Chapter Text
rhaenys velaryon was not a merciful woman, nor was she a kind one. but she was loyal and fiercely protective of those she considered hers. her granddaughters rhaena and baela, born of her daughter laena, and her grandsons jacaerys, lucerys, and joffrey, born of her son laenor, who loved them with such zeal he’d gone and lead everyone to believe he’d died.
she loved them all dearly, but she was not ashamed to say that lucerys had a special place in her heart, with his snow-white hair and light brown skin, and his heart-shaped face; he reminded her of her lady-mother, jocelyn baratheon. and she knew her cousin viserys saw his late lady-wife aemma in her boy.
lucerys was heir to driftmark, as corlys had proclaimed, and rhaenys had long intended on being the one to crown her grandson lord of the tides. he would be a fine lord, one that would not back down from anything, and would be fiercely protective of the men he commanded. she had seen as much on the excursions corlys and lucerys would take her on.
daemon, laena's late husband and lucerys' stepfather, had ensured that lucerys would not be one to be trifled with; her grandson was good with the sword and exceptional with daggers.
he had already drawn blood on both his weapons, his sword in controlled skirmishes alongside his stepfather. and his daggers in defense of her, when they were caught up at sea with pirates from the triarchy, and they had demanded she give her body as payment to allow them passage. lucerys had been bathed in blood when he was done with them, and he had presented her with their heads and tongues ripped out. rhaenys had fashioned them into figureheads on the boat they were upon.
bloody maiden still boasted the five heads. shrunken and dried but proudly displayed. their tongues were in a jar in her study, and rhaenys never failed to smile at the reminder of filial piety lucerys had displayed.
today, she walked down hull, looking for dried fruit to make baela a tea for her moon bleed, she would have sent the servants but it had been some time since she left the castle, so rhaenys decided to stretch her legs and look for it herself. she walked along the stalls of goods, picking up a hilt for lucerys and fabrics to make rhaena a new gown. she had just spotted the fruit for baela when a flash of white caught her eye.
rhaenys turned her head, and something in her turned cold. a pair of boys, walking down the opposite direction of her, held her attention. their silver-white hair and lithe bodies screamed of their heritage. quickly, she bought the fruit and followed them, staying some paces behind to ensure they did not notice her. rhaenys followed them to a humble stall, bearing trinkets and pastries laid side by side.
"hello."
a voice to her right, mellow and bright. rhaenys looked, a young woman stood before her, dressed in pale yellows and blues and barefoot. she nodded tightly in greeting, gesturing to the pastries before her. the woman's eyes brightened but before she could begin her explanation, a voice cut through.
"mother!" the taller of the boys called out to the woman, and rhaenys swallowed the hiss that wanted to escape as she spied purple eyes on both the boys. she was glad for her understated attire, a simple blue gown with barely any embellishment or jewels and a brown cape that covered most of her head, for had she thought to bring her usual garments, the boys’ mother would’ve likely hid them away.
"mother! i brought the dried bark!" the shorter boy approached the woman, hefting several pieces of dried tree bark onto the side of the stall.
"your boys?" rhaenys asked the woman, nodding at the boys.
the woman smiled, genuine and open, reaching out to secure the bark against the stall, "aye, addam is the taller one, my first-born and this is alyn, my second-born."
rhaenys hummed, feeling fire lick up her spine. "how old are they? adsam seems a man grown already!"
"aye!" the woman laughed, a hand landing on rhaenys’ forearm. she fought the urge to cut off the arm at once. "adam outgrew me when he was two and ten! now he's nearly a man grown at five and ten, his name was was just a moon ago. alyn is three and ten, a headstrong boy, my alyn. alway wanting to outdo his older brother."
the oldest was the same age as her jacaerys then, though jacaerys was born in the second month, and this boy was some four moons younger than her oldest grandson. the second boy was younger than lucerys, by a year it seemed. her fury arose as she realized the implications.
nevertheless, rhaenys smiled, "my granddaughters are three and ten, same as your youngest. how quickly children seem to grow."
the women's eyebrows went up, "you are a grandmother? oh, you look barely older than i!"
