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Hand turns loom; spool of green, spool of black.
Dragons of flesh weaving dragons of thread.
The Crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided.
"It's his handwriting."
There's a knot, a tense knot building in Rhaenyra's chest; it aches and demands a release.
"To Her Majesty Rhaenyra Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Protector of the Realm," the parchment trembles in her hands, letters blur.
"It could be a trick, a trap-"
"It is his handwriting!" she sees Jace flinch and feels momentary sorrow over that, and guilt. Her little brave son, her perfect heir.
Jace has the same shattered expression of desperate hope stitched up his face while Daemon paces around the painted table, hands in the hair. He looks worse for the wear; they all do, and the knots in her hair will take pains to undo.
Still, it doesn't matter.
"It's his hand," Jace echoes, face wet, lips trembling.
He stopped pretending the moment the message came, the moment Rhaenyra fall on her knees, sobs overcoming, as she clenched a piece of yellowed parchment to her chest.
Daemon froze, tense as if ready for attack.
"What is it?" he asked. "What else bad news could it be?"
It was not bad news, but a letter from King's Landing.
From Luke.
"They could've forged it!" Daemon looks like a madman now as he tries to convince them something good, miraculous, something precious isn't true. Rhaenyra understands; it will hurt too much if it's a lie, if it is indeed a ploy, of Larys Strong copied some of old Lucerys' handwriting and orchestrated this lie.
But Rhaenyra hopes, and her heart, aching, wounded heart demands answers.
"It's him," they're alone in the chamber, only crackling in the hearth breaking up a tense silence.
Baela has left, keeping the secret, unwilling to break Rhaena's heart all over again.
Clever girl.
Rhaenyra finds it she no longer cares for her heart's safety. Hope is a poison, perhaps. Well, let it poison her through.
"It's his phrasing, his little curves over the letters," Jace starts to pace too, unwittingly mimicking Daemon; he grows angry when someone notices familiarity, but Rhaenyra has been seeing her eldest moving like Daemon, talking like Daemon, occasionally raging like Daemon. Like it or not, but his stepfather's influence rubs on Jacaerys, molding him into someone he would not be prior.
Jace has confessed to her he was rough with Luke, demanding, cruel almost.
"I wanted to prepare him for war," he admitted, face hidden in the fabric on her shoulder. "I wanted him to become stronger. But what does it matter now if he's dead? I'd rather have weak brother than no brother at all."
Her eyes stung and her heart - broke all over again.
They burned his things; his baby swaddle, the seahorse toy, the doublet he wore at her very first Small Council.
The dagger Corlys brought.
She sobbed once over once she saw the dagger, and it was the first time since the night on Driftmark that Corlys held her, like a father would, perhaps, like her own failed to.
He held her not like a Queen but a good daughter, and if her hair grew damp, she would not mention it.
Lucerys was loved; there's no way to describe the depth of this love, no way to fill up the void in his place.
Visenya was the first child she lost, but Lucerys was the one that ached the most. Lucerys she held to her chest, nursed at his breast. Laenor chose his egg, the hatch from Syrax and Seasmoke both, and she wonders if Laenor knows, wherever he is now; if he feels the tug at his chest and looks for the west. If he feels it.
He is a father too. He would know.
"It could be-"
"I need to make sure," she's leaning on the painted table too much, candles underneath licking at her fingertips; but Rhaenyra doesn't care. There's hope in her heart, small and awful. "I need to go to King's Landing."
The whip of a turn Daemon performs would be impressive if not for the frightened glimpse in his eyes: it is gone as quickly as it appeared, but Rhaenyra catches the shadow of it.
She knows.
Daemon Targaryen is afraid.
That makes her even more determined.
"Your assassins got into the keep somehow," Jace winces, and Rhaenyra feels like it's a conversation for another day, an argument, a screaming match. Jace blanched when he read about Blood and Cheese, and stared at Daemon as if it was the first time he saw the man.
Oh Jace, her softhearted Jace.
Her softhearted little Luke.
Alive. Alive.
She needs to know.
"No," the press of his palms to her shoulders hurts, but she doesn't flinch back. What is the physical pain compared to the ache everlasting of the child lost?
