Chapter Text
Young Helaena Targaryen’s most sacred, most favorite place in the Targaryen Manor is the garden.
The apple trees were similar to the towering redwoods she once saw in a National Geography magazine. The Greek columns, with artfully twisted, thin vines around them, provided an ambiance of an ancient relic, as if Helaena were an archaeologist in an excavation site. Every shade of green on plants and bushes existed within these parameters and Helaena likes to think she has memorized every single one. If she were an artist, a painter, she would live her entire life in these fields, under the golden sun, and sleep under the stars.
Her childhood days were spent under the sun, but her face is covered by a ridiculously huge hat Mother insisted she wear. She fiddles with the silk bow under her chin. “I look silly, Mother,” She grumbles.
Aegon, across from her at the breakfast table, snorted. “You are silly, stupid.”
“Either you look silly running through my gardens, or you have blistering-“ Mother pokes her belly and the girl giggles. They both grin at each other, “- and painful sunburn. So pick, my love, hm?”
Helaena pouts while Mother kisses her chubby cheek. “Okay,” She exhales.
Mother grins; a rare sight in these gloomy halls. “Thank you for wearing my hat, my darling.” Her face looks younger when happiness replaces the sadness. “You can go after you eat breakfast, but I shall send Dyana to fetch you for the party.”
Helaena races out of the kitchen, giggling, and she balances the encyclopedia she found in the library. She flips through the pages and circles the various specie she finds in Mother’s garden.
She had difficulty in locating and naming the butterflies. They’re too flighty and by the time she has guesses of the butterfly’s name, they’re already gone. So, she resorts to trying, and failing, to replicate butterflies, dragonflies, and everything else on her journals. When Mother drags her back to the Manor for supper, Helaena reviews the Natural Science books and compares her notes.
As long as she can remember, this has been the routine of her afternoons. Helaena is content in being outside, enjoying the crisp air and cool wind. It is better than navigating the labyrinth of rooms and wide staircases. And any escape from Aegon’s cruel grip is a welcome distraction.
“You’re very pretty,” Helaena whispers to a particularly fretful grasshopper. She looks down at her half-finished drawing. “Such a darling.”
“Miss Helaena?” A girl, a year or two younger than her, softly calls. The smile is tentative. “Mrs. Targaryen is looking for you.”
“Don’t lie, Dyana.” The girl huffs a breath and adjusts the notebook on her knee. “It is not yet supper. The sun is up.” She points to the afternoon sky; thick pristine clouds rolling on the clear blue sky.
Dyana nods her head and she wears a strained smile; a nervous tick when Helaena refuses instructions. “Yes, but your mother is looking for you. The birthday cake is about to be blown. Miss Rhaenyra wants everyone in the family photo.”
Family photo, Helaena repeats in her head as she stands up and allows the maid to fret over her dirtied party dress. Mother would sneer at that. She walks toward cacophonous event with her small hands wrinkling the skirts of her dress.
“Bag, please.” Dyana says and gestures to the huge satchel slung on her right shoulder. “Don’t worry, Miss. I’ll put it in the library. Have cake while you’re here!”
The party took place in the backyard; colorful balloons tied to the clothed chairs, and several circular tables spread so guests can choose who to eat with and where to sit down. Most of the guests are Father’s friends; men and women with powerful gaits, confidence is displayed even in the way they snatched the flutes of champagne off the trays.
Children younger than her scampered around with their nannies chasing after them. Aegon cradles a small and golden puppy to his puffed-up chest; a present from Father. He’s loud in his appreciation and shows off the present to anyone listening. Grandfather lays a heavy hand on the boy’s shoulder as he talks with Father’s guests and stirs him to stand next to Father. The birthday celebrant huffs a breath but stays still.
Both are visibly displeased at the festive atmosphere. They cannot escape each other because Father stands between them, proudly gestures to them both and the men in suits laugh.
Yes, her garden is the sweet haven from all of this.
Helaena wonders if this is the only time the three of them are in agreement of something. She approaches her siblings, but she turns her head to Mother’s voice, calling her.
