97 AC
Months had passed, and life across the realm had moved on.
Runestone, Vale
Lord Yobert Royce sat at the high table like a storm trapped in a chair.
He drove his fork into the steak hard enough to scrape the plate. Cut. Tore. Ate. The knife flashed in his thick hand. Sauce clung to the corner of his beard before he dragged it in with a rough sweep of his tongue.
Across from him, Gerold Royce ate much more carefully.
Or tried to.
Every sound from Yobert's side of the table made him feel as though he ought to duck.
The servants lining the walls felt it too. No one spoke above a murmur. Even the maids moved more lightly than usual as they poured wine and set down dishes.
Yobert stabbed at the meat again.
Gerold looked at his own plate. Then at the lord of Runestone. Then back at his plate.
A man could grow nervous watching another man eat.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor outside.
Then the doors of the dining hall swung open.
Lady Rhea Royce strode in.
She wore her usual dark brown hunting suit, the leather still marked here and there with dust and brush. In one hand she carried dead rabbits by the hind legs. Four of them. Freshly taken. In the other she held her bow, with the quiver hanging at her back.
She came in like she owned the hall.
Which, Gerold supposed, she nearly did.
"Four rabbits," Rhea announced. "A good morning hunt."
One of the maids hurried forward at once to take the rabbits. Another reached for the bow and quiver. Rhea surrendered both without looking at them, her eyes already on the table.
Then she sat.
As if there were not a glowering father across from her.
Gerold lifted his eyes and gave her the smallest warning look he could manage. A flick toward Yobert. A tiny tightening around his mouth.
Rhea caught it immediately.
Her gaze slid to her father.
Then to the mangled remains of the steak on his plate.
Then back to his face.
"Did the steak do you any wrong, Father?"
Gerold lowered his eyes very quickly.
Yobert swallowed the food in his mouth. Slow. Deliberate. He took up his handkerchief, wiped his mouth, and tossed the cloth down beside his plate.
"When is your husband coming back?"
A maid appeared beside Rhea with a plate of steak. Rhea picked up her fork and pierced the meat clean through.
"Whenever he wants to."
She cut off a piece and ate it.
Yobert's face darkened further.
"It has been three months since he left," he said. "Not exactly a sign of a happy marriage."
Rhea chewed. Swallowed. Reached for her cup.
"What did you expect," she asked, "when he called me a bronze bitch?"
Gerold nearly choked on nothing at all.
Yobert's face twitched.
The servants along the wall stared very hard at the air.
"It is the responsibility of a woman," Yobert said, voice growing harder, "to make sure her marriage is working."
Rhea gave him a flat look.
"Yes. While a man fucks around."
Yobert slapped his palm lightly against the table.
The cups rattled.
Rhea stopped eating.
Silence dropped over the hall.
Gerold stared at his vegetables with sudden, desperate interest.
Yobert leaned forward.
"The Arryns are going to King's Landing," he said. "You are to accompany them."
Rhea's brows lifted.
"And?"
"And you are to make peace with Daemon."
Rhea picked up her knife again, more out of habit than hunger.
"Thank you," she said. "But I refuse."
"Your attitude will ruin your marriage."
Rhea let out a short breath through her nose.
"As if it has not already." She cut into the steak with neat force. "Wasn't it your idea when you married me into those incest freaks?"
Yobert's chair creaked as he straightened.
"You will speak of the royal family with respect."
Rhea scoffed.
The sound was small. Sharp. Worse than if she had shouted.
"You all knew," she said, and now there was resentment under the words, hard and old, "that Daemon wanted a bride with Targaryen blood, like his brothers. You knew it. Still, you got me married to him."
For a moment, Yobert said nothing.
Gerold glanced up.
There it was.
A pause. A crack in the old man's temper. Something quieter underneath it.
Guilt, perhaps.
It lasted only a breath.
Then Yobert's jaw set again.
"It was a decision made by the king," he said, "and agreed to by me. It could only benefit our house." He fixed her with a hard look. "And you will do as I say."
Rhea leaned back in her chair.
"Otherwise?"
Yobert did not hesitate.
"I will have you confined to your quarters. No more hunting. I will have your bow and your suits burned."
Gerold winced.
That, he thought, was perhaps too far.
Rhea looked at her father across the table.
