Chapter Text
A Game of Wills
Chapter One: Elaenys
The Septons say the moment you are wedded and bedded, that something fundamentally changes in you. That the very basis of your soul, your make up of yourself is supposed to be devoted to your new family. To your new husband, the children you will have.
It is a rather foolish thing then: to create such alliances where marriage is meant to unite warring houses.
Eight weeks they are meant to stay in King’s Landing before returning to Old Town.
Wedded and bedded for a moon turn: her husband is miserable here.
She can see it in the line of his shoulders, in his gate when he walks, the looks he pins at those he views as lesser. His son: his son avoids him altogether.
She and Ser Gwayne are the only ones who manage to be spared from his irritation. But he was fucking her and Ser Gwayne was apparently his eyes and ears for Otto and Alicent.
She learned on the third night whilst she pretended to be asleep--Ser Gwayne loved Daeron. Like a son, like his own. And whatever plan Otto had for him was not within his understanding. But it was within Ormund’s and Gwayne thought Ormund could protect him.
Ormund though was not so free with his words as the Knight was. He had hushed the man out of their rooms and spoken to him in the hall. She had almost crawled out of bed to listen but her fear was still too high.
Elaenys did not honestly know if her husband planned on protecting the boy like Gwayne thought he would. To Ormund: they all seemed like extension of his power as Lord of the Tower, especially her now that his own sons and daughters would be claimants to the throne. She is not so sure that Otto and Alicent thought of that when they began this whole arrangement. They had spent over twenty years apart from one another and it seemed that despite their familial name: they knew very little about each other in practicality.
He did not consult her on the happenings of the small council meeting he attended: an honorary guest he was now, nephew to the hand and son in law to the future Queen (cousin to the man who would very likely try and claim her seat). But she could tell as the days passed, Alicent and Otto’s ire was gaining.
They thought they were gaining a loyal dog in Ormund, one to heel. That was what Daemon wanted as well: but he was not so arrogant to expect it outright. Jace mentioned an argument about grain tax at lunch a few days before and how Otto expected Ormund to agree with him on principle after their grandfather lashed into him about cost. But apparently he and the Queen had been startled by the neutrality he had claimed.
It was as good as backing Corlys, in their eyes. And somewhat hers: considering how…particular he was. He was no stranger to disagreement, though he had a way of making it seem like he agreed with her while he also made it very clear he did not.
She learned in the short time with him that he was more confident than she believed, bordering on arrogance. But was it arrogance if you were correct about your own bearings? He headed the richest house in the Realm. Owned the fourth largest fleet. Had the largest amount of men to any singular house, governed the richest, most populated, and safest city on this side of the world.
He sure enjoyed boasting of all those things. And how he has accomplished it himself. Which was more or less true. His father was successful: but not to the point Ormund was.
But she could tell that he was disappointed in his son: who was as easily swayed as Daemon had said. He was no great mind, held no great spirit. A fine boy: but a boy when he should have been a man. And Ormund seemed to genuinely mislike his wife. He was not cruel to them openly, but his lingering cold gaze was not hidden behind doors.
Bethany--she annoyed him with her whinging, but he adored her too. She was nine, just a little girl: and very much loved her father. Lazy, though, and complained about her lessons that did not stick. Elaenys would never admit to it. But the girl was simple: Ormund knew it too. Alicent, when far too into her cups one time had mentioned the girl was stuck in her mother during birthing and near not survived.
So he spoiled her and hoisted her onto others when she became too much.
His relationship with his children was rather complicated. He bordered on overbearing--like Alicent. But considering his wife had struggled birthing the two he had and apparently had a half dozen miscarriages and stillbirths, she was not so surprised he was so…invovled. Lyonel was not so close to Knighthood as he should in his eyes, she knew too--Ormund having been Knighted a moon turn before his seven and tenth birthday.
But she knew he did hold affection for the boy. Even if it was by just allowing him to join with his wife: whom Lyonel seemed to adore.
It did not mean it did not grate on the man. She was spared though, nearly entirely, from his ire.
Elaenys was spared because she was his outlet now. And he had to earn her trust first, before he made her entirely dependent on him.
An old man he may be according to court, at least for her--but he fucked like a teenage boy. Twice a day at least he had her--at night and every morning. He ensured she peaked every time. And he did not always lay his cock in her: sometimes he seemed to enjoy watching her writhe beneath him. It seemed…some sort of perversion to him. He watched, he touched, he murmured things in her ears that were…
Strange.
