Chapter Text
Tenth Day of the Tenth Moon 90AC
one week prior to Rhaenys’ wedding
Rhaenys I
the princess’ chambers, Maegor’s Holdfast
The morning light began to pour into Rhaenys’ main apartment. The Myrish lace curtains adoring the tall arched windows danced in the light summer breeze.
The two maidservants did not talk amongst themselves, moving about the royal apartment in silence, their attention focused on their morning duties. Neither acknowledging the princess’ chief lady as she entered the apartment nor the nervous kitchen boy that followed behind her balancing a silver tray laden with cheeses, breads, and fruits in his hands. The older woman gestured for the boy to place the tray upon the sitting room table before dismissing him with a wave of her hand.
The woman began setting the table for her mistress when there was a knock on the chamber door. She crossed the apartment in a few strides and opened the door. A royal page bowed at the waist before handing her a scroll. The woman scanned the scroll after she shut the door, her thin lips pressing together before scoffing in annoyance.
After tucking the scroll into her pocket, she returned to her previous task but rather than continuing to set the table, she began packing the selected items into a leather pouch.
Once she finished packing, the woman grabbed the pouch in her arms and moved to the princess’ bedchamber, where she placed it upon the vanity before stopping at the foot of the great bed.
“My princess, your breakfast has arrived.”
Rhaenys didn’t look up from the book she was flipping through. “Thank you Cecilia. I will call for you when I am ready to dress for the day.”
When her lady made no move to immediately withdraw, Rhaenys paused from her reading to look up at her senior lady, tilting her head to the side an eyebrow raised in a silent question.
Lady Cecilia Buckler was a stern looking woman. She had dark eyes and her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun, which only succeeded in making her look older than her six and twenty years. She dressed simply, in darker hues one would consider fashionable, eschewing the garish colors that had become popular; the only jewelry she wore was a single necklace of three brass buckles - the sigil of her house.
Rhaenys had been relieved when her mother informed her that her old governess had been transferred to Gael and Aemma’s household and that Lady Cecilia had been appointed to replace her. She had become a crutch Rhaenys hadn’t known she needed.
“Is there more?”
“Yes, princess.” Cecilia said. “Her Grace, your lady mother, and Her Majesty, your lady grandmother will be joining you this morning.”
Rhaenys sat up, her shoulders tense. “Did they say why?”
“It is regarding your upcoming nuptials, my princess.”
Rhaenys inhaled sharply, closing her eyes and rubbed her temples. As soon as the words left her lady’s mouth Rhaenys wanted to scream. Cecilia pulled out the scroll and offered it to the princess. She resisted the urge to tear it into pieces and scanned its contents.
Dearest,
Word has reached me that rather than greeting your guests within the queen’s ballroom yesterday, you spent that time atop your dragon.
While I understand that you may wish to rest considering your wedding is fast approaching, it is imperative - now more than ever - that you do not become lax in your social graces.
Remember your courtesies, child.
Your mother and I will be joining you this morning. There are other important matters to discuss.
Queen Alysanne
Rhaneys swore before crumpling the letter and tossing it across the room towards the hearth.
“I swear to the Seven if she mentions that damn shopkeeper.” Rhaenys muttered as she rose from her great feathered bed, the book she had been reading forgotten.
At sixteen, Rhaenys was a stunning young lady - tall, slender and eyes the same pale lilac as her father’s. Yet it was her hair that truly made her stand out - thick, voluminous and falling to her mid back, her hair was black as night instead of the silver-golden hair that was the norm amongst her family.
When she was younger she hated her hair, her cousin Daemon had teased her relentlessly over it, often asking his parents if she really was Valyrian. But now, she saw her unique feature as a blessing from her Baratheon ancestors, her Andal heritage. Her black hair singled her out showing that she was different from her family, more special. For she was Andal and Valyrian both, the heir the realm needed as her father liked to say.
Rhaenys washed her face with warm water over the porcelain basin left by the maidservants, patting her face and neck dry before seating herself in front of the looking glass on her vanity. Rhaenys closed her eyes as her lady began to comb the night's tangles from her waist length hair.
What other important matters did grandmother mean? As if wedding planning comprises the same duties of ruling an entire kingdom!
Wedding planning had only been good for giving her headaches. After receiving her grandfather’s approval to marry Lord Velaryon, she was forced to endure a constant procession of chefs, jewelers, florists, bakers, tailors, mummers and mind numbing discussions regarding flowers, gowns, and seating arrangements.
Is she trying to vex me? My wedding is a week away!
Her grandmother and mother had been completely unbearable throughout the entire process, fretting over something or another. They needlessly complained about everything - “That’s the wrong shade of red. Those are not the right flowers. That dress’ neckline is too low. The maesters predict it may rain that day.”
At her wits end, Rhaenys made a desperate appeal to her father, Prince Aemon. But the Prince of Dragonstone had only laughed, telling Rhaenys that she was her mother’s only child and to indulge her as this was the only time Lady Jocelyn would celebrate this event.