Her face went still.
The anger in her eyes did not.
Then, very slowly, she said, "All right."
Yobert blinked.
Rhea took up her cup and drank.
Then she set it down.
"But I will bring my hunting gear to King's Landing."
Some of the tightness left Yobert's face.
"All right," he said. "You can hunt in the Kingswood."
Rhea muttered under her breath, just low enough that only the table could hear it.
"And hunt a silver-haired lizard while I'm at it."
Gerold looked from daughter to father.
Then back to his plate.
The battle seemed, for the moment, to be over.
Very carefully, he speared a piece of vegetable with his fork and ate it in silence.
Red Keep
Jaehaerys tapped his fingers against the table slowly. The sound was soft in the chamber, but it carried in the quiet all the same.
"Triarchy, huh?" he murmured.
Septon Barth sat across from him. "Yes."
The old man's voice was calm, but only on the surface.
"The news should be spreading across Westeros by now."
Jaehaerys said nothing for a moment.
The chamber was bright with daylight, but it did little to soften the mood. Dust drifted lazily in the beams that fell through the windows. Outside, somewhere far below, the Red Keep carried on as it always did. Servants moved. Guards changed posts. Life continued.
Inside the room, it felt still.
Both men had aged in the past months. That much was plain.
Neither of them needed to say it.
The warring cities across Essos were no longer tearing at one another.
Now they had made common cause.
And that was worse.
Barth broke the silence.
"Volantis was driven away," he said. "As for Braavos, it bore the heavier brunt. My spies say the city bled dearly for it."
Jaehaerys lifted his eyes to him.
Barth continued, quieter now.
"A new Sealord has taken the seat."
Jaehaerys's brow rose.
That was enough for him to understand the weight of it.
Barth let out a slow breath. "The new Sealord has made serious concessions to appease the alliance."
His gaze drifted toward the window for a moment.
"And now with Volantis checked and Braavos tamed, the Triarchy may begin to look toward…"
He left the words unfinished.
Jaehaerys finished them for him.
"West," he said.
His fingers stopped tapping.
"Toward us."
Barth nodded.
The chamber fell quiet again.
Jaehaerys leaned back slightly in his chair, then forward again, his hands folding atop the table.
Then he drew in a deep breath.
"Send word to every house along the coasts," he said. "Tell them to be on high alert."
Barth met his eyes.
There was no need to name the thing itself. Both men knew what such warnings meant.
War.
Not today. Perhaps not tomorrow. But the shape of it had appeared on the horizon.
Barth inclined his head solemnly. "It will be done."
But Jaehaerys was not finished.
"Even so," he said, "they have not come through this untouched. A new alliance does not wash blood from the stones." His voice hardened slightly. "They must have suffered heavily themselves."
Barth gave a small nod.
Jaehaerys's gaze sharpened. "There should be no trouble soon. Not if they have any sense left."
A beat passed.
"But…"
Barth finished that thought as well.
"We should be ready."
Jaehaerys nodded.
"Yes."
The word settled between them.
Neither man liked it.
Neither man argued with it.
Then came a knock at the door.
Quick.
Hurried.
Jaehaerys's eyes moved at once toward it.
"Enter."
The door opened immediately.
A servant stepped in, breathing a little too fast, his bow half-finished in his haste.
"Your Grace," he said.
Jaehaerys frowned.
The servant's face was pale. His hands looked unsteady.
"What is it?"
The man swallowed.
His throat worked once before the words came out.
"It's about Lady Aemma…"
Viserys paced outside the chamber.
Back and forth. Back and forth. He had long since lost count of how many times he had crossed the same stretch of stone. His boots struck the floor in quick, restless steps. His hands opened and closed at his sides.
From beyond the door came Aemma's cries.
Each one cut through him.
Maids hurried in and out without pause. One rushed past carrying a basin of water. Another followed with fresh cloth folded over her arms. A third emerged with bloodied blankets bundled tight against her chest, her head lowered as she moved quickly down the corridor.
Viserys stopped pacing for half a breath when he saw the blood.
Then Aemma cried out again from inside, raw and sharp, and he started moving once more.
The corridor filled with the sound of hurried steps.
Viserys turned.
Daemon and Aegon came at a near rush, both of them breathing a little harder than usual.
