Chapter Text
Queen Helaena Targaryen died with blood coating her tongue and faith she had no living children left to mourn her.
Her sister, cursed woman she was, had taken King's Landing six moons ago and confined Helaena to her chambers every day since, without her children or her servants or her mother, bittersweet as the older woman's presence might have been, Helaena only had her thoughts and slow madness for company. She had clung to faith, at first, faith that if her children weren't kept caged with her then it meant they had escaped somehow, faith this war would be over and whoever ended up on that damned chair of swords would forget she existed entirely and give her the mercy of keeping the pair of children she had left, even if she could barely look into Maelor's eyes without hearing Cheese's voice echo in her ears.
"You hear that, little boy? Your momma wants you dead."
What she could and couldn't do towards her son mattered very, very little now however. When Mysaria, the unofficial lady of whispers of the soon-to-be dead half-year-queen slid into Helaena's room and prison that fateful night, Helaena had known by the woman's smile alone that whatever word she'd say would not be kind. Even in that darkness Helaena could hold onto the woman's features, tall and slender and wrong but evidently of bastard valyrian blood, that of which she carried the beauty of. She moved like a snake through the darkness, her long pale hair that already carried grey in the temples making her look like a glimpse of religion rather than a living woman. That night, she came to a halt right by Helaena's bedside, where the queen of nothing at all had been laying for so long she might as well have been already dead.
— You, — the white worm began, her ghostly blue eyes seeming to glitter in the dim light as she looked at Helaena from above, a curl of what could only be disgust souring the corner of her mouth, — The queen has asked me to inform you, says it's mercy, and so I will.
Mysaria leaned forward then, bending at the hip so she was so close to Helaena's face the barely responsive woman could feel the humid heat of her breath, — Your son is dead, so will be your daughter, very soon — she said, simple as that, her sharp, slanted eyes burning Helaena's own.
Helaena's world dropped, whatever sanity had been left in her by that fragile faith she had been cradling shattering into a thousands shards. Her eyes, previously unfocused and milky, snapped into acute awareness, a choked gasp breaking through her lips as she impulsively pushed the older woman away, a sound that was half sob and half plea breaking through her mouth. Mysaria wobbled back from the impact, then stepped back further from the suddenly aware woman like one backs away from a wild animal, looking her up and down like a predator analyzing prey.
— Oh, awake at last, — she whispered, her voice almost mirthful, one of her slender hands reaching down for something hidden beneath her dress, likely a weapon, though Helaena barely understood that much in her current state of insanity, breath deep and harsh like a beast's. Mysaria did not care for her breath, simply tilting her head to the side very slowly, a bird-like gesture, — Had I known telling you this would make you aware, I would have done it sooner.
The woman waved a hand in front of her body, careless and dehumanizing, like Helaena was not a woman who had just been told her children had been killed. Mysaria united her hands in a tight clasp in front of her body, gave Helaena a smile as sharp as a snake's fang and then spoke again, mocking, — Oh, do not look at me like that, your son wasn't even my doing, it was the people who torn him apart and...
Helaena heard nothing else, the ringing in her ears swallowing any other noise that came after the white worm's voice spoke of Maelor. Her Maelor, her sweet little Maelor, torn apart? Her breathing worsened, her chest sinking and rising repeatedly and far too fast, her eyes were frantic yet the only thing she could truly see still was how Mysaria, cruel, terrible, whore Mysaria, was still daring to speak, still describing her children like they were simply one more casualty instead of the final destruction of what was left of her world.
Her vision swam, air failed her, blood bubbled beneath her skin.
And then she lunged.
It was sudden and brutal and Helaena had never done anything like it before, which changed nothing when she had no plan on surviving past this. She wasn't sure if the screams were from Rhaenyra's whore or from herself, yet when she crashed through the windows of her prison and dragged Mysaria through them with her, neither of them were quiet. Mysaria's nails had sunken into the flesh of Helaena's upper arm while one of her own hands gripped her by the throat, another wrapped in hair.