Besides, he went on to say, she was heir to the Iron Throne, her wedding is a matter of state, subjected to all the pomp and ceremony that comes with being royalty.
Unable to retort her father’s statement, Rhaenys was sullen for the rest of that day but she remembered her father’s words when she was forced to endure the queen and crown princess’ fretting that afternoon. So she plastered a frozen smile upon her face and silently seethed.
“I should be attending Small Council meetings! Not fretting about which color ribbon matches best with the bloody silverware!” she had raged to Cecilia once back in the privacy of her chambers.
She had no desire to indulge their nonsense today nor even the patience to entertain it. Rhaenys’ eyes snapped open, her decision made.
“Fetch my riding leathers and the black tunic. The one with red and gold embroidery on the sleeves,” she said after Cecilia had finished styling her hair.
Cecilia dipped her head and did as she was bid, retreating into the princess’s dressing room and emerging moments later with the requested items. She laid them out on the princess' bed before coming to stand behind her mistress.
“Please inform my lady mother and grandmother that I am indisposed this morning and cannot attend to them,” Rhaenys said curtly.
Cecilia nodded. “Of course, my princess. I am sure they will be most distressed upon hearing the news.”
Rhaenys made eye contact with her lady through her looking glass, and while Cecilia’s stoic body language and flat tone appeared disinterested, her lady’s eyes danced with concealed mirth and a ghost of a smile tugged on her lips, no doubt she was picturing the looks on the queen and crown princess’ faces once told.
Rhaenys gave a small grin in reply then noticed the leather pouch resting on her vanity. She gave her lady a questioning look.
Cecilia shrugged. “I did tell you your breakfast arrived, my princess.”
Rhaenys tipped her head back and laughed. She stood up to embrace her lady in a quick hug. “What would I do without you?”
Cecilia gently took Rhaenys hands in hers. “You would shine my princess.”
Rhaenys smiled nodding in agreement before stepping back from her lady. “After informing them please do take the day for yourself. I’m sure your kin has arrived from the Stormlands by now.”
Cecilia graciously bowed her head. “Thank you my princess.” She gestured to the clothing on her bed. “Now get moving, I’m sure you don’t have long,” she said teasingly before withdrawing from the bedchamber.
Once alone Rhaenys hastily dressed, her lady was right. She didn’t know how long she had until her grandmother and mother arrived at her apartment door. They’ll be here any moment. She couldn’t leave through her apartment door either. She’d risk running into them and even if she didn’t, the castle’s corridors were so full with wedding guests, word of her whereabouts would reach the queen before she even left the Red Keep’s courtyard.
Meagor’s tunnels then.
After lacing up her riding boots, she grabbed the leather pouch off her vanity and throws it over her shoulder. She paused for a moment by her bedchamber door, listening for any commotion from her adjacent sitting area. So far so good. Rhaenys strode across her large bedchamber to the distant wall, tracing her fingers across the stones in an intricate pattern and waited. The stone wall groaned as it pulled back in on itself, revealing a hidden side passage. Wasting no time, Rhaenys slid through the passageway opening, not bothering to look back as the stone wall slid back in place behind her.
Baelon I
the Master of Coins’ study, the Red Keep
On a normal day, one would consider the Red Keep lively, bustling with the activities associated with a royal household. But now, with his niece’s wedding a week away, the corridors of the royal palace have become unbearable to navigate.
While any royal wedding was cause for mass celebration, this particular royal wedding was for the apparent future queen of the Seven Kingdoms and it seems not a single soul wished to miss out on the celebrations. Each day brought more members of the nobility to the capitol, but there was hardly enough room to house them. The Red Keep’s courtier apartments were occupied with the Lord’s Paramount, other major lords, their families and their households. They at least had the good sense to arrive a fortnight ago! These new arrivals would not be so lucky. According to the latest report from the last Small Council meeting, all of the inns along Aegon’s High Hill claimed full occupancy. Baelon had serious doubts that these arriving lords would be pleased to hear they would have to reside within an inn along Fishmonger Square - or gods forbid in Fleabottom!
Baelon let out a deep slow breath hoping the stress he felt would leave his body as the air left his lungs. I will rest easier once Rhaenys is wed. A foolish hope, for the expenses for the wedding had yet been averaged. As Master of Coin, Baelon knew he’d be going over these expenses for the rest of the year. He glanced down at the latest ledger on his desk, an invoice from another shopkeep off the Street of Looms. It would seem the gowns Queen Alysanne had ordered earlier this month had not been to her liking. His eyes trail down to the total sum and he inhaled sharply.
This cannot stand, queen she may be but spending this extravagantly is unacceptable!
“Your Highness.”
Baelon’s gaze snapped up from his desk to the young servant who suddenly appeared in his study. His indigo eyes narrowed, studying the youth before him. He looks familiar. The boy was young - maybe older than his eldest - with golden brown hair and light brown eyes. He was wearing a simple black doublet, an emblem of a hand embroidered in his lapel. Ah. One of Barth’s underlings.
“Your presence is requested in the Small Council Chamber. A meeting of the Small Council has been called.”
