Chapter Text
T’was late in the night when Helaena and her bed-maid were awoken by Ser Arryk rushing into the rooms she’d been offered by Lord Velaryon. There was barely any time to put on a frock and shoes before she was brought to the main hall, where the Queen, the Velaryons, and some other courtiers already were, silent or whispering amongst themselves.
Helaena’s queenly mother looked frantic when she laid her eyes on her daughter, and Helaena soon saw why – her brother Aemond, covered in dirt and blood and what else, was being hovered by Driftmark’s Maester. She could not tell what had happened to him, or how injured he was, but considering how heavy the air was, it must have been grave indeed.
“My dearest love,” Helaena’s mother whispered as she brough her to her breast. Helaena allowed her to hug her, despite how she usually does not enjoy it. Clearly, her mother needed it.
“What happened?” Helaena asked. “Did someone attack Aemond? Where is Aegon, is he alright?”
“Aegon is fine, his shield said. He was in his cups, most likely,” she sneered of disapproval. Helaena couldn’t blame her – Aegon’s drinking habits made him rather insufferable at times. “He will be here soon. And Aemond-”
But then a gasp sounded out. Helaena turned around to see Princess Rhaenyra, dress tied hastily and hair in disarray, quite unlike her usual braids, rush to her sons. It was then that Helaena saw her nephews’ state: Jacaerys had a busted lip and Lucerys a dark bruise blooming on his cheek. Prince Daemon, Helaena’s rogue uncle whom she’d never met before the funeral, followed closely behind her, reaching his own daughters.
Rhaenyra held Lucerys’ face gently. “What happened?” she asked her son. Turning to the hall, she raised her voice. “Who did this to you?”
The court members in attendance turn their heads to the direction Princess Rhaenyra is looking at. It was then that Driftmark’s Maester finally leaves Aemond, letting Helaena – and everyone else – see what exactly had become of her brother.
“The skin will heal, Your Grace,” he said to the Queen, “but the eye is lost.”
'He will need to close an eye', the phrase jumped back to her head.
Helaena gasped, bringing her hands to her mouth. Her mother had a more contained reaction, but the tearing at her skin could not be hidden by a stony expression.
The King entered then, Aegon and his sworn-shield following closely behind. “Just what has happened!” he demanded, cane striking upon the stone floor. “You wake us all in the middle of the night, saying my son has been attacked?! Who had the night watch?”
“It was me, Your Highness,” Ser Criston Cole answered. “But the Prince was attacked by his own nephews and cousins-”
“Are you saying you are so incompetent as to be unable to stop a fight between children?” the King snarled.
Aegon walked towards Helaena and their mother, eyes red from drink and wide from surprise. Their lady mother grabbed his arm and whispered into his ear: “Where were you?! Your brother was attacked by those beasts!”
“I was in my bed!” Aegon complained.
It was then that Princess Rhaenyra, having spoken with her own children, rose, all bright and lovely even with a wrinkled gown, and spoke.
“Father,” she said, voice commanding. “It was my own sons who were attacked!”
“Your sons?” Helaena’s mother’s face turned even more stony than before. “My son lies here, without an eye! An eye taken by your own children!”
“A regrettable accident,” Rhaenyra sniffed. “And yet, it does not erase the truth that Prince Aemond committed a treasonous act that led to this.”
Helaena’s heart quickened. Treason?
The King turned to his eldest daughter. “Treasonous?”
“My sons’ legitimacy was put into question!” Rhaenyra declared to a silent hall.
Jacaerys peeked from his mother’s skirts. “He called us bastards!”
Helaena could feel her mother’s hand tightly hold onto her shoulder, as if she could ground herself that way. Aegon seemed torn between a gasp and a snicker, and a lot of courtiers – including the Velaryons, she noticed – shared quick glances at eachother, and at Rhaenyra’s sons.
Rhaenyra stared straight at the Queen then. “Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned, so we can learn where he’s learned these slanders.”