The spikes beneath impaled them both and the drop had been brutal enough neither woman writhed for long, both choking in their own blood.
Mysaria, the white worm, cruel and terrible and so, so unfairly devoted to what she hadn't yet lost, died thinking of Rhaenyra Targaryen.
Helaena died thinking of her children, whom she loved so dearly yet wished she had never had at all, then she thought of her Dreamfyre, then she thought of nothing at all.
The queen of nothing hadn't yet known the kind of devotion drowning Mysaria, but she would.
The world around her went dark.
She woke again to find her daughter's eyes, full of tears, before she was truly thrown back.
When the darkness of death dissipated, the first thing Helaena felt was the warmth of recent sobs clinging to the carriage; the second was that she had a body no longer; the third was that the sobbing girl's body was clad in wedding garments, the kind that could only ever belong to a bride, a bride without her maiden veil at that, which meant the ceremony had already been done and now this poor, crying, pale-haired girl was being taken to her husband's dominion so her maidenhood could be taken. It was nauseating, this feeling, bearing witness to the very ritual that had ruined her first life being done to someone else she did not yet recognize, though said distress only sharpened when Helaena was finally given the child's name.
— Princess Jaehaera, — the knight outside said, voice low and rough but trying to sound gentle, the scrape of his iron-clad fingers slow and careful, — We have reached the Keep, the king is in his chambers, he has requested for no company, you'll be taken to your own rooms.
Jaehaera, her poor, too young, alive daughter she had abandoned without knowing, desperately tried to dry her cheeks in answer to the man's voice, her shallow little hiccups bitten down and buried in her throat. Her small hands shook as they reached for the carriage door and carefully, slowly pulled it open just enough she could peek, just like she used to do when she woke at night and wished to sleep beside Helaena, in those nights that felt so distant now.
— I'm- I'm not feeling so well, ser, could you accompany me to- to my chambers? — her daughter's voice, Helaena notice distantly (the ache in her very soul was so acute she could barely think about what she was truly being shown), was that same sweet, weak thing it had always been, but now worsened by lack of water.
The knight faltered at the request, looking at the recently named queen like the girl was a trap instead of a child, glancing around for help or guidance from his fellow knights and being given none. Obey her, you fool, she's asking for nothing you cannot do, she's afraid; Helaena's thoughts were louder and fiercer than she had ever been while she lived, but in this show of shadow and vision even that was useless, her newfound courage could do nothing while going unheard and her daughter's tear-filled eyes did not help the man feel any more inclined in assisting her. Helaena could feel the sobs building in her daughter's chest like they were her own, the hysterics her child would fall in should she be refused company while walking through those haunted halls her whole family had been killed in, her own helplessness making her want to scream, though she could not without a true body, then-
— I'Il take her, ser Paladran. — the voice was velvety and feminine and far too kind for the world they lived in. The useless knight, Paladran, whipped around at once, his face morphing into something relieved when an easy escape to his previous predicament was brought to light.
— Princess Rhaena! — the man exclaimed, rushing to the woman's side to assist her descent on the long, great flight of crimson stairs but freezing in place when she lifted a hand to stop him, her mauve-tinted irises cold and displeased when she met his eyes.
— The little queen made a request, were you planning on denying her, ser? — her voice did not carry anger, though the disappointment in it felt sharper than that. The useless knight had no answer to her question, his mouth opening and closing like that of a fish as he looked up at the girl, his eyes flickering between her flawless face and the pink dragon laying comfortably over her shoulders like a stole.
Rhaena grew impatient fast, of course, whipping her long gold-silver hair that was so unlike any Helaena had ever seen in any Targaryen as she brushed past the man. Up close, she was even more of that image of haunted beauty the men would always look for in Targaryen women, the kind Helaena herself had never possessed the right way. Rhaena's skin was polished ebony, flawless and littered all over by small, pale freckles that made her look like a galaxy made flesh; her hair was coiled to perfection and held gracefully out of her face by a gold net held together in each section by pink-ish, pale pearls; her body was clad in a long dress of red and black, the bodice wrapped tight around her mid-section and pushing her breasts up to her chin, though she was modest enough to cover them with the gown's high neckline.
