bit of a spat with your ladies today," The Knight decides with a soft laugh as he sits in the armchair beside her. Despite being her sworn sword for nearly two years, and a friend and confidant for longer, Rhaenyra still cannot for the life of her decide whether she loves him like a brother, or simply loves him.
"You spoke to your sisters, then?"
"They worry for you."
"I'm grateful, it's their job, after all."
"I worry for you, occasionally,"
She takes a long sip of wine, "Is that not your job, too?"
"Fair point." His response garners soft laughter from both of them, before he continues, "It seems you worry the most out of all us."
"I'm the Crown Princess, a widow at eight and ten, perhaps the most and least desirable woman in all the realm. At times I believe my life is made up of nothing but worries."
"I wish I could take some of those troubles off of you, no one should have to shoulder so much alone."
"Hm," She muses on the statement for a moment, considering it's broader implications, before shoving those aside and replying, "Well, for this evening, that wine, and your company, and perhaps a few rounds of cards would help that wish...even just momentarily."
Harwin smiles back, at least appearing genuinely glad to simply share her company, "I'd like nothing more, Princess."
It’s the end of the week before anything of note happens, when Rhaenyra is invited to dinner with her father, alone. It’s familiar, sitting across from the King, eating dinner and making polite conversation, but vanishingly rare to do so free of other company. Usually visiting Lords, members of his Council and the greater Court, in more recent years some combination of her younger siblings, and nearly always Queen Alicent, join in such affairs. Tonight however, it’s just the two of them, an honor she’s not been given in several years.
After winding down their discussion over upcoming changes to grain taxes, Viserys not so subtly testing her in economic theory the whole time, Rhaenyra finally works up the nerve to say, “I’m so grateful we’ve had the chance to spend some private time together, Father. It seems with all these political tensions, and my half siblings growing up, and of course now with Jace, enjoying your company has been quite a rarity.”
“It’s been an unfortunate oversight of mine,” He agrees. “Your nameday is in a fortnight, my grandson will turn one not two moons later. It seems time has passed me by this year, much more so than in the past."
She nods, her upcoming nineteenth birthday has thus far been little more than a slew of painful reminders. There will be a tourney and a ball, there always is, her ladies have planned most of it. Though she appreciates the gesture, she knows it's simply another way in which Viserys can continue to reassert her as his heir; it would be deemed unnecessary if not for power hungry or obstinate lords and the rhetoric of the Queen's party. In Rhaenyra's mind her approaching nameday is simply a reminder she never got to celebrate one with both Laenor and their son, that Jace will turn one and his father will never know, and that this marks ten years of namedays with her own mother no longer here. "I'm sorry it's felt harder to keep track of things as of late, if there's any way I can help, I'm always happy to be of service."
Viserys laughs softly, "Happy to be of service to me, at least."
"You're my King and I'm your heir, it is my greatest duty, and an honor," Her words are perfectly practiced, but that doesn't make them any less true.
"That's what I wished to speak to you about, to ask for your help, but more so I hope, how we might be of service to each other." Rhaenyra nods for him to continue, uncertain as to what he's proposing. "I cannot name my child of nine and ten my Hand, as much as I might like to, in another five, certainly ten, however, should I have the good fortune to live that long, I do intend to appoint you to the seat. Now you are no longer my cupbearer, I feel you are wasted simply sitting on the edges, listening to my meetings. Come your name day, I will see you granted a seat on the High Council, you will sit facing the hand, have an equal voice in affairs, and in time, I hope, prove to Court and Council you will be a worthy successor in your own right, not simply by my decree."
All she can do is nod once more, overwhelmed by the implications, and such an unexpected show of support. She's been told for so long it's a privilege to simply be allowed to sit in on her father conducting matters of state; now he's giving her a hand in them. A pit begins to grow in her stomach just as quickly, however, he said be of service to each other, he wants something and she knows it will be an even bigger ask than the magnitude of this gift. "It's a terribly generous proposal, I wish to show you I'm up to the task, this responsibility...it's an honor, Father."
"You've far past proven yourself," The King responds warmly, "With how well you have handled Laenor's passing, taken charge of your household, and of course with how dedicated you've been to Jacaerys, it is admirable, I wish for you to hear me say that."
"To say I'm overwhelmed is an understatement," Rhaenyra blinks quickly, trying to keep her thoughts in order, "I do hope you might enlighten me as to what I can do for you in return, I'd hate to leave you for the night without something I can do to show my thanks."
Viserys is quiet for several moments, the pit in her stomach growing as she can all but see the gears turning in his mind. Finally, he explains, "Laenor's death weighs heavy on us all, and heaviest on you, I know, believe me I know how painful this is, and I hope you know just how familiar I am with your situation." He sighs heavily, "This moon marks half a year, Princess Rhaenys has sent word she intends to return to court for your and Jacaerys' nameday celebrations. With her blessing you will begin courting again, I do hope this time you might have a greater say in your match, someone who perhaps will bring as much personal benefit as political; as the Queen did for me. A year, perhaps another half more, is more than enough time to mourn in the eyes of the court; you and I are smart enough to know the mourning never ends, new happiness simply eases the pain."
"You..." Rhaenyra can hardly breathe, shocked, disheartened, somewhere in the back of her mind horrified by the proposition, "You wish for me to wed again?"
"This is of much higher importance than my wish, come now Rhaenyra you know that. I wish for my grandson to grow up with a good father-figure, for your line to be secured, I wish for you to be happy, but this is not a wish, it is a command; to forge alliances, strengthen your claim, and ensure that seven forbid the worst happens your line does not end with Jacaerys."
"You cannot possibly be suggesting I remarry as a precaution in case my son dies!"
"Babes die in their cradle every day, Rhaenyra! Children die of sickness and young men die in battle and parents bury their children more often than has ever been fair. It is reality, one of many harsh ones you must reckon with if you intend to be Queen one day."
It takes all her considerable effort, but she switches tact in an attempt to make him see reason, listing off all the noble houses and their ineligibility to provide her a groom she had a few days previous with her ladies, barely able to keep her thoughts straight as the only men she can properly think about are her sworn sword down the hall, and the prince she loved once halfway across the world. "There is no one, father, no one who will bring us more political capital than the chaos he will bring to your reign and my succession."
Viserys sighs once more as she finishes speaking, harsher this time, remaining unconvinced, "You need not marry an heir, darling. You are to be Queen, your children would be more than secured under that, the younger siblings of the first Targaryen-Velaryon King since Jaehaerys himself. What you need is to build alliances, the second Tully boy, one of the younger Westerlings, a Redfort, one of Lord Celtigar's nephews, perhaps we might make an alliance with one of the Dornish border lords, coax the South into friendlier relations. Lords will be called to Court, you will get through this, build an alliance and a relationship that will last. You have a year, Rhaenyra, it is a kinder arrangement than most would dream."
She can't speak, she can hardly breathe, putting all her effort to keep tears pouring down her cheeks. Everything Laenor meant to her, all the tension and division his own second marriage has caused, Viserys sitting across from her, pleased, forcing her to repeat his greatest mistake. What good could possibly come of this? What plea would not fall on deaf ears? "You've given me much to think about," Rhaenyra manages to choke out.
"Aye," The King agrees, still watching her expectantly.
"Thank you," She forces the appreciation off her lips as easily as vomit, "For your kindness, and your trust, I will do my duty as you have willed."
"Even a King is not above his responsibilities, my girl."
She nods, kisses her father's cheek, and then leaves, whispering harshly as the door shuts behind her, "No, you've just decided my responsibility is to keep suffering for your fucking sins."