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152 AC, King's Landing
Her grandmother the queen died on one of the last days of summer. After a walk in the gardens with Lady Laena, the queen took a nap in her chambers, admitting that she was tired. Later, when her handmaiden came to wake her up for dinner, the queen was already dead.
It's half a miracle that she survived the sweltering heat of King's Landing for so long, the maesters say. It's true, Laenora admits, the last few moons have been particularly hot. Some courtiers even returned to their keeps in the north to take shelter from the blazing sun.
Her grandmother was old and her health was waning in the last few years. It was time, Laenora thinks.
“It was too sudden,” her father says. His eyes are bloodshot and his face is flushed pink. Laenora is unsure if he slept even for an hour since the queen’s death.
“It always seems so,” Laenora's mother whispers quietly. Her own father, prince Daemon, died not so long ago, from a badly healed injury he received in battle.
Princess Baela continues to comfort her husband with her gentle touch, cradling his face in her hands as she stands above him. The prince’s hair, once dark brown, is now threaded with grey. Another reminder that her father is not a young man anymore.
Laenora watches, fascinated, as her parents sit there in silence. They are always like this, almost fused together, two parts of a whole. Their marriage was arranged when they were no more than babes running around Dragonstone. They existed side by side for almost forty years, most of them happy, some of them sad.
Laenora could scarcely imagine herself in a similar position. She is already eight and ten, but there is no suitor her father considers worthy of her hand. Yet.
Lately, her father has been occupied by his mother's falling health and his duties on the small council. Now, his attention will surely shift to her. She is his heir, after all. His eldest child, the one who is supposed to sit on the Iron Throne after he passes away. Her father is not the sort of man who would shrink his duties. When he sets his mind on something, he sees it through to the end.
“Laenora, sweetling, do you need something?” it's her mother who notices her standing in the door. Her mother's beautiful face is lined with exhaustion, but she is dressed as elaborately as always. Gems and shiny metals glitter around her neck and ears, but her hands remain bare.
“I only wanted to check on you,” Laenora says quietly. She has no idea what to say. Should she comfort them? Say she is sorry for their loss? But it's her loss too. Rhaenyra was not only her grandmother, but also her closest confidante and biggest supporter since she could remember. “And see if I could be of help in any way.”
The corners of her mother's lips pull up, almost if against her will. She looks amused. Laenora hates that expression, it makes her feel like a fool. She is no one’s entertainment, to be gawked and laughed at.
“Come here,” her fathers voice comes out raspy. It's strange. He has such a strong, clear voice normally. She has never heard him mutter or mumble.
He turns and stares right at her, his dark eyes boring into hers. They have the same eyes, she has been told plenty of times. The prince’s eyes, the princess' beauty.
But my father is beautiful too! She rebuked one courtier when she was a child, only to be met with laughter.
“The silent sisters will finish their work soon,” he begins. He is twirling something in his hands. “We will place the queen's body before the Iron Throne tomorrow morning. It will remain there for seven days so everyone in the capital will have a chance to pay their respects and other lords will have time to travel to King's Landing.”
Laenora nods, thankful that her father doesn't keep her in the dark. “What of my uncles? Are they on their way?”
“Lucerys will probably receive the raven soon. He will be here in a day or two if he means to bring his family by ship, sooner if they fly over,” he tells her. “It’s hard to tell when Joffrey will arrive. The last time he wrote to me was when he was in the White Harbor.”
“I can fetch him,” she proposes. “Stormfyre and me would be there in no time-”
“No,” her father protests quickly. “My brother is too old to be flying around the kingdoms and ignoring his duties. Let this be a hard lesson for him.”
“As you say, father,” Laenora agrees with him.
A lesson, a punishment, it was one thing in her father's mind. He was a hard man, made so by the years of ridicule and mocking behind his back and to his face. But no one will dare to mock him now, she thinks, not when he is to be crowned as king soon.
But Laenora can't help it, she pities her uncle Joffrey. He is her favourite amongst her parents' siblings. Handsome and charming, always with a carefree smile on his face and pockets full of trinkets and sweets for his nieces and nephews.
“Go to your sisters,” he orders her gently. His hands reach to her and she lets herself be pulled closer. “They are still so young, they will be in need of comfort. Make sure they are prepared for tomorrow's prayer.”