Mother is stunning; her auburn curls styled down to her back, glinting copper. She wore a deep emerald dress, up to her neck and trailing behind her as though she were still a bride in her reception. “My love,” She whispers. “You wandered out too long in the gardens when I told you we’re celebrating your brother’s birthday!”
“I didn’t bring any bugs with me, Mother,” Helaena says, cringing at how small her voice is. She doesn’t want people’s odd comments; not now. “I promised you.” She flinches when Mother moves forward to kiss her forehead.
“And I thank you, my girl,” Mother whispers; her eyes are always soft whenever Helaena is around. She softens the stoic woman. Helaena has heard offhanded comments from people outside of the family. “Your brother is getting older and closer to meet his soulmate.”
“Soulmate?” Helaena echoes with curiosity. She’s never heard of that word. She has not encountered that word in any of the books she has been reading. “Mother, what is that?”
Usually, whenever Helaena asks questions like: why is Rhaenyra my half-sister? Why am I not to speak to her? Mother shuts down any opportunity for further discussions, but now, she looks bemused. She leads the puzzled girl to an empty table and they sit together.
“The night you turn 20, your dreams will not be of your own. The Seven provides glimpses of the person you are destined to be with!” Mother beams brightly at the sheer curiosity of the ten-year-old girl. “These Dreams tell you what kind of person they are, and they will only stop when you meet them. It’s all awfully romantic, hm?”
“Did you Dream of Father?” Helaena asks with a giggle, utterly amused by this story.
A brief look of sadness, so profound, paints on Mother’s face. She shakes her head. “The Seven does not give a name nor a place, my dear. Some people never find them, or circumstances grind down any chance of being together. But, that doesn’t mean you have no chance.” She cradles Helaena’s face; a frantic touch that the daughter cannot escape, forces her not to move away from. “I want you to hope for the romance of it all, dear. Everyone wants to be loved in the way they want. And you deserve that and more. Understand?”
Helaena nods her head. At times, Mother talks of depths Helaena cannot comprehend; like this moment, she can recognize the faraway expression, as though the past clouds her mind and speaks through her.
“Aegon is only 10 though. 20 seems like a lifetime away.” She quips.
Mother giggles; a girlish sound. “Ah, yes, youth is a funny thing for me too; so quick to pass but the memories become haunted as we grow older.” She leans closer. “Want some cake?”
Helaena happily follows Mother.
/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\
In the vast mansion they live in, there are more relatives over the years. For instance, Rhaenyra had children of her own, brown-haired boys that confused Helaena when they celebrated Jacaery’s first birthday.
“Mother,” she whispers; a mere lamb standing in front of an altar. “His hair is brown. We have silver hair.” She lifts her braided hair. “Is he adopted?”
The older woman cautiously surveys their surroundings. “Dear,” she whispers back, “do not say such things out in the open.” The chiding cause Helaena to stand straighter. “Your father would not appreciate it.”
“But I read a book about genetics that say-“
“-Let them be happy. Disregard logic for your sake.” Mother kindly says, her hand brushes down on the elaborated hairstyle on her daughter’s head. “Those fools.” She scoffs and brings Helaena to Grandfather.
It isn’t said out loud but Mother urges her children to not acknowledge the presence of their half-siblings and cousins. The twisted connections are expected in their family but the enforced estrangement puzzles the girl.
During meals in the Manor, Rhaenyra entertains Father with her stories and anecdotes while Mother remains sober and frets over him when he has difficulty finishing his dinner.
Helaena dutifully says the evening grace, head bent downwards, and eats her meals. She smiles when Grandfather makes a subtle joke but she doesn’t know what to do when Rhaenyra’s twinkling laugh fills the gloomy dining hall.
There is envy in her blood, at seeing how radiant her older half-sister is; how effortlessly she can acquire everyone’s attention in any room. Aegon is tensed, every time he eats, it’s a snap of his arm as though he forcibly eats during meals.