Sometimes in the act he described. But mostly…mostly in the way he said it.
It was like he was suggesting things he wanted her to do, by speaking of how foul they were.
She thinks…he wants to punish her. But this…thing is too new. And she cannot trust him either: this is a game to him. But she cannot talk to her sisters, nor her mother. She has no one to speak to. And despite her husband's assurances that he was a pious man: there was no ritualistic inauguration to perversion for Valyrians. Keeping Dragon blood was important to them: but her mother and stepfather did not encourage her to love her brothers like he had implied more than once. In fact, they raised them all like normal children. Just, well, with dragons. Daemon certainly believed they were superior, but it was not a belief he forced to them either. It…makes it difficult to relate to her husband when she has so little knowledge of what he speaks of.
And it’s lonely. Especially when his intimacy always came with a cost. Or a game. Or an intention.
That first night, she thinks with the clarity of a moon turn with him, he had tried to regain control. The control he lost in his own peak. He was louder than her--and he seemed surprised by it too. Surprised at how they had kissed one another, surprised in general.
Surprised he enjoyed her, perhaps.
And he had laid his head between her legs, and licked and licked at her until she had near sobbed out his name.
He had not been so loud as he had been that night, since. But she could tell he was pleased by her. Or very least her beddings. He was growing less and less interested in foreplay when he did lie his cock in her. He did only what was required to make her slick. But when he was in her, he did the things he had done before to prepare her while he took her. Fondled her, sucked at her teats, sucked at her skin, peppered her in kisses.
It was…strange. The prayers remained: before getting into bed they prayed together. He always led. And it remained the same as the first night, the prayer. That too felt stranger to her.
Because she was starting to look forward to it. Maybe that was his intention: for her to relate the prayer to their beddings.
After he took her he always laid behind her, stroked her hair and told her about Old Town.
Tonight he is quiet though, staring up at the canopy as she lie facing away from him, her back pressed into his side.
More quiet than he has been. And she sits up, pulling the sheet to her chest as she turns and looks down at him.
His eyes are flat, mouth set, and his brow raises to meet hers after a moment, like he processed her sitting up after she did it. As if he was lost in his own thoughts. Today--today he had been pulled into a meeting with Otto and Alicent after the small council meeting.
“Are you well, my lord?” She murmurs in the night. The sound of the city lingers through their closed windows and the sides of their bed are drawn shut. Only the very end of the bed is left open: which gives direct view of the door.
His fingers stroke her bare back and he hums. “I do not know…why this city is so heralded little dove.” His gaze flickers up and down her bare back and she can see in his eyes that it is an honest remark. Because he avoids her eyes: when he is testing her he watches. When he is not, he lets his eyes sweep elsewhere.
“Power,” she says quietly. His hand stills on her back and his eyes flicker up. “Men think it holds power other places do not, so they claw and clamber for it.”
His brow raises. “Is that what you think?” He asks lowly.
She watches the minute shifts of his face and she slowly turns so her knees rest sideways over his thighs. He rests propped against the pillows, blue eyes pinning her expression with a near dare.
“It is what I know,” she says quietly. “It does not mean that they are right.”
He tuts, inclining his head slightly. “I suppose,” he admits, “You are right.” She wants to smile, wants to rejoice--but it seems to irritate him. “Men are fools,” he mutters.
“All men are fools, and all men are knights, where women are concerned,” she says softly. He scoffs.
“Nursery stories, little dove?” His voice is almost condescending.
She shrugs. “It fits, does it not? None of these men will ever have what you have accomplished, what you have inherited. So they clamber for power that can be given, instead.”
His eyes snap to hers and his mouth parts, cheeks twitching as his dimples begin to show.
It was not a lie though: Ormund stood apart from his father. Had built the fleet himself. Had served in the City guard, commanded it even.
His hand settles on her lower back and he slowly guides her down to him. He fits her against his side, arranging her slowly so she leans into him, her head on his shoulder as he slowly reclines, his other hand sliding behind his head as he strokes her arm.
She does not know where to rest her hand, so she tucked it under her chin, the other arm tucked under the bulk of his arm and under her.
“What…do you think of Criston Cole?” He asks her, voice soft as he strokes her skin.
