Twenty-Nine (Patreon)

King’s Landing

98 AC (Twelfth Moon—Day 27)

Rhaenys I

“I fear I have not enough people about me to truly take advantage of all the opportunities afforded.” Corlys was not a man given to excitement. And when excitement did find him, he knew well how to manage it. Rhaenys had never seen her husband like this.

“I doubt there is need to seize them all.” She was excited as well, though for reasons different from his. It was the favourable regard and warm respect shown her by those nobles who had held close ties with her father — that was what moved her.

Lord Manderly was not even attempting to conceal his pleasure at House Velaryon’s elevation. Her mother’s brother likewise, and a dozen other nobles from lands far afield.

Corlys hummed. “And yet I find myself tempted all the same.” He raised his hand skyward and closed it into a fist. “I want this moment etched into everlasting song.”

“Moved on from Corlys of the Voyages, have we?” She ran her hand along his bare chest, drawing close against him. “You have grown too vain, husband.”

“I am a prince now, Rhaenys.” It was the way he said it — as though the truth of it had not yet fully taken root in his own mind. “Whatever I had achieved before pales against that.”

“You might have wedded a queen.” She reminded him.

“That is true.” He agreed, his eyes finding hers. “But that still would not have given me this.”

Rhaenys’s mood soured at once. She drew away from him, rose from the bed, and gowned herself. Corlys said nothing, watching her with a look that gave little away.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“I am not your pawn, Corlys.” She said, turning to look at him. Her gaze was level and unamused. “The prestige of wedding me was its own reward.”

His eyes left her, and he looked to the ceiling.

“When I married you, I did not once think you would sit the throne, Rhaenys. Your mother was young, and so too was your father.” He told her plainly. “I fancied you, so I courted you. I wedded you because I fancied you. I fought for your right to the throne because I love you. I near ruined my house’s standing with House Targaryen because I love you.”

He sighed deeply. “Had you sat the throne, I knew you would be a queen before my wife. And still I fought for it. I say what I say because I know that you are not my pawn.” He looked at her. “All I truly want is for you to share in this moment with me. Stop lamenting what could have been and look upon things with some pragmatism for once.”

She regarded him with a frown, though her eyes were warm. No — she was still annoyed. Still bitter. Wiping at her tears, she admitted something. “I would not have given House Velaryon much leave in my queenship.”

Corlys chuckled, though there was nothing bitter in it. “You are still a daughter of House Targaryen, Rhaenys.”

She shook her head. “No. I would have been the first queen, and thus would have needed to prove myself fitting. Impartiality would have been my way of rule.”

“You would have been feared.”

She crossed to him and sat beside his lying form. “Yes,” she said. “I would have been.” She sighed. A part of her — no small part — was immensely relieved that she had never become queen. “Which lady do you think would play the role of king well?”

She was curious of his judgment.

“The Lady of Royce seems adept at rulership.” He chuckled softly. “Not enough complaints from her bannermen to suggest otherwise.”

That was true enough. What Rhea was doing was not so far from how Rhaenys imagined she herself would have ruled. And thinking on it, she had not yet found occasion to meet with the lady. She had been meaning to offer congratulations on her betrothal to that Arryn boy.

She shook her head. “Yet she is still not your preferred choice for kingship, I judge.”

“No,” he admitted, and that stung her somewhat. “Princess Gael would be my choice.”

Rhaenys turned twitched, her annoyance returning in full. “I hope you do not say that merely on account of your attraction, Corlys.” She warned him. Truthfully, learning that her husband harboured some infatuation with Gael was not a thing she had taken to in the slightest.

Why? How? And why, again?​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Was it beauty? Little doubt could be had of Gael’s own fair countenance — she was certainly beautiful, though not the most so. Viserra still walked about, and even the Summerlanders fell short of her. Clothing, then? That could account for something, but there were plenty of ladies who dressed well and finely, Rhaenys amongst them. 

Viserra remained the most striking of all, flaunting her allure in open attempt to capture Maelys’s attention.

Gods, it was embarrassing having a family as shameless as hers.

