『The Lady』
| Year 276 AC | Westeros, Stormlands.
Lady Betha Baratheon.
The Great Hall of Storm's End had never felt so cramped. The heat of the torches and the steam from the hunting dishes mingled with the heavy perfume of the royal courtiers, creating a stifling atmosphere. That famous hall, with no columns to support the ceiling above their heads, was a feat of ancient architecture, of the kind said to have been built by the same man who constructed the Wall in the North.
It was vast, a true hall capable of keeping all the noble guests comfortable. From the high table, situated upon a raised stone platform, she could see the entire room. From the humblest knight on the back benches to the guards stationed at the great door, she had a very clear view of the whole hall and everything happening within it.
Behind the main table, a fireplace so large you could roast an entire ox was in operation, providing the only real warmth against the coastal chill, the winter, or the longest-lasting storms.
Sometimes Betha did not like this hall; its massive circular stone shape made the sound of laughter, toasts, and the music played by the hired men echo powerfully against the walls, creating a wild auditory environment. It almost reminded her of the places she used to go at night with her friends to party in her first life.
The walls do not usually have fine tapestries as rumored in the Reach. They are adorned with the shields of Baratheon ancestors, stag heads with enormous antlers, and ancient banners of the Storm Kings. The craftsmanship of the Durrandons was what stood out much more—something the Baratheons had obtained as an inheritance.
Betha sat in silence, observing her food with a flat and expressionless face. She truly did not want to be there. She glanced out of the corner of her eye to her left where her mother, her father, and Aerys were locked in an animated conversation and, further to the left beside the King, sat Prince Rhaegar, who was chatting quietly with Ser Arthur Dayne behind him. To her, it seemed... insipid, not even fun; it was all courtesy but nothing more to add.
Her eyes preferred to fly further to the left, where Prince Daeron Targaryen was located. The younger brother. Who, without doing anything to her, managed to make the hair on the back of her neck stand up. He was an anomaly, like her, but Betha did not know what kind of anomaly he was.
She admitted she had overlooked Daeron's existence in Maester Cressen's lessons on the members of the Great Houses. In all honesty, she had been much more eager to learn about the family lands, from the villages to the massive fortresses of her house's vassals, to learn about what was grown, and what animals were in their forests.
Now, just by looking at the Young Prince who, without a doubt, was totally different from his older brother. she had observed how he treated the stable boy who took his horse with humility, how... right now, the smile on his face and the loud laughter he let out at the jokes told, showed that the differences between the princes were abysmal.
Perhaps the most evident madness was the clear friendship between Prince Daeron and his companion: The Red Viper, Prince Oberyn Martell. Despite the clear five-year age difference, they seemed to have a deep friendship; she wondered how it could have arisen. But truthfully, she was very curious to meet the Prince of Dorne, the one who would die like an idiot facing a Mountain.
It was a strange sight, for her due to her age, but they seemed like very good friends.
"It is truly a sadness that Princess Rhaelle cannot enjoy a family moment with us," Aerys said with a sarcastic grimace.
Betha observed how her father tensed slightly, clearly uncomfortable after his royal cousin's comment. "My lady mother fell ill after returning from Tarth," Steffon replied softly. "She regrets not being able to receive you, Your Grace. She hopes to feel better, and more presentable for the following days."
"A woman of her age should be more careful when traveling by sea," Aerys commented; she couldn't help but clench her fist under the table at his words, as he clearly enjoyed making those around him feel uncomfortable. "It has been a while since I saw my aunt. I believe she hasn't met my youngest son, has she, Daeron?" Aerys questioned his son with a tone of warning, and she could guess the sharp look he directed at his younger son upon seeing him grow a bit stiff at being the center of his father's attention.
"No, father, I fear I haven't had the pleasure of meeting her," Daeron replied slowly; gradually, his posture of confidence returned to him. "Though if there is any chance to meet her I would be delighted; I would like to hear old stories of our family."
"I will check her condition tonight, my prince," her father answered smoothly, seemingly charmed by the youngest son's manners. "And I will inform you if she is fit to receive a visit."
"I shall be waiting anxiously, my lord," Daeron nodded solemnly; she truly believed he wanted to meet her grandmother for real and that it wasn't just empty words to win favor with her father and the king.
Aerys had a small grimace on his face; it seemed he did not want to stop being the center of attention, so he returned to telling her father an old story from when they were squires in the court of King Aegon V, and both chuckled at the jokes they began to share with nostalgia.
