Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN. ━━━━━━━━━ I must get my soul back from you; I am killing my flesh without it.
SYLVIA PLATH ━━━━━━━━━
SEATED INSIDE HER FATHER'S PERSONAL STUDY, Rhaenys can see King's Landing sprawling with life from the window.
"Good morning, sister." Aegon is the first to enter and he looks disheveled.
"Have you been up all night?"
He looks terrible, silver hair out of control and dark patches under his eyes. Rhaenys sniffs and realises that he certainly hasn't bathed. He hums. "I took my cue from Jon and brooded for hours."
"You should leave these things to him. He is so much prettier while brooding than you can ever hope to be."
Aegon rewards her with a tired huff. He flops in the chair by her side, with no grace, and as it is so very unlike Aegon to look so serious, Rhaenys frowns. "You didn't tell her beforehand, did you?"
He closes his eyes and it is answer enough.
That is unsettling, but Rhaenys decides against lingering on it. Aegon has always evaded confrontation, even now that he is a man grown.
"We should break our fast by ourselves, since every one else is so bloody late," Aegon suggests, looking at the full table.
This is how their father usually chooses to discuss their issues: over plenty of food.
As she starts to reply, the door opens again, and Jon and Lyanna enter. Even after so many years, the presence of Lyanna Stark feels like an insult. Though her mother has accepted Rhaegar's indiscretion, Rhaenys is not so forgiving.
The two go around the table, greeting Aegon and Rhaenys.
Rhaenys and Jon understand each other well. Royalty they are, yet as the two do not possess the Valyrian looks the Targaryens are infamous for, they are always perceived as somehow less than Aegon. "The half breed dragons", Viserys calls them, and it takes quite a lot of control not to strike him whenever he says it. Rhaenys is glad that he resides on Dragonstone, though she misses Dany every day. But Viserys would never part with his precious sister, so Rhaegar had allowed them both to go, happy to be rid of his bothersome brother.
Perhaps she has it a little easier, since her eyes are the exact same shade as her father's, although she would also hear the rumors of what the Mad King had said — smells Dornish. As if meant to offend her. It does not. She is Princess Rhaenys, of Houses Targaryen and Martell, the blood of the Rhoynar and of Old Valyria. She is descended of Aegon the Conqueror and Queen Nymeria of Sunspear. And she wears it with pride.
Rhaegar enters their gathering then, the "Even Smaller Council", as Elia had coined it some years ago. From the real Small Council, only Ser Arthur is allowed to join them. They all consider him family. Her mother seems not to join them today, which worries Rhaenys. It means that she is either ill or knows that it will turn out to be unpleasant. Considering the king's announcement yesterday at the feast, the latter is more likely.
"Good morning, my sweetlings." Her father sits at the head of the table, and Ser Arthur takes his left side. The king's smile is warm but hesitant, and Rhaenys knows it is because he is bracing himself. "Shall we begin?"
"What's the point?" Aegon asks with a yawn.
Rhaegar's smile slips. He sighs. "So that I may listen to what you all have to say. Contrary to your belief, your opinions matter to me."
Rhaenys is about to meddle in the conversation, to aid Aegon, but he continues himself, in a softer tone. "I told you countless times that I do not want the Stark girl. You did not listen then."
Rhaenys knows very well this is not what her brother wants. Aegon has made it very clear. He had fought for days, from the moment their father proposed the idea to that very morning of the feast when he made the final decision. He had used vile words that not even Rhaenys would utter in front of their father. He'd lost, in the end.
"Must I remind you that you are still the crownprince? Has your crown grown too light that you forget it sits on your head?"
Rhaenys sees her brother square his shoulders. The resolve in his eyes hardens as he says, "I want no crown, if I cannot have her."
Rhaenys feels as if they all stop breathing. No matter his faults, Aegon has always been dutiful, has never shirked his tasks as the crownprince. After a night of too much wine, he had still sat the Small Council Meeting with nary a complaint. After visiting the Street of Silk, he had taken up his lessons with the first rays of the morning sun. Never had he seemed burdened by the prospect of sitting the Iron Throne one day. Never before had he seemed weighed down by the crown. He does today.
Her father's face is pale. "I was like you once. I believed that I was entitled to everything I desired. I was young and I was wrong." Beside her, Lyanna stiffens but says nothing in response to the insult. Jon's gaze is devoid of any emotions. Rhaenys wonders if he is even listening: "There are plans laid out for us by the gods that are not for us to question. I am your father, yes. But most importantly, I am your king. And as king, I must do what is best for the Realm."
"The difference is that I am not simply stealing her away in the middle of the night like a coward," Aegon seethes. "You went to war over a girl that wasn't yours to have! I have been courting Clarysse for some time now. Publicly and with your blessing. And I'm giving you a choice. If you truly love me so much as you always claim, you will allow me this. So that I may be happy." Her brother has never looked so tender. So loving. And so furious.
Utter silence meets his words, and Rhaegar looks at him with cold eyes.
"That is enough, Aegon."
"Is it?"
"Aegon!" Rhaegar snaps, looking affronted, and Rhaenys stares at her father, hands clenching at her sides. Her heart is pounding angrily in her chest. She wants to say something, anything, so that Aegon doesn't have to stand alone. But no words leave her mouth.
Rhaegar takes a few deep breaths. "I think you should go and calm yourself, son," he says coolly. "You are clearly unwell."
"I am," he retorts. "Thanks to you."
No one says another word. They are all silent in the presence of their king.