a bark of laughter left rhaenys' throat. "oh girl, i am two score and nine, nearly fifty."
an astonished look crept onto the woman's face, "i am three and thirty!"
a vindictive pleasure shot through her as she looked at the woman in front of her, age was kind to rhaenys; as it was to all dragonriders. she was not a particularly vain woman, but it still pleased her to know she retained her youth.
rhaenys let her eyes drift back to the two boys, sitting some ways away on some wine barrels, and in a lower tone she said, "they bear a striking resemblance to the velaryon, are they…?"
the open hesitance on the woman's face was her answer, and rhaenys nodded. Her hand came up to grip the hand still on her forearm, “we all have our secrets, girl. keep this one.”
the woman smiled sadly, “dead men tell no tales, i fear he will never claim them now. not that he ever knew them.”
rage like rhaenys had never known rushed up her body, boiling her blood. this woman dared implicate it was her son…? still, she did not let it show on any part of her body, not in her face, or in the curve of her lips. but it burned, it tore throughout her body like the most vicious of fire, she thought she heard meleys’ screech in the back of her mind.
this woman lied like rhaenys breathed air. the boy bore a resemblance to her son, yes, but it was an afterthought, a pale image. there was no hint of baratheon ancestry in their bone structure, nothing of lady jocelyn lingers in their faces. they are velaryon bastards, and only velaryon.
rhaenys breathed in deeply. she smiled at the woman again, thought it tasted like ash on her tongue. “i must go,” she said gently, “my granddaughter awaits her tea.”
“will you be back to buy more pastries?” the woman asked, “i will have a better selection by next week.”
i will come back for your head, rhaenys thought. “perhaps my grandson will come by,” rhaenys said. “he does so have a sweet tooth.”
her boy was due to be back from king’s landing soon, his raven had brought word of returning before the moon’s change. he would be the first to learn of her plans for the boys, they and their lying whore of a mother.
she would not be seeing them until her most precious boy presented them, their heads on her floor and the woman’s tongue in another jar. perhaps it was cruel, to subject them to death for merely being born. for the unfortunate circumstances of their origin and what they meant and the conclusions that one could draw from their existence.
but rhaenys would have no other candidates for the master of driftmark. she would not allow for bastard children to perhaps have more of a claim to the throne of driftmark than her grandson lucerys. she was not a kind woman, nor was she a very merciful person.
corlys had much to answer to her, and she intended on squeezing every last bit of information out of her lord-husband.
“husband.”
corlys turned swiftly, nearly dropping his book as he turned to find his wife by the fire. she was staring into the flames with a look of quiet contemplation, swirling a goblet of wine slowly. corlys had not seen her, as she was half bathed in the shadows of their shared solar.
“rhaenys,” he breathed, “you startled me. i did not see you.”
his wife hummed, taking a sip of her wine before gesturing him to join her. he sat across from her, in his own high-backed chair, his back to the fire, as he enjoyed. as he went to lay his book down on the table between them, he saw the jar of tongues. he grimaced.
“rhaenys,” he murmured. “i thought those usually stayed in your boudoir. they are not pleasant to look at.”
“husband-mine,” his wife murmured in high valyrian, a smile playing on her lips. “my precious grandson presented them to me. how can i not treasure his demonstration of devotion? must i hide away his determination to ensure my honor is not compromised? nay. such affection should be heralded.”
corlys swallowed a shudder; daemon had rubbed off his grandson much more than anyone had ever expected. the rogue prince’s love and devotion was a terrible but great thing to witness and he had passed that down to lucerys, along with the bloodlust and desire to bring fire and blood to those deemed a threat to the family. his wife was as much a dragon as they, for all that her lady-mother was a baratheon.
corlys was not so much disturbed by the tongues as he was by the way lucerys had preened when rhaenys had cooed about how darling the boy was, covered in blood and innards. daemon, the incorrigible man, had simply pressed a kiss onto the boy’s brow and promised a new blade to replace the one he had lost at sea.