When she was before the half-open carriage door, where Helaena's teary-eyed daughter still hid, Rhaena came to a halt. There was a long moment of strange, tense silence where neither knew how to quite proceed, then the older of them finally put an end to it, one of her slender ring-filled hands rising just enough that Jaehaera could reach it, should she extend her fragile arm, — My queen, I am sorry my sweet brother let you come back alone after your ceremony, would you like me to help you find your footing in your new chambers? I could also introduce you to your new ladies.
Helaena could feel her daughter's breath hitch at the surprisingly kind, throughout proposal. She could see her daughter hesitate before she slowly, carefully pulled the carriage door open a little more, her tiny frame looming over Rhaena's only due to the fact she was still inside the structure while Rhaena was not, her eyes wide and insecure, — But, — Jaehaera started, then paused, biting her little tongue in anxiety. She knew not what to say, Helaena supposed, she was likely as surprised with the kindness Rhaena was gifting her with as Helaena felt herself, — Is that- is that okay for you to do?
The question was so childishly confused, so breathtakingly fearful, that Helaena could have sworn her cousin's eyes had grown wet, though she was good at pretending they had not, shaking her head softly and blinking in tandem so the salty water would not leak down her perfect cheeks, a smile that did not reveal any teeth shaping her full, heart-shaped mouth before she spoke up again, — Well, you are now queen consort, are you not? There's nothing I should ever be doing while the king's new consort needs guidance, don't you think?
Jaehaera had no answer to that, her small mouth becoming a shaky line as she pressed her lips together, big dark eyes flickering between Rhaena's seemingly genuine, exhausted smile and her offered hand that still waited for Jaehaera's own in the space between. Helaena was ashamed to say she would not have known what to do herself, whch was why she was almost proud when her daughter made her own decision, placing her pale little hand in Rhaena's ring-clad one, trusting her with the weight when she moved to step down the carriage, Helaena's cousin a patient, protective sun above her, not rushing Jaehaera even once.
— Ready, little queen? — the umber-skinned woman asked the child whose hand she held, her thumb gently caressing the back of the fragile little limb, long lashes fluttering.
Jaehaera sniffled and shifted on her small feet, using her free hand to smooth out any wrinkles she might have noticed on her dress, evidently shy, then, — Yes, thank you.
Rhaena only hummed quietly in answer, began to walk slowly so Jaehaera could follow, slow so the little one wouldn't have to rush, letting her dictate the pace, more patient that Aegon and Alicent and anyone of her own blood had ever been towards her children.
Helaena hung there, watching the scene and for once not feeling like the things she was being shown were out to haunt her. Alone in that limbo of death and invisibility, haunting her daughter and those who were left with her, the dead queen followed the cousin she had never known and tried to understand why her chest was burning, why her blood was singing, why she was seeing this young woman care for the only piece of Helaena left in this world and thinking of possession.
The wheel kept spinning.
Rhaena had been there for Jaehaera's first day as queen, and she had been there to introduce Helaena's daughter to her new people, and she had been there when Baela filled the Keep with the companions she so treasured and ruined what little order was left with flea-filled dogs and whores and begging men who terrified anyone sane, and she had been there when the girl refused to walk alone into any kind of meeting because she was scared and reached for Rhaena, a trust that had once been given to Helaena alone. The dead queen now understood what Daemon's youngest daughter had become post-war, the formal heiress. Helaena had haunted the council of the men who made the decision and been witness of them making the choice for her, against Rhaena's own wishes for she wanted no throne and no husband, though the latter was forced upon her so she could give birth to the boy that was to be Aegon III's heir, a child that would never live.