She tenses immediately: she cannot help it. And Elaenys knows he feels it. Slowly she turns to look up at him, her brows furrowed and she looks at his eyes.
“Why?” She asks just as softly.
“Your grandfather has mentioned…his crassness amongst his behavior with you.” Her brows furrow and her head tilts. “The Queen wishes to send him to Old Town with us.”
She flinches, rearing up and away and then she goes still.
“Elaenys,” he begins, voice low.
Her heart hammers in her chest and she thinks: of all the little snide remarks, all of the spying all of the-
And then her brow furrows.
Why is she sending a spy with me, if I am meant to be in her house?
“He…” she whispers slowly.
Why would it be Cole? Unless-
Alicent does not trust Ormund, not when he could have a son on the throne instead of her own.
She inhales deeply and turns to him, mouth set into a frown. “He was in charge of assignments that night,” she whispers, voice barely above breath. His brow is set, face cold, and his eyes flicker across her face. “The night of aunt Laena’s funeral. The night-”
“Your brother cut Aemond’s eye out?” He asks, brow raising.
Her jaw tenses, inhaling sharply.
They always remember that part, she thinks bitterly. But not the rest of it.
She reaches for his hand and brings it to the back of her head, tilting her head into his grasp. She pushes his fingers across her scalp--until his fingers meet the long scar across her scalp.
“What is that?” He demands, sitting up instantly.
“They always speak of Aemond’s eye,” she says, voice quiet still. “They do not speak of the bruises on Baela’s throat, the split lip Rhaena walked away with, the broken nose Luke had, the black eyes Jace had, or the scar I have now. It took ten stitches to close.”
His hand goes rigid against hers and she slowly turns to look at his face.
Rage--unspeakable, undeniable rage.
“Luke cut Aemond’s eye out to keep him from killing Jace,” she says softly, looking away. “He was double the size of all of us: threw Joff into dragon dung, and threatened to kill all of us. And he had a rock the size of your hand now, ready to crack Jace’s skull. Cole was supposed to assign us guards. He never did, and never did he face punishment for it.”
His hand grips the back of her head and he jerks her to him. With wide eyes she meets his furious eyes.
“Alicent and Otto never said a single fucking thing about that, girl,” he says, voice low. “Am I supposed to believe you?”
She inhales sharply, but her chin raises and she holds his eyes. “Why is she sending her creature with us?” She counters. “Of all of the Kingsguard--she chooses the one who is only loyal to her. He killed my father’s companion at my parents wedding feast-”
“In a Tourney,” he bites back.
“Aye,” she meets him. “In a Tourney. Not a melee--his face was left unrecognizable. Skull crushed like fruit. He encouraged Aegon and Aemond to beat on my brothers as boys, when Aegon would not, he would send Aemond after Aegon because he was better until Aegon gave up and turned his teasing to my brothers-”
His hand tightens and his teeth bare. But he looks away, hand withdrawing.
And she presses down the trembles as he sits up and pinches his own nose. “Fuck,” he hisses sharply, ripping at the blanket and sheets from himself as he sits up. “Fuck-”
“My lord-”
“They want me to betroth Bethany to fucking Aemond,” he almost snarls out. “To leave her here-”
And she stills, realization striking her.
He was not angry at her: he was angry at Alicent and Otto--but she lay before him. And she was the one who spoke truth to him. But her heart hammers, her mind twists and she watches as he thrums with rage.
“Say no,” she says softly. He laughs.
“It is not that fucking simple, Elaenys,” he almost barks at her. “Otto is the Hand and Alicent is the Queen. If they demand it and they have-”
“Yes it is,” she says back, turning up and onto her knees to face him. “You are the most powerful man in the realm without a Dragon and now you have one, say no.” Bethany--Bethany was nine. Simple, sweet, but loud, her voice grating, and she was petulant and spoiled. Aemond would kill her.
He turns and looks at her, teeth bared. “And what will Silverwing do against Vhagar?” He growls.
“Silverwing and Vermithor.” She says sharply. “He listens to me, Ormund. He listens--and he will not stay anywhere Silverwing is not.” His brow furrows instantly, and his eyes search hers. And she presses. “Ormund you are the strength behind Otto. Without the Hightower name, your name--he is nothing but a shell. Cole is Alicent’s creature-”
“What would you do then, if you are so sure?” He asks suddenly, head tilting. “Tell me--what would you do?”