The only things Gael had over other ladies were her pleasant disposition and her abundantly endowed figure. Fat tits and a sizeable rear. Rhaenys had once pitied her for that body — it was not noble in its frame — but now Corlys kept finding cause to fight or frown whenever her breasts entered the conversation.

Was her husband’s infatuation owed to the fact that her aunt possessed a whore’s body?

“I have already told you — I hold no governance over my… urges. All I can do is deny them.” He said as much, yet Rhaenys had caught him leering at Gael all the same. Leering at a fully clothed woman. He was plainly plotting disloyalty.

“Know that Maelys will kill you if you ever chance your lust upon Gael.” Corlys’s expression soured, his brow furrowing as he looked up at her. She frowned at him. “This is no jest, Corlys. Maelys will truly kill you if you touch Gael in any manner that discomforts her. She will tell him, and he will come at you with murder in his heart.”

She needed him to understand this. Maelys was a kind person — the kindest, in her estimation. But he was also mad.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“I have no such intentions.” He said, and she dearly wished to believe him.

Rhaenys truly pitied Gael, even as she was displeased that the woman was stealing her husband’s attentions. Should Maelys ever die, many and varied evils would be visited upon his wife.

Gael was desired — greatly so, in truth. She also had a softness of heart about her, and such softness did not make men hesitate to entertain darker thoughts. At least with Rhaenys, her own disposition betrayed no weakness.

“What is it that makes you view her with such esteem?”

“You have seen her courts. The manner in which she handles petitions.” He said.

Rhaenys had seen them. The entire affair was an exercise in patience and gentle consideration — more amusing than weighty, much of the judgment rendered in quiet agreement with the parties involved.

“There is little authority exercised there.” She admitted, settling herself across his body. “Though the manner in which she passes judgment upon ill-treated women and ladies brings me no small satisfaction.”

“She does as she pleases, without performance to custom or noble privilege.” The meaning of his words was not lost on her. “Give her a kingdom and she would rewrite it to her exact want.”

“Do you agree with her judgments, then?”

“…No. Her thinking is too hostile toward noble principles and practice.” He loosed a breath. “She is more extreme than Queen Alysanne.”

Ah, the Good Queen.

“Gael would never be fond of you, husband. Not in the slightest.” She told him. Gael was true to herself in all things. “Havenhall will be more beautiful for her. The smallfolk happier than any other, and the women safer.“​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Corlys kept quiet, breathing softly. Rhaenys allowed him that moment. She found herself wondering whether her words had wounded him, or whether his thoughts had simply drifted elsewhere. She hoped he was not reconsidering the arrangement they had struck with Maelys regarding Laenor.

Her feelings softened at the thought of her son — her little prince. Prince Laenor. The mere fact that her children could be addressed with such titles was enough for her.

It tendered her heart.

“Rhaenys?” Corlys called softly. She turned to look at him. “Do you want another child?”

She turned away from his gaze, though her lips pulled into a smile. “That is your choice to make, my princely husband.” She giggled — actually gave herself over to girlish delight. “That is your decision to make.”

And so it was made, or at least the attempt of it. Time would tell whether they succeeded, and if not — Rhaenys did not dislike the effort.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

King’s Landing

98 AC (Twelfth Moon—Day 28)

This tourney was a tiring thing, Rhaenys felt. Much was happening, and much still to come. The days were short and the nights were long. The cheers were loud, and the feasts too boisterous.

She was sleeping too late into the night and waking too early for her liking. She missed Driftmark. She missed the calmer times.

“What importance is there in any of this?” She voiced aimlessly, wishing Laenor would hold still for just a moment so she could be done affixing this dreadful armour. Her son was too excited by half, busy rehearsing moves he had promised himself he would employ when his moment came.

“Do not be so quick to sour, Rhaenys.” Viserra said beside her, occupied with much the same task upon her own son. Jaedar was in the midst of arguing with Laenor about which of them was the finer knight. “The children will love it.”

In truth, Rhaenys suspected she would love it as well. A children’s joust. She truly did not know how Maelys came up with all this amusement. “I did not think he was planning something so delightfully inconsequential — I had assumed he was occupied.”

