Chapter Text
Helaena has only read about how soulmates find each other. She has memorized the lyrics of hundreds of songs describing the instance wherein they meet, colors fill their world, and happiness fills their soul.
She wonders how true the poets are in this respect.
“Sometimes, people can live without being with their soulmate.” Mother mutters, her sad gaze aimed at Helaena’s stitched pattern of a leaf. “Sometimes, people compromise or live through life without meeting them. Here, love, fix that there and follow the pattern I showed you earlier.”
At a tender age, Helaena knows her parents are not soulmates. In the cruel politics of their society, the King lost his soulmate years ago and Grandsire found it most advantageous to wed Mother to the lonely King.
There is no love between them, only comfort and silence. Mother is the wrong person to ask about the divine joy of finding the person the gods fashioned for them. Helaena will not be cruel to Mother the way others have.
She offers her crochet to Mother. “I cannot be as skilled as you are.” She whines.
Mother smiles at her; an action more of comfort than derived out of gladness. “You will be better than me one day, my dearest love.” She replies.
But will I be happy?
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
It is unspoken of. And if one plucks the courage, to voice it within the radius of Mother and Grandsire, they will be regarded with disdain and a sermon on their sharp tongues. Everyone within the Seven Kingdoms knows, oh yes, but there need not be a discussion about it.
At least not yet.
There are two branches of House Targaryen. From the moment father declared his intention to welcome the Hightowers into the dragon’s den, the rift started then; when Mother and Princess Rhaenyra’s opinions about each other greatly soured over the years.
The first time it was made apparent to Helaena was when she referred to Princess Rhaenyra as her sister. She could recall the stark disgust on Mother’s face. Grandsire tried to hide the tick in his jaw but she saw it nonetheless. Aegon giggled as he drank his wine.
But her sister, half or not doesn’t matter to a girl at Helaena’s young age, smiled gently at her. “Yes, Princess Helaena?” She encouraged the shy girl.
Helaena’s fingers are cold as she twists them on the skirts of her dress. “I just-“ Everyone is looking at her now; the King, the Queen, and the rest of the royal family. She stares at the roasted vegetables and continues; a princess should never leave things half-done. “Your dress is very pretty, sister. I should like to have one just like yours. For a special ball of sorts.”
Princess Rhaenyra glanced at Mother, frowning over her cup of wine. The awkward politeness was maintained. “Of course, sister, with permission from the Queen I can share my personal tailor with family.” She sweetly said.
Later that night, Mother personally guided her daughter to her bedchamber. She says goodbye to everyone around the table. When Ser Criston positioned himself in the corridor, they enter her bedroom, and Mother closes the door.
Helaena sits herself on a chair near the fire. “The potatoes were really salty, Mother. Could you talk to the chef and make it less salty?” She rambles, giggling to herself as though a joke was uttered. She straightens her spine when Mother sits on the chair next to her. “My, am I being rude, Mother? I apologize.”
“Dearest, you weren’t being rude. I shall talk to the chefs tomorrow.” Mother promised. “What you said during supper…” There is the hardness Helaena recognizes. It’s the only unladylike expression Mother has and it is always connected to them. “Do you not like the dresses I designed for you, sweetest?”
Helaena frowns. A little wrinkle on the center of her white forehead. “I d-do like the dresses, Mother.” She replies.
Mother places a pillow on her lap. “Then why did you request for Rhaenyra’s tailor? ‘Tis an implication that I have not provided you with clothing fit your station.” She explains to her daughter. “Everyone shall go to their beds thinking that. If you came up to me with this worry, I could’ve done something about this, my dear princess.”
The girl’s lower lip quivers. She sniffles and hides the flinch well when Mother reaches out and holds her hands. “I-“ She breathes slowly so her voice does not wobble. “It was not my intention to humiliate you, Mother. Her dress was really pretty. And I also love the dresses that we have.”
“Okay, so how about tomorrow, you draw some dress designs you want and we’ll make sure to make it as pretty as you want it to be, my love.” Mother promises.
She fidgets with her dress. The maids told her it was a soft pink; whatever that meant. Since she hasn’t met her soulmate yet, no explanations would suffice. She wants to know it with whomever the gods paired with her. It’s foolish; Aegon made fun of her after hearing her confession with Aemond. Her younger brother chastises him but they were younger than Aegon and he continued his cruelty until he felt bored and leaves.
“I think it’s sweet,” Aemond responds with a small little smile. He then proceeds to read a lengthy passage that some Maester wrote decades before their birth.
Helaena wonders what is the color of Mother’s hair. Or this fire that their House’s motto speaks of. They say Mother’s hair is oak-brown; the sweetness of honey she spreads on her morning rolls.
“What about the dress colors? Who shall decide?”
Mother’s face falls but she swiftly recovers. “Do not fret of that, dearest. You will look beautiful no matter what you are.”
Helaena giggles and she relaxes further into her mother’s touch. She still wants to ask Rhaenyra for her opinions on fashion. Mother tends to be modest and her half-sister is called Realm’s Delight for nothing.
“One more thing, my darling daughter,” Mother whispers.
Helaena is quite tired from her day. She wants to call for her maids to undress so she can sleep. “Yes?”
“Never call Rhaenyra your sister again, hm?” Mother requests kindly.
“But she is, isn’t she-“ Helaena inhaled sharply as Mother tightened her grip on her hands.
Emotions slip away from Mother’s face. It was terrifying. She doesn’t know what she did wrong. Is the truth so harsh and ugly that it is met with ire? No one tells her things. People think she’s simple. People think she’s a plain girl to be a Targaryen. She knows things, yes, but not that are important and useful in the Red Keep.
“Because Rhaenyra meant to belittle me when she said she’d sent her tailor to my daughter.” Mother’s hands loosened but Helaena’s throat barely has air. She caressed the girl’s hands and pressed a gently and loving kiss on the knuckles. “I will not have my daughter be the topic of afternoon gossip. You are also a princess, my dear. And I’ll make everyone remember that.”
Helaena’s panic eased as Mother reverted to her usual attitude. She nodded. “Yes, Mother.” She assures the Queen.