Chapter Text
Rhaenys,
The Green Queen appeared in the lark-blue sky, the sun setting behind the tree line, tinting the clouds in pink and purple. The ancient dragon seemed larger than life as soared, her wingbeat almost placid as if she was on a leisure flight.
The walls of Harrenhal seemed to welcome her home, as as soon as the dragoness was in sight of it, she raised her song in the sky, the black dragon, nestling around one of the turrets of the keep raised his own song in reply and the late hour filled with the song of dragons.
She had known, the moment she had set foot in the Riverlands that she was decided to write history. She was the king’s only surviving child so far, she had spent her youth in court learning the ways of rulership not only from her father — and his often misplaced politics — but from the men and women of the court who weaved their web. In adulthood she had refused to be sent from the capital, and she had promised on her mother’s tomb that she would never let anyone rob her of her birthright and that she would do her duty to her people and as queen.
No matter how difficult her father meant for it to be for her.
And this… this was another step in the right direction. An alliance with House Stark would better her chances. House Stark had stood behind the Greens, most notably, now, the Stark had chosen a woman to lead them, despite the abundance of male heirs and they had defended her birthright on the battleground.
Rhaenys hoped they would do the same for her, especially if they were bound.
Her mother had been beautiful, and gentle and kind. She had loved them all well. She had refused the wet nurse to care for her, and had nursed her at her own breast, despite her frail health after the birth; she had loved also the king, even though Rhaenys was aware that the only thing her father loved was the promise of a heir to his kingdom, especially after the attempt from the Blacks to try and claim again the Iron throne and despite their defeat, despite the death of his rival, he still had a son to his name. A son who had claimed the greatest dragon of the Seven Kingdoms. Her mother had died in the attempt to give him a male heir.
Rhaenys would not forgive him that. Ever.
She frowned as the dragon in the sky continued her flight placidly even though with but a couple of wingbeats more she could land, instead flying as if she was following the people on horseback.
“Would you look at that?” Baeryl Baratheon commented with a fond smile on her lips and crossed arms across her chest, her hair weaved in a braid and dancing in the wind, “she’s being difficult”
Rhaenys frowned, but did not ask more. The second in command of the Sky’s Ghost was a woman Rhaenys had never quite managed to get into a more comfortable relationship with. Lady Baeryl was strong, impulsive, commanded a dragon and took no shit from anyone, if she couldn’t beat you with fists she would beat you with her sword. Rhaenys admired that of her, and yet it also made her uncomfortable, and that may also stem from the centuries of battles between the dornish and the stormlanders, she couldn’t say. Or perhaps it was her unquestionable loyalty to her commander before any other that had her on edge.
If Aerion ever attempted to take the throne, lady Baeryl and all the dragon riders would fly for their commander, no matter the odds. Rhaenys could not elicit that kind of loyalty in them, especially since she was a Targaryen princess who lacked a dragon and did not look Targaryen in the slightest.
Baeryl turned to her, “Perhaps this Stark woman is far more admirable than I believed,” she commented with a shrug, “someone worthy of your alliance, princess” she offered and Rhaenys nodded silently, just as the riders started to become more nitid the closer they grew to the keep.
There were several northern guards, and several black guards that followed her cousin everywhere he went as his foot soldiers, mingling together and speaking, led by five other riders, two of whom women. Aerion to her surprise was on the ground instead of riding his dragon in the sky, trotting comfortably next to one of the women, though in this distance Rhaenys could not say who was who, her hands carded in the fur of her cat, Balerion and she took a deep breath.
The cat itself was a monstrosity, lacking an eye and hissing to anyone save her. Rhaenys had adopted him when she had been but a girl, and he a stray cat she had captured in the gardens of the Red Keep, Rhaenys had claimed him for her own, and despite the beast being as savage as any dragon — words of her own guards — he followed her anywhere she went. He had even come to spend time in her cell when she had spent those dark, cold nights in the Black cells, sharing his body heat with her so that she would not suffer alone in the cold.
The cat hissed.
“Shh,” she cooed, “they are our guests,” she said “ behave ” she commanded in high Valyrian and Balerion stoped hissing, though he still looked pretty annoyed by the bustling around them as Rhaenys walked around the corridors of the immense keep, to reach the courtyard and welcome her guests, to finally lay eyes on the woman whom she hoped would be her ally and the man she was supposed to marry to ensure their loyalty.
Lady Shella Whent, who had offered to host the meeting, was already waiting for her. She was a kind, old and frail lady who spoke naugh of nothing but the great history of their family and the several times Harrenhal had hosted the royal line.
The castle had befallen Whent hands after the death of prince Aemond Targaryen, who had left the keep in the hands of lady Celia Whent as his heir, in the absence of a natural heir to his lands, name and fortune, they had even a chamber of the keep named after him, as it was his room of solace, the Painting Chamber, in the years since his death it had gone mostly untouched and there were several paintings, sketches and coal-drawings stocked there, covered by clothes and forgotten. When one asked House Whent, they usually defined the contenents of the chamber as their Treasure , though only some of them had survived several fires and disasters that had happened in the meantime.