"I am your Queen-"
"You are my wife!" his voice ricochets from the walls, and Jace tenses, hand laying on the pommel of his sword. Rhaenyra doesn't; she never feared to stare Daemon right in the eyes, she will not be the one to start doing it now.
"And I am telling this to you," her voice is low and gruff. "As your wife and as mother of your children. I need to make sure. I need to either confirm or deny this letter, for I will not sleep for a moment until I know-"
He staggers back, suddenly exhausted, an old man. It strikes her then how old he is, in his fifties, his youthful gall gone, deep lines of sorrow in his face.
He grieves too, in his own, awful way.
"Mysaria can show us the way," the way Daemon pins his stepson down with a look is terrifying, and yet Jace stares back.
Her brave little boy.
"If two criminals could sneak up the Red Keep, then surely-"
"Things are different now," Daemon hits the painting table and it creaks, displeased. "There are guards on every corner, spies in every wall. You will get caught-"
"When I will face Usurper with the stiff lip and my back - straight," she meets him halfway, her cheek to his cheek, her hand on her wrist. "I will face him as the Queen in her right. But Daemon, this is my son."
He closes his eyes, and by that Rhaenyra knows she has won.
"He is mine too," comes so quietly it is barely a speech.
Yet Rhaenyra hears.
"There's an old tunnel," Mysaria sits with her legs tugged underneath, a cup of warm drink in her hands. She looks much smaller than Rhaenyra remembers her to be, insignificant in her dark cloak. She looks, perhaps, like Rhaenyra herself feels. "It leads nowhere," the woman continues. "Or rather it leads to a dead end. A wall closed tight."
"And?" Daemon runs his hands around the pommel of his sword. "How does it help?"
"The tunnel ends beneath the Godswood," the prostitute continues, not caring for his words. "And there are slits, small openings for the air to come; small enough to fit a rat, no more."
"And-"
"One of them gives a good look at the Weirwood tree," Mysaria pushes through, eyes trained on Rhaenyra's. "It's a small hole on the ground level, but just enough to see what's happening."
"And you think it's not discovered?" Jace's lip is tightly bitten between his teeth, eyes bloodshot, hair - a mess.
Rhaenyra fears to think how she looks.
"Very likely. Aegon's men guard every entrance and every tunnel they could find, but this one takes start low in the city and has no other way out. One entrance, one exit.
"In other words, a stone grave," Daemon seethes. "A trap."
"A chance," the woman gives him a displeased look. "You asked me for a chance. This is yours."
"But how will we insure Lucerys is in the Godswood, if he's even alive?"
"Your Grace," there's a tense note in the voice of Queensguard Rhaenyra doesn't immediately catch, but Daemon does, Dark Sister leaving sheath with a soft glide.
"Ser Erryk," he greets, face cold and wary. "State your business."
"I believe I know how to guide Prince Lucerys to the Godswood when you need him to," the man says, eyes never leaving Rhaenyra's. Something about him strikes her strange, but she cannot say what exactly.
Beside her Jace shifts, eyes widening.
"You're not Ser Erryk," he speaks, hand on the pommel of his blade as well. "Are you?"
"No, my prince," the man's throat bobbles. "I am Ser Arryk."
Daemon moves faster than any of them anticipate, anyone but Jacaerys, perhaps, because the moment Dark Sister swings is the moment another sword meets her, intercepting, keeping inches away from the knight's throat.
"Lower your weapon," Jace seethes as his hand trembles under the struggle. His stepfather gives him an enraged look.
"This is the traitor of your Queen-"
"He came here in good will-"
"He's probably sent by Aegon to-"
"He's offering a way to see Luke-"
"Ser Arryk," Rhaenyra ignores them as she takes the man by hand and guides away from the dangerous proximity of steel. She finds out his hand trembles under hers, slightly. "What do we owe an honor?"
"Y-Your Grace," it is visible these words pain him, and yet he spits them out. "My brother and I changed positions."
"What for?"
"We," he takes a deep breath. "We serve the royal family. He made oaths to protect the royal family, all of you; the succession conflict might have torn us apart to different sides, but those are still sides of the same family. I...I thought I ought to see the other side of the coin before making judgement. Same with Erryk."
"What do you mean?"
"Your son's words have moved me," she blanches and then grabs him firmer, fingers digging into his forearms.
