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The Realm's Alpha Chapter 13 (A Brother's Brief Shadow)
🕑 Added 2024-12-11 22:09:56 +0000 UTCThe tournament grounds buzzed with excitement, banners of noble houses fluttering in the warm breeze. Rhaenyra sat in a place of honor, though not at the royal box where her father, Otto Hightower, and a clearly frustrated Alicent were seated. Instead, she'd chosen to sit with more entertaining company.
"Poor Alicent," Rhaenyra mused, watching her friend's stiff posture beside her father. "She looks about as happy as a septa in a brothel."
Jeyne Arryn snorted most unladylike. "I'm sure she'd much rather be here with us, enjoying the view." She gestured to Rhaenyra.
"The view is rather spectacular," Jessamyn agreed.
Rhaenyra smirked, catching Alicent's longing glance in their direction. "Her Father's probably lectured her about propriety again. As if sitting with the heir to the Iron Throne could be improper."
"Oh, but it's not the sitting that's improper," Laena Velaryon chimed in from Rhaenyra's other side, her voice low and suggestive. "It's what tends to happen after."
"Laena!" Jeyne exclaimed with mock scandal. "Such talk from a noble lady."
"Says the woman who had her hand up Jessamyn's skirt during last night's feast," Rhaenyra countered, causing both Jeyne and Jessamyn to blush.
"Your Grace!" Jessamyn recovered first, grinning. "I didn't know you were watching so closely."
"I always watch closely," Rhaenyra replied. "How else would I learn such interesting techniques?"
Their laughter was interrupted by the herald announcing the first contestants. A young knight in plain armor rode forward, his shield bearing no sigil.
"Ser Criston Cole," the herald announced. "The mystery knight from Blackhaven!"
"Mystery indeed," Jessamyn murmured appreciatively. "Though I wouldn't mind solving that particular mystery."
"Down, girl," Jeyne teased. "He's barely taken his helmet off and you're already planning the wedding."
"Wedding? Please." Jessamyn rolled her eyes. "I was thinking of something far more temporary."
Rhaenyra leaned forward, intrigued by the newcomer. Ser Criston sat his horse well, his form perfect as he took his position. His opponent was some minor lord's son, looking nervous in his gleaming new armor.
"Ten dragons says Ser Criston knocks him down in the first pass," Rhaenyra declared.
"I'll take that bet," Laena said. "The other knight has better armor."
"Armor doesn't make the knight," Rhaenyra replied, just as the horns sounded.
The horses thundered forward, lances leveled. Just as Rhaenyra predicted, Ser Criston's lance struck true, sending his opponent tumbling into the dirt.
"I believe you owe me ten dragons," Rhaenyra held out her hand to Laena, who grumbled but paid up.
"Show off," Laena muttered. "You've probably had him investigated already."
"Me? Never." Rhaenyra's innocent expression fooled no one. "Though I might have heard he's won several smaller tournaments."
The tournament continued, with Ser Criston proving himself again and again. Each victory seemed to make him bolder, and after his fourth win, he rode to their section of the stands.
"Your Grace," he called out, removing his helmet to reveal a strikingly handsome face. "Might I beg your favor for the next round?"
Rhaenyra pretended to consider it, aware of every eye on them. "And what would you do with my favor, Ser Criston?"
"Wear it proudly as I defeat all challengers in your name, Princess."
"Smooth talker," Jeyne whispered, earning an elbow from Jessamyn.
"Very well," Rhaenyra removed a ribbon from her hair, letting some strands fall loose artfully. She handed it down to him. "Don't disappoint me, Ser."
"Never, Your Grace." He tied the ribbon to his lance, bowed, and rode back to position.
"Well, well," Laena drawled once he was out of earshot. "Someone's caught the dragon's eye."
"Not mine, at least not that way, but I will admit he is a good warrior," Rhaenyra pointed out. "Look at father – he's practically salivating at the thought of a new warrior for his Kingsguard."
"Is that what you're salivating about?" Jessamyn asked innocently. "His potential as a Kingsguard?"