Her father always expects her to be her sisters’ keeper. As if her sisters would ever let themselves be controlled by anybody. They are a rowdy bunch, dealing with them only brings Laenora headache.
Still, she is nothing if not dutiful.
“Yes, father.”
---
“Put them back,” Laenora hisses at her sister Laena, who twiddles with a pair of diamond earrings. They are getting ready together to go to the sept, their handmaidens taking care of the younger girls while Laenora waits impatiently. “We are in mourning, it's unbecoming to wear something so ornate. And they are mine.”
Laena is younger than her not even by a year. When they were children they pretended to be twins, they were so jealous of their mother and her sister Rhaena.
They couldn't pass for twins now. Laena is taller than her and lovelier by far, what with her silver hair and striking purple eyes.
“But you never wear it,” her sister complains. “Grandmother wouldn't even care. She loved her golden trinkets.”
“It's not grandmother who will judge us, but the lords of the realm,” Laenora grunts out. How can her sister not understand it? Her head starts to hurt, both from frustration and the tightly braided hair.
“Why would their opinion on what we wear matter?” Laena laughs, not kindly. “I thought your skin was thicker than this.”
Shut up, she thinks, shut up and stop acting like this.
“Everything I do matters,” she reminds her sister. “It’s me they will serve one day.”
The scowl spreading on Laena’s face brings her some satisfaction. Her sister is popular at court, cherished by lords and ladies from all over the Seven Kingdoms, but at the end of the day, Laneora is their father's heiress. She may be stern and solemn, but she will do him proud when the day comes.
“I mean to go to Dragonstone and take my rightful place after our father is crowned as king.”
She can already imagine it. Peace and silence and freedom to do what she wishes. No expectant parents or whining siblings or ambitious courtiers breathing down her neck.
Laena only raises her eyebrow mockingly. “Who am I to stop you from shutting yourself away like a recluse? Nobody will miss your presence in King's Landing, at least not me.”
“Can I go with you?”
The question startles both of them. It's Rhae who asked. The fourth daughter of the prince of Dragonstone is only two and ten, a slight girl with pale skin and even paler curly hair which doesn't even reach her shoulders. She looks almost boyish in her humble black dress. Blunt and awkward, she is the sister Laenora likes the most.
“If father agrees, then yes,” she thinks little of it. Rhae is an independent and responsible child, one who wouldn't look for trouble.
“Thank you,” a shy smile spreads on Rhae’s face, a rare sight.
Time away from King's Landing will do both of them well, she thinks.
“And where is my invitation?” her sister Alyssa asks cheekily. Her smile is a little dimed, something that's strange for Laenora to see. Alyssa is the merriest out of the sisters, but the silliest one too. These past few days, she has been unnaturally quiet. The reason is obvious, but it still bothers Laenora to see her sister behaving so oddly.
Out of all the prince’s children, only Alyssa and Daemion have his dark hair. At five and ten, Alyssa is almost as tall as Laena and taller than Laenora, to her annoyance.
“All of you are welcome to visit anytime,” Laenora says, a little hollow.
Not for the first time, she is reminded that she will have it all one day - Dragonstone, the Red Keep, the Seven Kingdoms, while her sister will have to make their own paths. Of course, they are princesses, they will marry rich and powerful lords of their father's choosing and spend the rest of their lives in comforts they are accustomed to.
It's unfair, she knows, but that's how life is. Her father was the one who was born first and so it was his right to inherit the throne after his mother. His brothers understood it. Laenora hopes her sisters will be as supporting as their uncles when it's her time to sit on the Iron Throne.
---
Laenora stands at her father's right side when he orders his dragon to burn the queen's body. She turns away from the smoke and ash to observe the people who are in attendance. There are hundreds of courtiers, from the members of the small council and their families to the lowest court attendants.
Aunt Rhaena is standing with her mother, Lady Laena Velaryon. The older woman’s hair and face is covered by a black veil, but Laenora is sure that her face is red and puffy just as it was for the last several days.
Uncle Lucerys is there too and his children surround him. His oldest child, Monterys, is almost too handsome, if such a thing could be said. Laenora has heard a rumor that he has a bastard daughter on Driftmark. She wouldn't be shocked if it was true. Next to him are the twins, Valarr and Valaena, their heads touching as they exchange quiet words.