Baelon nodded curtly to the youth and waved his hand in dismissal, the boy bowed at the waist and withdrew from the room as silently as he came. Baelon gently rubbed his temples in an attempt to clear his mind of all the figures and sums running through it. He was nearly successful until he caught sight of the shopkeeper’s invoice. Gritting his teeth, Baelon gathered all the documents atop his desk before walking out of his chambers into the busy, noisy hall, his mood foul. The throng of people parted quickly to make a path for the prince, bowing and curtsying deeply, some offering a greeting or blessing to his family, Baelon ignored all of them as he made his way to the council chamber, his Kingsguard knight following three paces behind.
It seemed everywhere he looked there were lordlings loitering about hoping for a royal audience to petition his father regarding some nonsense, merchants of all trades working diligently on whatever wedding preparations his mother and good-sister commissioned, and servants scuttling around, looking just as disheveled as he felt. The constant noise was akin to a gnat buzzing around one’s ear. He hated it. Later he’d fly Vhagar, the gods knew he needed the peace.
“Baelon!”
His brother’s clear voice cut through the chatter easily and Baelon paused, turning around to see his elder brother Aemon jogging down the corridor to meet him. He, too, was holding various papers in his hand. Pardons most likely. Aemon wore a doublet of crimson, embroidered with entwined black and gold stitching throughout. His pale white gold hair flowed around his shoulders while the Valyrian steel circlet of the crown prince sat across his brow.
“Why so glum?”
Baelon rolled his eyes at his brother’s question before glancing down at the papers in both their hands. Aemon only laughed in response, his pale lilac eyes dancing with mirth as he clapped his hand on his brother’s back. They continue their way through the corridors before arriving at their destination. The kingsguard stationed in front of the Council Chamber look comically small next to the black marble Valyrian sphinxes flanking the chamber’s bronze door; their eyes of polished garnet watching those who passed through the door. He nodded in silent greeting to the man as he and his brother pass through the doorway. The Small Council chamber was richly furnished, Myrish carpets upon the floor and magnificent tapestries from Norvos, Qohor and Lys hung on the stone walls.
King Jaehaerys was sitting at the head of the long table, conversing with Queen Alysanne and Septon Barth. Grand Maester Elysar was hunched over in his usual chair, fidgeting with two dozen heavy chains woven together into a ponderous metal necklace. While Corlys Velaryon had taken his place at the other head of the table. Baelon raised an eyebrow and glanced at Aemon, trying to decipher what he thought of his future good son’s daring. As usual, Aemon was unreadable. Baelon had never been particularly fond of Lord Velaryon. His arrogance was well known. As the head of the richest house in Westeros the man was hard enough to deal with, but now as the future king consort Baelon was finding it difficult not to throttle the smug smile off the man’s face. He would never understand why his niece chose this man for her husband; a man older than her own father!
It shouldn’t have happened like this. Baelon thought, not for the first time. It was supposed to be Viserys.
Once it became clear Rhaenys would remain her father’s only child there was an unspoken agreement that she and Viserys would wed once they came of age, uniting Aemon and Baelon’s lines. Yet as the children grew older, they became distant, their personalities clashed, and their values were far too different for them to ever find the common ground they needed to rule together. And the more the children were pushed together the fiercer Rhaenys pushed back against the match. Until finally, within days of claiming the she-dragon Meleys, the young princess declared that no one would force her hand. So, Aemon relented and Rhaenys chose her betrothed herself.
“It seems our Master of Coin and Master of Law have finally decided to join us.” Jaehaerys' stern voice broke Baelon from his thoughts.
He shifted his gaze to his father. Jaehaerys' dark violet eyes were gentle as he assessed his sons and the Council Chamber had fallen silent. Jaehaerys gestured them over, the rings adorning his pale hand glinting in the sunlight.
“Come my sons, sit, we have matters of state to discuss.”
Baelon and Aemon took their respective seats along the table. Jaehaerys nodded before motioning to Grand Maester Elysar to begin the Council session.
“We have received word from White Harbor that Lord Manderly has again fallen ill and has been placed on bedrest.” The maester crooked out, his hands shaking as he held the raven scroll while he delivered the news.
Alysanne scoffed. “Yes, yes, and just as before within a few days hence we will receive yet another raven about the lord’s recovery.”
Baelon turned to stare at his mother, he often thought his mother’s constant dismissal of Lord Manderly’s health was shortsighted. Especially considering what it would mean if the man were to die.
“We’ve received half a dozen ravens about the man’s health in as many moons,” he stated flatly.
Is she truly that blind? The man is clearly on his deathbed.
Alysanne laughed airily. “Baelon, please we have much more important matters to discuss.”
Like spending 300 gold dragons on a damn dress!?
Baelon kept the thought to himself as he dipped his head to his mother in dutiful respect.
Jaehaerys smiled at his queen. “Quite right my love,” he said, placing a gentle kiss atop her hand, “what else Grand Maester?”