"I'm sure his... sword skills... would be very useful," Jeyne added, causing another round of barely-stifled laughter.
The next bout began, and Ser Criston proved himself worthy of Rhaenyra's favor, unhorsing his opponent with elegant efficiency. Her ribbon fluttered from his lance like a victory banner.
"I do love a man who knows how to handle his lance," Jessamyn commented.
"I thought you preferred other sorts of weapons," Jeyne teased.
"I appreciate all sorts of skills," Jessamyn replied primly. "Though some more than others."
A messenger appeared suddenly at Rhaenyra's side, whispering urgently in her ear. Her face grew serious for a moment before she masked it.
"The Queen?" Laena asked quietly, noting her friend's expression.
"The baby's coming," Rhaenyra confirmed softly. "But father doesn't want to stop the tourney."
"Of course he doesn't," Jeyne said bitterly. "Heaven forbid we interrupt men hitting each other with sticks for something as trivial as birth."
"At least your mother has the best care," Laena offered, squeezing Rhaenyra's hand.
"True." Rhaenyra forced herself to focus on the tournament. "And she'd want us to enjoy the show. Speaking of which..."
Ser Criston had won another bout and was approaching their section again. This time, he removed his gorget, showing off his strong neck and a glimpse of chest that had several ladies fanning themselves.
"Your favor brings me luck, Princess," he called up. "Though perhaps not as much luck as your beauty."
"Oh, he is good," Jessamyn whispered.
"Keep winning, Ser Criston," Rhaenyra replied with a smile, knowing how to sweet talk to people.
The knight actually blushed, causing more than a few sighs from the crowd. He bowed again and rode off, sitting even straighter in his saddle.
"You're terrible," Jeyne told her, laughing. "That poor man won't be able to focus now."
"Good," Rhaenyra said. "Let's see how well he performs when distracted."
The answer, as it turned out, was very well indeed. Ser Criston continued his winning streak, though Rhaenyra noticed his eyes finding her between each bout.
"Your father's definitely going to put him in the Kingsguard now," Laena observed.
"Probably," Rhaenyra agreed.
The final round approached, with Ser Criston facing a knight from the Reach. The stands were thick with tension and excitement.
"Last chance to place bets," Rhaenyra announced. "Any takers?"
"Not against your champion," Laena declined. "I've lost enough dragons today."
"Smart woman," Rhaenyra approved. "Though I can think of better ways to pay your debts."
"I'm sure you can," Laena replied, her voice honey-sweet. "We'll discuss terms later."
The crowd erupted in cheers as Daemon Targaryen entered the arena atop his magnificent black stallion, his armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. Rhaenyra sat between Laena and Jessamyn, watching as her uncle commanded everyone's attention with his mere presence.
"Seven hells," Jessamyn whispered, her bright red hair catching the sunlight as she leaned forward. "I wouldn't mind crossing blades with that one." Her eyes sparkled mischievously.
Lady Jeyne shot her lover a pointed look. "Must you be so obvious about it?"
"Oh, come now, my love," Jessamyn purred, her voice dropping lower. "You know I appreciate all types of... weapons. Sometimes I fancy a nice, hard sword, other times I prefer something more... delicate. Like a dagger in its velvet sheath." She winked at Jeyne, whose cheeks flushed pink.
Rhaenyra smirked, leaning closer to Jessamyn. "If it's a sword you're craving, Lady Jessamyn, perhaps you needn't look so far as my uncle. Some dragons prefer to keep their treasures... closer to home." Her voice dripped with suggestion.
Jessamyn hummed thoughtfully, her eyes darting to Rhaenyra's lap before meeting her gaze. "Is that so, my princess? And what sort of... treasure might you be guarding?"
"Ladies," Jeyne hissed, though her eyes betrayed more interest than disapproval. "We're in public."
"Then perhaps we should continue this discussion somewhere more private," Jessamyn whispered, her breath hot against Rhaenyra's ear. "I've always wondered about dragon's... fire."
Laena cleared her throat, trying to hide her amused smile. "Look, your uncle's challenging that hedge knight - Criston Cole."