"You saw him?" she cannot care less how broken her voice sounds. "You saw Lucerys?!"
The knight takes a gulp of air.
"Yes."
"Is he-"
"How is he?" Jace's hands are on Arryk too in a moment, sword dropped to the floor, face torn in his hope. "Is he-"
"He lives," the knight gives Jacaerys a curt nod. "He possesses the same honor you have," Jace pales. "His G- Aegon blamed me for my brother's treachery," Daemon lets out a loud scoff at that. "But Prince Lucerys said that all my brother did was honoring his oath by protecting you. He understands the vows of Kingsguard better than many."
"And so you're here now," Daemon walks closer, sword in hand. "Why?"
"It was your hawk," Rhaenyra realizes. "The message came through Ser Erryk."
"Yes. Queen Mother believes she's being spied on at her own court. She feared her previous letters have not reached your hands."
"What previous letters?"
The Kingsguard gives her a heavy look.
"Exactly."
"And how do we know it's not a trap?" Dark Sister stops a finger away from the man's neck, but the knight doesn't even flinch. "How do we know you're not here to lead Our Queen to her demise?"
"I made an oath," the man meets Daemon's eyes steadfast. "An oath I have almost failed the day you sent assassins after Prince Aemond. It was prince Lucerys who stepped between Queen Helaena and the attackers. His Grace owes him his children's lives."
"Luke did that?" Rhaenyra asks at the same time as her eldest grumbles:
"Of course he did that."
They share a fleeting look, hope blooming into something bigger, beautiful and ugly at the same time.
Anticipation.
"You can contact your brother," Rhaenyra insists. "You can make it so Lucerys attends Godswood when we need it."
The knight nods.
"Yes."
"Do it."
"My P- Your Grace, you ought to understand," the knight's eyes are calm and understanding. "You will not be able to rescue your son. All I can allow is a glimpse at him, and any attempt of retrieving him might end up in mayhem and bloodshed."
"I understand," she just needs to see him. Just for a moment, just for a blink of an eye.
She needs to see it for herself.
"Very well."
"I do not like it," Daemon informs them, but the dropped lines of his mouth signify his surrender. Dear husband hers, hiding his heart so deep within, and yet she can see it clear.
"You don't have to like it. No one has to know about it. But," her eyes meet Jace's wide and ready. "We're going."
"This is reckless."
"This is my son," she pins him down with a hard stare. "Our son. Everything else can wait."
The air in the tunnel is heavy, moist and at the same time stuffy.
It is low, lower than their height, and clearly abandoned, and yet Rhaenyra keeps crawling onward, determined.
Behind her Jace pants, takes a deep breath of the air and stiffens a cough.
"Quiet," Mysaria warns them. "We do not want to get caught."
"We do not," Rhaenyra agrees in a quiet whisper, trying not to think that the Queen and her heir have abandoned their post at Dragonstone in a faint hope or seeing Lucerys, and are now crawling down the tunnel on the territory controlled by enemies' forces.
Father didn't want it. Many things Rhaenyra is unsure about, but one thing she knows; father never wanted their family to come to this.
"Stop," Mysaria commands and Rhaenyra, pushing down displeasure, obeys. "Here," she reaches out for the wall, hand digging out and rummaging around, until the mug and the grass are put aside and Rhaenyra, rising on tiptoes, can see the expanse of Godswood from an admittedly strange position.
She sees the Weirwood tree she had spent countless hours under, first with Alicent for a company, and then - alone.
The yard is empty.
"Where are-" Jace pushes himself closer, his head to hers, cheeks pressed together. The small slit in the stone is just enough for the two of them to see, but no more. A mere crack in the wall, a rat-hole.
Still, Rhaenyra looks.
"Where is he?"
"Wait," she finds her son's hand in the dark, squeezing it tightly. He squeezes back. "If Ser Arryk didn't lie, it should be sometime soon. Have some patience."
And so they do, and their patience almost runs thin as they stand there in the uncomfortable position, heads leaning on each other, eyes trained on the Godswood, weary, tired, exhausted in their desperate hope.
Rhaenyra almost gives up then suddenly she hears.
"Jaehaerys!" her heart skips a beat and by her side Jacaerys flinches. "Jaehaera! Do not run off too far."