“Did you truly not?” Viserra’s confusion was too genuine to be anything but honest. “Maelys is never one to idle away on matters of import. In truth, I do not know when he finds time for his princely duties. Frolicking seems his only true concern.“​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Rhaenys’s lips thinned somewhat. “Your obsession grows, Viserra. You would do well to pull away from him.” She told the other princess plainly.

Viserra laughed. “I do not think your words will find an eager ear in me, niece.” The older princess rose to her feet with a sigh. “Do you wish to betroth your Laena to my Jaedar?”

Rhaenys coughed, unsteadied by the sudden turn in conversation.

“What manner of subtlety is that?” She finished with her efforts, and the boys rushed off at once. She found herself with a newfound appreciation for the maids who saw to her dressing of a morning.

That had been difficult and tedious work.

Viserra regarded her with a calm gaze. “The direct and blunt kind.” She reached easily for her handkerchief and dabbed at her face. Her charm was immediately restored. Rhaenys envied her that. “I have heard some lady of Hightower suggest a match between my Jaedar and a daughter of hers.”

“Lady Lysa, you mean?” She doubted it would be the lady of Hightower herself, who had no daughter of her own. Her aunt gave a nod. “It is a fair match, I suppose. Though her daughter is older than your son by some margin.”

She felt the girl would have her moon’s blood within a year or two.

“I shall take that as a no, then.” Viserra said simply. She did not even appear disappointed. “At this point, I do not think there is much chance of my son marrying within the family.”

“And why does that matter to you?”

Rhaenys herself had no desire to see her children wed within House Targaryen. It was ill omen.

“I do not know.” Her aunt admitted. “Only that the closeness of it feels as though it would be beneficial.“​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“It will not — trust me in that.” She walked toward the platform, where they were joined by other kin — Gael, Aemma, and the Rogare ladies. Many of the noble ladies had gathered here, bringing their children along to participate in the lesser tourney.

It was plain that most were simply glad to see their sons excited. Rhaenys was glad too — glad at her daughter’s prim demeanour as Laena sat near the edge of the platform with other girls of her age.

Once the children’s joust was won, the victor would be called upon to crown a Princess of Love and Beauty from amongst the gathered noble girls. It was a sly and delightful thing Maelys had devised. Slyer still was how it was set to commence alongside the start of the melee — there was bound to be a conspicuous shortage of women in attendance at that competition. All were here instead, cheering for little knights and ladies in their contest.

And looking about, the grounds of the children’s joust were thick with smallfolk peering in.

She frowned upon noticing something. “Are there truly men placing wagers on a children’s contest?” There, near the eastern edge of the grounds, sat a cluster of men shouting amongst themselves while a pair of them wrote upon a board.

“You place far too much virtue in men, Rhaenys.” So said Aemma. She looked brighter — happier and more at ease. Seeing her family must have done her heart some good.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“Let them have their joy — it harms no one.” Viserra argued. That was somewhat odd of her. “The children will be alright, though?”

“Maelys took precautions to ensure no injuries or bruises would be inflicted in the play.” Gael assured them. “The most they will suffer are wounded egos — and let us hope none of you whispered notions of superiority into your sons’ ears beforehand.”

Only a bad mother would not have done exactly that. Almost simultaneously, the mothers cast their eyes toward their sons saddled upon wooden horses being pushed about the grounds. Each boy clutched a plush lance, and by the manner in which they swung them about, the things appeared harmless enough.

Laenor caught her gaze and waved at her. She waved back happily.

Her little prince. The sole prince, in truth. He would charm many a maiden once he grew old enough.

Corlys ought to have been here, watching his heir fell adorable little knights — instead of watching grown men attempt to kill one another.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“Do all tourneys have a contest for children as well?” The lady of Rogare asked, eyes upon her twin boys.

“No — I believe this is the first of its kind.” Aemma answered.

“My husband is a queer sort.” Gael was evidently the proudest among them, despite having no children of her own. The love expressed between the twins invited a certain doubt toward one’s own marriage.