The old man wheezed as he shuffled through the papers in front of him. “Ah, here it is. A marriage proposal from the Vale. Lord Yorbert Royce has written. His only child, Rhae, has recently celebrated her twelfth name day and he has offered her hand in marriage to either Prince Viserys or Prince Daemon.”
Baelon raised both eyebrows. “But not to Valerion?”
His youngest brother was born the same year as Daemon. Why would the lord not offer his daughter’s hand to all three?
“Gael is for Valerion,” Alysanne responded matter of factly, ending the discussion.
Then officially betrothal them already.
Aemon drummed his fingers against the ash wood table, looking thoughtful. “Daemon and her are close in age.”
Baelon gapped at his brother. “Daemon is a child.”
“So is the girl,” said the gruff voice of Corlys Velaryon from the other end of the table, “younger than the prince even.”
Baelon glared at the Master of Ships, clenching his fists under the table. Corlys simply held his gaze.
I abhor this man.
Septon Barth broke the tense silence. “It is true that the Vale has been isolated from the rest of the kingdoms. A royal match would be wise, my king.”
“The Vale had their royal match,” Alysanne cut in coolly.
Daella.
Baelon had fond memories of his timid little sister who adored flowers and kittens. She had been a shy child, often tongue tied and nervous around strangers but she possessed a gentle, caring heart. Her death occurred not long after Alyssa’s death and Saera’s banishment; losing three daughters in just as many years had nearly broken the queen.
“Aye, then that princess died and her daughter has been kept here in the Red Keep as a royal ward ever since.”
Alysanne’s face flushed red in anger at the callous statement and she glared at Lord Velaryon.
“You’d best watch how you speak to your queen, my lord.”
His mother spat out the title, making it clear that while he may be betrothed to the heir-princess, that did not in any way make him royalty, much less her equal. The man just dipped his head in feigned repentance while Baelon struggled to suppress a small smile at his mother's venomous rebuke.
Nice to know that I am not the only one who cannot stand him.
Septon Barth cleared his throat before continuing. “House Royce does currently hold the Gates of the Moon and Lady Rhae will become Mistress of Runestone in time. It would be a good match for a second son.”
Jaehaerys stroked his beard. “That is true…yet I dislike the idea of a younger son being betrothed before the elder.”
Baelon leapt at the opening.
“Your majesty has the right of it. Aemon was betrothed before me.” He gestured a hand to his elder brother across the table, “let Viserys be betrothed before we speak of Daemon.”
“Then betroth Prince Viserys to this Royce girl and be done with it.”
Baelon felt a sudden rage rise in his chest. His fists enclosed around themselves again and his eyes narrowed as he turned to glare at the Master of Ships.
I really abhor this man.
“He is my first born. He deserves better than some minor lord’s daughter and an isolated keep.” Baelon tried to keep the venom from his voice. He failed.
This man usurps my son’s place as future king and now wants him married into a minor house!?
Baelon’s eyes were ablaze with barely concealed rage at this man’s audacity.
Corlys snorted before staring back at him unblinkingly, unbothered by the prince’s anger.
“And who would you suggest for Prince Viserys then? Only Lord Tyrell has daughters and they are far younger than this Royce girl.”
Baelon clenched his jaw.
I really really abhor this man.
He had seen the Tyrell girls amongst the courtiers. They had curly brown hair and brown eyes, often wearing matching green dresses embroidered with golden roses. And the eldest was only eight.
Jaehaerys spoke up, “Lord Corlys is right, my son. There are no suitable matches for Viserys nor Daemon amongst the Lord’s Paramount. Lord Royce’s proposal is a good one for either boy.”
Seven Hells.
Baelon closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to imagine Viserys or Daemon in Runestone, not even lord of their own keep. He couldn’t.
Alysanne’s laugh sounded around the room. Baelon looked up towards his parents. Alysanne had placed her hand on the king’s forearm, her smile gentle, almost teasing.
“My love, don't be silly. I am certain there are other lords with daughters of an acceptable age, some maybe older than Lady Rhae. With the nobility gathered here for Rhaenys’ wedding we will simply make note of those who would be acceptable. The king cannot be seen to outright accept the first proposal offered.”
Baelon sighed softly in relief when his father nodded in agreement and the other council members following the king’s decision.
“Speaking of our bride to be,” Alysanne said, turning to look at Aemon, her blue eyes narrow, “I was unable to find her this morning.”
Aemon smiled sheepishly, “You know how she is.”
Their mother hummed in response.
Grand Maester Elysar spoke up, “I will begin the tally of respectable options for the princes, my queen. It will be delivered to you by the wedding feast.”
Baelon could only pray to the Seven that there would be more than one suitable candidate on the list.
Gael I
the royal nursery apartment, Maegor’s Holdfast
“Do you think your mother will allow us to attend the wedding feast?”
Gael didn’t look up from her lesson, or what should’ve been her lesson. She had given up trying to translate the High Valyrian prayer a while ago and started doodling instead. It was much more fun.
“I don’t know,” she replied.
