Chapter Text
Dark curly hair, sticky little fingers and a set of big lilac eyes that gleamed innocently, looking up at her.
Jacaerys Velaryon currently sat in a mess in the kitchens, he created and giggled as Rhaenyra stemmed her hands against her hips, giving him a look. The other cooks had formed a circle around him, not daring to touch the royal child while his nursemaid or his guard were no where to be seen. Just the jam and her son.
Sighing, she contemplated her dress first - purple and lovely with little pearl beads - before deciding she´d rather have Jace out of here now than waiting for someone to take him. Stepping over the spilled jars, she scooped him up, wincing a bit as his red stained fingers patted her face.
“Mummy,” he yelled, excited and all annoyance melted seeing how happy he was.
“Did you have fun playing?” She asked, taking the stairs up, leaving the mess for the servants to clean up.
As he nodded wildly, his hair bouncing around, she kissed him on the forehead. His hair had gotten rather long and perhaps if she found the time she would cut it for him in the weeks to come. Stepping over the threshold, still thinking how to get around the wrangling he most certainly would do, she found herself in the gardens of the Red Keep.
It was a lovely sunny day with no clouds in sight only the salty air carried over from the sea, the clear sounds of water gushing from the fountains, and the chatters of noble ladies drawing their rounds.
Now she just had to take the path to her right that led by the gazebo and into the side entrance, up the great staircase and into her private chambers where she´d call for someone to give Jace a much needed bath. But as she was walking according to her plan, she came to a slow halt, looking around.
They were staring.
The noble ladies had ceased their chatterings, their voices dropping to whispers. And she knew exactly what they whispered behind their fans and smiles that seemed too wide.
One simple fact she´d forgotten after a servant boy rushed to her, notifying that Jace had been found in the kitchens was that others seldom saw her with her children in the public eye.
For a good reason: If she didn´t walk with them or ride with them or did anything that related to being with them in close proximity, their differences wouldn´t stand out so much.
Their dark hair, her silver hair.
Truely, the only stark difference but it mattered so much to everyone else. If they could only look past … they would see their eyes had a shocking resemblance or that they had the same draw of cupid bows. But they never did.
Clutching her first-born closer, who startled at the sudden stark embrace, her gait gained swing and more vigour. She wouldn´t cower but she wouldn´t stand being gossiped about. All the while she held her head high and only slumped as soon as the doors of her chambers closed behind her.
Jace wriggled out of her arms, eager to get to Luke who eyed him unblinkingly from his cradle, reminding her of an owl.
Pouring herself a glass of ice cold water, she threw herself into the big armchair by the windows that overlooked parts of the courtyard leading to the city and parts of the lush green gardens.
Her pulse slowly returned to normal. It had been some time since fear, guilt, and defensiveness from being observed this critically, left her disturbed and ruminating.
When the doors opened again, she turned her head around, only to watch as Harwin in full armour opened his arms to catch a running Jace and whirl him around, throwing him high up, as the boy shrieked happily.
Even as part of her felt that something was wrong she stood to go and greet her lover, smiling as she took them in. The left side of her chest hurt, where her heart was supposed to be.
Perhaps because of the sun or the ebbing anxiety but she wobbled, feeling a bit woozy as she came to stand before him, her head tilted due to their height difference.
Blinking, dark hair transformed to silver and full armour to the loose garment of a sailor.
Laenor.
Without having to look in the mirror, she knew her face fell instantly. Her traitorous vision, trying to convince her that her dead lover had come back to life.
Laenor put Jace back on the ground and regarded her. They didn´t have to share their bodies to know each other. They had grown up after all and without saying a word he pulled her into his arms as she held tight onto him, crying silently into his chest.
Several weeks had passed since the fire at Harrenhal erupted from seemingly nowhere, claiming Harwin and the Hand. It didn´t hurt any less.
Legs crossed lazily, her right hand curled around her wine goblet, and her left hand drumming impatiently across the smooth surface of the chair´s armrest, Nyra spoke to her father.
“You organized this hunt for me, didn´t you?”
Viserys had the decency to look abashed but after clearing his throat, leaned forward. “I did. But I only had your best interests at heart.”
Flies buzzed inside the tent they´d retreated to as the intensity of the sun became unbearable, children ran around, her son included, and hunters proudly presented their hunted game.
Not all had come back and the winner still had to be determined.
“ You like hunts, father,” she reminded him from the lowered chaise they´d put next to his throne, taking her place as his heir. “ I do not.”
“You used to,” his eyes turned softer as he seemingly basked in old memories, “you loved to whirl your skirts and have everyone clap and cherish and love you.”
Her fingers drummed harder. “I was a child back then, now I have children myself.”
As he opened his mouth to certainly defend himself and persuade her that no, he did this for her, a man approached him. All those who were familiar with the king knew not to disturb him while he talked to his daughter; he must have been a stranger then.
Feeling cross with the world at being dragged into the forest when she could have lounged in her chambers and watched her sons play, she lazily staggered outside, clinging to her wine goblet.
Perhaps others sensed that she didn´t want talk, thus no once approached her when they usually would have. Something about her must have indicated that she would be cruel and mean to whoever dared to.
The sky painted a pretty picture - a cacophony of purples, oranges, yellows, and reds.
From the trees emerged some hunters, with rabbits and foxes and other small game dangling from their horse´s saddle.
Laenor hadn´t gone off to hunt - he cared little for this sport, in this they found a shared distaste but where her husband had gone hiding, she didn´t know. She only prayed he hadn´t brought one of his friends along or made a new one. All was good and well behind closed doors, but here among all the nobles from court?
The wine got to her, she could feel her senses slowly numbing and her limbs tingling pleasantly. Staggering further into the meadow, she knew she was being watched by those skinning the game and those who preferred not to sit inside the tent.
Caring little for watchful eyes, she chose a white mare to be her company for the foreseeable time, rubbing the soft plains of her neck and leaning against her.
Horses brought her so much comfort and were such loyal animals. The last gift from her mother had been a white mare just like this one.
“Are you drunk?” A voice brought her back to the hunt, just as she was regaling in memories of riding her mare, almost feeling the wind brush back her hair.
Scowling she turned, remembering how she promised to be cruel and mean to whoever dared to interrupt her peace.
Taking in the one standing before her, clad in long boots and a short coat, clearly returning from hunting, she didn´t even have to feel apologetic about it.
“Or why else would you cuddle a horse?”
“Poor you, aren´t you ashamed returning with an empty saddle?” She mocked him, “All the forest animals must have fled, knowing you´d come.”
Rolling his eyes, he tied his stallion to the wooden construct built for the horses, turning his back to her.
“Better than doing nothing all day long but chittering.”
“Give me a bow and arrow and a dagger and I´d catch more than you ever did.”
“Comparing yourself to me when you think I´m such a bad hunter? You´re stooping low, Nyra.”
“Don´t call me that,” she hissed, despising how he always referred to her like that, when no one else did. “Besides, I thought you must have learned something while you were away.”
Tugging at the reins to confirm it held tight, he faced her and she startled when she realized he´d grown significantly taller than her.
Aegon Targaryen regarded her and she resisted the urge to shy away and hide from his scrutiny.
“I have learned some things,” he murmured, leaning ever so slowly closer, “I will show you soon enough, so be patient for me.”
As she trembled in anger and started insulting him, he smiled, stalking away but not without throwing over his shoulder, “It is good to see you´re the same.”
As she watched him duck into the tent, she noticed that while she had been sluggish the whole day and the past weeks, really, she now felt invigorated.
And all that because of the little spat between them.
All that because Aegon had returned from his self-imposed exile in Dorne.