he was not so disturbed to know that his heir had beheaded men; for he was a pirate, and beheading men was bread and butter to a man like corlys. but it unsettled him to see the glint of hunger in lucerys’ eyes, the entirely reptilian look that belonged more so on the beast he mounted than a human’s eyes. it was the same look daemon had before he had gone and fought a thousand men on the stepstones and emerged victorious and bloodied.
fair maiden had been renamed bloody maiden and it was the ship his wife favored on the rare occasion she chose to travel by ship rather than take to the skies to dragonstone or king’s landing. though it was not a very large vessel, nor very difficult to steer, no one dared man that ship unless lucerys or his wife was upon it. even then only when lucerys was the one at the helm that the man dared stand upon the deck.
corlys’ only consolation was that lucerys was an excellent captain, and lucerys was a good captain, for corlys had been the one to train the boy. his affection and pride grew greater every day as the boy proved himself to be an exemplary heir and future master of the tides, as corlys knew he would be. but sometimes, his grandson scared corlys, even if he only admitted it to himself in the dead of the night.
“husband-mine,” his wife said again. “i came across a strange sight today, walking along hull.”
his brow furrowed, his wife did not often leave the castle to walk along the towns very often. “what were you doing in hull?”
“baela’s moon bleed was uncomfortable this moon,” his wife informed him. “i went to hull myself to look for the herbs for a tea. joffrey’s name-days preparations are nearing, and i felt it too lovely a day not to go out and enjoy the sun.”
corlys nodded, “what did you see today? anything lovely?”
rhaenys hummed, leaning back into her seat, “a hilt for lucerys, some fabrics for rhaena, and also lost children. i found them offensive, so i left soon after.”
rhaenys liked to refer to bastards as so, calling them lost children, claiming that calling them so was kinder than acknowledging the fall of lust they came from.
a ball of dread slowly made its home in corlys’ stomach. “offensive? in what way?”
rhaenys’ eyes were cold as they pierced his soul; the fire reflected in her eyes made their purple color look otherworldly. “i found them offensive on behalf of my lucerys, husband-mine. why were they, low-born boys, born of silver hair and purple eyes? what if their mother believes them more worthy than my lucerys to inherit driftmark, in a misguided belief that their looks are what deems them worthy?”
the ball of dread transformed into an anvil of terror upon corlys’ heart. “my love, i–”
rhaenys held up a hand, “i will hear nothing of it, corlys. i do not care who they were born of. i knew my son, and i know you.”
“rhaenys, please,” corlys begged, shame and guilt overcoming him, making his tongue loose. “addam and alyn– those boys stand to inherit nothing, they will not come for lucerys’ claim–”
“i know they will not,” rhaenys said. her tone had stayed cool and collected throughout their entire conversation but now there was something like vicious satisfaction in her tone, “they will not be a problem. i will ensure it.”
"rhaenys! i beg of you,” corlys pleaded, “they are just spares, should the worst fate come to our doors. they will not–"
“push this issue and i shan’t forgive you, corlys,” rhaenys snapped. “they will not be a problem, and they should not have been born. lucerys is your heir, he is the only heir i will recognize. he is our grandson and future lord of the tides. not unrecognized bastards born of a low-base woman.”
there was a long stretch of silence, unbroken except for the crackle of the fire. corlys knew his wife would not budge, she never did when her mind was made up.
with a bow of his head, corlys gave in. his heart was heavy and guilt choked his throat but he much preferred to have his wife by his side than have her scorn in front of him. let that be directed to the poor bastards his wife had found.
defeated he asked, “what will be done to them?”
rhaenys smiled again and corlys realized why lucerys was as much rhaenys’ favored child as he was daemon’s. for that bloodthirst and the cold methodical glint in their purple eyes matched, all three of them.
“they will know fire and blood.”
lucerys nodded at the guards stationed in front of his grandmother’s solar, stopping before them as they announced him and opened the doors for him. his grandmother sat before the fireplace and lucerys kneeled before her chaise.
“grandmother,” he murmured. “i am here, you called for me?”
“aye, i did,” rhaenys said, her hand reaching out and tracing his cheek. “you were gone too long, i missed my sweet shadow.”
at her gentle urging, he sat next to her on the velvet chaise, patiently waiting her out as she fussed over his clothing and cape, rearranging him to her liking. when he was settled against her side, he pulled out the necklace he had brought, smiling bashfully.
