Work Text:
Daemon Targaryen hated fake niceties. If there was anything in this life that he could not withstand, it was an abundance of them. Now, presented with the last thing he wanted on this wretched day, he felt his skin crawling, aching for Caraxes and the open sky.
He forced his mind away from his mount and back into the present – terrible – moment.
“We are sorry for your loss, Lady Velaryon,” came out of Alicent’s annoyingly perfectly round mouth once she was in front of them. His brother’s wife did not, it seemed, share his daughter’s need for tears. If Rhaenyra was still shaking with sobs, Alicent was the picture of composure. Her children in tow were stoic and uncharacteristically quiet.
“Princess Rhaenys,” Daemon intervened before Alicent could move on. Half reverent toward his cousin, half to rectify the previous statement. To the woman in question, with the ghost of a smile, he said, “Lady Velaryon never did quite encompass you.”
Alicent did not utter a word. Rhaenys ignored her.
“You are kind, Prince,” Rhaenys replied.
Between them, there had been no need to exchange profuse words of sorrow over Laena. Before she was his good-mother, Rhaenys had been his older cousin. They shared a penchant for recklessness and thy had spent countless days flying together when they were young. After that, they had always shared understanding. Rhaenys knew that Daemon had given Laena as much love he could give anybody he had not sired. That he reserved her respect and fierce admiration, just like he had never denied them to her, his favorite cousin. But today they had a different role to play; the grieving mother and the grieving husband, now united more than ever. They stood side by side before the pyre, while Corlys kept his distance, reserving his silent tears for the endless expanse of sea before them.
The children, too, were inconsolable. All of them. The princesses — he categorically refused that his daughters should be referred to as mere ladies, an issue he had also raised for the woman they mourned today, who was also, after all, the daughter of a princess — had chosen to be with their cousins during the ceremony, and had clung to Rhaenyra since.
He glanced at her, and found her looking back at him. Their eyes met, and Daemon felt fire burning in his veins at the utter devastation on her face. His hands itched, needing contact, needing to put his arms around her and his daughters and tell her it was going to be all right. As Laena’s good-sister, Rhaenyra stood by the grieving party, but a few feet away from the pyre, instead of her rightful place by his side. Rhaenyra had spent nearly every night with Laena, as she approached the end of the pregnancy, even more than he had. And she had been there the cursed night that Laena had passed, flying from Dragonstone to bring her own maester at Daemon’s note of urgency. But no amount of love nor Gerardrys‘s cures could save Laena, nor their son.
Baela and Rhaena were only four, but they understood the finality of death. They knew, from the screams in the birthing chamber, that their mother would not come back. His heart swelled at the sight of them. His joy, Rhaena was in Rhaenyra’s arms, propped onto her hip; periodically, they would wipe each other’s tears with a tenderness no one else could ever show his daughter. His pride, Baela was between Rhaenyra, holding her hand, and her betrothed, Prince Jace, who had an arm around the young princess. Next to him stood Prince Luke. Ser Laenor closed the circle, holding Luke’s hand and carrying little Prince Joffrey, even younger than Daemon’s girls.
“Condolences to you as well, good-brother,” spat Alicent at Daemon after a moment. “The realm will be a sadder place without the Lady Laena.”
Viserys spoke after his wife, his crown catching the sunlight. He laid a hand on Daemon’s shoulder.
“Your sorrow is mine, brother.”
Alicent may not like to be reminded, but Viserys had also lost a wife, their bright cousin he had loved genuinely, Queen Aemma. “Whatever you need. Just speak the word and if it’s within my power, it shall be yours.”
“Even you can’t bring back the dead, Your Grace.”
Viserys looked pained. “Alas.” He turned to face Rhaenys, the woman whose throne by rights he sat upon every day.
“Rhaenys,” he whispered, voice low, and Daemon did not bother correcting it this time. The council of lords had declared that Viserys outranked Rhaenys, and there was no point arguing over titles with him. Only with Alicent. Always with Alicent. She needed to be reminded of her place.
“Of all the treasures on Driftmark, your daughter was the most precious gem, beloved by us and everyone in King’s Landing. Court will be grieving for a long time. We will offer our prayers tonight and for many nights to come.”
“Thank you, Cousin,” Rhaenys replied, not unkindly. She had never held the throne against Viserys, for it hadn’t been his decision. Daemon had always admired her calmness, if not her resignation about the matter. “Laena’s spirit will live on in her daughters.” She glanced at her grandchildren by Rhaenyra. “It is my hope Baela will one day ride Vhagar.”