The portrait of young lady Celia Whent, albeit left unfinished by the prince, was the only piece of his art that seemed to have survived unscathed the toll of time, though the Whents claimed that more private pieces had survived as well, but were entrusted in their care and to their privacy as well.
The Whent had for long centuries also claimed they held the original Donation , the document by which king Aegon decreed that as per prince Aemond’s will the castle and its lands were to be administered on their own by lady Celia Whent and pass to her heirs when the time came. One last gift to honor the will of his brother and the memory of lady Ned Whent, the Whent woman that many claimed prince Aemond had loved and that he had grieved for, for his whole life.
Lady Shella Whent had showed her some of the items that had belonged not only to the lord Hand, but to other several Targaryens who had spent some time in the keep. She had been shown prince Maelor’ prostethics and cane — and though acquired in later years — also prince Daeron’s knee prostethic as well.
They had kept also the cradle princess Jaehaera had commissioned for her time in Harrenhal with her children, and lord Aemond Lannister’ wooden toy-dragon from when he had been a babe; as well as prince Maelor’ hairbrush and several of his writings they had kept and that had survived the test of time. They even had the embalmed body of lord Viserys Targaryen’ wolfhound he had brought with himself after his time as a ward of the Starks at the end of the Dance of Dragons.
The whole thing was like a mausoleum and yet Rhaenys had the distinct feeling that the Whent were also hoarding some kind of secret she was unaware of. House Whent was rich, far richer than their soverlord, the Tullies, and much richer than any other House of the Realm, save for the Lannisters and the Tyrells; the sources of their riches had been the fortune lady Celia Whent had built during her time; some claimed she had collected several important royal items — gifts, acquired and stolen — though most admit she had been quite the business woman, able to create and maintain quite the fortune and demanding her children and their children learned a craft to sustain the House during difficult times, a tradition that was upkept to these days.
Lady Shella had four sons — and though two she sent to the Wall to serve in the Nights Watch, each accompanied by twenty men to swear the oath as well — the other two she demanded they learned a craft. The oldest, the ruling lord Whent knew wood-work, and he had fashioned himself the casket to bury his lord father after his death; whilst the youngest had spent many years with the farmers of their lands and had learned to work the land as if some kind of peasant, and yet, more than once in history the craft learned by the lords of House Whent had saved House Whent and often times the Riverlands whole with their expertise.
What really unsettled Rhaenys was that despite the several times that House Whent had raised their heads and protested against the policies of the throne, not once they had been destroyed, even once the blood ties between them grew so distant as not to qualify them as kin anymore.
The great hall where their guests would be welcomed was littered with paintings of the Whents lords and ladies, starting from the front of the hall where the late Lord Whent’ painting stood, weaving like two wings to the sides, with a lady and a lord on each side, to the back where stood the biggest of the paintings which depicted lady Celia Whent, in her velvet alloy orange gown and black furlined mantle.
It was the kind of depiction Rhaenys would expect of a royal House, or a very ancient House — like the Starks or the Lannisters — and she felt like pride in their ancestry might be the Whents greatest flaw, as in the latter years they had proven to be weaker than their founders and most notable ancestors.
Yet, she had not time to think about it any more, for their guests were finally shown inside. Aerion was escorting them, though his face looked like he would have rather killed them. Robb Stark was escorting his sister — she would suppose, considering the resemblance in their demeanor and appareance — a middle aged man followed suit with a young lady bearing the bear insignia on her breast.
Aerion dark eyes were fixed in a glare as he stared at the northern nobles, though he seemed particularly displeased by how they seemed to keep their distance from him, even though he was half northerner and half their kin, for however distant through the Stark-Targaryen mixed branch of the Stark tree.
Rhaenys watched as her cousin’ eyes finally befell on her, she opened her arms and her cousin humored her by offering her an embrace as salute before nodding his head down to her. “Princess,” he greeted her, then he stepped away from her.
Rhaenys knew what needed to be done. She was a weak claimant to the Iron throne, especially since her father could still have an healthy son to his name soon; and she was dragonless, she needed to appear as if despite that she still was the best chance, the best prospect.
Having a strong hold of the Sky’s Ghost would go a long way to ensure that.
“Cousin,” she said, her voice dipping low “we have missed you,” she offered, “but I see you have been escorting our guests to us,”
“Only for the last leg of the journey,” he admitted, “they have had the misfortune of meeting the militants, though they served them a good deal of northern steel, I thought that the Green Queen’s aid would have been welcomed by them and by you both,”
It was a lie, Rhaenys nor her father had any bearing on the goings and comings of the Ghosts, as they were in truth mostly independent from the crown, though it was a way by which he was trying to aid her in appear as strong as possible. A show of loyalty if she could expect such from him. Something she had not expected from him.