"(By the Gods, he might not be mad, but he is a jealous and vain bastard even of his own son,)" Betha thought with contempt, and tried not to show the clear disgust on her face.
A few minutes passed, but she was at the limit of her patience listening to them talk about past glories. Of course... she didn't mind hearing those stories from her father; in fact, she liked it very much and found it endearing coming from the man who has raised and spoiled her in this life. But listening to the conceited comments of the royal idiot of a king—gods, in these moments she would have liked to invent some excuse like her grandmother.
She was tired of being here, but she was aware that she had to endure; she could not stain her reputation, that of her parents, nor even think of tarnishing the honor of House Baratheon... or her etiquette. Only the Gods knew what would happen to her if she tried to openly refuse the betrothal... not just a punishment from her parents, but surely some punishment from the egocentric king. She watched out of the corner of her eye to her left how, despite the cacophony spreading through the hall, she could distinguish the amused laughter of the Young Prince.
At some point, a red-haired young man had approached, a few years older than her; she assumed it was Jon Connington, and from the look he directed at the younger prince, they must not have had a good friendship, but the latter did not pay him much attention. Her gaze met the prince's for a brief moment, but her eyes quickly diverted toward her mother to hide it.
"Mother," Betha spoke, subtly tugging at her mother's sleeve.
"What is it, Betha?" Cassana questioned with a small smile.
"Can my ladies come over to chat? We have finished eating," Betha requested; she wanted, at least, to talk with her friends so as not to be bored.
"In a moment, daughter. Wait for your father to give a toast and they can come over," Cassana replied calmly. "Behave until then."
"Yes, mother... fine," Betha murmured under her breath, and she could do nothing but wait for her fate to finally be announced to everyone present.
The festivities continued a bit longer; she could clearly see the excitement and laughter of all the guests as they gorged themselves on the food provided by her house. Finally—she didn't know how much time had passed—her father stood up, with the largest smile she had ever seen on him, sharing it with King Aerys, her mother, and then his joyful eyes turned toward her. The pride and happiness with which his eyes looked at her were overwhelming; it took all her willpower not to look away or make a face.
"(Why do the Gods do this to me? Is it not enough to have sent me to this place?)" Betha's thoughts were eating her up inside, thinking of all that her fate could be. "(Would it be too much to ask for a lightning bolt to hit him? I don't want this.)" Her eyes couldn't help but move to the king. "(Why couldn't this wretch find another for his stupid son?!)" Although she would pity any other woman destined to end up with Rhaegar Targaryen, it was either her or another, and she preferred a thousand times that it be another and not her.
"Now, a toast!" her father announced, raising his cup. However, his voice did not travel through the great hall; the people present continued eating or talking so loudly that their voices echoed off the walls. "I SAID A TOAST, YOU DEAF BASTARDS!" Steffon roared, determined that his voice be heard throughout the hall, which he achieved as his roar resonated with more force against the walls, catching the attention of ladies and men alike, who fell silent and looked toward the main table. "TODAY IS A DAY THAT THE SONGS WILL REMEMBER FOR CENTURIES! NOT ONLY DO WE CELEBRATE THE ARRIVAL OF OUR KING AND HIS ROYAL FAMILY TO OUR HOME TO WITNESS THE COMING TOURNAMENT! WE ALSO CELEBRATE THE FUTURE OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS!"
Betha wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow her at that very moment when all eyes were fixed on her. Her friends, sitting nearby, held their breath with radiant smiles.
"Thirty years after my lady mother, Princess Rhaelle, arrived in these halls as a bride, my dear daughter Betha will depart as one, and with none other than the blessed Prince and Future King! LET US TOAST TO MY DAUGHTER AND MY FUTURE SON-IN-LAW, CROWN PRINCE RHAEGAR TARGARYEN!"
For a second, there was a stunned silence, and then the hall exploded.
"FOR THE DRAGON AND THE STAG!" roared a knight of House Caron, standing up.
The din was deafening. The guests pounded the tables with their pewter mugs, creating a thundering rhythm that shook the walls. The cheers of the lords of the Stormlands mixed with the ovations of the courtiers from King's Landing.
"Long live the future Queen!" shouted Ser Cortnay Penrose, raising his cup. "Fury and Fire!" others responded from the back of the hall.
Men-at-arms and knights alike threw out shouts of joy, whistling and clapping with a wild energy. The ladies of the court waved their handkerchiefs, and Jeyne Swann, beside Betha, was jumping for joy while shouting her friend's name.
