Chapter Text
Rhaenys had never particularly enjoyed the particular dreariness of High Tide on the days the sky turned gray, the sun would not shine, and the rain would just not come, and this day… This day was worse. This day was heavy with anticipation, the low clouds pressing down and threatening to choke her.
The princess had begun her labors, the raven had claimed, and Laenor, playing the role of a dutiful husband, had departed for Dragonstone to keep her company, to witness the birth of her babe. Their babe, it was meant to be, but she could not lie even to herself.
When the princess’ condition had been first announced, for but a moment a spark of hope had lived in Rhaenys. Only a glance at her son and the ironic twist of his lips had cured her of that notion swiftly. Not this time either, then.
It had been a bitter potion to swallow, to know that these were to be the only grandchildren she was to have. Not hers. Not truly.
Oh, how lightheaded with relief she had been when Laena had been rid of her nuisance at last. For her daughter mostly, true, but also for herself and her hopes of babes to come, to carry on her father’s line. Her father, tall and proud and generous and kind and so, so loving, deserved for his line to continue beyond his sole daughter and her two children. He deserved for the world to remember him.
Something had withered inside her when she had been handed a babe all that time back on Dragonstone, brown-haired and brown-eyed, and could not see even a trace of a familiar feature on him. Corlys had not taken the babe into his arms at all, and when Laenor had informed them he had named the boy Joffrey, his denial snapped out and echoed around the chamber with the fury of a thunderstorm barely restrained.
It was the birth of Jacaerys Velaryon that had been announced to the world instead, and an uneasy peace settled over Driftmark for a time.
It had been so much worse to learn of this second pregnancy, the second insult dealt to them, the second betrayal. In the wake of the news, Rhaenys had redoubled her efforts to convince her fool husband to let go of his pride, to abandon the disastrous betrothal he had arranged for their only daughter, their only chance for a grandchild. She had been fit to kiss her brash cousin when he had killed the man, and she had wept bitter tears into her unfeeling husband’s chest in the privacy of their chambers.
Now… The sky was pressing down on her, her babes gone from her side, her husband as cold and as distant as the moon. Rhaenys felt utterly alone in the world, her dragon’s forlorn cries carried to her on the wailing wind raking bloody pieces out of her heart.
There were times when Rhaenys wished she knew how to scream, to howl, to rage, to let the world know she was there and that she mattered, that her pain mattered. But Rhaenys had been meant to inherit the throne once upon a time. She had been born a woman, and she would not have been afforded the luxury of being anything less than perfect, her mother would often remind her.
In the end, it had all amounted to nothing, only the armor of the perfect princess remaining to her. It was so very constraining, so very isolating.
“'Tis a boy,” Laenor told her back, “Lucerys is his name.”
“Lucerys,” Rhaenys repeated dully. “What a fine Velaryon name.”
“Aye,” her son breathed, uncertainty coloring his voice.
“Is… Is the babe healthy?” she asked, wishing he had understood her true question. Would their shame be bared for all the world to see yet again?
“Aye, he is a robust babe… The very image of his brother.” The hesitation, the remorse in his voice clawed at her ears.
“That is good,” the habitual words rolled off her tongue without thinking, for what else was one to say to the news of a healthy babe? “Thank you, Laenor, for sharing the joyful news with me.”
“Mother, I am so-”
“No!” she shook her head. “I am… I am so proud of you.” Her voice broke, and she had to blink back tears. “I will always be proud of you, no matter what. You are my son and I love you.”
“Mother,” Laenor’s voice broke too, and he grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him, his heartbreakingly beautiful face full of regret, “I did not- I truly thought we could… Perhaps had I been stronger-”
She covered his lips with a trembling hand. “None of this is your fault! None of it!”
Rhaenys blamed many people, but her son was not one of them. She blamed Corlys. She blamed Viserys. And aye, the most of all she blamed Rhaenyra, her haughty gooddaughter that could not even be bothered to pretend to decency. She even blamed herself, for she had not turned into a dragon in truth when her gaze had risen from that brown-haired child and landed on the knight bearing that very same pug nose. Had she, mayhaps this time the babe would have carried Valyrian features.
Laenor dropped his gaze to the floor and sighed heavily. “Perhaps we could go visit Laena now that the babe is here.”