Indeed, Daemon had ridden up to where Criston sat astride his horse, pointing his lance in challenge. The crowd grew hushed with anticipation.
"Your champion seems rather confident," Laena observed, nudging Rhaenyra playfully. "Though I doubt he'll fare well against the Prince of the City."
Rhaenyra shrugged, her eyes never leaving Jessamyn's face even as she responded to Laena. "My uncle is a Targaryen. We tend to get what we want." She let her gaze drift meaningfully over Jessamyn's form. "One way or another."
"Is that a threat or a promise, Your Highness?" Jessamyn murmured, her fingers "accidentally" brushing against Rhaenyra's thigh.
"Depends on how nicely you ask," Rhaenyra replied with a wicked grin.
The crowd's roar drowned out Jeyne's exasperated sigh as Daemon and Criston took their positions at opposite ends of the list. Laena leaned forward, genuinely invested in the upcoming joust, while Jessamyn continued her subtle game of touch and retreat with the princess.
Daemon and Criston's horses thundered toward each other, lances leveled. The sound of hooves against packed earth filled the air, along with the collective held breath of hundreds of spectators.
"Come now, princess," Jessamyn whispered, her hand now boldly resting on Rhaenyra's thigh. "Show me how a dragon watches her prey."
Rhaenyra's response was lost in the crash of lance against shield as the two knights met in the center of the list. Splinters flew through the air like angry wasps, and both riders managed to keep their seats.
"Not bad," Laena commented as they wheeled around for another pass. "Though Prince Daemon's just warming up."
"Speaking of warming up," Jessamyn murmured, earning another eye roll from Jeyne.
"Must you turn everything into an innuendo?" Jeyne asked, though her hand had found its way to Jessamyn's knee.
"Only the things worth discussing, my love," Jessamyn replied with a grin. "And our princess here seems to have quite a lot worth... discussing."
The second pass resulted in more splintered lances but still no victor. Rhaenyra found herself torn between watching the joust, and engaging in this delicious game of verbal sparring with the bold redhead beside her.
"Third pass," Laena announced, gripping the edge of her seat. "This should decide it."
"Care to make a wager?" Jessamyn suggested, her eyes gleaming. "If your uncle wins, princess, perhaps you could show me some of that famous Targaryen... hospitality."
"And if Ser Criston prevails?" Rhaenyra asked, arching an eyebrow.
"Then I'll show you why they say redheads are kissed by fire," Jessamyn breathed, just loud enough for their immediate group to hear.
"Either way, it seems you win," Jeyne observed dryly, though her grip on Jessamyn's knee had tightened.
The horses charged again, dust flying from their hooves. Daemon's lance struck true, catching Criston's shield at the perfect angle. The hedge knight fought to maintain his seat but ultimately tumbled backward off his mount, landing hard in the dirt.
The crowd erupted in cheers as Daemon took his victory lap, but Rhaenyra's attention was fixed firmly on Jessamyn's flushed face.
"Well, well," the princess purred. "It seems I've won our little wager."
"So you have, Your Highness," Jessamyn replied, her voice husky. "Though I suspect we both know who the real winner will be."
"Ladies," Jeyne interrupted, her voice strained. "Perhaps we should focus on the next match?"
"Oh, I'm quite focused," Rhaenyra assured her, letting her hand brush against Jessamyn's as she reached for her goblet of wine. "On exactly what I want."
Laena watched this exchange with growing amusement. "You know, princess, if you're not careful, people might start to notice your... particular interests."
"Let them notice," Rhaenyra replied confidently. "I am the heir to the Iron Throne. Besides," she added with a wicked smile, "some things are worth the risk."
"Speaking of risk," Jessamyn murmured, "I hear the Red Keep has many secret passages. Perhaps you could give me a more... thorough tour later?"
"Jessamyn!" Jeyne hissed, though her protest lacked conviction.
"What?" Jessamyn asked innocently. "I'm merely expressing an interest in architecture. Isn't that right, princess?"