Daemon followed their gazes and again turned to look at his daughters. “Did you hear,” he said to the king, “that my wife wanted to fly on Vhagar one last time?” He smiled painfully at the memory, the sting of it still fresh but mixed with pride. “She could not even bear to stand, but she thought she could fly.”
Viserys nodded gravely. “She had incredible spirit. She got that from both her parents. I must go to offer my sympathies to Lord Corlys now, but remember my words. Anything I can give is yours.” He motioned for Alicent and their children to move on, then gave them one last sorrowful look. “Cousin. Brother.”
~
“The children are playing in the sun, Baela and Rhaena seem to have regained some spirit,” Rhaenyra announced upon entering. “Jace promised they will join us when Joff grows tired. Ser Erryk is with them.”
Her husband nodded and moved towards her. “Your hair has fallen undone,” Laenor said, once they were alone in his chambers, his hands soft on her scalp. “Allow me to braid it for you.”
Rhaenyra let him. It was one of their favorite things to do together. As children, it had started with Rhaenyra braiding his hair, on a warm day in this very keep. He had liked it so much he had begged her to teach him, so she had. Rhaenyra almost smiled at the memory of Laena finding them like that, cross-legged on the floor and demanding to be included.
She winced at the pain, and she was glad for the physical ache breaking through the numbness. “Too tight, my sweet.”
“Sorry,” he said, and caressed her neck apologetically, though his voice was breaking again. “I just need to do something with my hands.”
She turned in his arms to look at him, all perfect in appearance but broken within. Her eyes had just finally dried, but seeing his swell made tears come rushing back. “I know, darling,” Rhaenyra said, caressing his face, catching a tear with her thumb. “She was the best of us.” She needed to steady herself, so she rested her face on his chest. It wasn’t as broad as Harwin’s or as muscular as Daemon’s, but it was familiar and beloved. Safe. “I love her more than I can ever say.”
“I know,” Laenor echoed and hugged her back, which still hurt from carrying Rhaena earlier. “She was so fierce… after the twins, I did not think it possible that childbirth would take her from us.”
Rhaenyra did not wish to relive those torturous long hours. The day and night she and Daemon had sat by Laena’s bedside, praying past all hope. She did not wish to relive the pallor of Laena’s divine face in her last moments, or her last words. Promise me. But she knew those moments would stay with her for as long as she lived. Rhae, promise me.
“The princesses should come to Dragonstone with us and be raised in our household,” she said resolutely. “They are as good as mine own daughters.”
“And my nieces, but—”
“Daemon is beside himself,” Rhaenyra interrupted. “He loves the girls, but they need more than he can give them now. Spending time with our children will soften the pain’s edges. And they’ll be close to the dragons too.”
“My mother may need to keep Baela and Rhaena close for a time.”
She was taken aback. “That’s… understandable. We shall ask her and Corlys tomorrow. I want all of us to be a united front. I don’t suppose splitting the twins could do them any good right now, but perhaps Rhaenys could spare Baela in a few months’ time.”
“You know perfectly well that she’s her favorite, despite Rhaena being named after her.”
Or perhaps Laena named her after me, Rhaenyra thought, but she didn’t say anything. Rhae, promise me. She closed her eyes again. Laenor gently disentangled himself from their embrace, moving to the table by the balcony to pour them both some Arbor gold, which Rhaenyra held up a hand to refuse.
“Yes, well, but on Dragonstone, Daemon—”
“He’s coming too?”
“Well, love, he can hardly stay in your father’s castle now that he’s no longer married to his daughter. He was the Prince of D—”
“He’s a prince in King’s Landing.”
She grimaced. She was not used to not getting her way, especially with her husband. Laenor had never once put up an argument about anything. Even, and perhaps most surprisingly, when her uncle was concerned.
“The capital is crawling with greens. I shan’t leave him to Alicent’s mercy.”
He drowned the second glass, the one he had presumably poured for her.
“Nyra, Dragonstone is your seat. Do you intend to keep him as your mistress? I doubt it would suit him.” He went to sit on the bed, patting the space next to him to motion she should join him. When he spoke next, his tone was softer. “Let him go serve his brother the king for a time, working may do Daemon good. He can still be our guest every fortnight or whenever you wish. Gods know I could ever deny you that.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, for the room was spinning around her.
“All this scheming is making me dizzy.” She went into his arms, glad for the staunch comfort they could still provide, despite everything. “And I am sore from flying. I need a bath after this morning…” she paused to consider. “Escort me to her chambers?”
At that, Laenor smiled weakly – possibly at the memories it evoked. “My sister always used to brag her bathtub was the most comfortable on Driftmark.”