Rhaenys turned her dark gaze on the newcomers, as her cousin gestured to them. Robb Stark was tall, but to her surprise he was also muscular, with a broad chest and strong arms and neck, he had dark red curls framing a handsome face a with an almost button nose and full lips. His eyes were a crystal blue that looked almost like sapphires. He wore no apparent sign of regalia, save for two battered bronze direwolves gracing the collar of his jerkin, barely visible underneath the leather stripes of his northern cloak.
“It was a welcome aid,” the woman on his arm commented, and Rhaenys’ attention suddenly charged to her. She had long auburn hair weaved into a fishtail braid and wore a dark gray blue gown with a direwolf embrodiered over her bosom, she wore a similar cloak to the one her brother sported, but her face was not that of a twin. Her cheeks were higher than his and her features more pointed than his, and her nose instead than a button one, was long and straight, her face was almost moon shaped, reminding her of something like some kind of memory of a dream, “though I still maintain we could have done without the escort,” she added “it was in the interest of none for us to have a full blown procession,”
Aerion brought both hands behind his back and despite her rude — albeit phrased politely — words, his eyes twinkled with fondness and he cocked his head to the side and studied her, a smirk on his lips, as if he was immensely satisfied by her comment, though Rhaenys could not understand why “On the contrary, lady Stark, it served us plenty. I have had occasion to enjoy your remarkable company, I would consider that time well spent”
Baeryl besides them hid a snort behind her hand, trying to mask it in a cough. Rhaenys watched as her eyes darted between her cousin — and his self-satisfied smirk and twinkling eye — and lady Stark, proud and beautiful, and terse and fierce and terrible as she gave him a dark, looming gaze “Time well spent won’t spare the Realm,” she said, before tearing her gaze away from her cousin and looking right at her “I am under the impression Your Highness has to heart the good of the Realm and its people,” she commented “it is on virtue of this that we have come today,”
Aerion rolled his eyes fondly and then turned to her, “Cousin, as you might have gathered, let me present you, lady Sansa of House Stark, lady of Winterfell and Wardeness of the North,” he said “as you can easily see she is not scared lamb,”
“And her brother, prince Robb of House Stark, her twin” he added almost conspiratorially “A fine swordsman and leader on the battleground by what I have been able to see, though it remain to be seen how politically adept he is or can become”
Lady Stark almost bristled at that, but schooled her expression, turning to her instead “Princess, it is your custom to let your lowborn cousin offend your noble guests?”
“I said nothing offending to you, my lady” Aerion replied, almost as if this back and forth with the woman pleased him, Rhaenys could not say she remembered Aerion ever place that much of his blatant interest in another person — wether they male or female — since she knew him.
“And yet I do not need to be a Maester to read through the lines of what you were implying about my brother, my lord,” was her calm reply.
Aerion shrugged, both hands still behind his back, “My lady perhaps mistakes me,” he commented, “I did not imply , my lady” he added “I affirmed , and I am sure my lady is intelligent enough to know the difference,”
Rhaenys watched in disbelief, what seemed like nothing short of some kind of mating, ambiguous dance. Lady Stark didn’t seem as interested as Aerion appeared and yet she raised to the bait every single time.
Her smile could be described as nothing but wolfish “Do not mistake us for someone we are not, Your Highness,” she said, returning her gaze on her instead of her cousin, “we are Starks. The insult thrown at one of us, is thrown at us all. The harm done to one of us is done to all of us,” she added.
“The strength,” prince Robb said, resting his hand above his sister’s over his elbow, “of the pack is the wolf and the strength of the wolf is the pack. The lone wolf may die, but the pack will survive” he added “and we are a pack”
Lady Stark looked at her brother for one moment as if he had hung the moon in the sky for her, and Rhaenys had a foreboding feeling as Sansa Stark turned to face her, just as her cousin’ eyes became slits of dark amethyst — “ Mighty words, spoken by you ” her cousin commented in high Valyrian — and as Rhaenys was about to reprimand him, lady Stark cold as ice eyes snapped to him, “ I dare you to say that again ” she hissed, in high Valyrian herself and though her pronounciation could not be considered as good as her cousin’s or her own, it was yet the first time Rhaenys heard a noble speak it almost fluently without claiming Valyrian ancestry.
But instead of looking offended, Aerion smiled at her and leaned forward — dragon and wolf staring at each other — and muttered something in high Valyrian so low that Rhaenys had trouble catching on it.
Her surprise at seeing her cousin trade insults and mating calls — because they were nothing of the different for him — with the Stark lady was only matched by her own twin brother’s expression of utter surprise, as if he was learning just like her, first hand, that lady Stark spoke Valyrian, albeit not fluently, well enough to hold her own for a while.