"Oh yes," Rhaenyra agreed, her voice dropping to a seductive purr. "I'd be happy to show you all the castle's most... interesting features. Though I warn you, some passages can be quite... tight."
"I'm sure we'll manage to squeeze through," Jessamyn replied with a knowing smile.
The next jousters were taking their positions, but the tension between the four women had become almost palpable. Rhaenyra found herself imagining all the ways she could make good on her subtle promises.
"Your Highness," Laena whispered, breaking through Rhaenyra's thoughts. "I just saw your father leaving, I think you should check on the Queen if you want to."
"Well, ladies," Rhaenyra said, rising quickly. "It seems we'll have to continue this... architectural discussion another time. My mother needs me."
"Of course, princess," Jessamyn replied, her voice suddenly serious. "Though I do hope we can resume our... tour soon."
"Count on it," Rhaenyra promised, already moving toward the royal box. As she hurried away, she could hear Jeyne scolding Jessamyn behind her.
"Must you be so obvious?"
"My love, when a dragon offers to show you their lair, only a fool would refuse."
"You're impossible."
"And yet you love me anyway."
Later
Rhaenyra burst into her mother's chamber, finding Queen Aemma already surrounded by maesters and midwives. Her mother lay propped up against pillows, face contorted in pain.
"Mother!" Rhaenyra rushed to her side, taking her hand. "I came as soon as I saw father leave the tourney. Are you alright?"
Aemma attempted a smile that looked more like a grimace. "Just your brother or sister being stubborn. Much like their older sister, hmm?"
"I was never this dramatic," Rhaenyra tried to jest, squeezing her mother's hand. "Though I hear I did make quite an entrance."
"You certainly did- ah!" Aemma's grip tightened as another wave of pain hit her.
"Perhaps we could swap stories about my birth? Might make this one jealous enough to hurry up," Rhaenyra suggested, desperate to see her mother smile.
Instead, Aemma's face only grew more strained. "I don't think... this one wants to hear stories right now, sweetling."
Grand Maester Mellos cleared his throat. "Princess, perhaps it would be better if you waited elsewhere. The birthing chamber is no place for-"
"I'm not leaving her," Rhaenyra snapped, her violet eyes flashing. "I'm not some squeamish child."
"Rhaenyra," her father's voice came from behind her. "Listen to the Grand Maester. You don't need to hear your mother's pain."
"I don't care about the pain," Rhaenyra insisted, turning to face Viserys. "I want to be here for her. I need to-"
"Rhaenyra," Aemma's voice was barely a whisper, but it cut through her daughter's protests like Valyrian steel. "Please, my love. Go."
"Mother, no. I can handle it. I want to stay with you."
Aemma's fingers tightened around Rhaenyra's hand. "Please," she repeated, her eyes filling with tears. "I don't want you to see this. I need to know you're safe in your chambers. Please, my dragon, do this for me."
Rhaenyra felt her throat tighten. She looked from her mother's pleading face to her father's stern one, to the Grand Maester's impatient expression.
"I..." she swallowed hard. "You'll send word? As soon as anything happens?"
"Of course," Viserys promised.
"The very moment there's news," Mellos added.
Aemma managed another weak smile. "Go, my love. I'll be fine."
Rhaenyra leaned down and pressed a kiss to her mother's damp forehead. "I love you," she whispered.
"And I you, my fierce girl," Aemma replied, before another contraction made her cry out.
Rhaenyra forced herself to turn away, each step toward the door feeling like she was walking through molasses. At the threshold, she paused, looking back one last time.
"Mother..."
"Go," Aemma gasped between pains. "Please."
Finally, fighting every instinct that screamed at her to stay, Rhaenyra left the chamber. The heavy door closed behind her with a thud that felt like finality.
She made her way to her own chambers, her mother's pained cries echoing in her ears even after she could no longer hear them. Once inside, she began to pace, knowing this would be the longest wait of her life.
"Send a servant the moment there's news," she commanded the guards outside her door. "I don't care what time it is."
Then she was alone with her thoughts and her fears, counting the minutes until someone would bring word of her mother's fate.