Being able to be somewhere without being seen was convenient, Helaena realized that quickly. In a matter of days of haunting the halls she had grown up in, she learned what had transpired without much hardship, Rhaenyra's madness after she lost her White Worm and how the people had gone wild when her own death had been known which then led to the dragon-pit being stormed, Joffrey's death and Rhaenyra's escape and murder in Dragonstone by Helaena's brother command, how it had meant nothing at all in the end for Aegon II had never been adored beyond his elder sister, if he had ever been adored at all, ending up poisoned by his own men.
What came after was a blurry rush Helaena only understood throughoutly due to the maids and their endlessly moving tongues. Cregan Stark and his men, Rhaena and her sister begging him to pardon their grandsire and how in the end Rhaena had been the smarter of the two and gone to Alysanne Blackwood instead, who then made Cregan agreeable; Rhaena's precious Morning and how fast the hatchling grew, how Baela resented her in secret for that, or so claimed Rhaena's personal ladies, talking of Baela's fury over not being chosen as an heiress herself (as if Rhaena held any blame for Baela's own behavior, as if she had any wish to sit upon the throne responsible for their family's doom) and how she had to run away and marry the bastard-made-lord Alyn to escape the marriage chosen for her.
Helaena would praise her bravery if she didn't believe it to be the most foolish thing the elder twin could have done. Had she followed Rhaena's steps, even dragonless, she'd have been treated with more grace by the men who should not have the authority to decide upon her life and future yet did, especially since the ruling king himself would not deny her anything if he had the chance to defend her, which he didn't since Baela herself made an spectacle of every one of her roguish ways and transgressions and threw the council on a frenzy that young, traumatized Aegon III could not handle. After that, Rhaena was alone in King's Landing while her sister was impregnated by the bastard she had chosen, was made the heiress officially after she married a man of her own choosing, ser Corwyn Corbray, the need for heirs a weight thrown upon her shoulders even though she was only freshly old enough for matrimony (not that the woman's age ever mattered, to men).
Helaena understood Baela's anger, she did, any woman would in the world they lived in, what made her less prone to lend the girl any sympathy was not her anger but her ignorance. In her madness to be her father come again, as if the man would ever be the kind to deserve such honor, Baela forgot he was dead and could no longer offer her any protection, if he had ever done so at all. No matter if she mocked her sister for her softness and resented her for her privileges, her mimicry of manhood would never give her the privileges they'd lend her father. With Alyn, Helaena knew through the letters Rhaena received and sobbed over, Baela was learning no man would properly see her as more than a womb even if said man was chosen by her own hand, her privileges stripped and her position as a wife being painted onto her skin every time she dared question it.
The aftermath of war and how it affected anyone but her own daughter should matter little and less for Helaena, she knew that logically, knew it just like she knew Rhaena had gotten the far sweeter end of the deal after the war was over, adored and kept and remembered for the last dragon-rider she indeed was. By all means Helaena should hate her for having been kept safe and still, somehow, ending up on top after doing nothing to deserve it at all, though... Well, that was not quite true, now was it? Something in her had been considered precious enough by Rhaenyra for the half-year queen to keep her safer than she kept most of her other children, something in her had made even Daemon that was long hated in the Vale after his long dead "Brozen Bitch" was gone lower his head so he could beg for Jeyne Arryn's protection, and when that had been acquiesced and his first daughter had refused the haven being offered (proud, brave, foolish Baela) he had not tried to convince her farther, satisfied by Rhaena being safe, even alone.
Why? What did she have that made her so special?
Helaena did not understand from the get-go, and yet the longer she lingered around the girl's vicinity (usually when Jaehaera was gone or they were together, for even now Helaena struggled with her daughter's absence), the more she understood where that came from. Rhaena was no saint towards everyone, no, she had no taste for her sister's questionable companions and even less so towards most lords (in fact, she looked far more comfortable in the world she kept in-doors, away from prying eyes and men, with her ladies and her exchanged letters with Jeyne Arryn and Jessamyn Redfort, whom she called "mama" and "mum" in whispers shared with those she trusted), she was a good hostess and entertainer however, fluttering through gatherings and spinning any court she was thrown in around her slender fingers, charming knights and making seamstresses fight for the honor of stitching her gowns, "stitching" because that's all they did, for she drew any piece of clothing she wore herself.