The Queen’s eyes widened. “Sharply- Over an insult?!”
But Rhaenyra did not back down. She tucked Jacaerys back behind her skirts and continued, “You must understand, of course, that questioning the legitimacy of my sons and therefore questioning my virtue is an act of treason.”
“Over a boy’s mockery during a fight!?”
Helaena turned back at her kingly father – he’d never been the most attentive of fathers, she’d been aware, but he was known as a fair and just ruler, even if one who favoured Rhaenyra over his other children. Surely, he’d be able to resolve this in a good manner.
But the King walked towards Aemond, face full of fury.
“Aemond,” he said, knuckles turning white at the force he was exerting to grasp onto his cane. “Tell me. Your King demands to know where you’ve heard these lies.”
Helaena stood still. She could see the King glancing over at her lady mother, as if already condemning her.
Aemond said nothing. He seemed tongue-tied, as he sometimes was when pressured by Aegon’s cruel pranks.
“Aemond!” the King shouted.
Helaena jumped forward. She could see Aegon reach towards her, to stop her, but he wasn’t fast enough.
“It was me!”
Everyone – the King, the court, the Velaryons, Rhaenyra, her mother – turned to look at Helaena.
“I did it! I told him!”
The King blinked. He seemed surprised by her sudden confession. But then he left Aemond and turned towards Helaena, gaze hard once more.
Helaena did not back down.
“And where did you hear these rumours, Helaena?”
Aegon finally reached her side, hand landing on her shoulder. “We know, Father,” he mumbled. “Everyone knows.”
“You need only look at them,” Helaena added, glancing over at her nephews. Rhaenyra, sensing the entire room looking at the evidence of her indiscretions, hid her sons further behind her.
The King was stunned for a moment. He seemed to not know what to say, almost lost in the inexcusable proof he’d been presented. But then, turning his back on his children by Queen Alicent once more, he walked.
“This interminable infighting must cease!” he declared. “We are family! One family, one House! I demand you share apologies and good will!”
“Good will cannot make Aemond whole again, husband,” the Queen said. She was once again by Aemond’s side, holding his hand through the stitches the Maester was applying.
“What do you wish me to do, Alicent? I cannot restore his eye,” the King said.
“No,” agreed the Queen. “But there is still a debt to be paid. If my son cannot have his eye returned to its rightful place, then his attacker should lose his own.”
There were gasps sounding around the room. Rhaenyra grabbed Jacaerys and Lucerys and brought them even further behind her, as if it was somehow possible. The King walked towards his wife, who, nonetheless, did not cower. “Do not allow your rage to cloud your judgement, Alicent.”
Helaena’s mother stared back at him. “Your son, your blood has been maimed and you do nothing! If the King will not give him justice, then the Queen will!”
“That is enough!”
The room fell silent. Helaena grabbed onto Aegon’s arm.
“There will be no more maimings done today!” the King declared. “Aemond’s loss of an eye was an unfortunate accident. Ser Harrold!” he turned towards the Kingsguard, “Escort the Queen to her chambers. Now!”
The Queen was taken by the arms and all but dragged inside. “Viserys! You cannot-!”
But she could not be heard as Ser Harrold took her out of the hall.
Aegon pushed Helaena behind him as the King’s gaze turned towards his younger children. It was then that Helaena realized that he held no love for them in his gaze – only the look of a man who’s met an inconvenience.
“Aemond will return to King’s Landing on the morrow,” he declared. “Aegon will accompany him. And Helaena…”
The King stared at Rhaenyra.
“Bring me the Septon,” the King declared. “I shall have Helaena and Jacaerys married, right here, right now.”
“What-”
“Right now?!”
“Father-!”
“I will have none of this!” the King shouted. “This fight has gone for long enough! Your factions will unite through marriage, and this Blacks and Greens nonsense will cease.”
“But, father,” Rhaenyra said, twisting her rings, “Jacaerys and Baela have been bethroted for-”
“I am your father and King, Rhaenyra. Jacaerys will marry Helaena, and that is final. Understood?”