Nor did she want to. She didn’t really care for court events. They were crowded and loud and - since she had not yet mastered the social graces to perform court duties well - full of strangers who stared at her. The recent weeks had been torturous as her home became occupied by thousands of strangers. And worse she was expected to mingle with them.
The luncheon yesterday in the Queen’s Ballroom had been agonizing. As soon as her mother granted her permission to leave she dashed towards the exit. She wasn’t even looking forward to attending the wedding ceremony in the Grand Sept, which would have more attendees. The Great Hall could only seat around a thousand guests, while the Grand Sept could seat tens of thousands. Gael stuck her tongue out slightly as she attempted to focus on her drawing when she heard a dramatic sigh.
“We never get to do anything fun,” her companion huffed.
Gael looked up across the table to her niece. Lady Aemma Arryn was pouting, slumping in her chair with her arms crossed against her chest. Her sandy blonde curls held back off her face by the crown of lilies atop her head. Her gray-blue eyes glaring at her completed lesson laying in front of her. Aemma was the only child of her older sister Daella, and Gael’s closest friend. Gael was sure the last few years would’ve been much lonelier if Aemma had stayed in the Vale after her mother’s death. Gael would be forever grateful her mother insisted that Aemma be raised at court. Since they were so close in age - less than four and twenty months between them - her mother combined their households and Gael was (finally!) moved out of her mother’s apartment and into the one she had selected for the girls to share.
“We did get new gowns ,” Gael mentioned, “so who knows. Maybe we will be allowed to attend.”
Weeks ago, shopkeepers from the Street of Looms had turned the girls' apartment into a makeshift studio; their sitting area covered with bolts of all kinds of fabrics in a rainbow of colors, dozens of different ribbons, and trims of exquisite lace. Aemma had been overjoyed and took to designing her gown with intense focus, yet she had changed her mind nearly a dozen times. First, she couldn’t decide what color she wanted - blue or lavender - next she was torn between which fabric - silk or chiffon. She finally settled on a light rose taffeta. Then came the “momentous” choice between a square or round neckline, cupped sleeves or long sleeves. Gael didn’t really care as much as her niece had, just as long as her gown was blue. It was her favorite color. The gowns had just arrived a few days past, delivered in beautiful ivory boxes. The girls had been ecstatic upon returning from their lessons that day to discover their gifted gowns in their apartments. It was a miracle their governess had been able to prevent them from putting on their gowns right then and there.
Aemma perked up a bit at the mention of the new gowns the queen ordered for them, but remembered why the gowns were ordered in the first place.
“Those are for the wedding ceremony at the sept Gael!” Aemma threw her hands up in the air in exasperation.
Gael shrugged and returned to her drawing. “You know we aren’t permitted to attend court events without being formally presented first.”
“It’s just not fair! Everyone else is going. Even that beastly Aleria Tyrell.” Aemma slumped in her chair again and resumed pouting.
Gael snickered. They had been introduced to the girl yesterday during the ladies luncheon in the queen’s ballroom. Aleria Tyrell had been in a foul mood indeed. Even dressed up in all that finery couldn’t hide the girl’s deplorable manners nor the barely concealed sneer on her face. She was younger than them, with frizzy curls and big brown eyes. She had been dolled up in a monstrous dress with so many gold roses embroidered into the fabric it barely moved. It probably was really itchy too. Gael had the misfortune of wearing a gown like that once. Within an hour, her skin had broken out in horrendous red blotches. The maester ordered her to bathe in cold milk to calm the intense itching. Maybe that’s why she was in a foul mood. Gael thought as she began to add details to the castle she had drawn on her lesson.
“Valerion isn’t going.” she added after a brief moment.
Aemma snorted. “That’s because he’s choosing not to attend.”
Gael hummed in response. Her brother Valerion had indeed chosen to be absent during the wedding feast. But he never was present at any court event anyways, preferring to spend the time hidden away in his apartments or in the royal library. Even when there weren’t court events he kept to himself. She was the only one of their family members he often bothered to see. They would spend an afternoon together in the godswood, often in a comfortable silence as he read and she drew. Her older brother never made her feel silly or stupid. She liked that about him.
“What if we go anyways?”
Gael’s head snapped up and she stared at her niece. “How would we do that? You know muña* would send us straight back to our chambers.”
Aemma looked around quickly to ensure their governess was not in their sitting room before leaning forward across the table, smiling wickedly. “Not if she doesn’t see us.” she whispered.
Gael tilted her head to the side in an unspoken question as she waits for Aemma to continue.
“We watch from a gallery!”
Gael blinked. “A gallery?” she repeated slowly.
Like the queen’s ballroom, the Great Hall boosted multiple upper galleries often used by court musicians. Aemma jumped out of her chair and started to pace in their sitting room.
“Yes!”
Gael wasn’t convinced and her face must’ve said such because Aemma continued.
“Listen! Listen! We simply wait in our chambers until the feast has started, then we just sneak out onto an unused gallery!”
Aemma’s eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed with excitement at the thought. The crown of lilies fell askew over Aemma’s forehead when she turned to face her aunt. She fixed her crown before continuing.