At uncle Joffrey’s side stands a woman Laenora never saw before. Tall and curvy, clothed in heavy velvet instead of silk. Something akin to jealousy spreads along her spine as she watches the woman caressing her uncle’s hand.
The burning takes surprisingly little time.
After, some people linger in silence and some approach the king and his brothers to offer their condolences before going away. At the end, only the members of the royal family remain. Laenora watches her sisters, their faces wet with tears and snoot. Her own face remains dry, which is a miracle. She spent the last several days in something akin to a trance, her head aching constantly, her body feeling weak and fragile.
It’s her mother who says it’s time to go back to the castle. Before Laenora can follow her, her father grabs her shoulder to stop her.
“Walk with me,” he says to her while nodding at his wife, exchanging a silent conversation just with their eyes.
They go to the edge of the hill, their bodies almost touching as they look down at the sprawling city below them and the river gently sloshing into the sea. Somewhere far away, not visible to her eyes, lies Dragnstone, the isle that holds her future.
“I heard that you wish to move to Dragonstone as soon as possible,” his dark eyes trace her every move.
She stills, feeling betrayed. “Who told you that?”
Her sisters are the only ones she told about her plan. Was it Laena? Did she do it to spite her? Or Alyssa, the one who never minds her tongue?
“It doesn’t matter who told me. You will not go, not yet,” he keeps twirling a ring on his little finger, a small gold band with a large ruby stone. “Your mother tells me that your sister fancies herself in love with some lordling. Neither he nor his father sought my opinion on the matter, so it can’t be that serious, but still, you are the eldest out of your sisters and my heir besides.You must marry first and you must marry before you go to Dragonstone, it’s tradition.”
She can’t even argue with his logic. “Who is it to be then? Monterys?”
Her father’s brows furrow in confusion. Even when he relaxes his face, the crease remains, as do many others - the deep lines on his forehead and the tiny wrinkles around his eyes.
“I didn’t know that you care for him-”
“I don't,” she assures him quickly. He chuckles at her disgusted expression.
“I'm not impressed with my nephew either,” he confesses. “Luke is much too soft with him. Or maybe I’m too harsh with my children.”
“You aren’t, you only want the best for us,” she shakes her head. Her father may be strict and demanding, but what parent in his position wouldn’t be? She is to be a queen, she has to be perfect.
Her father only hums and for a moment she thinks it will be the end of this and she will be free to return to the castle. “Your mother and I are to be crowned soon in the presence of lords high and low from all over the kingdoms. They will swear to you too, as my heir. Many an eye will turn your way.”
“I’m aware,” she already feels uncomfortable.
“I imagine hundreds, if not thousands men will make their way to King’s Landing just to ask for your hand, as if it was their due,” there is an angry expression on his face. “Don’t entertain their advances just to be polite.”
“Didn’t you just tell me that I have to get married soon? How am I to do it if I push away every man that pays me a compliment?”
“I don’t think you have the patience for these sort of courtly rituals,” he mutters. “I want you to consider Royce Baratheon. He is not so much older than you and has recently come into his inheritance fully. His mother ruled in his stead for years and was a loyal vassal to the crown. A good house, with blood ties to both the Targaryens and the Velaryons.”
“But I don't know him,” she says in a small voice.
“Laenora, I'm not an unreasonable man,” his voice becomes frustrated. “If he strikes you as cruel or foolish, then we will send him back to Storm's End and pretend it never crossed our minds to betroth you to him. I'm just asking you to try, sweetling, for your own sake. Your mother is a great lady and will be an ever greater queen, but most importantly, she has been my friend since my youth. Without her at her side, I can't imagine I would have achieved half the things I did. I want you to have someone similar at your side, someone trustworthy, someone smart and kind and brave.”
“I will consider his suit carefully,” she promises, her voice stuck in her throat. She doubts that there exists a person she could be as close to as her father is to her mother. It is not something one can learn like a dance or a language.
“That’s all I ask of you.”
For a moment, her father looks as if he wants to say something else, but no words escape his mouth. He just sighs and his hand once more finds its way to her shoulder, digging into her flesh painfully.