Chapter Text
Elaena hid a laugh behind her sleeve as Rhaenyra ducked, hurrying through the crowd and into her seat. “A bit late, dear sister.”
“Hush.” Rhaenyra wore the same bright red that Elaena and their father did, and was seated to Elaena’s left, directly in between her and Alicent. “Mother started her labors; I wanted to make sure she was comfortable.” Elaena nodded, taking her sister’s hand and pulling it into her lap.
“Our mother is strong, she will be fine.” She murmured, smiling at the slightly older girl as Alicent did the same, taking Rhaenyra’s other hand as well.
“Be welcome!” Viserys stood, and both Elaena and Rhaenyra glanced over their shoulders to watch him as he spoke. “I know many of you have traveled long leagues to be at these games. But I promise, you will not be disappointed. When I look at the fine knights in these lists, I see a group without equal in our histories.” The roar of the crowd was deafening, and the three young girls shared looks of fond annoyance, giggling at how proud the older lords in the stands seemed of their sons and stewards, with their ruby visages and bulging bellies. “And this great day has been made more auspicious by the news that I am happy to share: Queen Aemma has begun her labors!” The girls clapped politely, and then turned to each other, cheeks flushed with excitement.
“Lord Stokeworth's daughter is promised to that young Tarly squire.” Elaena murmured to Alicent, who glanced up at her with gleaming eyes and parted lips.
“Lord Massey's son?”
“Mm-hm.” Rhaenyra cut in, leaning further back in her seat. “They're to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood.”
“Best get on with it.” Alicent muttered to herself, and the two princesses barely choked back startled laughs. “ I heard that Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly beneath her dress.” Rhaenyra and Elaena shared an incredulous glance before turning back to the young lady, who tucked her lips and raised her eyebrows before turning back to the games, just in time to see a knight— Ser Cole, Elaena remembered vaguely— dismount Boremund Baratheon.
Elaena hid a cackle behind her fingers, and leaned into her sister, who was doing the same. Alicent gave them both an exasperated sigh as Ser Harrold knelt down next to the princesses. “What do you know about this Ser Criston Cole, Ser Harrold?” She asked, looking up at him through sparkling violet eyes.
“I'm told Ser Criston is common-born, son of Lord Dondarrion's steward. But other than that, and the fact that he's just unhorsed both of the Baratheon lads, I really couldn't say.” He patted the girl on her shoulder, and nodded at Rhaenyra, before rising and retreating back to the edge of their box.
“Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, Prince of the City!” Each of the three girls sat up straighter at the announcement, as Daemon, atop his dark steed and clothed in silver armor, rode into the tourney field amidst a thunderous roar of applause. After Daemon’s first ride around the field, the girls’ concentration was lost, and they turned to each other again, whispering gossip to each other through giggles and wide eyes.
“For his first challenge, Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King.” At the next announcement, Alicent froze, her dark eyes going wide and her skin going pale. Rhaenyra reached out to take her hand, and Elaena maneuvered around her sister to place a hand on Alicent’s leg, rubbing her thumb against the fabric there soothingly. Someone behind the girls murmured about a bet, and Elaena shot them a harsh look before returning to comforting Alicent.
“Your brother is a strong knight, dear Alicent.” Elaena whispered. “He shall do well against my uncle.” Alicent nodded, and tightened her hand around Rhaenyra’s, her other lashing itself to Elaena’s wrist.
Daemon glances up at them before charging, and despite her assurances Elaena fears for Gwayne’s life when she sees the fire flickering in her uncle’s eyes. Her elder sister seemed to share in her worries, glancing between the tourney field and the young lady. At the first blow, Daemon lost his lance, and breaths of relief were leased from all three girls. When Daemon’s lance struck Gwayne’s horse, however, Alicent gasped, her eyes flooding with tears.
“He’ll be alright.” The princess murmured, looking to Rhaenyra for help. “Injured but not gravely, I am sure.”
Squires hurried to extract Gwayne from under his horse, and his helmet was removed to show twisted, bloodied skin. Elaena took Alicent’s face in her hands and turned her so her gaze was away from the gore. As she turned, she caught the Hand, his eyes dark and concerned, leaning over to mutter something to the King, who shared a glance with his daughter before standing and leaving.
“I am going to attend Mother.” Elaena murmured to Rhaenyra, who merely nodded before turning her attentions to Alicent. The young princess slid from her seat and into the castle proper, following the silhouettes of her father and Otto Hightower. As she came closer to her mother’s chambers, the sounds of agonized screams buffeted her ears.
“Elaena.” Viserys warned, grabbing his daughter by the shoulder. “The birthing bed is no place for a girl your age.”
“Every attendant and maester in there is concerned with your heir .” She spit the word out like it was venom, rolling her shoulders to dislodge his grip. “Someone in there needs to be worrying about my mother.” She stepped further into the room, waving away handmaidens to kneel by Aemma’s side, taking her hand carefully.
“My dear Elaena,” the Queen murmured, turning to face her youngest daughter, fighting off a grimace and forcing a smile onto her face. “Sweet girl, you shouldn’t be here.” She gasped in pain, tightening her hold on her daughter’s hand.
“What is wrong?” Elaena asked loudly, glaring directly at Maester Mellos.
“The infant is in breach, princess. All attempts to turn the babe have failed.” He spoke quietly, bowing his head. “We have tried to make her comfortable, but any more milk of the poppy would risk the child.”
Elaena tsked and turned back to Aemma, holding her hand against her chest. “You are strong, Mother. The blood of the dragon, the same as Rhaenyra and I.” Using her free hand, she smoothed blonde hair away from her mother’s face, wiping sweat from her forehead. “You can do this, I am certain.”
Viserys came to kneel by the other side of the bed, taking his wife’s other hand. “We’re here, Aemma.”
The Queen groaned, shaking her head. “I don’t want to do this.”
“It’s alright, Mother, we’re here.” Elaena cupped her mother’s head more fiercely, leaning over to kiss her temple.
“You’re going to be alright.” Her father assured, but met his daughter’s eyes, worry burning through violet irises.
Time seemed to both slow and hurry, and Elaena and Viserys stayed kneeling by Aemma’s side, only a few times allowing attendants to reach past them and attempt to help the Queen. When Viserys was pulled away by the Maester, the princess only tightened her grip on her mother, who was now worn through and tired, her skin pallid and shining in the firelight.
“A technique is taught at the Citadel, which involves cutting directly into the womb to free the infant. But the resulting blood loss—”
Elaena’s gazed snapped to Mellos, finally standing, as though she could shield her mother form the very words. “How dare you?” She hissed, her voice quiet but cutting. “To even suggest that we sacrifice my mother, the Queen , for a chance at the babe being a son.”
“Elaena, I think it is time you leave.” Viserys took her by the arm, pulling her away from the bedside. “This is not something you should see.”
“No– no!” She struggled against her father’s hold, but he held strong, holding her against his chest, all but dragging her towards the door. “I will never forgive you, Father, I will never —”
“Elaena.” His voice broke, tears beading in his eyes. “I beg of you, leave. You can return to the tourney or go to your chambers, it is up to you.” She looked into his eyes, and pulled out of his grip, turning on her heel away from her father.