“It’s perfect! We can be there without having to actually be there!”
“Think about it, we'll see everything! No one is going to be looking up; they’ll be looking at the future queen! We won’t have to talk to anyone or curtsy, it’ll just be us!”
A smile slowly began to spread across Gael’s face before she nodded. Aemma squealed in delight before running to her aunt causing the girls to tumble onto the Myrish carpet, giggling madly.
Seventeenth Day of the Tenth Moon 90AC
the day of the Rhaenys’ wedding
Viserra I
the Fair Maiden’s top deck
The large double masted galley glided through the water with ease, its oars rising and falling in perfect rhythm increasing the ship’s speed. The strong winds and calm seas had shortened the typical length of the voyage, especially once they had rounded the Fingers and made headway into the Gullet. She stood at the bow of the ship for the majority of the journey desperate to see her home appear. And now King’s Landing was on the horizon. I’ve been away far too long. Viserra lifts her hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun. The pale red brick of the Red Keep shone with an almost ethereal glow in the mid morning light. The seven huge drum towers and massive curtain walls loomed overhead as the vessel skimmed closer towards the castle.
It had been nearly three years since she saw her home; the last time when the galley carrying her to White Harbor departed from the docks. She had stood as still as a statue, gripping the galley’s wooden railing until her knuckles turned white. Silent tears pooled in her eyes yet she refused to let them fall - not in public anyway - as the only home she’d ever known faded from her view.
She had begged her father on bended knees, tears falling openly on her cheeks as she pleaded with him to intervene, to prevent the match her mother had orchestrated.
”I know I must marry, but please Kepa choose someone else! Someone close in age with myself! Someone closer to my home! A lord from the Crownlands or the Stormlands! Please, I beg you! Don’t send me away!”
Jaehaerys had been unmoved by her pleas, coolly telling her that marriages were the queen’s domain before dismissing her from his audience chamber. She spent the rest of the afternoon in her apartment staring listlessly out her window, wallowing in self pity and drowning her sorrows in a flagon of wine.
Later that evening - either out of desperation or drink, most likely both - she snuck into her elder brother’s apartment hoping to convince him to save her from her fate by giving consent for her to marry one of his sons. But when she arrived he was not there, then without warning all that drink suddenly went to her head and she ended up sick. That’s how Baelon found her - vomit covered and barely conscious in his bed. Once word of what happened reached their mother, there was no going back or even getting a chance to explain her intentions, the marriage contract to Lord Manderly had been signed the very next day.
So with nothing left to lose, Viserra insisted on having one more night of fun before she went to freeze in the dreary North. So she swapped robes with her maidservant and disappeared into the streets of King’s Landing with a few trusted companions. The midnight revelry included stops in multiple ale houses and gambling dens in Fleabottom. They danced on tables in a tavern off Eel Alley and raced their horses through the cobblestone streets. By the end of the night they were so loaded with drink they had been unable to mount their horses so the group slowly made their way up King’s Way by foot, shrieking and laughing loudly. Once discovered returning to the castle at daybreak (they didn’t bother to sneak back in), she was confined to new chambers in the Red Keep, her maidservants replaced with septas. Her parents had guards stationed at her door around the clock and she had been housed in an apartment with no access to Meagor’s tunnels underneath the castle.
They certainly learned from their mistakes after dealing with Saera.
Viserra felt bitter resentment rise in her chest at the thought of that wretched girl. Out of all her sisters, Saera had been the most detested. She was cruel, hiding it under the guise of humor. Viserra lost count of all the hideous pranks she played on her siblings over the years. Putting bees in Daella’s bedchamber knowing how terrified she was of them was high on the list. But her cruelest joke had been sealing Viserra’s fate - a marriage to Lord Theomore Manderly of White Harbor, a man thrice her age and twice widowed. It would’ve never happened if Saera had not disgraced herself so completely. The last Viserra had heard of Saera was that she resided in Volantis, performing disgusting acts for coins in a pleasure house with a bastard child already.
Stupid whore.
Viserra shook off thoughts of her sister and gazed up at Red Keep. Her time in the North had not exactly been as dreadful as she first expected. Her new husband was thoughtful and kind towards her. His adult sons were always courteous and respectful but their wives and daughters were a different story. Upon first being introduced to the Manderly ladies, Viserra had been horrified to discover they all dyed their hair green. It had been so unexpected her courtly courtesies deserted her and she openly stared at the five of them, her disgust evident in her facial expression. They never forgot the slight to their pride at that first meeting and they maintained as much distance from her as polite society (and her lord husband) would allow.
Not that Viserra minded, she hadn’t much preferred the company of ladies, even as a child. Men and boys were easier.
Easier to sway and influence.
Her husband hadn't taken much effort to win over. The old man had desired a companion in his advancing age rather than a wife for heirs. So she gave him sweet smiles and kind words, and never denied him his marital rights the rare times the mood had struck him. In return, he granted her freedoms she never was allowed to enjoy before in the Red Keep. He permitted her to hunt, hawk and even learn archery. The activities had become a lifeline for her and she would forever be grateful to him for allowing her those liberties.