Betha forced the brightest smile of her life, standing up like Prince Rhaegar. They positioned themselves in front of the main table and joined hands to raise them before the crowd, greeting with a courtesy that only seemed to increase the frenzy of the hall. She looked back at how her parents were radiant with pride, and she couldn't help but feel bitter about it; they were proud to sell their only daughter like a mare to the mad dragons. King Aerys was laughing, enchanted by the adoration of the crowd, looking proud and vain.
And she wanted nothing more than to run away and hide in any tower abandoned by the Gods, and never be found again by anyone.
The roar of the cheers still vibrated in the roof beams when Lord Steffon sat down, allowing the music of the harps and lutes to retake control of the Great Hall. For the rest of the guests, it was the start of a legendary party; for Betha, it was the signal for her friends to pounce on her like a pack of puppies hungry for gossip.
They approached and managed to drag their chairs to the edge of the main table, creating a closed circle of whispers right under the noses of her family and the royal family.
They were a group between thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen years old: Jeyne Swann was the youngest of them all, Coryanne Estermont was her cousin and the eldest of them all, while Jocelyn Rogers was the same age as Betha. On the other hand, there was Lenore Belmont, who was the daughter of a knight in service to her house. With the latter, she had practically grown up since childhood. All were her companions in education and wards of her mother, but somehow she had managed to get them to join her in some of her activities like horseback riding, archery, or in some games she had "invented" to pass the time at Storm's End and not die of boredom.
"Betha! By the Mother!" Jeyne Swann exclaimed, her eyes shining with an almost comical intensity. "You're going to be Queen! A real queen, with a crown and everything!"
"And most importantly," Coryanne added, giving her cousin a playful elbow, "you're going to wake up every morning seeing that silver face. By the Seven, Betha! If I were you, I would have lost my senses three times already. Have you seen how his hair shines with the torches? It looks like spun silk."
Betha forced a giggle, though inside she felt her stomach churning with disgust.
"He is... very handsome, Cory," Betha replied, trying to sound like the excited maiden everyone expected. "But don't exaggerate, there's still a long way to go before the wedding."
"Oh, don't be so dull!" Jocelyn Rogers intervened, popping a piece of fruit into her mouth. "It's Prince Rhaegar. I'm sure all the ladies of the realm will cry into their pillows tonight because they aren't you. You are the luckiest girl in the Seven Kingdoms, and you're behaving as if they had given you a sack of turnips."
"It's not that," Betha defended herself, feeling caught between a rock and a hard place. "It's just that... it's a lot of pressure. The whole hall shouting at once..."
"They were shouting because you have enviable luck!" Lenore Belmont blurted out, laughing. "Though, to tell the truth, I don't care much. It's the younger Prince who has caught my attention; his beauty is not far behind. Have you seen him?"
The group leaned further into the center, moving slightly away from the gaze of the elders.
"They say they call him The Laughing Dragon!" Coryanne whispered enthusiastically. "My brother went to the capital once; they say they call him that because it's impossible to see him angry. They say he's prone to laughter, that he tells jokes to the servants, and that he once made a Septon choke with laughter in the middle of a sermon."
"He's gorgeous," Jeyne declared dreamily, glancing toward where Daeron was joking with Ser Arthur Dayne. "He has a charming attitude, and his lilac eyes are so pretty."
"I don't want to sound rude, but he is very different from his brother," Jocelyn commented with a knowing smile. "Prince Rhaegar seems to be very quiet, and a marriage needs more than courtesy; I would prefer the Young Prince a thousand times over."
"Yes... they are very different," Betha murmured, keeping her true thoughts on the matter to herself. They were two opposite sides of a golden coin.
"I'd like to see him grow up; I'm sure he'll be a danger to maidens," Coryanne added with a mischievous smile. "If he continues with that attitude, many will faint at his smile. I'm sure you'll have fun with such a charming brother-in-law."
"Cory!" Betha let out a genuine laugh this time, gently pushing her cousin's shoulder. "Watch what you say, the King has ears everywhere!"
"The King is too busy telling your father how to kill a stag to pay us any mind," Lenore replied, brushing it off. "But seriously, Betha, enjoy it. You have the most handsome heir in history and the funniest brother in the realm in your own house. If I were you, I'd dance until my shoes broke!"
Betha gave them a smile, feeling for a moment the lightness of being accompanied by her friends; despite the bad parts of this life... like an arranged betrothal, she was happy to have them in her life. Even so, she couldn't tell them that Rhaegar was an incredible red flag, a historical mistake for any woman in this realm, and that she preferred to be anywhere else in the world than at that altar. But in that corner of laughter and jokes, surrounded by her friends, she could pretend the future was as bright and simple as they believed.