And she stares at him: because she may have miss stepped. She may have miss stepped completely.
Her eyes search his and she steadies her breathing, eyes flickering away for a single moment as she blinked. “That depends,” she admits softly. “On what you wish to accomplish.”
“Coy, are you playing now?” He asks, his hand turning to her chin and lifting her gaze to his. He smirks at her coldly. “I had a feeling there was more to you than your-”
“It is not coy,” she fights back earnestly. “What do you wish to do? Protect Bethany, protect your name, protect the Tower-”
“And if I wish to do all three?” He bites back, teeth baring.
She stares at him, tilting her chin up so she meets his gaze willingly instead of with force. “Take Cole, betroth Bethany to some lord of good standing--but a shell. One you can pay off should it become necessary, but one that Otto and Alicent cannot argue with. Someone closer to her age-” His eyes narrow instantly, but she pushes on. “You will give her eyes and ears into the Tower like she wishes, but protect the Tower and Bethany from them.”
He stares for a moment longer before he lets her go.
“You hate him,” he says, voice calm again.
His eyes speak to her this time: You hate him and yet you tell me to take him. Why?
“He cannot hurt me,” she says quietly. “Not when I belong to you. But if she is left here, betrothed to Aemond-”
He sneers, leaning back against the pillows and he glares up at the canopy above. He taps his finger against his thigh and his eyes close. “Gwayne is staying with Daeron,” he says through clenched teeth. “Which means I will need to assign a sworn shield to you--to watch Cole. And do so without alerting the Queen or Otto.”
He leans back in the bed, nostrils flaring.
It would be easy to pull away: to lean back from him and hide. Retreat.
But what is right is hardly ever easy. And if she wants him to remain hers: she would have to bend farther than he would.
“You are a good father,” she whispers. He tenses for a moment, but she slowly lowers herself into his side. Where he had put her before. This time, she sits lower, as if she is hiding in him, rather from him. “She is lucky to have you.”
He does not speak, but he does draw her hand to the middle of his chest. There, with his thumb, he soothes circles while his other hand splays on her lower back.
It is not easy: being the wife of Ormund Hightower, a Princess, and a dragon-rider.
Every moment is watched, heckled, and her good-daughter and step-daughter follow her like flies on shit. At first she thought it was by his doing. But now, she sees with his mislike of Lady Sam as she asks to be called, it is out of strategy for her. And Bethany is nine— none the wiser.
A fortnight into marriage she had become almost sure the woman did run from him. Samantha Tarly always keeps him in her view when he is near, but he only levels cold stares her way when his attention is pulled.
And his son is so wrapped around her finger Elaenys wants to wince. Samantha and Lyonel are not subtle: they kiss in public, hold hands, and hold each other. To prove their love, she thinks they reason between themselves. To Elaenys it comes off as desperate.
And further irritates Ormund.
Elaenys though: she seems to have somehow pleased him. Or he had decided his rough handling deserved an apology so she would forget. She woke this morning with his mouth between her legs and he made her peak like that before he took her. And he had kissed her mouth instead of her cheek before they separated for the day--before his household.
Thank the bloody Gods it had not blown up in her face: she had shoved away all of her fear last night to cling to him like he was the savior she needed. And it seemed that for now, at the very least, he believed her. Or at least her fear of Cole and his ability to protect her.
There is an added guard today--Myles Hightower who watches her with sharp, furious eyes.
But he keeps his distance. Despite this new guard: she does manage to get word to her grandfather through Alyn, who passes a letter to him in secret.
She, Samantha, Bethany, Helaena, and Rhaena take tea in the Gardens. It is an affair built for court. Helaena hardly participates, reading a book on bugs while Bethany talks Rhaena’s ear off about the Tiara Ormund was having commissioned for her tenth birthday in four moons. Just like the Princesses.
Elaenys smiles pleasantly while the girl rants and raves of the dresses and styles she wanted Elaenys to try when she returned to Old Town with her. And she levels Rhaena with a warning look when the Seasnake approaches. He smiles brightly at the Ladies, who stand at his sudden presence.
“My apologies,” he says pleasantly. “I wished to steal my Ely away: I have not had much chance to speak to her since the nuptials.”
Samatha’s eyes are sharp, but Rhaena’s eyes flicker to hers and she taps her fingers twice on the table. Corlys approaches and presses a beck against Rhaena’s temple before reaching for Elaenys’ hand.