When she first saw him that day during that pitiful so-called wedding ceremony at the royal sept, Viserra never thought she would grow somewhat fond of the man. That she would actually feel somewhat saddened upon the realization he would not recover this time. Her husband had been at the Stranger’s door for many moons now, managing to hold on to life only due to the concoctions the maester gave him. Viserra had been at the man’s bedside, watching the maester force vile remedies down her husband’s throat. She had pitied him in the end, being forced to live like that. Once the maester’s stores ran low, she knew it was only a matter of time before he passed so she began publicly ordering preparations for the burial and privately packing her belongings. Only a few hours later, he died and Viserra had immediately disembarked for King’s Landing leaving instructions with the maester to send the raven only after her lord husband’s burial.
I will have arrived before the raven surely given the favorable weather.
She was confident the maester wouldn’t disobey her command as there was no one of higher authority within the keep when she departed. Her lord husband’s adult sons and their families had left for the capitol a fortnight ago for the girl’s wedding. Aemon’s daughter. She knew little about her eldest niece even though they spent two years together in the royal nursery. Yet following her niece’s second nameday, her parents had the girl’s education placed under their direct supervision. After that she hardly saw her brother’s only child, let alone conversed with her. Only things she knew for certain was that Rhaenys bonded to Alyssa’s dragon and she chose her intended.
Her wedding is today if I remember correctly.
Suddenly a roar echoed across the bay. Viserra whipped her head towards the sound then laughed wildly when she saw a red dragon shoot up to the sky coming from what could only be the Dragonpit.
She smiled gleefully as she watched the beast bank to the left and fly over the city. She took in the magnificence of the scene stretched out before her.
I will never leave my home again.
She was a Targaryen, the blood of the dragon, she belonged in the castle her ancestors built, and woe to those who believed differently.
Alysanne I
the queen’s apartment, Maegor’s Holdfast
Alysanne hummed under her breath as one of her ladies began to brush out her long hair to restyle for the wedding feast. Alysanne smiled as she thought back on the day’s events. The wedding ceremony had been absolutely magnificent, truly the grandest event the realm had seen in decades. Her wedding to Jaehaerys in 50AC had been a rather small ceremony. Well, her public wedding. Her and Jaehaerys were first married in secret on Dragonstone roughly a 12 moons prior, once she had discovered her mother’s plans to wed her to Ser Orryn Baratheon! So Alysanne’s wedding had indeed been sparse in comparison to this spectacular affair.
Her granddaughter was breathtaking in her wedding gown, wearing Alysanne’s golden diadem. She looked regal as she gracefully descended from the back of Meleys and made her way down the Grand Sept aisle towards her intended. The maiden cloak draped upon her granddaughter’s shoulders had been used by Daella, Alyssa and Alysanne herself in their marriage ceremonies. She was every inch a queen today. She spoke her vows confidently pledging to take Lord Corlys Valeryon as her lord and husband after he placed his own family’s cloak around her, taking her under his protection. A chaste kiss followed their vows and the High Septon announced the pair as one flesh, one heart, one soul now and forever.
And if the cheering of the crowds within the sept had been loud once the couple were announced man and wife, the roar that erupted from the people as the couple emerged on the Grand Sept stairs had been deafening. Her poor sensitive Gael had clamped her hands over her ears at the noise. Alysanne had discreetly motioned to the governess to have her and Aemma escorted back to the Red Keep earlier than anticipated. Aemma normally would've been indignant at the request but she had gone without much fuss.
That was rather out of character for her, Alysanne thought looking back. She had been looking forward to taking the royal procession back through the city.
Thousands had lined the streets as the royal procession made its way down King’s Way to the Red Keep. Men, women and children cheered wildly as the royal wheelhouses passed. Alysanne smiled at the memory. She had not been the slightest annoyed when the crowd delayed their return to the Red Keep by a couple hours.
“Your majesty, the princesses have arrived to bid goodnight.”
Alysanne’s smile widened further at the news, waving away the lady doing her hair. She rose from her vanity, her arms outstretched to the girls who dash into her waiting arms, causing her to stumble slightly.
“Oh! My loves, be careful! I’m not as young as I once was.” Alysanne laughed before taking a step back. She looked down at the girls standing before her.
Both girls were in their silken nightgowns, nightcaps on their heads ; Aemma’s looked like she had attempted to embroider flowers along its edges. Just like Daella did. While Aemma had an uncanny likeness to her mother in both appearance and interests, her outgoing personality was in stark contrast to her mother’s timid one. Alysanne slowly and carefully kneeled down in front of the girls before giving them each a kiss on their foreheads.
“We’ve come to say goodnight grandmother!” Aemma chirped happily.
Alysanne raised an eyebrow. Aemma had been begging and pleading to attend the wedding feast for weeks. But today not a peep about attending, even now, nor any fuss about leaving the ceremony early. The shift was curious to say the least but before Alysanne had a chance to ask, her daughter spoke up.
“Will you be able to read us a story tonight?”