First there are two flashes of green, children scattering around the yard, silver hair and pale faces, identical and young.
Helaena's children, the ones Daemon's assassins almost killed.
Rhaenyra hears the shuddering breath tear itself out of Jace's chest and squeezes his hand tighter.
"Jaehaera!" comes the same, familiar, loved, darling voice. "What did I say? Leave the pond alone, you'll fall in."
"It has frogs," the girl reports as a chuckle follows, and then they see him, dressed in pale gold, with hair grown, face - pale and serious, but his expression is mirthful, and, as Lucerys walks towards the small girl, she allows him to grab herself under the armpits and carry away.
"Jaehaerys?" Lucerys looks around, alive, breathing, pale and thin, but alive-
Rhaenyra's heart bursts with love.
Besides her she hears Jace's small sobs and holds him firmer, feeling his tears wet her neck. Her sweet little boys.
Alive, both of them.
"Jaehaerys!" Luke repeats as the girl dangles from his arms, uncaring. "Do not-" he lets a sight rivaling gods, and Rhaenyra allows herself a small half-chuckle, half-sob at that. "Do not climb the tree. You will fall and break something, and then Aegon will return and will be 'where is my son?'" Rhaenyra frowns and feels Jace by her side tense. "And what will I tell? What I apparently can attack assassins but fail to keep one boy from falling off the tree?"
"I will not fall," the small child persists, looking very much like Rhaenyra's Aegon in that moment. It hurts, this recognition, awfully so.
"And I sure believe you," Luke lowers the girl down into the grass - she immediately skitters back to the pond, leaning in and wetting her sleeves to the elbows - and walks towards the boy, tearing him off the lowest of branches. "Because never in the history of men a boy said "I will not fall" and then suddenly fell," Rhaenyra chocks on a snort. "I, for example, was very sure I can climb an old oak on the border of Dragonstone's garden. So sure it took three knights and my stepfather to retrieve me," Lucerys' face shadows. "Anyway-" he looks back, noticing Jaehaera knees-deep in the pond. "Jaehaera!"
"There are frogs!" she responds with no shame and all excitement.
"No!"
"Can we keep one for father when he returns-"
"Can we-" Luke pausing, accessing the situation, and Rhaenyra can see gears moving behind his eyes. "You know what, I think you father really loves frogs."
"Yes?"
"Yes," he nods, a small wise sage with devils dancing in his dark eyes. "How about we make a pond in his room? I am sure he'll appreciate it."
Besides Rhaenyra her son chocks on air, leaning on the wall, tears in his eyes.
"What?" he mouths. Rhaenyra shakes her head. Her heart is light, lighter than it was in days, and the sight of her son, pale, prisoner, but so brave and toothy, makes her body feel warm. She remembers him, a small bundle of life, her second treasure, her little Prince of Drifmark.
Lucerys.
"My prince?" the knight steps into the clearing, the one Rhaenyra recognizes as Ser Erryk. "Shall I assist-" he notices the wet princess in the pond. "Oh."
"Yes," Lucerys nods. "Her Highness wants to present her father with a frog," he shares smugly. "I suggested we make a pond."
"In-" Erryk looks taken aback.
"In his study, yes."
"My prince, I am not sure it is entirely wise-"
"I am sure my uncle wouldn't mind," Luke grins down at the girl with her dress ruined and wet, a fat grey-green frog in her hands. "Lovely frog, sweetling. I am sure your grandmother will love it too."
Jaehaera seems to think it over.
"You think so?"
"Of course."
Jaehaerys in Lucerys' embrace whines, and the older prince gently lowers him to the ground, rubbing his back.
"What is it," Lucerys' face looses his mischievous quality to it, turning pale with concern. "What is it, sweet boy?"
"When is father coming home?"
Luke stills, and Ser Erryk stills, and, in the safety of their small, stiff hideout, Rhaenyra and Jacaerys too still. Lucerys' face contorts as if in pain, uncertainty, some inner turmoil. He kneels even lower, and only luck makes it so he's half-turned Rhaenyra's way and she can see his face, mournful and with a lip bitten between his teeth.
Jace has the same habit as well.
"He..." Luke's voice dries out. He coughs awkwardly and tries again. "He's coming." he rubs at his face. "Soon, I think. He promised he'll be back."