She smirked back, from the hundreds of times she had experienced that herself. “Huge, too.”
Laena’s chambers had mercifully been cleaned, but Rhaenyra could still smell the phantom blood, could still see it on the bed where there was none. We will, Laena. She was glad for Laenor’s stalwart arm around her middle.
Seeing that room made it all come back to her – those horrible last hours, but also thousands of hazy fragments of memories of Laena over the years.
The two of them, laughing as children, dreaming of riding dragons and flying to Essos, listening to Corlys tell his stories. And then growing older, sharing meals, dresses, secrets. The first time Laena had timidly kissed her lips. And the second, the third, the hundredth. The two of them always together, always clinging to each other. When her mother Queen Aemma had died, Rhaenyra had demanded Laena, and she had cried for hours in Aunt Rhaenys’s arms in this very room. And in the years to come, when court was too much and Rhaenyra needed a respite, it was Laena she sought comfort in; this room was their haven when both their fathers were being difficult, when they were both promised to men they did not want. Dragonstone was hers, but she had to be a princess there; here, she could simply be. Laena’s chamber was where Rhaenyra felt safe, a place she could turn to when she needed a reminder that she was loved. Her vision was shadowed by the thousands of memories of the two of them in this bed. As children, then on the cusp of maidenhood, then as adults. It had never felt too small, not even when Laena at last married Daemon, nor seemingly every possible night since. We promise.
She shut her eyes. Her legs, her middle, her back hurt, or was it just her heart? She gripped Laenor’s arm tight not to crouch on the floor, begging the gods to lend her strength. She needed to—she couldn’t, not today.
“Nyra?” the concern in his voice was as genuine as her ragged breath. “Should I summon—”
She panted, then opened her eyes to look at him and said, with all the strength she could muster, “Whatever you do, Laenor, do not call the maester. Nor a maid. Nobody can know but you.”
There was a moment of unbearable silence in which he must have been evaluating the evidence he was presented with. She could not believe this was happening today. Perhaps being back here had triggered her body to react this way. This room. Seeing Daemon earlier, and not being able to find solace in his arms, to comfort him and to seek comfort for herself.
“Darling,” Laenor said, drawing on each letter in the musical way only he could. “Are you…?”
She did not answer for a long minute. When she did, her words rang with certainty. “I suspected, but now I know.”
This must be Laena, giving her strength.
One last gift. She remembered that particular night, two moons ago, like it was yesterday.
Laenor’s expression went from concern to unadulterated joy. “That is wonderful, Nyra.” In a dramatically chivalric gesture, he knelt on one knee and kissed her hand in reverence. “Harwin will be delighted.”
One last farewell.
“Oh, love,” Rhaenyra said, and there was affection in her voice, but to her own ears it sounded like pity. Like fear, almost.
Was she to lose him as well, so soon after her? Was Laenor to join his sister? Was Rhaenyra’s life destined to be one grief after the other?
In a whisper, as if afraid even he would hear, “He…” she said, for she was sure it was a boy growing inside her, “He isn’t Harwin’s. I’ve been here nearly every night for the past three moonturns.”
This pregnancy had been harder on Laena, and Rhaenyra had insisted at being by her side and seeing her to childbirth. Laena had claimed to be too tired, too great with child, to partake, and so for the following weeks, Laena had simply delighted in watching her husband and Rhaenyra ravish each other in the chamber that had always belonged to the two of them.
One last blessing.
Laena and her romanticism. She and Daemon had already had twins, but she wanted her and Rhaenyra to also have children of the same exact age, she had said, so they could grow up as siblings, be fostered together, and become inseparable, or perhaps marry one day, as the two of them could never, to replicate the joy that Jace and Baela would bring them in a few years.
Rhaenyra looked at Laenor whose eyes still shone with joy, like he did not understand that her greatest ally had now become an enemy for him.
My loves, had been Laena’s last, broken command, after receiving assurances that their family would always be safe, when it was clear she did not even know what it was that she was asking of them. Be happy.
Rhaenyra took Laenor’s hands in hers. “He was conceived in this very tub.”
One last promise.
Laenor took that in. “Daemon too will share our happiness then,” he asserted, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. Her uncle would never allow for Laenor to claim fatherhood of his child. This changed things – drastically.
Rhaenyra felt the room spin around her. Their family could not fall apart, not now, not like this. Not when they already had green vultures closing in from one side and her father did nothing to discourage them.
As Rhaenyra scrambled for words, a terrible scream punched the air and broke the prolonged silence.
Down in the courtyard, a silver-haired prince lost his eye and gained a dragon.