Chapter Text
In scrolls detailing your family’s genealogy, the men have always been put in the highest regard — beautiful Lannister men with chiseled cheekbones on a feline face. They are portrayed as fearsome lords…their wives are seldom mentioned.
A wife must stand behind her husband’s, cowering in his shadow. A wife does not share her husband’s glory.
“Wife,” Viserys opens his mouth to speak. He settles on the bench beside you. “…the council shall decide a moon from now. You must cement your position at court and mend the bonds that have been broken.” You interrupt him.
In your periphery, you could see the faint silhouette of Lord Baratheon. No doubt, he is here in support of his cousin.
“You seem certain that the council shall name me as heir.” Viserys raises an eyebrow, moving closer to your body until you inhale his rosewater scent. In this light, his beauty is beyond compare — with alabaster skin and pale purple eyes.
There was a time when all you felt for him was love. The slight touch of his hand on your back used to send shivers down your spine. You do not prepare for travel expecting to get mugged — and now, as you are nearing the middle of this journey. All love has shaken off your body like water, leaving skin.
“We both know that they are afraid that it shall mean something.” You answered with a deep breath, returning your attention to the gold dragon that you’ve been embroidering. “What shall it mean, pray to tell?” He asks.
How awfully you feign ignorance, husband.
“If Princess Rhaenys is to be Queen, then what stops other daughters from holding sovereignty over their father’s lands? By the law of inheritance.” You answered as if it was the simplest thing in the world.
A moon from now, the next ruler of the six kingdoms shall be announced — and it was clear that it was personal to you.
You are the oldest child of Lord Lannister — passed over in favor of his golden son. ‘A woman cannot rule,’ your father once said, and the status quo shall not break regardless of Rhaenys royal blood.
“Rhaenys shall make a good queen.” Your husband’s lips purses into a thin line.
You ignore his statement, focusing on your embroidery. Then why did the gods make her a woman? You wanted to reply, but you held your tongue.
—
“Daemon,” Viserys smiles.
“Brother,” Daemon replies. The younger prince’s eyes trail towards the woman standing beside his brother. Lady Lannister, his brother’s greatest love and the object of his grandparent’s ire.
“My wife, Lady Lannister.” Viserys introduces, placing a hand on your back.
“Married so soon…I’m surprised that someone was willing.” Daemon jests.
The whispers you heard around the courts are correct. Your husband’s younger brother is truly a creature of the gods. Whereas Viserys had soft features and eyes of pale lavender — his younger brother reminded you of Maegor, with amethyst eyes.
“You’d be even more surprised to know that she was more than willing,” Viserys winks. The brothers erupt in a cacophony of laughter. For a second, you are jealous of them — how wonderful it must be to let your guard down in the Red Keep. You worried for your safety every minute. Every time your husband meets the eye of Aemma Arryn, a woman that he has been meeting for a few moons, you feel your power dwindle.
The King’s law shall be a technical and empirical truth. If your husband is to be king, then nothing shall prevent him from tossing you away…and this husband of yours has always been a slave to his whims.
Daemon plays with the rings on his fingers. “I commend your tactical mind, my lady. Lord Lannister has told me stories about the rebels in the Westerlands. You drove them out of their caves by flooding them.” Daemon compliments, snapping you away from your thoughts.
For a moment, your heart is filled with warmth. “My father,” you gave him a rare smile. “Your brother,” he corrects, and you swallow a gulp.
Your father is dead, and that buffoon is running your lordship. “We cannot run with our tails in between our legs, brother.” Light floods your dull eyes — finally, a subject that makes your heart beat.
“The perfect justice,” he compliments. You fight the smile that threatens to escape your lips. It has been your first time hearing a sincere compliment. “— the men have been neglectful.” He whispers with a smile.
“The men have always been neglectful,” your eyes narrowed.
Viserys chuckles.
You turned to look at him. As much as you want to feel love for your husband, there is nothing inside of your body that cares for him anymore. He lies to you. He visits the bed of that pale, sweet girl.
And you cannot blame him.
“Have you spoken to Rhaenys?” Viserys breaks the silence. “— the best course of action is to keep things civil with her.” You added.