He- What?
"He did?"
"Yes," Luke's forehead is knocked to the little boy's now, eyes to eyes, and Rhaenyra can see only a contour of his face, dark eyelashes fluttering up and down, a curve of a small, petite nose, puffy, bitten raw lips.
He is not as alright as he's trying to pretend to be.
"I told him he has to come back," besides her Jace takes a sharp, angry intake of breath.
"I told him he cannot leave you behind," he shifts lightly, forehead to the side of Jaehaerys' head, and Jaehaera whines, tearing herself out of the knight's arms, and falls on Luke, wet skirts and the frog that croaks and escapes. Luke reaches out without looking, wrapping both arms around children, clinging them to himself as if they're his only tether in the world. Maybe they are.
"I am afraid," Jaehaerys says in a small, muffled voice, head tucked into the crook of Lucerys' neck.
"Don't be," Luke hugs him harder. "No one will hurt you. I swear."
"But the rats-"
"Shh," Lucerys rocks the children in his arms back and fourth like a mother would, like Rhaenyra sometimes saw him do with his youngest brothers. Loving, caring, he has always had so much to give, and seeing him giving it now to the Usurper's children-
No, not the Usurper's children, her, Rhaenyra's, nephew and niece.
Her heart tugs in her chest, painful and insistent. It seems she's still in the possession of one.
"My prince," Ser Erryk shifts in place, eyes scanning surroundings, going low. Rhaenyra dusk and pulls Jace with her, even though she rationally knows the knight is on her side. Still, reflexes prevail. "Forgive me for speaking out of turn, but," Lucerys looks up, eyes big and expectant. "If...if there was something you would want to tell your mother, what would it be?"
It is a shocking contrast, this difference, the way Lucerys' shoulders tense as he lets go of the children, huddled together, head to small head. He half-turns, gazing at the knight from below, and there's darkness in this gaze, darkness and demand, and awful, tearing distrust.
"What did you just say?"
"My prince," Ser Erryk looks like it pains him to speak. "Would you want to send your mother a message?"
Lucerys studies him, head tilted to the side, for so long Rhaenyra stops counting breaths, till he finally lets out a small, curt, breathy chuckle.
"You're not Ser Arryk," he speaks so quietly Rhaenyra has to strain her ears to hear. "Are you?"
The Queensguard gives him a short shake of his head.
"I-" Lucerys wets his lips and then glances around, careful, without even moving his head. Wary. Afraid. Paranoid and right in it. "These walls have ears, you know. Rats and spiders, a whole lot of them."
"I know."
"And yet you...Where is your brother?"
"He took my place."
Lucerys' eyebrows climb up as his mouth falls open.
"Took your-" he closes his mouth with a click, glancing back at the children messing in the grass. Catching grasshoppers, Rhaenyra thinks. Jaehaera is eating the flower. So be it, the flower is harmless, Rhaenyra remembers wreaking havoc when she found Joffrey with a mouthful of these. Daemon only laughed, this asshole.
"My prince," the Queensguard warns him. "Time is short."
"I," Lucerys wets his lips. “Of course. I-” he sniffs. “I would tell her,” his eyes water, glistening and wet. He wipes at his face, and Rhaenyra wants to crawl out of this hole into the Godwood, patience be damned, security be damned, crown be damned. This is her son. Her son.
He is alive.
He is crying.
“I would want her to know that I love her so very much,” more, she loves him endlessly more. Her small darling boy-
Besides her Jacaerys too sniffs, and she hugs him for two, him and his brother, tugging his head into the crook of her neck, rubbing his back. Her darling children.
“And I would also want her to know-” he cuts himself off abruptly, eyes trained somewhere away. “Helaena?” there’s alarm in his voice. “Helaena, what is-”
She falls into him, collapses, a flurry of green and silver, stumbling in the grass, and they drop to the ground, a mess of limbs and heads and aching hearts.
Helaena is weeping.
Besides her Jace lets out a small, shuddering breath.
“What is wrong?” Lucerys’ hands are on her face, his gaze searching, but she clings to him, snot and tears and awful, desperate edge in her voice.
“The Sun has fallen,” Rhaenyra hears. “The Moon eclipses. Red Haze- Oh, Lucerys, Red Haze.”