Rhaenys was never going to look upon Corlys with that manner of open affection and complete trust.

“Prince Maelys, you mean?” The woman asked again. She was answered with a nod.

And with that, Maelys drew away from the children and addressed the gathered crowd.

“My appreciations, ladies, lords, and spectators of all stations and birth. Today we are to witness history, as brave sers take to the jousting field to express valour beyond ego and bloodthirst. These are heroic warriors and knights in the making, and I would ask that you grant them your cheers and your applause for their efforts.”

And they did so, clapping in unison as the little knights waved about with great enthusiasm.

“A bit of a mummer, isn’t he?” Rhaenys could not help but say. There was a certain ease to Maelys — a softness that made a person forget he was one of the three most powerful men in all of Westeros.

It was a companionable charisma and friendliness that worked upon everyone, children most of all. Laenor had a more comfortable relationship with him than with his own father. Laena too, though Rhaenys was not entirely pleased that he encouraged her wildness.

“And with that — let the joust commence.“​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The little joust was no true spectacle. There was a softness to the event — though Rhaenys felt that was only true for those who merely watched. The little knights no doubt experienced the greatest thrill and excitement of combat, false as it was.

Yet with that said, the enthusiasm and passion given to the joust was fervent. The ladies and smallfolk cheered aplenty, and the boys celebrated passionately when they won, and cried painful tears when they lost.

Rhaenys’s own heart beat with much anticipation and anxiety when her son was pushed to the field upon his wooden steed.

“And here comes the Dashing Prince Heir of Great Driftmark, challenged by the Golden Great Knight of Sunglass.” Maelys was keen to bestow great titles upon the boys, narrating the contest with far too much excitement.

Rhaenys gripped at her dress as her boy was readied. Two wins to his name already, and he had been handsome in the achieving of them.

“Your husband is something of a monster, Gael.” Aemma said to the winter princess, who laughed in amusement behind her fan.

Viserra rose partway from her seat when the round commenced. Rhaenys joined her.

“You are both embarrassing yourselves.”

“Be quiet, Gael.” Rhaenys hushed the plump princess. The boys collided with their plush lances, though neither fell.

Both princesses loosed simultaneous sighs, then looked at one another with false glares. The two boys were evidently adept enough at riding the little wooden horses — yet adept as they were, they were not winning this joust. Not with those Lannister boys felling everyone who was set before them.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The children were turned to clash against one another, and near where the girls sat, her daughter screamed a cheer. “You can do it, Laenor!”

Rhaenys smiled at the familial support. It was good that the siblings were so encouraging of one another.

Laenor gave a brave cry, and at last managed to push his cousin from his steed.

“That little monster.” Viserra feigned betrayal and outrage as Jaedar fell. Rhaenys screamed her cheer, celebrating her son’s valiant victory.

As he had done with every clash before, Maelys rushed to the boys — comforting the crying one whilst rousing cheers for all. There was some amusement in the manner in which he brokered friendliness between the two, ensuring they embraced and waved at the crowd together.

“And so shall songs be sung of the brave knights who showed us an unforgettable clash of skill and courage alike.” The winter prince declared, carrying the boys off with him.

Of all that was happening, Maelys was the most beloved figure here — cheered and celebrated for his plain and evident care for the children. And even setting aside the usual Gael and Viserra, most ladies present were clearly taken with him, wedded women and maidens alike.

Bards sang of martial valour being the surest path to a woman’s heart? Nonsense.

“He does have a father’s heart about him.” Lady Rogare whispered at her ear, casting a confused look toward Viserra. Her aunt was not even attempting to veil her unsettling attraction to Maelys.

Rhaenys sighed, offering the woman a look she hoped conveyed that the matter was complicated.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​ It wasn’t complicated at all. Viserra was a whore, if only for her brother.

Lady Rogare nodded, wearing a kinder smile. Whatever became of it was not Rhaenys’s responsibility to bear. She was tired of warning her aunt about her infatuation.

