Chapter Text
Rhaenyra awakens with a chicken on her head and a Helaena on her chest. Her little girl is all bright smiles in the morning - she’s clearly been fed, as Rhaenyra knows her to be more dragon like than usual before breaking her fast. Bright smiles, bright eyes. If she did not have her curls, Rhaenyra would be forced to admit that Helaena was all her. Alicent would insist that she would not mind, that Rhaenyra’s beauty is known throughout the realm - but she would mind. She likes the court and the realm to know that Helaena was of both of them.
“Mm,” she sits up, carefully nudges the chicken (Aeggy the Second - the original had died years before Helaena had come along, and for moons - Alicent had been too bereft to think of another Aeggy, until Rhaenyra had surprised her with a chick on her nameday. Aeggy the second had become Helaena’s favourite) down on to the bed. “Where did you come from, hm? The pair of you miscreants.”
“Bed!” Helaena nods eagerly.
“Aeggy doesn’t sleep in your bed, Hellie.” Rhaenyra presses gently; glances to the side. Unsurprised and yet still, deflating, to find the other side of the bed empty. Her wife has her morning devotionals and always endeavours to get stuck into whichever task is looming over the day. “Did you go down to the coop in your nightclothes, young lady?”
“No.” Helaena tries to remain straight faced, but she is weak under her muña’s tickles. “Yes!” She squeals, giggling and falling over on to the empty side of the bed, Aeggy the second hopping over to join her. “Nobody else was awake so I went all by myself!” She’s a little red faced when pops up, the chicken settled in her lap.
Rhaenyra knows she should scold her for wandering around at such an early hour with no one beside her, but her little girl looks so happy that she cannot bring herself to. Not so early in the day.
“All by yourself, hm?”
“Yes! I only meant to pet Aeggy but she followed me muña! She did!” Helaena insists, wiping her hair away from her face. “Ask Erryk, he was there!”
“Oh, Erryk was there, was he?” Rhaenyra grins, tickling Helaena’s foot, laughing as she flails and squirms away, Aeggy joining in with a squawk. “I thought you went all by yourself?!” The three of them spend a candle mark in the bed, until Helaena deems it time to rise.
“Shall we go find mummy, then?” She stretches and pulls on her robe. She knows where Alicent is; the sitting room - but she knows Helaena likes the game of searching; and search they do - a little trio, Helaena in front, Aeggy in the middle and Rhaenyra bringing up the rear. An amusing sight to the staff they pass by, but Helaena can always spare a wave or cheerful hello as they duck through the corridors of the keep, before double back to the apartments Alicent had been gifted; although they share a bed, Alicent likes to have the separate common areas, will always find a use for them.
Arryk opens the door for them, agreeing with Helaena’s clamours that yes, her lady mother is indeed, inside. No need to announce them, as Helaena instantly starts to squeal for her mummy and Aeggy charges behind, clucking along to match Helaena’s volume.
“My darling!” Alicent smiles, pushing her letters to the side. “And an even smaller darling!” She greets Aeggy too, one arm open for Helaena, her free hand reaching into a little bowl on the table and sprinkling some feed for the chicken. It’s a sight that Rhaenyra enjoys greatly, and would happily lay eyes upon it each and every morning.
“And your darling wife?”
Alicent hoists Helaena on to her, as Rhaenyra leans in for a kiss. “My darling wife is also here, and looks as dashing as ever.”
“Perhaps,” Rhaenyra smiles, side stepping Aeggy as she chases the little flecks of food. “We should get dressed and return Aeggy to her coop, hm?”
Decidedly, it is a good morning - Helaena is agreeable to dressing and taking Aeggy down to the royal coop. After Otto had passed, not long after Helaena’s second name day, and Gwayne had transitioned into the Kingsguard, for Baelon, barely crowned a year now (Viserys had gone in his sleep, the then queen consort Aemma, being the one to discover his body; grief had lingered around the keep for too long, and now the sun shone on it, finally, songs were sung of Baelon the Boy King, first of his name - though he is no longer a boy; Rhaenyra cannot help but see him as such), they had decided to repurpose the old cottage into a private coop for their own use. The old coop had finally crumbled one winter and the stonemasons had a bitter job ahead of them - but they did it for a pretty coin that Rhaenyra was all too happy to provide.