Baeryl at her side seemed amused by the whole spectacle, observing it with keen eyes and interested gleam before Rhaenys decided she was quite done and that this was unbecoming, “Cousin,” she hissed, “behave”
Before today she would have described her cousin as downtrodden, at times rightly broody, and though she knew he had friends, which meant he must have the capability of playing nice and even be fun upon occasion she had quite never seen him so misbehaving, almost like a small child intent on causing ruckus; and she wondered acridly what did this Stark lady have that she lacked that she would prompt her cousin in this state when she, as her kin, had never been awarded the right to?
Aerion seemed to return to himself then, he straightened his back and righted his expression, “My apologies, princess,” he offered “I meant no insult to our esteemed company, perhaps,” he added looking straight at her betrothed to be, “prince Robb could be persuaded to an amicable spar on the training grounds as a show of our renewed animity” he proposed.
Prince Robb Stark did not need to look at his sister to know how to reply, which meant that all Stark heirs had been trained to know how to do the diplomatics talks, so Rhaenys would not end up with a puppet husband after all; he let go of his sister’s arms and nodded, “I heard you are quite unmatched in the South,” he stated “perhaps we shall see if this northerner can beat you”
Aerion’ grin bode ill for her betrothed to be, but Rhaenys would let him learn that to his expanses, after all if he was to marry her he would need true friends in the capital and for men beating each other on the training grounds was a much faster way for bonds to develop; he would have to learn that her cousin when he trained he did so against three opponents as — by his own words — in battle seldomly it is one against one.
“Off we shall go then!,” Aerion commented, gesturing for him to follow him, Robb Stark turned around to his sister and patted her hand gently, before pressing a kiss atop the crown of her head, then he turned to her and offered her a bow, his eyes twinkled empyrean as he looked at her and Rhaenys was moved by a force different from her own perhaps as she took a step in his direction, “Prince Robb,” she called and he stopped, turning around once again, to wait for her to speak, do not loose your nerve now , she told herself as she fished a handkerchief from her sleeve, stepped closer to him and gently wrapped the handkerchief around his arm, “trash him a bit, will you?, he’s been right unbearable,” she muttered, her voice low, as if she was sharing some great secret, looking up into his eyes. His smile was lovely, she decided, as he nodded.
She stepped back and tried to stave off the blush creeping up her cheek, she had been impulsive, she knew, she could only hope it paid off. She knew how to charm most southern men, but this northerners… they seemed different. He seemed different. Her cousin hand was clamped around the hilt of Dark Sister, his fingertips brushing against the grip of the sword with almost manical force and precision, the consumed leather and fabric gray strap almost coming undone from the strength of his hold. His dark, terrible eyes were fixed on lady Stark who herself looked like she was being chased off by bad thoughts, the stuff of nightmares and broken hearts.
Rhaenys watched them go, followed by their female companion — on lady Stark insistence and her own happiness to observe such a match — and listened raptly as for a moment lady Stark and the middle aged man who was accompanying them had a whole conversation by looking at each other.
“Nay, my lady” he offered, “your brother can look after himself. I’d rather be here than there”
Lady Stark rolled her eyes “Suit yourself,” she muttered, but by her tone Rhaenys knew that she was touched by the man’s choice.
“Lady Stark,” lady Shella’s voice stopped Rhaenys, and whatever small talk she meant to start in an attempt to smooth things over after her cousin all but dragged her every hope for this match in the ground with his contempt; the old lady walked to the northern woman with a bundle in her arms. It was a dark, ancient piece of cloth of dark black that had become lighter in the years, and it was folded as if it was guarding something precious, “Your late grandmother was quite fond of this when she was a girl, before her marriage,” she offered “my late husband could not find it in himself to give this to any other after her death, for she was terribly attached to it. So it sat in our vault until now, but… I think my cousin would have wanted you to have it, you’re her oldest granddaughter, and this was a bit like an heirloom for her,”
Ah , Rhaenys had almost forgotten. Lady Stark was half a Tully, and apparently through her maternal grandmother, part Whent as well; lady Stark fingered the cloth with trembling hands, and in her eyes Rhaenys could see a storm raging, as she slowly, gingerly unfolded the cloth, that hung from lady Whent’s arms.
It was not just a cloth, it was a banner. An ancient banner, if Rhaenys could not be mistaken, a Targaryen banner but instead of the golden — or heck even the red — three headed dragon, the three headed dragon was embrodiered in green thread, which made of it a much older banner than Rhaenys would have guessed, for only one prince in the whole of their story had claimed that banner, during his time of regency during the Dance of Dragons.
That must have been Aemond Targaryen’s personal banner, so whatever heirloom House Whent was claiming it must have been passed down from him to lady Celia and later her heirs as per his own will and the king’s decree; it made her almost fill with rage that a Stark lady — a lady who had commanded the extinction of the mixed line in the North — would get a Targaryen heirloom before the heir apparent to the Iron throne.
An almost sob tore from her lips, bringing Rhaenys back to herself, when she discovered what had been nestled in the folded banner, so Rhaenys approached as well, curious to see what might have elicited such a reaction from her. It was nothing particularly beautiful, but just a locket — a Valyrian steel locket that she could see — and Rhaenys couldn’t really explain the reaction lady Stark had, had at it.