Rhaenyra looked displeased, but nonetheless, she nodded. “Yes, father.”
Helaena hid behind Aegon as the King turned towards her. “Princess Helaena.”
She gulped. “I… understand… Your Majesty.”
Helaena was married then, with her brother Aemond yet bleeding and her dressed still in a hurry. Jacaerys looked equally unhappy, the cut on his lip inflamed and red, hair in disarray.
They had no cloaks, or rings, or any of the trappings of a marriage under the Seven. The Septon simply had them recite perfunctory vows and hold hands, like children playing pretend instead of being married in truth.
Aemond glowered. So did Rhaenyra. In any other circumstance, Helaena would find their similarities in anger amusing.
Aegon looked a mix of relieved and panicked. Helaena could understand – she’d never wanted to be married to him, just as he’d never wanted to be married to her, and yet, without it, what were they? Targaryens married brother to sister. It was just how it’d always been, from the very beginning. Even before they’d been betrothed, Helaena had assumed she’d marry Aegon sooner rather than later.
And yet, here she was, tied to her plain-faced bastard nephew, son of the woman who’d called for her brother’s torture.
Her tied hand itched as it came the time to say the vows. Helaena knew them – just as well as she’d learned all other prayers and hymns – but Jacaerys nearly stumbled through them, helped by the Septon’s coaching.
“I am his and he is mine,” she mumbled. Jacaerys mumbled back his own. “From this day…”
Aegon looked furious then. Helaena felt the urge to cry.
“Until the end of my days.”
Rhaenyra moved Helaena to her own chambers, face still cold. The previous rooms she’d stayed at where too close to her mother’s, she’d said, and she wouldn’t have her ‘sweet sister’ so close to the hysterical woman.
Helaena rarely felt the violent urges of her dragon, but right then, she’d wished she could order Dreamfyre to burn Rhaenyra to ashes.
Her half-sister did not stay in the chambers. She left as quickly as she arrived, leaving only of her own ladies-in-waiting.
“To keep you company,” the Princess said, absentmindedly.
‘To keep watch on your movements’, Helaena read.
Helaena slept little, between fits of sudden awakenings and the memories of screams unheard. She would have gone to Aemond’s side, but she knew she wouldn’t be allowed.
In the early morning, having gotten barely two hours of rest, Rhaenyra’s lady, a woman named Elinda Massey, brought an old dress of Laena Velaryon, in blue and silver, and tied back Helaena’s hair in a single, tight braid.
A dragonrider’s braid, she realized.
They were brought bread and cheese with watered-down wine by an ashen-faced servant, a thick cloak by another, and then Helaena was led through the corridors of High Tide to the clearing where the dragons of House Targaryen had chosen to rest on.
Rhaenyra was already wide awake. Her eldest sons still had sleep on their faces, and Helaena knew they’d slept as badly as herself. She locked eyes with Jacaerys – her husband, and for the Seven, wasn’t that a strange thought – and he looked nearly despondent.
Prince Daemon and his daughters were by the dragon Caraxes, a large, reddish beast with a neck far longer than any dragon’s had the right to be. He stared at Helaena with a mix of curiosity and distaste, like how many looked at her more palatable insects.
“There you are, Helaena,” Rhaenyra walked to her, a brittle smile not quite reaching her eyes. “We shall be going to Dragonstone. It has been far too long since I’ve been on my own seat.”
Dragonstone? “But-”
“Worry not. You will certainly find it quite lovely. It is a wonderful place to fly, and you and Jace shall have enough time to get to know each other better.”
Helaena stared back at Driftmark. She didn’t want to go – didn’t want to leave her mother and brothers behind, especially after Aemond-
But Rhaenyra had the King’s ear, and she was now Jacaerys husband besides. She could not simply refuse their command, not if she wanted to remain with Dreamfyre and the possibility of seeing her family once more.