“Mummy!” Helaena interrupts when they’re in the coop, Alicent checking for eggs. “Will the chickens be cold in the winter?”
Rhaenyra can see the wheels turning in her wife’s head; to explain that the chickens are different to them or to play along. Alicent favours the latter. “I daresay they will be warm enough, but what do you think we could do to help?”
“We could make them some scarves!” Helaena claps. “Little scarves!” She cradles one of the newest chicks in her hands. “Would you like that?”
She gets a cheep in response and she beams. “I think she would!”
“That can be our project for later, can it not?”
They watch, Rhaenyra’s arm on Alicent’s waist as Helaena wanders the land outside the coop; trailed by a line of chickens pecking at the food falling from her pockets.
“Another?”
“We can but try.”
The evening rolls in kindly, but not without a chill. After supper, the little family sits in front of the fire; Alicent showing Helaena how to wind some yarn, and Rhaenyra reading over some letters from her cousins in the Vale and valiantly ignoring one she knows to be in Daemon’s hand. She only gives time for Laena and her girls now, but the letters from her uncle persist.
Rhaenyra taps her fingers against the table. “Perhaps we are overdue a celebration - a tourney or - or…” She trails off. “Do you think my brother would approve something?”
“Your brother may as well appoint you Mistress of Tourneys with all the enquiring you do around it.” Alicent smiles; focusing on the yarn and the first tiny scarf they plan on creating. “I’m sure he would agree - he’s as indulgent as your father was. He enjoys the keep being filled with light and laughter, too.”
“I know.” Rhaenyra is a little misty-eyed; her father, ever the king of celebrations. He had been so pleased to find out that she had reconciled her friendship with Alicent, and even more pleased when informed of the true love that lay beneath it. They had told Otto and his expression gave nothing away, nor could he speak the truth of his feelings, but they liked to believe he was happy for them. He loved Helaena enough when she came along; allowed her to potter about around him, and sit on her lap, and Rhaenyra assumed that all sins really, were, forgivable.
It’s Gwayne, who interrupts their time, announcing himself as he enters the room, white cloak billowing behind him. “I come as a brother.” He begins, and Rhaenyra can tell he is steeling himself and she knows, they all know. It tastes bitter in her mouth and Gwayne’s words push through her, no engagement - Alicent’s gasps and the rustle of Alicent’s dress as Helaena tugs at her skirt becoming a symphony in the background of this disaster.
Her brother had always been a sickly boy, since birth and no amount of coming into his crown could change that - but the maesters had always monitored him, and only recently had assured them all that he was in fine form for a man his age, despite his setbacks. Breathing issues, a heart that was weak, but had not bothered him in years. Or perhaps it had, and he made a point not to mention it. A king should not be seen as weak, even to his family. She remembers that little boy, doubled over after a particularly long training session, his breathing shallow and sick dribbling down his chin as a kingsguard scoops him up, to return him to the holdfast. What she wouldn’t give to hear his raspy little cough again; his sniffly nose in the winter. The blankets she would wrap him in.
Her brother was yet to take a wife; there had been talks of a bride from Storms End, and Aemma advocated to look to the Vale; arguments for one of the daughters of Daemon and Laena - bring them back into the fold - Rhaenyra’s rebuttal had been vicious - the girls too young, and no - she would not entertain a proxy marriage and nor would Laena. Aemma rallied again for the Vale. Regardless there is not an heir in sight aside from her own position; codified before her father’s death. She had to come before Daemon.
“The King is dead,” Gwayne declares, sombre and shaken, in the eyes. “Long live the Queen.”