“My mother spoke to me about this…” she offered, in reply to her silent question, “she never quite could bring herself to write to have this shipped North, though she had wished it much, for her late mother had treasured it very much indeed, thank you lady Whent” she added, then — not even bothering to ask if Rhaenys wished to hold it first, as it was her blood right — she grabbed the chain of the locket and latched it around her neck, then securing the locket underneath her corset for safe keeping.
Are you serving me insult, lady Stark? , Rhaenys wondered darkly.
“The Treasure of Harrenhal finally has a new owner,” she offered “it was passed down from prince Maelor to lady Celia and then from her to her children, until your late grandmother,” she said “legend says it belonged to lady Ned Whent, a gift from prince Aemond, a piece belonging to a set with a sapphire-hairnet of Valyrian steel that has been lost,” she said, gesturing for the painting of lady Celia at the very back of the hall.
Rhaenys watched it closely and for the first time she caught a resemblance — in mannerism more than anything else — between the woman depicted and the Stark lady standing before the portrait now; the woman had dark hair, instead of red, but the eyes were one and the same, as were the cheekbones. Lady Celia had been depicted at an older age than lady Stark was now, and she wore a sapphire hairnet peeking from her dark curls, and from her crossed arms, the hand collected on her lap, dangled the locket lady Stark was now wearing.
The man that had remained by lady Stark’s side exclaimed in surprise, “Seven hells!, if I wouldn’t know better, my lady, I would say…”
“She looks like my lady mother,” lady Stark nodded, “the resemblance is uncanny,” she stated “blood is not water after all” she commented, her smile full, but also sad for some reason Rhaenys could not fathom.
“Indeed, lady Stark” lady Whent commented, and only then did lady Stark look right at her and Rhaenys had the uncanny feeling that the woman was looking straight underneath her skin and through her soul.
“Princess Rhaenys,” she offered “I heard a great deal of things about you. You are the king’s only surviving child, yet the queen is expecting is she not?”
“She is” Rhaenys almost shuddered at the thought “the Queen is a Frey and they do have a name for being extremely fertile”
At the mention of the Freys, lady Stark made a funny face “Indeed,” she commented “is lord Frey still in good health?, I had heard he had developed quite the bad cough”
Lady Whent assured her, he had indeed fallen ill but the Maester had good hopes the old man would not kick the bucket yet, to which lady Stark commented, almost under her breath “I shall pray for it, then”
It struck Rhaenys as strange that she would say it instead of him , and if Rhaenys knew her better she would swear the woman was hoping for the old-timer to actually die, as soon as possible.
“…still,” lady Stark commented “that is not what I wanted to enquire. My question pertains your intentions, princess. If the queen was to birth an healthy son, to reach adulthood, what would be your plans? I do not wish for a reprisal of the Dance of Dragons, especially in such a delicate moment”
And herein laid the problem. What would lady Stark like to hear?
What would Rhaenys truly do? She intended for no Frey whelp to steal her birthright, yet if he did reach adulthood by all laws he would be the rightful heir to the Iron throne, no matter that Rhaenys had spent her whole life proving she was worthy of it.
“I would do right by the Realm,” she settled on at last, “I do wish for a new civil war either,” she offered “and the last one almost existinguished us all, but I will not stand by if my children are threatened. You have several younger brothers and yet you inherited your father’s seat”
“As his wish,” lady Stark replied “and as per our laws, but I have faced challenges, from my own blood. Men will seldom accept a woman’s rule without a fight, and my brother fought for me. What would yours do?”
Rhaenys was hard pressed for a true answer then, “I would not foster hate with my own blood,” she said “my brother would fight for me too”
“And if he didn’t? I need to know what fate would await my brother if he were to marry you, what fate would await my niblings if you ever gave him children” lady Stark stated.
“I would protect them,” Rhaenys replied without missing a beat “no matter against what odds. No matter the personal sacrifices” she admitted.
Lady Stark looked her dead in the eye “And if that sacrifice was the Iron throne? Would you sacrifice your children or the throne?”
“I am half a Martell, lady Stark. You know the words of House Martell? Unbowed, unbent, unbroken ,” she recited “my mother died in the attempt to give my father a male heir he still lacks. If women could inherit same as men everywhere in the Realm, then ladies wouldn’t be so hard pressed and at times downright killed for the male heir they could not produce, would you consider women unable to rule, my lady?”
“There would be,” she added, “no more Elia Martell, no more countless women killed, set aside or ruined in the attempt to have a male heir” she said “male and female heir would be equals, as we are born. Doesn’t the Mother sit at the side of the Father, the Maiden beside the Warrior?”
Lady Stark considered her at length, “That doesn’t change the law now ” she said “if a prince is born of the Queen you’ll be pushed further down the line of succession, and if you were to have male children, and your brother was unfit or some lords saw him as such, the lords could start to clamor for your sons, my brother’s sons, to inherit, and then a succession crisis would arise. What then?”