Myles Hightower scowls openly: but he cannot refute her either. The Seasnake is her grandfather. And one of the most powerful men of the realm. All Myle’s is, is her husbands creature.
“I will return her to you,” he says with a smile. None of the girls argue, though Bethany pouts. And Elaenys’ takes her grandfathers arm in relief.
Into the gardens they weave, until there is distance.
“What happened?” His voice is low, level, and dangerous. “Did he hurt you?”
He did not leave bruises, she thinks.
“I need something from you,” she murmurs quietly, shaking her head. He inhales and nods once, smiling for a group of courtiers that pass. She matches it. “Otto and Alicent seek to betroth Bethany to Aemond.”
A noise catches in his throat. “Do they?”
She nods once, reaching out for a bunch of flowers she pretends to show him. He plucks it and turns to her, affixing it in her hair as he stares down at her. Blocking her. “And place Cole as my guard.”
His face shifts--rage flickering for a moment, before he steals it.
“They do not trust him,” he muses.
“Nor he them,” she breathes, smiling. “Nor me, yet. But Bethany is-”
“Simple,” he agrees, nodding as he looks past. “Protecting her would do a great deal at earning that trust. What do you need?”
She inhales slowly and reaches for his hands. “I have advised him to accept Cole.” His expression darkens. “And he wants to assign a guard to me to watch Cole, but he cannot do so without-”
“Offending the crown,” he says, turning to look around the gardens. “I will contest--and so will Daemon. How far do we push?”
Her nose wrinkles. “If he suspects I came to you-”
“Without him, then,” he agrees quickly, “Marriage suits you, Ely. You are glowing,” he says as a group of ladies grow close.
“My husband has been very kind,” she agrees with a smile. “I am quite content, grandfather.”
They pass and he clears his throat. “I will push with Daemon--and allow him to settle as a peacemaker.” She nods once and exhales. “How are you, really?” He asks her, low. “I know Rhaenys spoke to you before but-”
She smiles, avoiding his eyes. “He is…not what I expected,” she admits quietly. “But he is not cruel. Nor do I think he will harm me.”
Not unless I betray him. Hopefully.
“The trick is growing under his skin,” she breathes. “He suspects I am more clever than I present-”
“You are my granddaughter,” he says with a scoff. “He should know that any kin to the Seasnake is not a fool.” Her mouth quirks and she squeezes his hands.
“He hates it here,” she admits quietly. “Alicent and Otto have offended him by leaving him in the dark. He will not return for some time.”
His brows raise, flickering past her. “Good, he is the greatest threat to your mother and Jace.”
She nods and looks down at her hands. “Which is why we need to let Otto and Alicent alienate him further: Otto tries to order him-”
“Like he is the Lord of the Tower.” Corlys asks low. “And have you…pushed?” He asks, gaze flickering to her face. “Away from his family?”
Her nose wrinkles. “I…have tried. I almost misstepped, but I think I set it right. He is…” she inhales long and slow, closing her eyes. “He is used to spotting liars and manipulations. If I do not seep what I say in truth: he sees through me.”
He reaches out to her, rubbing her arm. “Shower him in affection,” he says quietly. “Nothing loud: just consistent. Men like to be flattered.” She nods. That Elaenys was doing. When he held her: she stroked his skin. Before bed she pressed a kiss to his mouth and told him sweet dreams. And after beddings--no matter how humiliating, she thanked him in kisses. “He is a man who has built,” Corlys says carefully. “But men are full of pride. If Otto continues to push, flatter him so it pushes him to you instead.”
She nods, inhaling deeply and smiles as another group comes and Corlys repeats the gesture.
“The maids say it will not be long before you are with child,” Corlys says, clearing his throat and looking away from her. “So Daemon says.”
Her skin warms and she turns to the flowering bushes and picks more, carefully picking the prettiest ones.
“He is…devout,” she says carefully. “It is his belief that husbands and wives should have many children to please the Gods.”
Her grandfather is rendered silent for a long, withering moment, but he turns to the bushes too and helps her pick a few more. She gnaws on the inside of her cheek as she withstands his silent judgement. Maybe not of her: but it feels like it now.
He is her husband and it is her body he sieges every night and morning.
“You…you should not turn him away,” he says very carefully--stiffly. Like he is just as uncomfortable as she is. “Reserve that for later. Accept him now as he is: and when he trusts you, you will be able to use yourself as a tool against him.”