One evening, Rhaenyra breaks the unsaid vow of distance, and elegantly turns to look at the young girl. Her smile is kind and her voice affectionate. “So, Helaena, how’s school?” Rhaenyra asks. “Must be exciting at your age, I think? Though everyone can attest how rubbish I was at maths.”
Grandfather and Father laugh. Aegon rolls his eyes.
The girl drops her fork on her salad. Her pale freckled face reddens in chagrin and looks at Mother, for permission to speak. When she nods, Helaena replies, “Um, it’s okay, sister.” She crosses her ankles together, feet swinging in a nervous energy at the sight of Mother’s jaw coiling in tension. What did she do wrong? Was she supposed to gloat of her sky-high grades? The shiny trophies that glint behind a glass case is all because of her?
“What’s your favorite subject, then?” Rhaenyra continues, a soft dimpled smile directed at Helaena.
Panic seizes her limbs. She wants to know why her half-sister is suddenly talking to her. “Oh, u-um, I like science.” She murmurs. Should my curiosity be rewarded with enlightenment? They usually ignore me.
“I’m sorry, dear, what was that?”
Mother slams her spoon down. Helaena’s juice class titters. “By the Seven, Rhaenyra, she’s a soft-spoken girl. Exercise consideration, please.”
Grandfather drinks his whiskey and leans towards Father; they begin talk business.
Rhaenyra frowns. “I meant no offense, Alicent. I couldn’t-“
“You never meant any offense and never apologized in your entire life.” Mother curtly replies and pushes her chair away. She approaches Helaena and bids her to stand. “Come on, dear. You must rest.”
The older blonde scoffs and leans back on her chair. “I merely asked a damn question, Alicent.” She snaps. “Gods!”
Father glances at her eldest daughter and his wife but then Grandfather says something and he’s pulled back into the conversation.
Helaena places her hand on Mother’s and she is stirred away from the dinner table. Aegon is scowling openly at their half-sister. When they reach the living room, she tugs Mother’s hand. “I’m sorry.” She whispers, not knowing what exactly she did wrong but she doesn’t like seeing Mother upset. “I’m so, so, so, sorry, Mother. I didn’t mean it.”
I’m sorry I’m so weak. I’m sorry people consider me to be your weakness. You’re the strongest person I know.
Mother stops walking and turns to kneel in front of her. Her smile is watery and her touch is feather-soft. “My love, you did nothing wrong. It’s-“ She sharply inhales then her touch digs deeper on Helaena’s upper arm. “Rhaenyra is subtle in her insults.”
“My sister-“
Mother squeezes her arm. Helaena bites the inside of her cheek until iron fills her tongue. “Don’t say that.” She whispers and her stare is intense. “For the life of me, do not remind me.”
Later that night, Helaena could not sleep. That moment with Mother disturbed her; the frantic fever in her eyes, the firm set of her mouth, and the desperation in her plea confused Helaena.
She tosses and turn on her bed but sleep evades her. Slipping out of it, she sneaks to the halls. She knows she has school tomorrow and a curfew. Mother would not be pleased if she found out.
A thin blanket on her shoulders, trailing down to her ankles, and Helaena walks around and goes down to the kitchen but stops at the living room. She’s surprised to find Rhaenyra sitting by the large maroon sofa, staring at the cold fireplace. Her lustrous silver hair is unbound and trails down her slouched back.
Helaena, scared of Mother’s reaction and wanting to avoid another debacle of a dinner, quietly ambles to the kitchen, but she stops when Rhaenyra calls her. She turns and finds Rhaenyra smiling at her.
“Helaena,” she gestures to the empty space on the sofa. “Come sit with me.”
She hesitates and her gaze goes upwards, as though the darkness conceals Mother’s stern presence.
“I’m sorry for what happened earlier.” Rhaenyra calls and opens her hand.
She stares at the welcoming gesture, her throat tightening. No, she can hear Mother hiss at her ear, do as I say. “I like science!” She squeaks and dashes up the stairs, not caring if she rouses Aegon or her parents. “Good night!”
After that incident, Rhaenyra never tried to speak to her again; much to Mother’s delight.