Drinks were served — innocent ones — and the joust continued. The Rogare twins were felled next, and thus her son alone remained as a representative of their section.

“He has a jouster’s arm, that son of yours.” That was true enough. Rhaenys was surprised herself. Laenor had never betrayed any martial talent — or rather, he had never shown any interest in such things. “How is he with a sword?”

“He is still a child, Viserra.” She argued. “Let him grow before burdening him with aspirations to maintain.”

Two more rounds, and her boy stood at the final against the heir of Casterly Rock. Rhaenys’s eyes roamed the gathered ladies until they met those of the Lady Lannister. The blonde woman offered a smile and a nod. Rhaenys returned the kindness.

“And so the time has come for a hero to be chosen.” Maelys was still at his mummery. “The Fierce Lion of the Golden Mountains against the Treasure of the Sea and of Hot Dragon Blood.” He pointed at each boy in turn. “This is a clash of kings, and it will be an epic unmatched by any.”

“He never stops, does he?”

Aemma was the most embarrassed by Maelys’s antics.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Rhaenys disliked the ridiculous weighty titles being bestowed upon her son. Why not simply the Prince of Driftmark? What was her boy to do with all that Treasure of Blood and Dragon nonsense?

Unfortunately, Laenor loved the ridiculous praises, waving his lance about with great enthusiasm. Vainglory had found itself a most willing friend in her son.

The final joust commenced and the boys clashed through numerous rounds. There was fierce stubbornness in it. Her son was losing, though he was making the Lannister boy struggle for every inch of that victory.

Five clashes. Seven.

It was by the ninth that her boy fell. And of all the children present, only one had not yet suffered tears — if anything, Laenor had energy enough left for wailing.

It near broke her heart, seeing her boy cry like that.

“All these children are monsters.” Rhaenys said, folding her arms as her son was calmed and the Lannister’s victory duly celebrated.

“…And it is the Golden Hero who claims the victory — won through splendid talent and divine tenacity.” The winter prince hoisted the boy to his shoulder and paraded him about. If joy were a person, the young heir had become it. “Gaze upon your hero, fair people, and await him who shall become the beast foretold and forewarned…”

“He is planning something.” Viserra was the one to say it.

Maelys continued his spectacle. “But first — he shall choose his princess, and bestow upon her the truth of beauty and love.” With that, the boy was set upon the ground and given a crown of flowers.

The prince whispered something in the child’s ear, and he ran toward where his mother was seated. There too something was whispered to him, and he was pointed in the direction of where the girls sat.

The grounds seemed to quiet at it all.

And then the boy ran. He ran toward the girls and gently placed the flower crown upon Rhaenyra’s head.

Aemma gave a joyful shout, all calm demeanour abandoned. The crowd echoed her cheer — shouts and boasts as though something truly great had been witnessed.

Rhaenys smiled, taking it all in. A children’s joust turned so fervent and joyous. It was remarkable. Maelys had done something truly special here.

And speaking of the winter prince, he was already being dragged away by his wife. It was concerning how common an occurrence that had become between them.

“And so they are off to fuck.” She said with a shake of her head, and rose to go find her son.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

“The first slayer of the winter beast was Jason Lannister, mere hours after securing the title of hero. There was ignorance then, and so one might guess how frightened the boy was when called upon to slay a creature of white and black, standing thrice his length. A battle of tears and screams and terror manifested into righteousness. The young hero prevailed at the end of it, and by doing so, he won his peers numerous gifts and sweets — for the winter beast was made of all things delightful…”

Excerpt from: Of Fun and Game and All Things Brave.

I would argue it is from this act of childish courage and play that the Lord Jason Lannister never became a man of his father’s likeness.

— Scholar Freid’s Dissection of Sung Heroes of Old.

A/N: I can only focus on the more unique parts of the Tourney. Maelys is doing his own thing altogether. Noble ladies are getting to be more hands on with their children.

I was watching a clip about a little girl who wanted a princess party but during it, a dragon showed up and started terrorising them. Them fighting back whilst evidently being terrified was just so funny and amazing to me. This chapter was inspired by that clip.