Her hands falter in pace for a moment. But then she nods. “We should return,” she muses. “Before my husband's creature comes looking.”
“What are these for?” He asks quietly.
“The girls,” she says with a hum. “I need them to speak of something other than you stealing me away. He will want to know why.”
Corlys’ jaw tightens. “You are my granddaughter.” He says coldly.
She nods, swallowing with a deep breath. “And now I am his: he wants to know that he is the only one that turns my head.”
Corlys nods slowly. “I am proud of you,” he says quietly. “And the sacrifice you have made.” She blinks, turning to look at him and she smiles.
“He is not so awful,” she admits quietly. “He loves his children, he just…” her brows furrow and she inhales again. “I do not think he was close to his own father. He never speaks of him: not like Otto raves of him. I think that it has made him…” her head tilts.
She does not know, but she exhales slowly and she can feel Corlys’ gaze shift to confusion.
“You-” he clears his throat and looks around. “You speak of him as if you are fond of him.”
It makes it easier, her mind whispers instantly.
She turns to the bushes though--and picks one last flower.
“There is something to be admired in a man that has claimed all that he has alone,” she admits quietly, mouth quirked. “He did so without his father, without a strong heir to back him, and yet he has doubled his house's wealth.”
Her grandfather slowly relaxes next to her. “A tale I am familiar with,” he admits quietly.
She nods, inhaling deeply. “I think he struggles under needing to be underestimated while also wanting-”
“The credit,” her grandfather supplies. “It is…a hunger that is rarely sated, Elaenys. Be careful not to wade in it for too long.”
It is why, I think, she muses, He feeds himself with other things.
She smiles and nods. “It makes it easier,” she admits to him quietly, “To prepare for his next move if I think like him.”
Her grandfather nods, looping his arm into hers. “A strong strategist does the same in battle: thinks from his enemies point of view to prepare for the next strike.”
Which--was exactly her intention.
And he knew it, he was just too wary to say her husband was their enemy. Even if the writing was on the wall, the blood dry already. On the sheets and on the skin he’d painted her with.
She chewed the inside of her mouth and squints. “Grandfather,” she says quietly turning to him as he slowly leads her back. “Jace spoke of a grain tax--will you tell me your leaning?”
His brow raises and mouth quirks. “Not your husband?”
She scoffs. “No,” she says almost with a smile. He sees the amusement in her eyes and leans away from her, squinting fondly. “I think he would rather me a perfumed shell, rather than what I am.”
Corlys inclines his head and frowns. “I would not go that far,” he muses quietly. “The Queen made a remark about young girls needing guidance in reference to you--he spoke out against her before your mother and I even had the chance.”
She stops in her tracks and he slows to turn before her. And he watches her carefully.
“What did he say?” She asks quietly.
Her grandfather’s jaw works for a moment, like he was not glad to admit it. “That you were a perfectly respectable woman,” he says more quietly. “With a level head: not a maid who dabbles in dreams and fanciful delusions.” Her brows raise high and he nods with a quiet scoff. “The Queen mentioned young girls needing guidance to not lose their way to handsome Knights and Princes.”
She inhales deeply and purses her lips.
Harwin and Daemon.
“Your mother was pleased,” he says quietly.
“You do not seem so,” she says in likeness.
“He is…” Corlys shakes his head and clears his throat, “It is-”
“You do not have to tread so lightly,” she says, fingers running over the flowers. “Your input is invaluable to me.”
He sighs and remains before her, eyes out past her--overlooking the sea. She could see he longed for it: over the daily grind of small council meetings, court, and things that weighed and pulled.
“He is more dangerous than Otto and Alicent accounted for,” he managed quietly. Which meant: he was more dangerous than they accounted for too. They expected him to fall in line with either side. But he would not. “But neither does he seem interested in the Crown now that he has met with his cousins. Daeron--he is a welp, one that is malleable in his hands. But you--he actively keeps away from Alicent and Otto, and Aegon and Aemond. He has arranged your day opposite of where they will be. And he does so…nearly without being noticed.”
Her brows narrow and nose wrinkles, but she thinks and…
He is right.
Aegon was always drunk in the mornings still from the night before. It was not so hard to keep him away: but Aemond, Aemond was in the yards in the morning. He told her it was a distraction to have women there and that he would prefer her to ensure Bethany attended her lessons.