“Then I would defend them with all my might,” she swore, “for they are my blood. An unfit ruler has been dethroned before by his heir, it would not be the first time nor the last,” she said “why, king Daeron I dethroned king Aemon the Mad after he succeeded king Aemond the Thousand Days king, and there was no bloodbath for it, no civil war”
Lady Stark considered her at length then commented, “You are aware of the Pact that king Aegon sealed with lord Cregan Stark, are you not?,” she questioned.
“Aye I am,” Rhaenys replied quietly as lady Shella Whent directed the servants around them to give them more privacy “through it the North became a principality and gave their military support to the warring king. The North and the South are supposed to stand united against any enemy because of it”
Lady Stark nodded, “Aye,” she nodded “as part of that agreement, the South is supposed to send more men to the Wall to mann it against the enemy that lies beyond, and enemy that has been slumbering, but that shall not slumber anymore”
“Are you having issues with the wildlings?” Rhaenys wondered “is this what all of this is about? You want support against the wildlings?”
Lady Stark shook her head, “I wish we were,” she murmured, “no, the wildlings are not a problem, as long as they survive and do not add to the enemy’s numbers. No, princess. The true enemy brings the storm” she said “and winter comes with Him”
She looked at her dead in the eyes “I need to know you will upkeep the pact when I come calling,” she said, her voice dark and unrelenting.
Rhaenys looked at her, at her eyes of sapphire, eyes that seemed to know a thousand of unknown tragedies, a thousand of unknown paths and heartbreaks, a woman who wore around the neck the proof of the love of a Targaryen prince.
“I will” Rhaenys said, “I can scarcely expect of you to eventually back me and my children just because of my marriage to your brother if I am not ready to do the same for you. Against any enemy that you fight. If you become my sister,” she promised “your fight becomes my fight. And if the North is threatened… it is still part of the Realm, it is my duty to defend it with you”
Lady Stark seemed to be satisfied with that answer, “Then, I’ll be glad to call you sister,” she said.
So they settled in the next days to discuss of dowries and lands and duties and ceremonies, and lady Stark spoke more at length of the great threat they could be exposed to. Beyond the Wall a Nights Watch deserter, Mance Ryder had united most wildlings clans, named himself king beyond the Wall and was marching to the Wall in an attempt to invade across the icy border.
“My kin, Benjen, is First Ranger and has spoken to him. Mance Ryder claims they are fleeing from an enemy from fable,” Sansa Stark told them all, “the Watch spoke of this enemy, they met this enemy in open field. They say it raises the dead, but for now it seems content to lay in waiting beyond the Wall” she said “there are reports of the last dragon rider of the wall, lord commander Brandon Stark, who flew with Whiteclaw across the Real North, and almost lost his own dragon to their lances” she explained.
“Others? You want us to believe in Others?” Rhaenys demanded, surprised of such a malady in the lady’s mind. What did nurses feed Stark children? Tales, fables?
“I am not asking you to believe in Others,” lady Stark commented, “maybe they are just necromancers who raise the dead, some tribe which colors their skins blue,” she said, though Rhaenys had the odd feeling she was lying “but they are real,” she stated “the Nights Watch is attempting to capture one alive, to bring this to the king’s attention with proof, it could take a day as it could take ten years,” she added “I have been preparing for winter to ensure we survive it, but I need to know that the South will aid us when the time comes as promised, swear it to me, princess, and you’ll have House Stark”
Rhaenys considered it.
If Sansa Stark was mad… perhaps her father’s plan could have merit, though it was disinheartening to see a woman she had looked out so much to meet to fall in the category of mad women whose madness was fed by those around her instead of quenched.
“Bring us proof. The South will, I will, come to the aid of House Stark,” no matter what that entailed, if it entailed getting out of the rulership a man woman she’d do that too “if an enemy threatens it” she vowed.
Lady Baeryl besides them scoffed as she caressed her snout of her own dragon, placidly sitting wrapped around her own chair under the pavilion, “Proved the enemy is real,” she muttered, her eyes fixed on the lady with almost a predatory glint, but lady Stark merely gestured with both hands, “My lady Baratheon possesses a dragon, does she not? The truth of my statement is there to be seen, why don’t you fly your dragon across the Wall and Beyond and tell us?,” she challenged, “proved that you manage to command him to cross beyond it,”
Lady Baeryl stood up then, her chair scratching on the floor “Are you insulting my skills on dragon back, my lady?,” she hissed as a serpent, her eyes frighteningly bleary.
Lady Stark’s smirk was an odd, terrifying thing, in the face of a mad dragon rider and her dragon so close and in firing range to her, “At all, my lady,” she commented, “that I know of no southern riders have not been able to have their dragons fly Beyond the Wall, why not even king Jaehaerys and queen Alysanne managed,” she said “I’m to understand that not even Vhagar flew beyond the Wall,” she added “and her riders were amongst the bravest of the lot. But be my guest, you may surprise me”
Rhaenys wondered where did Sansa Stark get so confident and sure even when speaking naught to a dragon rider’s face, and saw that her twin brother did not seem any less unimpressed and untouched by lady Baeryl’ disgruntled face and her dragon’s roar, if anything he looked as unbothered as his twin sister.