“What?” he tries to lean back, prying her hands off his shoulders. “I do not understand. The Sun- What are you talking-”
“The Sun,” she looks frantic like that, mad, wide-eyed and wild-haired. “The Sun, Luke! He fell,” she gestures around wildly, and her children, taking notice of their mother’s distress, start to cry. “He fell, he fell and he burned, and the Moon rose-”
“I do not-” Luke tilts his head in the direction of children, silently commanding Ser Erryk to come to his aid. The knight hurries put, taking the sobbing twins into his arms, barely holding them both at the same time. Lucerys tries to help his aunt on her feet.
“Helaena,” he tries in vain. “I do not-”
“The Sun,” tears stream down her cheeks. “It- He-”
There’s a shudder and a shadow closes over the sky, and, as Lucerys raises his head high, looking, Rhaenyra sees the ghost of terror overcome his every feature.
She knows what it is before he opens his mouth.
“Fuck,” Lucerys mutters. “Vhagar.”
She is dragged back, both of them, by Mysaria, not listening to their arguments or complains, firmly pushing forward till they’re back into the small boat and Jace, grumpy, fear-stricken, pale Jace takes for the oars.
“We need to go back,” She insists, leaning overboard, and Mysaria drags her away, unexpectedly strong for a small, bony thing she is. “Aemond is-”
“Too preoccupied with whatever has happened,” the White Worm fights her hands off the side of the boat, looking, for a moment, almost feral. “This is the best time to take our leave, whatever is going at the Red Keep will be too grand for them to notice our arrival or departure.”
“But-”
“He is alive,” Jace grunts, lips - a thin, angry line. “He is alive. That’s all that matters.”
Rhaenyra sags in her place and allows the tears fall.
She weeps and wails all the way to Dragonstone, and spies Jace wiping at his face. Even Mysaria sniffs once or twice, stoic cold bitch she is.
They climb up the pier of Dragonstone and Rhaenyra is immediately closed in embrace as familiar as her own breathing.
“Well?” her husband asks, hair - a mess, eyes frantic. There are dark hollowness under his eyes signifying he slept not for a blink since their departure.
“I saw him,” she breathes into her husband’s temple. “Lucerys lives.”
Daemon lets out a strange, chocked sound and grabs her under her knees, carrying away like a bride.
Jace follows in some distance, exchanging curt words with Mysaria.
The great hall meets them with some unexpected news.
“Ambush,” Princess Rhaenys says from the chair she leans in, smog in her hair, soot on her face, and leg - bent in uncomfortable position. "Rook’s Rest. They smoked me out.”
“Who are they?”
“Aegon and Aemond,” Rhaenyra tenses.
The Sun.
“Are they-”
“We do not know,” Baela enters the room in hurried steps, maester behind her. She’s dressed in riding leather and her hair is burned in places. Rhaenyra exchanges worried glances with her husband as Jace rushes to his bride.
“What did you-”
“They would kill her,” his betrothed hisses. “They cornered grandmother, two dragons on one. What was I meant to do, leave her? Let them kill her?!”
Daemon’s eyes scan the room, squinted, calculated.
“I have not seen Meleys,” he speaks, and Rhaenyra finally notices that’s missing. Rhaenys grimaces.
“You will not in any visible future,” she groans as maester feels for her leg. “She fell. Aemond crushed Vhagar on our heads, I barely manages to jump out of the saddle in time,” he nods to her leg. “I got stuck.”
“But how did you-”
“Baela caught me.”
“And Usurper?” Daemons’ voice is tight and clipped, like the slice of the dagger over the sharpening stone.
Rhaenys shakes her head.
“I don’t know. I only saw Vhagar,” she groans. “Where were you?” her eyes pierce Rhaenyra through. “The guards said you were away. Where to?”
“King’s Landing,” she feels the room tense. “Lucerys is alive.”
Rhaenys’ eyes widen at the same time as Baela whips around, face raw.
“Are you-”
“We saw him,” Jacaerys nods. “It’s him. He’s a prisoner,” he gulps. “But he lives.”
Princess Rhaenys slumps in her chair.
“Good,” she mutters. Maester presses the bowl with something Rhaenyra suspects is the milk of the poppy to her lips. “Good...Someone...” her voice trails off. “Inform Corlys.”