“I found this in king’s landing and thought it would make a fine addition to your collection,” he said, handing her the pearl and sapphire necklace.
the blue gems were fashioned to look like hooks and the pearls dotted the curve of the precious rock. when he first came across the necklace, his first thought was to gift it to rhaena, but he remembered that his grandmother had similar earrings; and he had found a pair of gold-encrusted ruby earrings better suited to his betrothed.
rhaenys smiled at him, fingers wrapping around a stray curl and pressing a kiss upon his brow. “they will go wonderfully with my earrings for joffrey’s name-day tourney. speaking of, will prince aemond participate? i know i saw vhagar outside.”
lucerys sniffed, glancing out of the window, “uncle says he has no need for tourneys or winning them. i am yet to convince him that it would do him good to participate. i fear uncle aegon will have an easier time convincing him to agree.”
“men like him will only agree if they are promised something far sweeter,” rhaenys advised him, delighting in the flush of red that came back brighter. she nudged his shoulder, “i am sure you will think of something. or perhaps have jacaerys participate in your uncle’s stead, and give him your favor.”
“as proper targaryens do?” lucerys said, amethyst eyes twinkling in mischief. “the court already whispers that i am as much a delight as my mother and that i have men wrapped around my fingers all the same.”
“you are driftmark’s siren, beloved,” rhaenys said proudly. “men should rightfully bend the knee to you in deference. the sea’s beauty becomes you, and its fury is in your veins.” she stroked his hair, wiping away a smear of blood that he’d forgotten to clean off. “you are driftmark’s dagger, bejeweled, poisoned, and lovely.”
“father calls me the last benediction,” lucerys told her, leaning against her side. rhaenys tucked his face into her neck, wishing that he was half her size again so that she may gather him in her lap and hide him away like she used to. “he says that the kiss of my blade is a final blessing to those that rise against me, one they do not deserve.”
“i imagine daemon would gift both dark sister and blackfyre to you if he could,” rhaenys replied, amused at daemon’s almost fanatical, never-ending praise over lucerys’ skill with the blade. “he would proclaim the blades blessed if you held them in your hand for only a moment, holy if you used them in battle, i imagine.”
half of his immense pride was because of his own ego that was stroked because of the skills that lucerys demonstrated. the knowledge that he had a hand in the brutal skills and methodical kills lucerys had under his belt. the other half was dragon blood calling to dragon blood, forever thirsting for a worthy opponent. singing in delight when lucerys rose up and met daemon’s thirst for battle and reckless abandon. rhaenys had half a mind to bet that daemon would shed tears of joy the day lucerys bests him in a spar.
the look of pride that overtakes his features whenever lucerys walks into driftmark covered in blood and smelling of victory is enough to scatter the squires and pages that attend to him. daemon is often smug enough to simply lounge about in driftmark, reminiscent of how his blood wyrm stretches out upon the white beaches of driftmark during those times. corlys would sometimes take advantage of his compliance and take him to sea to brag about lucerys and his achievement. her silly husband may hide behind his noble facade, but he is as valyrian as she and her cousin. rhaenys knows he delights in knowing how fearsome their grandson is.
“ugh,” lucerys wrinkled his nose, “i much rather prefer father make me a blade with caraxes’ flame, instead. twin daggers, like the ones baela has.”
rhaenys laughed, cuddling him closer to her, their dragon’s blood humming in delight in their veins. “my spoiled, beloved boy. driftmark will thrive under your hand.”
“I’ll bring it to heights even greater than grandsire,” lucerys promised, lacing their fingers together and pressing a reverent kiss on her knuckles.
rhaenys nodded, now was the time to bring up her concerns. she disentangled them, arranging her skirts around her again. lucerys leaned away from her, sitting further so that there was some space between them, enough that he could curl a leg beneath himself while rhaenys called for a maid to bring them wine and the pastries she had brought. presenting the pastries to him, she watched as he frowned.
“these are not made by the kitchens, grandmother,” he observed, holding one of the round pieces of bread between his fingers, the golden flakes falling to his breeches.