But none of those were the reason why she was so precious, no matter how enticing she already was due to those alone.
What made her so utterly unforgettable, Helaena theorized, was the person she became when alone, or at least, alone with whom she trusted. Then, she was the most bizarre, haunting thing Helaena had ever seen, not due to sin (though Rhaena had her fair share of those, if the nights she spent in bed with Corwyn Corbray's sister instead of the man himself could be considered that) but due to her inability of cruelty and lack of greed, choosing second sons so her sister wouldn't resent her further, keeping even those she despised in safe environments. Her loyalty was not to one side of the war or the other, but to her people independently of that. She was manipulative and quick to spin lies until they were thin enough they looked like truth, she was unable of worrying for those she did not consider her own, but as soon as a person became hers to worry about, there was nothing she was unwilling to do.
And that extended towards her supposed "enemies" too, or at least what was left of them. She was, perhaps, the only one in the whole castle Jaehaera truly cried for and trusted beyond her ladies, after Alicent's episode during her first and last meeting with her grand-daughter that is, the day the green queen had held Helaena's daughter by her shoulders and screamed for the girl to murder Aegon III until the guards outside had to intervene.
From that day onwards, the little queen needed the company of her elder cousin more than she ever had before, and while Helaena felt the need to bite her nails to the quick, believing the dragon twin would hurt her daughter further, Rhaena was at last seeing the child for what she was and not for whom her father had been, a feat Baela or Aegon III would never achieve, and from then on Jaehaera had suddenly become Rhaena's. Against Baela's rage and curses, her insistance on accusing her sister of betraying their blood for caring for the enemy as if Jaehaera had any blame for carrying Aegon's blood, as if Rhaena had ever been as cruel as Baela was from the cradle, her father's favorite for being as careless and as whorish as he was, as if women would ever be allowed to keep that.
Rhaena was Jaehaera's safe-haven for months. Helaena's girl grew older, smiled more, learned a little quicker, acted like her unofficial guardian more and more everyday, things were going well, they were perfectly fine, Helaena was almost at peace, almost ready to follow these two people for the rest of her life and be happier than she had ever been when she was alive herself if only they could be, but of course that couldn't last. Of course she wouldn't be allowed to keep this.
Corwyn Corbray impregnated Rhaena in early summer, after she had tried so hard to charm her way out of it, at least for Baela's sake, since she wanted the throne for herself so badly, the council would be forced to give that to her should she birth a boy first, but Corwyn did not care for those detail and months on end being married to the most beautiful woman in the realm without being allowed to touch her had made his patience paper thin, and so he had taken her the only way she allowed him to, after endless pipes of wine and the kind of force that made Helaena's stomach turn, no matter how long she had been dead for.
Rhaena, as always, had made do and been stronger than any woman should ever have to be, announcing the pregnancy as if it was something she actively wished for instead of a realization that threw her in a panic when she was in the safety of her husband's sister's arms (and oh, how Helaena wished she could slid in the woman's place, just for this day), away from the maesters that were always so easily enthralled and quick to write her pretenses. Jaehaera, bless her fragile heart, had been protected from the sight of Rhaena being ripped apart and stitched again into the shape of a mother, but nothing could keep her safe from her own naivety.
It was exactly her naivety that killed her.
Rhaena lost the child in a moon's turn, a bloody miscarriage who stole numberless days from her life, and Jaehaera who had been tittering about "Rhae's baby" ever since she heard of the pregnancy, was suddenly alone after being protected by the half-dead woman for far too long, Helaena's daughter had ran to her chambers to cry where she couldn't be heard, alone, and that loneliness was everything Unwin Peake needed, the perfect chance for his hired sellsword to do the deed, killing Helaena's last living child the same way she had killed herself and Rhaenyra's precious, foolish white worm.