“She shall not accept defeat wholeheartedly.” Daemon frowns.
“It is the nature of the game.” You looked away.
—
Aemma Arryn takes a deep breath. Even before her forbidden trysts with Prince Viserys — she’s heard whispers about you.
All the ladies in court are afraid of you.
They say that there is something inside of you that is dark and rotten. When they hear you walking down the halls, all chatter halts. They’ve all been warned not to incur your wrath, for even Queen Alyssane is not immune to it.
She almost killed herself when you found out about their affair. Her brothers wanted her to return to the Vale. Her friends wanted her to leave the continent altogether.
Heaven has no rage like love turned to hatred, nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
But what you did surprised her…
You welcomed her into your chambers, gave her the finest of pastries, and made her promise never to go against her…. You made a promise that Aemma would be safe if she played by the lioness’ rules.
Aemma has broken a rule.
“I am with child,” her voice comes out as a whisper.
You turned to look at her, the light of the candle casting an enchanting glow on your face. A lioness as fair as the sea and the sun. “I warned you,” your voice echoes throughout the closed chambers.
Aemma looks at the ground like a child scolded by her mother.
“I had the Maesters brew their moontea. You are not the brightest nor the fairest, but I expected you to at least be firm on your oaths.” You rolled your eyes at her.
Aemma could not breathe. Her hands felt clammy, and she could not stop shaking.
“I apologize, my lady. All I wish is for the Prince to acknowledge our child — or, or at least, provide for us.” She pleaded.
“Sit beside me,” you demanded — handing off your unfinished work to one of the handmaidens (who took it as a cue to leave.)
Aemma reluctantly sits beside you. The sofa is shifting to accommodate your shared weight. “You will marry my brother. You will be the Lady of Casterly Rock. I will raise the child as my own — but only if it is a daughter.” You laid the terms down.
It is a win-win scenario. Your House will grow in strength, and not a word will come out, of your husband sharing a bastard with his favorite pretty little Aemma Arryn…
She meets your eyes.
‘As cold as gold,’ she thought.
She wipes the tears from her irises. “— and if it is a son?” Aemma’s eyebrows merged together. You give her a thin-lipped smile.
You place a hand on her shoulders.
“I don’t think I have to tell you, Aemma.”
——
“I have sent a dozen guards to accompany you, can this trip truly not be postponed?” Viserys inquires.
“I am afraid not, a few moons from now, I shall be too heavy to ride a carriage.” You say, and he presses a kiss to your forehead.
“I cannot face the council’s decision on my own,” Viserys whispers, his pale eyes looking deep into yours. “You have your brother,” you squeeze his hand.
“— and the promise of a child.” You smile.
He rests his head on your shoulder like it is the last time that you shall meet. He raises his head, hearing a light footstep breezing past him. He looks at Lady Aemma, his eyes filled with the love of a thousand stars.
She is the only maiden who has loved him sincerely, expecting nothing in return.
You look at him, then at Aemma.
In another life, dearest, you wanted to tell your husband.
“Take care of my wife, Lady Aemma,” Viserys commanded, and the other maiden could only nod before entering the carriage.
——
(SEVEN MOONS LATER)
Tytos smiles, handing you the pale-sweet babe wrapped in red cloth. “A beautiful girl, more beautiful than you.” Your brother snorts. You choose to ignore his remark, instead focusing all your attention on your new daughter. “How is your wife?” You asked.
“She refuses to let go of the babe. It is nothing beyond ordinary,” your brother rolls his eyes. Still an imbecile, you snort. “— she shall recover.” He adds.
He notices your intense gaze on the sleeping babe. Tytos has always wondered if a woman like you is capable of love. In his memories, you are a paragon of nobility — always chasing for power, never once satisfied, even after marrying the Prince. ‘He is the first son of a second son. He stands to inherit nothing.’ He could hear your faint voice in the back of his head, but everything always turns out good in the end — now you are the future Queen.
“What shall you name her?” He asks.
“Rhaenyra,” you answered with absolute certainty. “— she shall be the realm’s delight.”