A nostalgic smile curled the corners of her lips up. “Mayhaps. Mayhaps your sister would even enjoy it.”
A twinkle lit in his eyes and stone fell from her heart. “Surely, she is tired of her dull husband’s company by now. 'Tis our duty to bring her some relief.”
Rhaenys laughed and buried her face into her son’s chest lest she burst into tears.
Her husband did not grace her with his presence until long after she had retired, leaving her to reside over a high table with only Laenor for company. Coward, a part of her seethed as she held her spine rigidly straight, ignoring the curious looks, pretending not to see the amused ones, overlooking any pitying ones. Proud fool!
“'Tis a boy. Lucerys Velaryon,” she informed the canopy, when the bed dipped under his weight.
“Aye, a new heir for Driftmark,” he said, and for a mad moment the urge to claw out his eyes almost overpowered sense.
“How proud you must be,” Rhaenys mused toward the unseen canopy.
“Aye, very proud,” his tired voice replied.
“What a legacy you will leave behind when the Stranger finally takes you,” she taunted, her voice tight with anger.
“Aye, what a legacy.” His voice held cold decisiveness and Rhaenys squeezed her eyes shut, swallowing past the lump in her throat, unable to speak a word more.
Silence reigned between them for days, weeks, and she kissed her sweet daughter’s letter when it came, before she even opened it, before she allowed anyone else to touch it.
In the end, it was Rhaenys that broke the silence, proudly defiant in the lord’s solar.
“I am going to Volantis,” she announced to the fool she had wed a lifetime ago and barely even recognized anymore. “Laenor wishes to come with me.”
Surprise flashed in his eyes. “Volantis? You mean to visit Laena?”
“Yes, she should have her mother with her in a-” she cut herself off with a frown. The letter had not said so, but it had been so different from the ones before, so… hopeful, so full of recollections of home, so full of thoughts of the future. Rhaenys remembered well what it had been like to carry a hope so close to heart, so bursting with it, so afraid of voicing it. “Laenor believes her likely tired of Daemon’s company.”
Her husband’s gaze was sharp, his movements slow as he pushed himself out of his seat and straightened to his full height. “I see,” he said as he turned and slowly walked to the window, presenting his back to her. Her nails sank into the soft skin of her palms, drawing blood. “Unfortunately, I cannot agree to this. Not before I come back.”
Rhaenys blinked and took a stunned step back. “Come back? Where is it you are going?” Where is it you are running off to?
“King’s Landing.”
She let out an incredulous laugh. “I must have misheard.”
“You have not,” her husband, the Lord of the Tides, the Master of Driftmark, the Seven-damned Sea Snake, calmly retorted. “I am going to King’s Landing. I have some matters to attend to.”
An inelegant snort escaped her. “Matters. What matters?”
“Driftmark. I mean to ensure the king that there can no doubt of us respecting Princess Rhaenyra’s rights, and that there will be no doubt as to who will inherit Driftmark after me.”
The half-moon cuts on Rhaenys’ palms burned and itched with the need to strike. But Rhaenys had been brought up to be a perfect princess, a good wife, a proud dragonrider.
Proud dragonriders did not weep and flaunt their fists around uselessly.
Oh, no, proud dragonriders mounted their dragons and struck with sudden and deadly force, setting the world around them aflame.
Rhaenys gritted her teeth and spun on her heel. “As you wish, husband.”
The fool should have feared for his life, approaching a dragon in a temper, but there was no fear in his eyes when he came to her before he was to board his ship. His gaze held amusement instead. Amusement and something else. Something foreign to him. Something that made the snarling beast in her chest coil and shift uneasily.
Corlys Velaryon caressed her cheek ever so softly, his tone wistful. “You will forgive me one day.”
“I rather doubt that,” she retorted with a frown.
He laughed, and his thumb ghosted over her lips. “You will, I promise you.”
She bit down on a sharp reply. She had been promised a great many things in her life.
Her husband pressed a long, gentle kiss to her lips and to her forehead, the actions provoking conflicting emotions in her. She still wished to scream. She suddenly wished to cry.
“May the Seven protect you, Rhaenys,” he whispered against her lips. “May they protect you all. Farewell.”
“Farewell,” she repeated, her lips numb, and when he turned to walk away, she followed him all the way to the pier, her gaze following him onto the ship. Not the Sea Snake, her mind supplied absently, and her frown deepened.