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“An unexpected ship is approaching the port, Your Grace. It carries the banner of the Velaryons.”
The presence of the maids is the only thing stopping Rhaenyra from grimacing when she hears the news.
The Velaryons. No one is so vexing to her these days as the Velaryons. They call themself kin only to stab you in the back. Some of them are bolder than others and don't even trouble themself with that - they will stab you in the chest and smile while doing so.
She would know. Her husband is a Velaryon. And what a husband he is.
Brooding is all he seems to be doing these days. At least when she sees him. And when he isn’t in her eyeshot he isn’t faring much better. She is aware how he spends his days. Nowadays he always has a boost of energy in the evenings. It started with the nightmares, all that time ago when he was sobbing himself to sleep and waking in the middle of the night screaming. When there were no more tears in him he just didn’t go to sleep. Instead he went restless and the sins of the city became his salvation - wine, boys and things she doesn’t want to think about. She spent many nights sick with worry of his whereabouts when he didn't return at night. There are times when she even sends her new sworn shield, ser Harwin, into the city to find her husband.
Alas, the methods of his coping seem to leave him in a worse state than before. He sleeps almost all day after he returns from wherever he was that night. He could spend all day in his bed if she didn’t send servants to help him bathe and invite him to eat with her. It seems that is the height of his social presence - nights at brothels and meals with his wife. He balks at the mere mention of attending court at her side and spending time with her family. Not that she faults him.
That is why she proposed to fly their dragons to Dragonstone, to hide themself from court. Just for a moon or so. Nobody can say that the Princess of Dragonstone doesn’t take care of her seat.
She thought that it would do him good. To be free from prying eyes and vicious mouths. To breathe sea air and fly unrestricted.
She didn’t expect her good-family to visit.
-
Guards follow her as she makes her way to the bridge where she will welcome her guests. She sent a servant to inform Laenor that they will have company at supper.
She is almost in the middle of the bridge when she sees them. Almost a dozen men clothed in blue are heading her way. Leading the way is Lord Corlys Velaryon. It is hard to miss him, he is taller and wider than any of his companions. Sometimes she can’t believe that he is older than her father for there is something so other, so youthful in his posture.
“Good-father,” she greets him with a smile when he is close enough for her to speak. “What a surprise. We didn’t expect you.”
“Princess,” he says bowing quickly, his men copying him. He is smiling widely. There is something wild swimming in his dark purple eyes. “I apologize if we impose on you. A new ship was built on Driftmark just as news arrived that you and my son are staying on Dragonstone. I thought that was a sign from the gods to test her on the waters and see how you are faring, all in one swoop.”
A sign. She thought. How meddlesome can the gods get?
“How thoughtful of you, my lord. I would be honored to host you and your men.”
And with that they are on their way to the castle.
-
If her reaction was bad, that is nothing compared to Laenor’s. The three of them are seated in her solar, eating their supper and making conversation focusing mainly on happenings at Dragonstone and Driftmark. But then …
“Your mother is most wroth with the name of the new prince. She swears that he is named after her father Aemon and she finds no joy in that,” he chuckles. “I told her that her cousin must have meant to be sly and named the boy after his brother.”
Ah yes. The topic most discussed by Targaryen and Velaryons. Children. You would think that there is nothing more important in the world.
“He can be named after both of them,” says Laenor. He takes a swing of his wine. His plate is almost untouched. “Wasn’t Daemon named after grandsire? And then he took his dragon. Maybe it sets a precedent and Aemond will be the next rider of Caraxes after Daemon dies. The boy’s egg didn’t hatch after all.”
“Don’t say things like that, boy,” berates Corlys. “He is your good-brother now. You wouldn’t wish bad things to befall your sister’s husband, would you?”
She gulps at the mention of them. Daemon and Laena. Her uncle and her dear cousin. Together. When she first heard of it she couldn’t believe it. The man she begged to whisk her away from her unwanted groom. Eloping with another woman. She never felt so naive, so childish, so lonely. As if there is no one in her corner.
Just her and Laenor, each day getting worse and worse. Their wedding seems to bring them nothing but misery.