“nay,” she said lightly, reaching to take the pastry from his fingers and tearing it apart. “i found them in hull, along with a curious sight.”
lucerys’ frown deepened as he took in the subpar tear of the bread and the too-light tone of his grandmother’s voice. he took the offered piece of bread and further tore it into pieces, finding too large clumps of fruit. base-born made, but unique enough that he could probably find them if asked to.
“was it a very curious sight, grandmother?” lucerys asked, getting up to stride over the low table in front of the fireplace, setting the pieces of bread down on the tray the maids had left and handing a goblet of wine to his grandmother.
“moreso a most shameful sight,” rhaenys sighed, accepting the goblet from him, “it seems your grandsire has kept secrets from me, and it may affect your claim to driftmark.”
something went cold in lucerys’ eyes, filling rhaenys with vicious gratification. it had taken her boy some time to accept the mantle of the heir to the throne of driftmark. but he had done it, and he had grasped onto his birthright with both hands and all the ferocity of a dragon.
he would fight to keep his birthright, she knew. his stance was unwavering, standing before her as he accepted her damnation of the newly discovered threat. her devoted, loyal dagger.
“who do i look for?” lucerys asked quietly, his hand drifting to rest upon the hilt of his cherished dagger. his sword he had given to the guards outside, unwilling to bring such a weapon into the solar of his grandmother.
“she is small and quick. smells of sea brine and honey, barefoot and manning a stall of few trinkets and pastries like these,” rhaenys described gesturing to the pastries on the table, “the boys are adam and alyn, five and ten and three and ten. not trained in the sword and only knowing of labor. they are on the outskirts of the hull marketplace, further inland. she is of dark hair and blue eyes, and they are of silver hair and purple eyes.”
a sharp inhalation was the only reaction she heard, and she knew those boys' fates were sealed.
"bastards?" he said softly, like the whisper of a sword being drawn, the soft song of a blade slicing through the air in a deadly arc.
in it, rhaenys heard a lifetime of uncertainty, of that word hurled at his back. his dark features, arryn and baratheon from both his parents, a condemnation and a source of scorn from those in court. how long he'd gone uncertain of his sire, of shame at his own looks.
his velaryon white hair had only come after laenor had left, lucerys and jacaerys’ grief over their father’s “death” so great it changed their hair color. little joffrey’s hair color changed shortly after his third nameday, and it had been a bittersweet event, for he was a near copy of her son.
rhaenys’ heart ached at the lie her grandsons were living, but it was safer for them to believe their father was dead. she hoped that her grandsons would forgive them for the lie, for the pain they lived through. she hoped they would forgive them for playing the game of the throne.
"of valyrian descent?" his tone quiet, his eyes blazing, lucerys looked like the benediction daemon claimed he was.
rhaenys nodded, eyes on his face. sorrow, anger, and resentment crossed over his face before his features settled on a blank slate. rhaenys dug their graves even deeper.
"their mother claims they are laenor's," she said. lucerys remained unmoved, but she could hear arrax's screech from here, furious and full-throated. perhaps lucerys will feed their bodies to his dragon.
“what do you think?” lucerys came closer, reaching out for her hands. rhaenys tugged him down to her side once again, uncaring that her skirts were underneath him. he curled up on her side, tucking his face into her neck again. “whose are they?”
his hands did not tremble, and his breath was steady, but there was a steady thrum of hatred in the rigidness of his shoulders. he was the calm before the storm, he was the hurricane’s eye.
“i know my son,” rhaenys murmured, “i know my husband.”
it was all she had to say to have lucerys nodding. “i will make them disappear, and you will have eyes to match the tongues i’ve given you, grandmother.”
rhaenys smiled grimly, reaching towards her traveling bag and pulling out the hilt she had gotten for him. it was a gorgeous thing, velaryon blue and trimmed in gold. it would go nicely on lucerys’ sword, perhaps rhaenys will commission similar hilts for his daggers, so that they may match.
lucerys took the hilt with gentle hands, “thank you, grandmother. i will return victorious.”
rhaenys smiled, “i know you will, my dagger.”