Midmorning, she returned for tea with him.
Afternoon, it was the gardens while the Small Council commenced--where Aemond was.
Midafternoon, they alternated between the Sept, library, and walks along the keep.
Night--dinner. Then…their duties as husband and wife.
Actually--she cannot remember a single day in the month since they wed where she had more than a passing glance at her uncle. But Elaenys had not realized--
“I didn’t…” she murmurs in confusion.
“Alicent made a comment,” Corlys muttered as courtiers passed his back, “Of him keeping you hidden like a Dragon hides a hoard. He smiled. She did not seem pleased.”
She traces her tongue along her teeth and swallows. “I…I told him last night about the scar,” she breathes. His gaze drops to her face and his expression narrows in darkness. “He…was not happy. It made him angry--at Alicent and Otto, for Bethany.” He watches her for a long time, expression hard.
“Elaenys,” he says very slowly. “He is not like I or Daemon. He is…a creature all his own.”
She watches the lines on his face and finds…he looks very much like her father. But there is age there that he would never have. For he had been cast out to the sea for so long already.
And she nods.
“I know,” she says softly.
The invitation to dinner comes after lunch--through her husband.
Who seems irritated by it.
But she will be dressed in Velaryon colors, a dress her husband lays out flat on the bed. He picks her jewelry too, flickering through her boxes as she sits quietly on the edge of the bed and watches him.
Tense. He is tense--and she feels anxiety burrow in her belly.
But she does not speak. She just watches as he carefully picks through her things.
Until he gets to a black box--and she shifts forward.
Instantly his eyes are on hers, warning there. Warning he rears back in a second with a tilt of his chin, his chastisement gentle. “Hm?” He asks. “Did you say something?”
She had not, but she smiled lightly. “Those are all bracelets,” she says quietly. His brow raises.
“A box of them?” He asks, flipping it open.
“I went through a phase,” she admits softly. “At six--father bought me far more than he should have, in my recovery.”
His hands still over the box. “Recovery?” He asks, voice calm.
“Winter flu,” she says. “Mother said I was sick for weeks--the maesters were not sure-”
She lets her voice fall and he sighs, nodding at the unspoken words as he begins laying them out--one by one. Some were beaded, some jeweled. Some were made with pearls, other seashells, some made of thread, and others made of glass.
“He spoiled you,” he muses. She nods, throat drying. “Were you his favorite?”
She snorts. “That was Joff,” she says without hesitation. He blinked up at her, titling his head.
“Your mother’s then,” he suggests, fingering the beads.
“That would be Luke,” she says, a small smile on her face, one that is waning. His eyes flicker up to her, and linger.
“The Seasnake seems fond of you.” She smiles deeper, head tilting. It is bristling--the smile.
“Jace,” she breathes. He stares--calculating. And she gives him this, but not for free. She looked down at her lap and picks at the fabric. “I do happen to be the King’s favorite,” she admits quietly.
“Do you?” He hums out.
And she nods, inhaling slowly for a moment before she stands and walks over to her bureau. She takes a soft cushioned box and brings it to the bed, standing beside him and laying it on the mattress. There, she opens the larger box to unveil more jewelry--of Arryn colors.
“They say I look like Rhaenys,” she says quietly. “But grandfather thinks I look most like his first wife--my grandmother Aemma. Mother almost named me it.”
He tilts to look down at her and she looks up at him, face settled.
His though--his eyes are dark and mouth parted slightly.
“And these?” He asks softly. “Gifts he had made for you?” She shakes her head.
“They were grandmothers,” she says quietly. “Some of them are Arryn heirlooms she brought with her from the Vale.”
His gaze shifts down to silver carved earrings--ones that were shaped like wings, with light blue stones dangling from the end. “You look like her?” He muses.
“There are paintings of her,” she says more quietly. “In the King’s Quarters and in my mothers, but Alicent--”
Had them removed around the castle, she implies without speaking.
He pulls out another necklace. Silver chains that interlocked like lace, connected by pale blue stone. The chain is delicate and shifts easily, and she reaches into the box next, shifting for the larger stone-linked necklace that matched. “This goes with it,” she says carefully. “It is meant to be stacked-”
He takes it from her and lays them both down. Then he reaches through the bracelets, flickering through them to select one that would best match.
“Rings?” He asks next. She frowns.