“Well, where is my sister? Half a world away from her home. Maybe this way she would return,” snarks Laenor. He doesn’t seem angry, just tired. He swirls his goblet lazily, entirely focused on it.
Lord Corlys only sighs.
“It certainly saddens our family, but it is done. There is no undoing it, only praying that she finds happiness and this old man will become a grandsire one day,” Corlys looks her in the eyes when he says this. “It breaks my heart that I have no little ones to spoil yet.”
No sooner that he says it, Laenor is on his feet, mumbling his apologies about not feeling well and swiftly leaves the room.
What a traitor.
She closes her eyes for a second and feels something touching her hand. It’s his hand gently caressing hers. She watches hypnotized. It’s hardened with hard work on sea. It’s so much bigger than hers.
“I apologize,” he says softly. She finally snaps her gaze to his and finds concern in his eyes. “It’s just … your wedding was more than a year ago and we have not heard anything. If you have any concerns, I will go to Essos and find you anything you need. Midwives with subpar knowledge of healing and tonics. Any medicine you need. Just say the word.”
The tone of his voice is so calming. It makes her itch closer to him. When he reaches to touch her hair she just lets him. Leans into his touch even. She feels like in a trance. His attention on her warms her like the sun.
And then she snaps out of it. Her temper rears its nasty head. She leans even closer.
“You are so quick to find fault with me when it's your son who is not up to the task,” she says as she looks him in the eyes. She will not cover before him. “We tried. Too many times in my opinion. I know it is my duty to birth heirs, but how can I do it when my husband would sooner fuck his knights?”
She watches as his jaw works angrily.
“At the beginning, it wasn’t such an issue for me. It was an opportunity to have a husband who doesn’t restrict me this way. Now? Now I see how naive I was. We agreed to do our duty,” she swallows as truth spills from her lips. “And then 'dine as we see fit'. Soon I will have to do my duty without Laenor’s assistance.”
“You are insane if you think I would allow it,” he growls in her ear. It sends a shiver down her body. “You would parade your bastards as trueborn Velaryons? Do you wish to shame my house?”
His hand no longer strokes her hair as if she were a stray kitten. He holds her by the nape while his thumb is on her throat. She is halfway up her seat and leans towards him.
“Then what do you want me to do? Are you hiding any other sons who could sire my child? Or do you want me to whore myself to your brother, nephews or cousins of your choosing?”
She may be all fiery, roaring her displeasure as if she were a dragon in flesh, but he is a man of the ocean. His eyes change colors like the sea in a storm, and his face hardens with anger. She treats it as an opening. She takes a chance and sits on his lap.
“Rhaenyra,” his tone is hard. “Stop this madness.”
“Listen to me,” she inches closer and he instinctively grabs her hips. “It's the only way your lineage will sit on the Iron Throne. Don't you want it? Your son would be king.”
She wonders if his wife seduced him that way. With promises of royal children. She feels guilty thinking about her. But it's her only chance. Her only choice.
“Well,” he starts. His hands roam over her chest, hips and thighs. His lips are just a breath away from hers.“It is said that the best kings were the children of Targaryens and Velaryons.”
-
Her husband becomes displeased when his father decides to stay for a few more days. He locks himself in his rooms most of the time. This works well for Rhaenyra, who enjoys her good-father’s presence.
-
Nearly nine moons later, Rhaenyra births two healthy sons, both of them blessed with dark skin, white hair and purple eyes. She can’t stop looking at them. Her perfect boys.
She is swarmed with visitors a few moments later. The first are her husband and his parents. All of them beaming with joy.
“Can we name him Joffrey?” he asks while looking at the older twin in her arms. His face is doing something strange.
“They should have Velaryon names,” her good-father quickly objects. “The younger shall be named Lucerys. A good traditional name for the future Lord of The Tides.”
He looks at the younger boy in Rhaenys arms, every part of his body filled with pride and satisfaction.
“Better hurry, Rhaenyra, and name the older one. I fear what my husband is scheming for our grandson,” jokes Rhaenys. For a woman so sullen, she smiles so openly at the moment.
“He shall be named Jacaerys,” Rhaenyra says.
“A name fit for a king.”