"We heard," Daemon said at once. "Aemma's in labor?"
Viserys gave a quick nod. His face looked drawn tight. "She has been for hours."
Aegon stepped closer and looked at him carefully. "It will be all right."
Daemon nodded too, more firmly. "Nothing will happen to her. Women have birthed children every day since the world began."
Viserys let out something between a breath and a laugh.
"That is meant to comfort me?"
"It should," Daemon said.
Aegon shot his brother a look, then laid a hand briefly on Viserys's shoulder. "She'll be fine. Both of them will."
Before Viserys could answer, another set of steps sounded in the corridor.
Prince Baelon approached with his usual straight-backed stride. His eyes went first to the chamber door, then to Viserys.
"How long?" he asked.
"Hours," Viserys said again.
Baelon grunted, then turned to one of the servants lingering nearby. "Fetch a seat."
The servant bowed quickly and hurried off. A moment later he returned with a sturdy chair, which Baelon took without ceremony and set down outside the chamber wall. He sat with the ease of a man used to waiting through hard things, though the set of his jaw was tighter than usual.
"Sit," he told his sons.
Another cry came from inside, and another maid passed with more water. Viserys only perched on the edge of his chair, ready to spring up at the slightest sound. Daemon leaned forward with his forearms on his knees. Aegon sat straighter, his gaze fixed on the shut door.
Time dragged.
Aemma cried out again.
Then again.
The corridor felt smaller with every sound.
No one said much after that.
Even Daemon kept quiet.
Then, suddenly…
Silence.
Viserys rose to his feet at once.
For one terrible heartbeat, nobody moved.
Then the silence broke.
A thin cry rose from inside the chamber.
A baby.
Viserys let out a breath so sharply it was almost a laugh. Daemon straightened. Aegon's shoulders loosened. Baelon rose from his chair.
The chamber door opened a little, and the Grand Maester stepped out.
He looked tired. But there was relief in his face.
A small smile touched his mouth.
"Both the mother and child are well," he said.
Viserys did not wait another second. He was through the door before the old man had even finished the sentence.
Daemon moved to follow.
Aegon reached out and gave the back of his hand a light smack.
"Wait a little," he said. "Let Aemma dress proper."
Daemon stopped mid-step, realization dawning across his face.
"Oh."
He stepped back.
Baelon gave him a resigned look, the sort that suggested this was exactly the kind of foolishness he expected from him.
Aegon smiled faintly.
After a little while, the door opened again. Viserys leaned his head out, his whole face transformed.
"You can come in now."
Daemon and Aegon both straightened at once, each adjusting his tunic without thinking. Baelon went in after them.
The chamber smelled of sweat, blood, and herbs.
Aemma lay propped against the pillows, pale and exhausted, wisps of damp hair clinging to her face and neck. But when she saw them enter, she managed a tired smile.
Aegon returned it with a small nod.
Baelon looked at her for a long moment, then said simply, "You did well."
Aemma's smile trembled a little at that.
Daemon had already moved closer to the bed.
The baby lay beside Aemma, wrapped in soft cloth, pink and small and still a little red from the strain of birth. Viserys bent over her with a grin so wide it looked as though his face might split.
He slipped his hands beneath the babe and slowly lifted her into his arms.
"Careful," Baelon reminded.
Viserys laughed softly. "I am being careful."
Daemon looked down at the child and smiled too, the sharpness in him easing.
Aemma glanced at Viserys, then lowered her eyes a little.
"My apologies, husband," she said, her voice tired and faint. "I could not bear you a son."
Viserys looked up at her.
"Oh, nonsense," he said. "A daughter is a blessing too."
Aegon smiled at that.
Baelon's face softened into a doting smile. He stepped forward and held out his hands.
"Here," he said. "Let me see my granddaughter."
Viserys carefully passed the child to him.
Baelon took her with surprising gentleness for such large hands. He looked down at the tiny face, then gave a low chuckle. The babe had stopped crying now. Her eyes were shut. She seemed more interested in sleep than in any of them.
Daemon tilted his head. "What did you name her?"
Viserys looked at Aemma.
Aemma looked back at him.
For a moment, all the pain and exhaustion in the room seemed to soften around that shared glance.
Then Viserys answered.
"Rhaenyra."
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200 Power Stones → +1 Chapter
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