"We shall dance, Lenore," Betha promised, raising her cup of cider. "I promise you we shall dance until the musicians are out of breath."
"That's my cousin!" Coryanne shouted, toasting with her while the others burst into laughter and continued analyzing, detail by detail, all the guests. Even talking about the tournament and seeing all those knights hitting each other with their lances on horseback.
The laughter of the five girls erupted, lost amidst the bustle of the Great Hall. Betha let herself be carried away by the moment, allowing herself to be just a fourteen-year-old girl joking with her friends, no matter that her heart was tormented by her imminent fate.
.
At some point during the festivity, after spending time with her friends, she decided she had had enough sociability for the rest of the day. With her mother's approval, she left the great hall with her ladies, whom she allowed to go to their own rooms while she headed to her grandmother's quarters. She was careful not to run into anyone from the royal retinue or nobles; though her grandmother's excuse was quite clear, she didn't want to generate more rumors.
She remembered her grandmother's history with her royal family. For starters, she had a bad relationship with King Jaehaerys II and his sister-wife, Shaera, as if it weren't for them she would never have been involved in the subsequent situation and they never had the nerve to apologize to her. And when it was her husband's death, they had decided not to attend his funeral; since then she had become even more withdrawn regarding the Royal Family.
She opened the doors of her grandmother's quarters softly and poked her head in to check that she wasn't asleep, but no. There was her grandmother, Princess Rhaelle Targaryen, youngest daughter of King Aegon V, reclining on the cushions—the woman with silver-and-gold hair and pale skin that rivaled the linen sheets. Her intense purple eyes shone in the candlelight. She was already in one of her nightgowns and had an open book in her hands, which she left behind when she looked up and her eyes lit up with affection upon seeing her.
"Oh, if it isn't none other than my dear Bethy," her grandmother gave her a soft smile. "Come, come closer, my little storm."
She smiled at her grandmother and entered the room completely, closing the door behind her. She walked around the bed to lie on it and let her head fall against her grandmother's lap, who, leaving the book on her nightstand, began to stroke her hair affectionately.
"Did you have fun at the feast?" Rhaelle asked softly.
"A little, I had fun with the girls; we drank some cider and then we all danced together."
In fact, she had had a good time with her friends, laughing and gossiping as befitted a young woman of her position, but as soon as she crossed her grandmother's threshold, she knew she could be herself... at least, a little. Rhaelle immediately noticed the shadow of discomfort clouding her blue eyes.
"You don't seem too anxious about your betrothal, dear," Rhaelle murmured softly.
"I don't know if I can do this, grandmother..." Betha replied, eyes closed.
Rhaelle let out a long sigh.
"I was too, truthfully," she confessed softly. "When I became betrothed to your grandfather, Ormund, the relations between our houses were... far from perfect. My older brother, Duncan, decided to break his betrothal to your great-aunt, Shireen, after falling in love with that peasant girl, and Lord Lyonel Baratheon was so furious about it that he declared himself Storm King in retaliation. We were very close to going to a fratricidal war."
Betha nodded slowly; she remembered reading about it. Even so, because of her previous life, she knew the history between the Baratheons and the Targaryens had always been turbulent; she believed they never became as close again as in the times of the Conqueror and his bastard brother, Orys.
Even if she understood the context, in her mind she believed it was all as foolish as the Wall itself, but she wasn't going to tell her grandmother that.
"My brothers were completely inspired by his actions, and it didn't take them long to follow his example." Her grandmother had not named them, but she knew perfectly well whom she meant; undoubtedly there was still much bad blood even with both dead. "Daeron did the same with his betrothal to Olenna Redwyne. And I was the youngest, and father decided that the only thing he could do to compensate for it was to send me here to be a cupbearer to your great-grandmother... with the promise of a betrothal." A nostalgic smile grew on her face. "I was terrified of these walls for a long time. Your grandfather Ormund was the most hostile; he was furious because he couldn't lay hands on my brother Duncan for the insult to his sister. It took him years to forgive my blood."
"Really?" Betha questioned, interested in the story. Her grandfather Ormund had died in the War of the Ninepenny Kings, two years before she was born. "And how did you manage to get along with him?"
"I didn't achieve it, treasure. Time achieved it. And the fact that, in the end, we were just two young people harmed by the actions of others." Rhaelle fell silent for a moment, and her laughter faded. "Losing him in the Stepstones was... one of the biggest wounds in my heart."
