A Lion Still Has Claws

Part 13

An annoying candle flickered at the furthest end of the darkroom. Its light dimmed against the stone walls, moving in a shifting hue of color. The fire beckoned as it always did. Even in its withering state, barley grasping the candle's wick, it urged a sense of euphoria and ease. The sharp fluttering movements of the flame appeared almost intoxicating as if craving an impulsive touch. The call grew of the flames grew louder. The sound of the burning wick grew, isolating the noise of the melting wax. It was a very possessive element.

Rhaenyra shifted in her bed, annoyed at the candle's disturbing presence. She tried to ignore it, tossing a free pillow over her head. She stretched her arm, meaning to push Jaime to put the light out. Her hand met the cool feel of an emptied corner. Rhaenyra smirked in her sleepy state, relieved. She did not care where he was or if he warmed another's bed. Her solitude was peaceful. 

Her quick happiness vanished as the chamber's door opened. She tensed, thinking Jaime or her children would need her at such a late hour. The footsteps that sounded were unfamiliar. Rhaenyra laid still beneath the quilt's and found the pillow resting against her face useful. She felt a weight press beside her feet. With a nervous hand, she removed the pillow from her face. She was not ready to kill or fight another.

The former ease returned as she recognized Lord Varys. Rhaenyra did not question his being there for he was no threat. She knew the Spider's intentions, his ambitions. He had not spoken to her, only nodding respectfully toward her and Jaime. Varys carried a sympathetic gaze during those moments.

"Lord Varys," Rhaenyra spoke. She wondered what use the Spider would have for her.

Varys tensed in surprise, his hands folded in his lap as he nodded to her. "I have done nothing to earn the title of Lord, my lady." His voice was soothing offering a curious softness. "I come to share news regarding the well being of the North."

Rhaenyra eased her self against her bed's headboard. She pulled a pillow to hold, "You saw it fitting to tell me in the dead of night?"

He smirked at her boldness. "I fear it could not have waited. It would be simpler to hear such regards from a stranger's tongue than that of your family." His lips pursed, eyes adverted to the stone floor. "The Bastard of the Dreadfort reclaimed Mout Calin for the North."

Pride swelled in Rhaenyra's heart. Her brother was accomplishing what he promised her, riding the North of the pirating Iron Born. "How grand."

"Because of his accomplishments, Roose Bolton has named him his heir and legitimized him, Ramsay Bolton." 

She brought a hand to her mouth, attempting to cover her large smile. The tension fell away from her shoulders, the burden of being her father's heir no longer present. "What joyous new," her breathing hitched as Varys interrupted her.

"My lady, I beg you to give up any hope you have for the North." He ignored her stunned person and continued, "I am leaving East, taking Lord Tyrion, to the Dragon Queen." A sheen of sweat covered him, he lifted his sleeve to wipe at his drenched brow. His hand shook as he returned it to his lap.

"Jaime is saying goodbye," Varys offered an affirming nod. "Why are you saying such things."

"My lady I am asking you to come with us."

Rhaenyra's hand fell to her neck. She rubbed at her skin in a soothing motion as she considered his offer. "You know I cannot." 

"You will forever be a Northerner, you will not die until you see the land truly liberated." He laughed lightly, "But, my lady, becoming an ally to Queen Daenerys Targaryen may ensure power for you and the most Northern realm." Vary's gaze softened as he turned toward her. "Rhaenyra, you will not only be helping your kingdom by aiding the Dragon Queen but will be helping your family's dynasty return to its rightful place on the Iron Throne."

"Pardon?" Her face paled in confusion as she attempted to understand his words. The hand at her neck stalled its movement. 

"You know the truth," Varys' soft voice shifted into a rash and hurried tone. "Your features vary so greatly from the Boltons. The late Dornish Prince looked at you as if seeing a ghost." He rose from the bed, towering over her. "Violet eyes, Targaryen eyes. Your daughter, born of Robb Stark, buried in the Godswood of Riverrun. She shared the Valyrian features of her family, your family!"

She closed her eyes, whispering for him to stop. Rhaenyra refused to hear him unravel the falsehoods of her life.

"The Winterfell maids speak too loudly. Each saw the flames, cleaned the singed sleeves. You bathed in scalding waters." He turned quickly, seeming to disappear into the room's darkness. The flickering candle nearly burnt as he returned to her side. "Hold it." 

Rhaenyra did not meet the Spider's gaze as she reached for the candlestick. Her fingers instinctively reached into the flames, her other hand calmly clutched at the melting wax. The fire licked at her palm, encasing her hand in its obsessive embrace. Her violet eyes watched the flickering pattern curiously. She marveled at the fire's failure to burn her.

"You are immune," she heard Varys whisper. His hand pressed into hers, killing the flame. He gazed down at her, attempting to offer a comforting gaze. "My dear, you are not the woman you thought you were. Rhaenyra Bolton never existed, a mere lie to hide your identity." His hand curled around her shoulder, "You are Visenya Targaryen, daughter of Rhaegar and Elia Martell. Twin to Aegon and sister to Rhaenys." 

Her hand curled around the soft wax of the candlestick, fingers crushing. She turned away, dark hair covering her face. "My life is a lie. All I am, is," Rhaenyra's voice faded as she held back tears. She thought back to Oberyn's death, the way he fought valiantly for his sister and her children. She wondered if he knew, or did he die thinking she too suffered a horrid death. "Why?" Rhaenyra recalled every story her father told her, his first account of seeing Robert Baratheon strike down Rhaegar Targaryen at the Battle of the Triden. "Are you certain?"

Varys hand fell from her shoulder, "I journeyed so far North with a babe at my side." He returned to his former place on the bed, "I attempted and failed to leave from the ports at White Harbor, meaning to travel East with an infant I passed off as my own." He smirked at his own comment, "I meant to give the baby to her Uncle, for him to raise alongside her young Aunt. A sad attempt to have all remaining Targaryens together." His gaze fell to the floor, attempting to recall details. "I was stopped by Bolton guards as soon as I stepped foot on Northern soil," Varys did not notice Rhaenyra's shaking person or her tears. "Lord Bolton knew who I was, who the babe was. He knew just by your eyes, he said such young eyes should not have seen so much. I told him what he needed to know, solidified your identity with my own accounts." He pursed his lips as he continued, "His wife, Bethany, lost a babe a few months prior. She needed you, the look on her face said it all. I gave you away willingly for the good of the realm."

Rhaenyra continued to shake, the pillow in her grasp fell to the floor. "I am a Targaryen." She closed her eyes trying to collect her thoughts, "My mother is not my mother. My father, thank the gods, is not my father. My brothers," the palms of her hands pressed into her closed eyes. She felt tears needing to flow, "Rhaegar Targaryen died at the hands of the Usurper King. Eli Martell died in this very Keep." Her violet eyes opened to see Varys walking toward the door, "Why tell me this?"

The startling bells broke the night's silence, a prisoner had escaped. "For the good of the realm! I gave you the knowledge to aid your endeavors. Will you join me East, my lady?"

"No."

With that he left, leaving Rhaenyra in her empty and chambers.