Baeryl seemed about to say something, but did not indeed, as Aerion uncrossed both his arms and sighed “The Sky’s Ghosts have a sacred and holy purpose,” he stated “ ours is the defense of the Realm whole and the Wall against any enemy,” he said, his eyes fixed on lady Stark “I told you this already, lady Stark. You do not need her word, you just need mine ,”
Prince Robb did seem surprised at that, and Aerion merely shrugged and straightened his posture in the chair, the Green Queen keeping vigil just outside the pavilion, wrapped around one of the turrets as if some creature of nightmare out of song, “And my proposal is still valid,” he added, standing up and adjusting his own jerkin, “I told you, this act does not suit you” he said.
Rhaenys felt utterly betrayed that they would speak of this kind of matters out of her knowledge and by prince Robb own look he thought the same, “And I told you I do not trust your proposal,” she replied “I do not trust your motives”
“I am a simple man, lady Stark,” he said “give me your hand and all the dragons Kings Landing has will be at your disposal”
Lady Stark eyed him and Rhaenys had the knee-jerk reaction of standing up as well, feeling completely enraged by the whole matter.
Lady Stark had gone behind her back and had seduced her cousin — despite her, now false she would assume, protests — and her cousin, the idiot, had befallen for the first blue, northern eyes he had seen.
“You will forgive me, lord Blackfyre,” lady Stark said, her tone so cold that it almost emanated the chill “but my hand in not up for discussion, and if you really say that protecting the North is your duty as members of the Sky Ghosts, I don’t see why I should marry you to have you do as your duty and defend the North”
Aerion’ grin was something as fierce as it was terrible, just as she was, as she turned to her, “I would have your word, princess Rhaenys. Dragons or not, you are the heir to the Iron throne,”
Rhaenys collected her hands before herself, “You have my word. House Targaryen will keep its faith to you, in your time of need. As we expect you to do for us, in our time of need”
“As House Stark has always done,” lady Stark nodded, “and thus I shall entrust my most beloved brother to you, and pray that you make him happy” she added.
She pounced on her cousin as soon as their guests had dispersed once again back to their chambers, or, in lady Stark’s case in the gardens with lady Shella Whent and her oldest son, the lord of Harrenhal. Robb Stark instead was joined by Rodrick Cassel on the training grounds, apparently the man had taught his late lord father how to fight as he had been Winterfell’s master-at-arms for decades before swearing his sword to the protection of the new Warden of the North.
She grabbed him by the collar of his doublet, jerking him and pushing him across the hall and with his back against the wall, then she pressed her poison coated blade across his neck “What kind of treachery is this?,” she hissed under her breath, “was this your plan all along? Do you really wish to join the Starks to your bloodline so that when you move for the Iron throne the northerners will back you?!”
Aerion did not seem as terrorised as he should be with poison poised just across his flesh, but his eyes were slits of coldness and frost, and calm fury raging silently just as her own rage was singing loudly for all to hear.
His reply was short and simple “I have had my eye on lady Stark from long before talk of your marriage to her brother was breached,” he admitted, making her blink in surprise at his lack of even attempting to lie, “she’s been my target all along,” he commented with a shrug.
Rhaenys pressed the blade closer to his neck, he did jut his chin up and his grip around her arms did not ease, but he also kept facing her straight on “And you say you wish not for the Iron throne,” she spat “should’ve known better than to trust a bastard” she hissed.
“You really should have,” he commented with a shrug “besides, my eye is on a much bigger prize,” he added “and I will use any mean I posses to reach it,”
“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand, and put finally an end to your family’s treachery?,” she demanded, “my father the king has been too lenient toward you, he should have slain you after he slayed your father for his attempt to steal the Iron throne,”
“He should have,” Aerion agreed, “now, instead I possess the greatest strength the Seven Kingdoms and House Targaryen have to offer, and I will use it as well as I please,” he added, “lady Stark might be difficult now, but she will need my dragonriders, and we’ve been created to serve her”
“You’ve been created to serve the crown” she spat back in his face, her own growing heated for the argument “to serve the Realm”
Aerion just shrugged placidly “That’s a matter of semantics,” he said “the crown won’t keep your bed warm,” he commented, “it won’t hold you steadfastly or sing you to sleep at night. The Realm won’t tend to you when you are ill, and gently caress all the pain away. The Realm won’t bite back and draw blood when you fight. It won’t give you the thrill . Keep your Realm and your crown, I have my own prize”
The shift was immediate, Rhaenys looked at him with narrowed eyes, but could detect no lie in his dark eyes, “If you have lady Stark…” she ventured to ask.