Helaena nodded. But deep inside, she glowered with hate for Rhaenyra.
Whereas King’s Landing had been fetid but shining, and Driftmark windy but resplendent, Dragonstone had all the severity and harshness of Old Valyria with none of its beauty. The stone around the island was as dark as dragon glass, and the waters as harsh as a storm. Helaena imagined the dragonlords of old to be quite displeased with it indeed, for they had moved from the inhospitable island to the serene King’s Landing when they conquered the Seven Kingdoms.
Helaena’s new rooms in Dragonstone were smaller than the chambers she’d grown accustomed to in King’s Landing. Whereas the fires in the Red Keep had been mostly for illumination, the weather being warm enough without their help, Helaena found the fireplace to be a necessity she hadn’t considered before. The smaller room also served a similar purpose, to keep the heat inside, as did the small, wooden-covered window that let her peek into the distant sea.
Rhaenyra had some of her old dresses sent to her rooms. They were by and large too big for Helaena to wear, but the pale-haired maids that kept the fire stoked and burning took them away to alter and resize. Looking at the few dresses she’d been left with, Helaena could see why Rhaenyra had done so instead of asking for her old wardrobe at King’s Landing: they were in red and black velvets and silks, rather than the emerald and pale greens that Helaena had grown used to wearing.
Elinda Massey dressed Helaena in the darkest black that night, the extra fabric held up by a mountain of pins, covered then by a cloak as well. The sudden dressing puzzled Helaena. Surely, there was no need to have a second wedding ceremony?
And yet, as Elinda Massey led her out of the castle and towards the clearing where they’d landed their dragons when arriving, what expected her was not a Septon and guests, but rather Rhaenyra’s sons and Daemon’s daughters, similarly garbed and with identical faces of grief and confusion.
“What has happened?” Helaena asked. The girls – Baela and Rhaena, Helaena recalled – said nothing, and Lucerys seemed too out of it to say anything, but Jacaerys – slowly, gently, as if he was dealing with a spooked horse rather than his aunt – held her hand.
“My father… Laenor, he’s… he’s dead.”
Helaena blinked. Laenor Velaryon, dead? Only yesterday had she seen him, grieving, yes, but well and truly alive. And yet, Lucerys and Jacaerys’s expressions told her all the truth she needed to know.
She stared down at Jacaerys’s hand. The same hand that brought a knife to her brother Aemond, the same hand that could have killed him outright had things gone a little differently.
And yet, all that was on his eyes was the look of a lost child with no one to comfort him.
“I’m sorry,” she told him.
Jacaerys looked down. “I’m sorry too.”
With a pair of roars, Rhaenyra and Daemon’s dragons arrived. The ground shook as they landed, dust rising as if spooked by the giant beasts. The man and woman were dressed in strange Valyrian garments that Helaena had only seen in tapestries, she noted when they dismounted, and they had their faces painted with red and white pigments.
A simply clad man – a dragon keeper, Helaena wondered – met the two of them halfway, dagger in hand. Helaena felt Jacaerys hand tighten around hers as she watched the two of them exchange words and then bring the dagger to each other’s lips.
She gasped when they kissed, blood mingling.
A marriage, she realized, Jacaerys’s grip bordering on painful. Daemon’s smaller daughter, Rhaena, was silently crying when Helaena turned to look at the other children. Lucerys, on the other hand, looked simply confused.
And Jacaerys…
Jacaerys looked furious.
Helaena herself was simply stunned. Laenor Velaryon could not have been dead for a day, at most, and Laena Velaryon had died but a week prior, and yet Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon were making a mockery of their late spouses and the mourning period, marrying most certainly without the assent of the King and in a pagan ceremony not recognized by the Seven.
Helaena tightened her hold back on Jacaerys. ‘I see it too,’ she wanted to say. 'This will damn us all, like butterflies to a flame', she wanted to whisper.
Instead, she said nothing. She simply watched Rhaenyra and Daemon wed, in Fire and Blood.