Later
Rhaenyra had been pacing her chamber for hours, her usual confidence replaced by gnawing worry. When Sara finally entered, the princess practically pounced on her.
"How is she? Is my mother alright?" Rhaenyra demanded, her violet eyes intense.
Sara, a pretty brunette who usually blushed at Rhaenyra's attention, kept her eyes downcast. "Her Grace is exhausted, princess, but the Grand Maester says she will recover with rest. The bleeding has stopped, and-"
"Thank the gods," Rhaenyra breathed, her shoulders sagging with relief. She ran her fingers through her silver-gold hair, not caring that she was showing such obvious concern in front of a servant she'd previously only treated as a potential conquest.
After a moment, she remembered there was something else she should ask. Her voice was noticeably less urgent when she added, "And... the baby?"
Sara's hands twisted in her apron. "It was a boy, Your Highness. He... he passed about half an hour ago. The maesters did everything they could, but-"
Rhaenyra felt her throat constrict. Not for the lost brother - she'd never wanted another sibling anyway - but for what this would do to her mother. Without another word, she strode past Sara and out into the corridor.
The walk to her mother's chambers seemed both endless and too short. Rhaenyra's boots clicked against the stone floor, each step echoing her racing thoughts. When she reached the queen's door, several nurses stood guard like particularly fussy sentries.
"Your Highness, the queen needs rest-" one began.
"Move," Rhaenyra commanded, her voice carrying all the authority of the blood of Old Valyria. They parted like waves before her.
The scene inside struck her like a punch Her mother, usually so composed, lay curled on her side in the massive bed, her shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. Her father stood by a small cradle, staring down at a bundle wrapped in Targaryen black and red.
"Mother?" Rhaenyra's voice came out softer than she'd intended.
Queen Aemma turned slightly, her face tear-stained and pale. "Rhaenyra..." she whispered. "My girl..."
Rhaenyra moved to the bed, hesitating only a moment before sitting on the edge. She reached for her mother's hand, finding it cold and clammy.
"I'm here," she said simply.
"Your brother," Aemma choked out. "He was so beautiful. So perfect. He just... he couldn't..."
Fresh tears spilled down the queen's cheeks. Rhaenyra squeezed her hand, fighting back her own tears - not for the brother she'd never know, but for her mother's pain.
"Baelon," King Viserys spoke suddenly, his voice rough. "We named him Baelon."
Rhaenyra nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She'd never seen her father look so lost, still staring at the silent bundle as if willing it to move.
"The maesters say I can try again," Aemma whispered, though her voice held more fear than hope. "Once I've healed..."
"No," Rhaenyra said sharply, then softened her tone at her mother's flinch. "You need to rest, mother. To recover. Nothing else matters right now."
Viserys finally turned from the cradle. "Your mother is strong, Rhaenyra. The realm needs-"
"The realm has an heir," Rhaenyra cut him off, a flash of her usual fire returning. "It has me. Mother needs time to heal."
A heavy silence fell over the chamber, broken only by Aemma's quiet sniffles. Rhaenyra continued holding her mother's hand, watching as exhaustion slowly overtook grief and the queen's eyes began to drift closed.
"Sleep, mother," Rhaenyra murmured. "I'll stay with you."
"My sweet girl," Aemma managed before sleep claimed her.
Rhaenyra looked up to find her father watching them, his expression unreadable. "The realm does have you," he said finally. "But a son..."
"Would still not be me," Rhaenyra finished, her voice low but firm. "I am your heir, father. Mother nearly died trying to give you another. Isn't that enough?"
Viserys opened his mouth, then closed it again. Without another word, he turned and left the chamber, leaving Rhaenyra alone with her sleeping mother and the tiny, still bundle that had cost them all so much.
She sat there in the growing darkness, listening to her mother's steady breathing, thinking of life and death and the price of being born a woman - even a woman with a cock - in a world that always wanted more. Always wanted something different than what you were.
"I'm enough," she whispered to herself, to her mother, to the ghost of a brother she'd never know. "I have to be."