“Unless she’d ask it of me,” he concurred “you could keep the Iron throne. I have no need for that lump of cold metal, unless it makes her happy”
She grimaced “You just met her,” she butted in.
“That is neither here nor there,” he replied, the he grabbed the blade she was still holding at his neck with his hand, slicing his own palm in the process and Rhaenys felt cold dread fill her belly as his blood run down the cut of the blade to drop on the ground, just one droplet of its poison fatal, “now I would very much appreciate, cousin, if you removed your poisoned blade from my neck. I have a Warden of the North to woo”
She watched astounded as he merely fished a handkerchief from his pocket and dried at the blood on his palm, “The… the…” she commented, trying to rack her brain for the location of the antidote in her voyaging laboratory instead of in her own chamber back in the Red Keep.
“Antidote?,” he guessed, “I do not need it. I have been building resistance to all poisons present in your laboratory and some more to be sure. It’s just a tingle,” he added twirling his hand for her to see, and most certainly even though the skin was inflamed around the cut, it had not become either infected, nor black as it was supposed to after coming in contact with the poison; though his affirmation begged the question, how come he could come and go as he pleased from her laboratory to go that well which poisons she possessed and which not; he stepped around her “though cousin, you should not draw a poisoned blade unless you are prepared to use it to kill. Otherwise it’s just useless and makes you look naive and weak”
He adjusted his doublet “Now, I must away on my quest for the northern lady’s hand,” he said “she has eluded it for too long” he commented as if he was speaking of years instead of the days he had known the damned woman.
Rhaenys watched him go in silence; and when she found him, later that afternoon brooding over lady Stark having left the premises with lord Whent to pay her respects to the small mausoleum built on the Isle of Faces for House Whent, and thus having eluded his attentions, she sat opposite of her “If I help you woo lady Stark will you back my birthright unquestioningly?”
He considered her with a glint in his eye, before straightening and crossing his arms across his chest, “You told lady Stark you would consider sacrificing the throne for the good of the Realm, and now you speak of unquestionable birthright ?”
“Do not be daft, lady Stark did not believe a single word out of my mouth,” she hissed “she’s ready to depose anyone who doesn’t do her bidding, and she laughs in face of dragons” she said “but she won’t be able to if I am stronger,”
“I thought you believed her mad for her story about the Others,” he commented. Rhaenys shrugged.
“History has taught us that a madman is not less dangerous because of it, and if madness it is,” she added, “it’s a lucid kind of madness, and I would be rue to ignore it and the threat it poses,”
He cocked his head to the side then he stood up, “I do not need your help to woo lady Stark,” he said “I enjoy the challenge and she’s no scared lamb,” he said “but, if the heir to the Iron throne would consider supporting this match at court in case the need arose, I would be grateful”
His goading smirk let her know that if she did not it would not matter for him; she did not know if it was wise to believe her cousin’s words, but indeed he was the commander of the Sky’s Ghosts, and she could not hope to influence his politics differently, and even if he were to die he had already trained a second in command who’d honor his wills; Rhaenys would have to replace them both, and the only dragon rider she would trust would be prince Aemon Martell, who had been denied entrance in the Sky’s Ghosts so far together with a couple of others.
“I will back your match with lady Stark,” she promised, “then we would become as good as siblings, and not mere cousins. If we work together we can make anything we wish happen”
Her cousin considered her for a long moment, “I have a debt to collect,” he commented, “but beyond that…” he then opened his arms wide “Your Grace, I shall be at your disposal”
Rhaenys had known since she had been old enough, that her life would be a continuous struggle for power, as it behested of her when she was the first female heir apparent since the Dance of Dragons.
Word reached them, not even a few weeks into their stay there.
The Queen had lost the babe, and Rhaenys was just thankful that she had not been there to be accused of having poisoned the woman, when she had taken abed at almost five moons along and had lost the babe around the seventh.
Her spies reported that the woman seemed to have rejected the babe, and to no surprise as it had been born malformed — it had been a boy, to her father’s greatest dismay — and disfigured with stunts wings and scaly flesh. Her spies reported he had also been blind and had claws instead of fingers. A draconian baby of the likes they had not seen since before the Dance, since Maegor the Cruel.
The babe who was burned with all the pump of a heir of House Targaryen, was named Maelor and though the queen seemed to be healthy after the premature birth, her spies reported that her father had once again secluded himself and commanded the queen to remain sequestered in her quarters to think over her treachery.
Rhaenys was almost sorry for the woman, and the babe. It did not deserve that fate, but saw this as a proof that the Gods wished for her to rule after her father, why else would they show them a draconian, disfigured child after so many years of healthy births or natural stillbirths without draconian traits? If not to condemn her father’s race for a male heir he did not need?
She did not share her thoughts with her new allies, and showed herself contrite over the loss, wearing the color of mourning and accepting graciously the condolences she received from her husband to be and her soon to be good sister.
She believed herself now, once again, safe.
But power… safety… they are all a fickle thing.