Alysanne turned to her youngest, her Winter Child. She reaches out and cupped her daughter’s cheek.
“I’m afraid not, little dragon.” she said softly. “But on the morrow when we break our fast, I will tell you all about the feast. How does that sound? Hmm.”
Alysanne tapped her finger on Gael’s nose. Gael giggled and nodded in response. She pulled the girls into her arms once more, hugging them fiercely.
“Rest well my darlings.” Alysanne whispered against their heads. “I love you both very much.”
The girls reply with a kiss upon her cheeks. They then step back and curtsy, almost in unison, before departing with their governess.
Alysanne slowly got up from her kneeling position, waving off offers of help from her ladies. “My body is not yet feeble. Go about your business.” she snapped. Their coddling is really getting ridiculous. She returned to her vanity and allowed her lady to resume her hair styling while another applied rouge to her cheeks and lips.
“My queen, Grand Maester Elysar has sent this for your approval.”
Alysanne thanked her lady as she was handed the scroll. She opened the parchment and began reviewing the names written. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise when she saw just how many maidens were listed. Her eyes dart down the list, there were over a dozen minor houses with eligible daughters. Even with the Vale and Northern houses unaccounted for, it was a great start. Old the man may be but the efficiency in which he completed his tasks was something the younger members of this court could learn to emulate. Alysanne placed the parchment on her vanity, grabs a quill and drew a line through House Farman. Jaehaerys would never allow it, not after the whole debacle with Elissa Farman and the dragon eggs she stole. Those eggs were somewhere across the Narrow Sea now. Thankfully, there had been no whispering of hatchlings from the far east.
She continued to thoughtfully review the list before striking out Houses Bracken and Blackwood. The enmity between them would never allow one to be raised higher than the other. And I cannot raise both for I will not have my granddaughters by law at each other's throats. After giving the list a look through one more time, Alysanne then crossed out all the girls younger than thirteen namedays. She smiled when she saw the amount remaining, truly a sign her decision was the right choice. Seven. Alysanne handed the list to her lady.
“Please send a summons to the following families. I will require their daughters as new ladies in the new year.”
Alysanne's ladies quickly dress herself in the gown she had specially made for tonight’s festivities - a deep blue with hundreds of tiny iridescent pearls sewn into the fabric of the dress’ overlay. The gown was a modest style, one befitting a mature queen. The neckline stopping just below her collarbones and the sleeves at her wrists. The gown flared out naturally at her waistline - after giving birth to thirteen children she found the cut the most flattering for her figure. Her long hair, white with age, had been braided and twisted behind her head in an updo, pinned back in a bejeweled hair net and large pearls dangled from her ears. Giving one last look in her looking glass to confirm her appearance was perfect, she strode through the corridors of the Red Keep to the Great Hall.
Even though the start of the feast had been delayed, the revelry was not. By the time Alysanne reached her seat upon the dais for the royal family, she had noticed several young people who had clearly consumed too much drink.
King Jaehaerys stood and the Hall fell silent. “My lords and ladies, I welcome you to this most joyous occasion! My family and I are humbled by your presence here this evening. Today we celebrate the marriage of my eldest grandchild, Princess Rhaenys.”
Jaehaerys raised his goblet in the bride’s direction. “May the light of the Seven smile down upon your marriage.”
Alysanne drank to her husband’s toast happily. Smiling more widely when the cheering of their guests echoing his sentiment through the hall. Music began to play from the galleries above and Alysanne caught movement from one of the unoccupied ones out of the corner of her eye. She glanced up just in time to see two figures with blonde hair dart out of sight. So that’s why they gave me no fuss today. Alysanne shook her head and smiled again. I shall let them have their fun.
Couples began to mingle on the dance floor and Alysanne slipped into an easy conversation with Prince Aemon and his wife, Jocelyn Baratheon. Laughter and merriment was evident everywhere in the Great Hall. Alysanne beamed with pride as she watched Rhaenys and Corlys make their way to the center of the hall for their first dance. Guests quickly clear the way to give the royal couple their space.
When they had finish, Alysanne clapped gleefully, beaming with happiness for them, for the glorious future she saw for the realm when she looked at her beloved granddaughter. She still remembered that day the girl was placed in her arms for the first time - “our future queen” she proclaimed to the child’s beaming parents.
Slowly, Alysanne noticed the Great Hall had grown eerily silent. She tore her eyes from the married couple and looked over to her husband, to see if he had risen to make another toast. He had not. She glanced around the royal dais for the source of the sudden shift - Aemon appeared mildly surprised, Baelon uneasy, Jocelyn mildly infuriated, Viserys was staring open mouthed and Daemon was smirking. She noticed that the majority of the attendees had turned back to look at the Great Hall’s entrance. Alysanne followed their gaze and nearly dropped her goblet in shock at who stood there, before the entire nobility of the realm, before her. Her shock turned to a rage that overwhelmed her so completely she knew without a doubt her displeasure was written on her face, for standing at the top of the great hall’s steps, dressed in a dramatic black gown, was Princess Viserra Targaryen.