“I have some,” she says as he begins filling the empty boxes. “Not as many though--I’ve outgrown most of them. I should let Bethany pick through them,” she muses innocently. “Some of them should fit her-”
“Let me see them first,” he says casually. “You should leave some for our daughters too.”
She blinks at the vanity, turning to look at him but he was concentrating on something. So she takes the silver bowl with her rings and brings it over to her.
“I want to look at your dresses again,” he says, taking the cup and spilling them out. His nose wrinkles. “You are right--you do need more.”
Her mouth twitches. “I did not say that,” she says, sinking into his side. He wraps his arm around her but does not look at her.
“I did,” he says evenly. “Do you have a dress with Arryn colors?”
Her nose wrinkles as she thinks, before she hums. “I have one,” she says, moving to slip from his arm, but he pulls her back.
“Hand out,” he says. She frowns but puts a hand out. And he tries four on her fingers. But only two fit. “Spoiled you may be,” he muses, finally turning to look at her. “But neglected too.”
She bites her tongue, hard enough to keep the sting close.
“Not by you,” she says quietly.
His eyes darken and he leans her back and leans forward, kissing her. And her hand raises to the side of his cheek and she smiles against his mouth. “Nor will you be,” he rumbles against her mouth. “Now find me that dress, before I find any more distraction in you little dove.”
“Yes my lord,” she agrees with a pleased smile.
He lets her slip from his grasp this time and when she faces away she lets her face fall.
Neglected.
Ormund was good, she thinks bitterly. Good at pinning down the things that made her feel vulnerable. And this was one of them.
She searches for the dress regardless, hands shifting through the folded gowns as he hums to himself. He was taking more care tonight, to pick something he viewed as worthy. Typically, since the first week of feasts, they had been left alone. To bond or to get to know one another she assumed.
But her husband was treating this as a battle. He had even picked out his children’s clothes. Samantha’s too. He was clever: to introduce them as gifts. Samantha and Elaenys in their own kin’s colors: while Ormund and his children wore Hightower colors.
Her eyes scan and scan for the fabric and she finds it, inhaling deeply as her mind unfurls the statement.
Alicent and Otto cling to a house that did not have need of their backing.
Because the House Hightower Ormund had built was strong enough to stand alone from the crown. To welcome differences.
A lie: considering how much control Ormund tried to exact in even the smallest of things. To the perfumes he now picked for her. But there was truth in it too.
He did not need Alicent and Otto. They needed him. And now that he was sure that Elaenys was willing to help him protect Bethany? He was willing to exert that.
“This one,” she says airily, turning to him with a smile.
His gaze turns back and it is dark as she approaches slowly. He tuts his tongue and inclines his head, mouth quirking into a smirk he shares with her. “It is perfect,” he tells her as he takes it and slowly unfolds it. “I wish I had thought to bring our seamstresses,” he adds with a sigh. “The work here is so…underwhelming. Even this--this is better. And the Vale is not known for it’s fashion.”
Her head tilts and here eyes flicker to her dresses. The ones he had picked and sorted through were all the ones from her mother and grandfather Corlys. All the gifts from Alicent had been pushed off to the side. But he was able to identify even without her saying that the dress was actually from the Vale.
“Alicent has rather…minimal taste.” She says quietly, letting her gaze linger on those dresses.
“She thinks it is a statement,” he muses, eyes rolling. “As if her minimalism overshadows her sons.”
She presses her lips in a line to smother the smile. And she tries to force it to disappointed agreement.
“Daeron is happier now,” she says fondly, tilting her gaze up to him. “With you over when we were children.”
It was true: no longer did he chafe against Jace. Instead it was his brothers: who did not enjoy their youngest brother returning to King’s Landing with such fanfare. Alicent doted on him. And both of his elder brothers misliked it.
He tilts his head, smirking sardonically. “Yes,” he breathes out, “Daeron is certainly better behaved than your two older uncles.”
She purses her lips and squints. “They are your cousins.”
His brows raise and then his eyes squint in amusement. “I do not claim them,” he says to her, voice low like it is a secret.
“Nor do I,” she agrees. He chuckles, shaking his head with a sigh.
“I will call for a maid to dress you,” he says. “Before you and I spend the rest of the night enjoying each other over our shared grief.”
He presses a kiss to her temple and then jaw before leaving to do just that.
And the moment she is alone: she feels oddly…discontent.
Maybe that was the loneliness.