Betha squeezed her grandmother's hand; she didn't want to imagine how her poor grandmother's heart must be. A year before she learned of the Tragedy of Summerhall, another wound from which she had never fully recovered.
"The thing is... I don't think I'll be happy, grandmother."
The grandmother gave her a sad smile, kissed her hair, and continued stroking it.
"If it were up to me, Bethy, I would let you choose any hedge knight or lesser lord who made your heart vibrate," Rhaelle lamented. "But your father sees the realm, not the heart. Steffon is a good man, but he is a lord loyal to his King. He has already made his decision, and it is very clear."
When she found out about the betrothal, she had run to her grandmother to tell her, begging her to do something so that it wouldn't take place after calming her fury in her room. She had done it; she argued with her father, long and intensely... another reason why she didn't attend the reception or the banquet. For obvious reasons, her grandmother could not convince her father, nor her mother, but Betha at least felt she had an ally in her grandmother after hearing her opinion on the matter.
"Tell me, my child. Why do you dislike Rhaegar so much?" Rhaelle questioned softly, adding, "I have heard nothing but good things about him, and from my own niece, though Rhaella's opinion is nothing more than that of a proud mother."
Betha remained silent for a few moments, thinking about what to tell her grandmother; after all, she couldn't just tell her the truth and say: "Because that idiot kidnaps a girl to have a bastard, and provokes a war that kills lords and soldiers in large numbers. Not to mention his children and wife whom he left unprotected when he took the best damn knights in the Seven Kingdoms to some lost place in Dorne."
"It's true he seems kind and courteous, and has no ugliness in appearance," Betha replied slowly. "But I don't think I'll ever have a relationship with him like you and grandfather had, or King Aegon and Queen Betha. And besides... I don't want to be queen; it means losing freedom, that my womb will be the only thing that matters."
Rhaelle observed her granddaughter in silence.
"Only one queen was lucky enough to live a long life, but not even her great councils were taken into account and she seemed forced to give birth nonstop to satisfy her husband, just as happened to Queen Aemma no matter how many dead children she left behind."
She didn't have very good opinions of Jaehaerys, and although Alysanne didn't seem like an excellent mother to her either, she was a woman whose advice was dismissed more than it was heard. Forced to have children even at an advanced age, and not to mention the tragedy of Aemma Arryn... the constant pregnancies, even at an early age, made her die before reaching thirty.
"My child, your father would not let that happen to you." Even with the words spoken, her grandmother did not seem so convinced. "What if your first impression of this whole betrothal is wrong? Perhaps it is better than you think; you are a Baratheon, darling, you fear nothing."
"Yes, but you don't understand..." Betha murmured, shifting uncomfortably.
"I know you think I don't understand, Betha. I know your fears, because I had them too. I know you distrust the Targaryens; perhaps my own prejudices against my siblings Jaehaerys and Shaera have reached you somehow. But unfortunately, it is your duty to our house; I regret making you inherit the blood of the dragons, my daughter. But I know you will be a strong and excellent queen. Rhaegar will not be the doom you believe he is."
Betha did not respond; she no longer had the strength to keep arguing about something that was going nowhere; she tilted her head and rested it on her grandmother's lap, closing her eyes. Her nana could not understand that, whether woman or man, Rhaegar Targaryen in one way or another would be the cause of her miseries.
"Sleep here tonight, Little Storm," Rhaelle whispered, using that old nickname from when Betha used to break her wooden toys.
Betha remained still, feeling the old woman's caresses. She had had a vain hope that she could avoid arranged marriages, meet a good man... noble or not, who could accompany her in this new life. That her grandmother would keep telling her stories of Dunk and Egg while stroking her hair, enjoying her friends, her parents, and brothers.
But the world was cruel to those who had Dragonblood running through their veins, and unfortunately, she had a dash of it.
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What did you think?
I want to ask you all, what do you think of Daeron so far?
I wanted something different from other fanfics I've read about a second son of Aerys II. Usually, in those stories, they are somehow always—and I mean always—either less attractive than their older brother or less skilled with a sword, and with the charisma of a potato. Not to mention when they are portrayed as cruel or mad.
I also didn't want him to be just a shadow of Rhaegar who follows him everywhere without even having friends of his own, which is something I will definitely change on my part.
So, I decided to take a more... fun path. Someone who enjoys life, who is charismatic and not an idiot.
I hope you like my decision.
Without further ado, thank you for the space <3.
(Written by me, translated by AI. Let me know if you find any errors.)