Chapter Text
Few in King’s Landing dared cross Viserys Targaryen, brother of the King, his Hand officially, and his Voice not so officially but no less efficiently, all too often. In fact, Queen Daenaera could think of just one and this was herself. All others flattered, enticed, tried to undermine Viserys – but she was the only one who dared say no and wrong to his face. To Aegon, Viserys could do no wrong and saying no to him was simply inconceivable… unless it was Daenaera demanding it. Sometimes. Often. Not as often as she wished but well, if she could not get what she wished, she usually settled for wishing for what she could get. But not this time. There could be no compromise, no spinning this into something that she could tolerate. There would either be a wedding or not. And Daenaera could not allow for one to take place.
“You should wait at least a few more years,” she said. “Naerys is too young for a marital bed.” And if she got this concession, she would make sure that there would be no wedding at all in a few years. Somehow, she would.
Viserys gave her a look of confused irritation. He knew what she intended. He simply could not understand her reasons for having these intentions. Daenaera could actually sympathize because she could give no reason at all. Aegon was charming, vigorous, with all the popularity his father and uncle lacked. He had proven his masculinity with women long ago… and still, Daenaera felt that this marriage would be Naerys’ downfall. The girl’s horror and Aemon’s raging made her feel a little sick, actually. What had been going on behind her back in these dark years when they had all struggled to restore a realm ravaged by a war and regency? When she had been a young girl, she had spent much time with Viserys’ chidren and Naerys had been kind of a precious doll to her. But after Aegon had finally – finally – consummated their marriage, she had been too busy with her own growing family, his desperate needs, and her queenly duties and had stopped overlooking the septas and maesters who had raised the three children. What had Aegon been doing?
As usual, Viserys got angry with his inability to understand. Daenaera saw the moment the sharp retort came to his mind, traveled down his throat, parted his lips… and stayed unspoken. Even if his brother were not here, he would never recall to life the past of Aegon and Daenaera’s own relationship and how at fifteen, Daenaera had been desperate to get into her marital bed.
“She’s too young,” the Queen said, softly this time. “You know she isn’t like most girls. She’s way too frail.”
“Marriage is going to change this,” Viserys said and Aegon nodded in agreement. “Such an important event in a girl’s life changes everything about her, even her constitution. She will become healthier. Her blood will…” And Daenaera stopped listening to him, realizing with horror just how fully the maesters who had been taking care of Naerys for years had him in their grasp. In a way, he was an escapist from the truth about his daughter’s situation, no different from Larra. He could not accept that Naerys would never become healthier because she was not sick. Frail was a different thing. Viserys was not what anyone would call a doting father but he was a caring one – and after the men who had admitted their inability to help had been dismissed, he had fallen prey to those who sold hope. The fact that he could even say such a thing, let alone consider it, crushed her more than any of the well-thought reasons that he had voiced.
“Naerys is a princess of House Targaryen!” Viserys said in an angry voice, lest she had glimpsed the truth about his weakness… because deep inside, he must know that it was weakness, lie, false hope. But he hated being pitied. He would never admit that he needed anything from anyone. Once again, Daenaera cursed the Lysene woman who had made him so. She had not felt an ounce of sorrow when the news of Larra’s death had arrived. Her goodsister had taken the easy way out and it now fell to Daenaera to protect Naerys – a task that felt harder by the minute. “You know what they say about us, Daenaera. That with the death of the dragons and the whims of the regents who dared besiege us – us!, - we’ve become weak. That they can and ought to change the way we rule and live. But it will not happen. Naerys will wed her eldest brother in a ceremony conducted by the High Septon and everyone will see that no matter how much our circumstances had changed, they had not changed this much and we aren’t going to abandon our customs.”
“We should not,” Aegon agreed. Lately, he had not been sleeping well. He had only left his chambers today on her insistence but he would rather hide back there, she could see, from the world and the two people he loved most and who were currently trying to stare each other down. Daenaera bitterly wondered if he even thought it, or was blindly taking Viserys’ side as usual.
What would have happened if Viserys was a different man? Not the charming lad that he had been but someone willing to use Aegon for his own gains and his own family’s advancement? He was nothing if not loyal, no matter how unlikeable his influence made him to Daenaera sometimes. She stood on tiptoes and kissed his cheek, a liberty that was only allowed to her and his sisters. “May the Seven guide you in all you do,” she whispered, her anger gone, if not her determination.
Aegon, though, did not get her forgiveness this easily. It was one thing to forgive Viserys who thought he was doing the right thing, even if he was wrong, and quite another, to do the same for Aegon who did not even have this conviction. He was simply trying to give Viserys what he wanted, like he always did. To her surprise, he followed her to her chambers later this night but when he tried to smooth the hair off her face after it was released from the elaborate hairdo, she drew back. “Don’t touch me right now,” she said coldly and with a sudden streak of cruelty enjoyed his stricken expression, for there was no greater punishment for the king who could not bear to be touched than being refused the touch of the only person able to arouse his desire and soothe his night fears away.