Rhaena opened her eyes to a maddened world. Her non-oficial ward and almost daughter dead (and oh, Seven bless her, how she had cried at that, loud but buried in bloodstained pillows, Jaehaera's name repeated endlessly in her prayers for a swift entrance up into paradise), and Unwin Peake sleazing his way closer to the throne by pushing for Aegon III to marry a girl of his brood, which Rhaena forced herself to stop despite how weak the miscarriage had left her.
After that, instead of stopping as a descent mother would do (oh Jaehaera, forgive this selfish mother of yours) after her child was murdered, Helaena continued to watch. She watcched Aegon III marry Daenaera, Rhaena's steady and proud "brother, we have brought your new queen," making Helaena feel almost proud, though the girl was only there because Jaehaera had been killed which she could not ever forget. Then came Baela's child, which should in theory make her the heiress again instead of Rhaena, a hope squandered when the child she pushed out was a girl, meaning little in the end anyway, for soon Viserys II was found and the sisters forgotten and pushed away from the throne they had a right to.
Then came her first flight upon Morning's back, a miracle by all means, given the young dragon was only five years old when most hatchlings took double that time to ever fly with their riders. That was, perhaps, the only good thing the future held for Rhaena, given she took to the skies everyday, further and further, even when Aegon III hated her for it and begged her to stop interacting with that "wretched thing" as he called Morning every chance he got, which then lead his sister to moving to Dragonstone, a seat that was technically Viserys's though the boy did not deny it to her (not that he could, she was a dragonrider after all, they were not), a privilege that made her relationship to Baela even more estranged than before.
Then came Corwyn's death that separated Rhaena from the lover no book would ever know of, came her lonely years in Dragonstone where she cried over abandoned dresses and traced portraits of the family members she had lost, came Baela's child and Alyn's betrayals, came the political arrangement with the Hightower house after much pressure from the faith, an arrangement that pushed Rhaena into another marriage she did not wish for, and without a lover that could make the pretense sweeter. That was, perhaps, the moment Helaena truly understood anger. Rhaena tried so hard, so desperately, for everyone. She sent Baela letters her sister did no answer for she blamed Rhaena for her second marriage, as if she had a choice, she let herself be taken to bed and looked away through the whole ordeal, yet loved every child that came from abuse like they would be her last, until they truly had been.
The day the twins, Jaehaera and Visenya Hightower had been born, was the last day their mother drew breath.
(for Helaena's girl, for Helaena herself, Rhaena did it for them. Helaena wished she could scream.)
Rhaena took every one of her girls to the sky after they were born, no matter how ripped apart and how much padding the saddle beneath her would need, she'd fly with them, and it was the same for her last pregnancy. That time, she had been blessed with twins (girls of course, only ever girls, to the Hightower boy's fury) and walked out of the birthing room still bleeding, feverish and half-mad and refusing to let anyone take the two little bundles she carried simultaneously from her. Morning descended, of course, the she-dragon was perhaps the only being who stil drew breath capable of the same kind of loyalty Rhaena gave away freely, the beast threw herself so low the pregnant woman needed only a push from her ladies to be upon her back, and to the sky they went, so like the stories told about Alyssa Targaryen.
When she landed the velvet saddle beneath her that had once been white was crimson, her lips were colorless and her gown ruined. The Hightower boy rushed to take her children from her, and she let him this time, sliding down Morning's other side with a cry of pain, letting herself lean on the beast's wings and bleed out. Her last moment was spent hearing her children cry, her husband rage about her madness and her dragon roar for her loss, the only one she could see who was truly mourning her, given her girls were still too small to know better of their mother's absence.
She did not see Helaena scream and reach for her too, she did not see anything but what was left of herself.
Lady Rhaena Targaryen of Pentos, daughter of Laena Velaryon and the Rogue Prince, sister to Baela Velaryon and king Aegon III, the last dragonrider in her century, died in 146 A.C, oblivious to the girl who would be named in her honor one year past that.
It was only after that Helaena truly lived again.
She woke up in 120 A.C, the night the war began it's tailspin, the night her brother claimed Vhagar.
In Driftmark, with Rhaena in here, somewhere.