Bewitched {Being Rewritten}

Chapter Three

"Good fortune to you, uncle." The Lady of Driftmark spoke, dropping her wreath of flowers onto the lance.

The drums beat again as the banners around the arena were changed to mark which houses were competing. Both knights moved to opposite ends of the fields, readying themselves to charge. Darla stifled her laughter as the Baratheon was almost instantly knocked from his horse by the unknown knight.

Darla moved slightly, meeting the eyes of one of the kingsguard stationed throughout the small space. She tilted her head, signaling the man to come closer. The dark haired knight followed the attendant's silent request.

"Do you know the identity of this mysterious knight, Ser Rickard?" Darla spoke softly, not wishing to draw attention to herself.

"His name is Ser Criston of House Cole of the Stormlands, son of Lord Dondarrion's steward and commonborn," Ser Rickard glanced to Darla, smirking as he met her eyes. "Much like my favorite whore."

Darla hummed, looking the tall knight up and down. "I was under the impression that when one received their white cloak they had to rid themselves of all previous equipment." Darla pointedly looked to the space between the man's legs before lifting her gaze.

"There are other ways to pleasure a woman." Ser Rickard chuckled, moving back to his post as the drums began beating once more.

The second group of contestants rode out on their horses, forming a line facing the royal box. The banners were switched to fields of black embellished with a red three-headed dragon. The Master of Revels, a short and stout man wearing a feathered hat,  walked out onto the pitch and joined the contestants in facing the king.

"Prince Daemon of House Targaryen," The fat man called out. "Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent!"

The crowd erupted into cheers as Daemon Targaryen rode out on a pure black steed. His armor and helm were a similar shade, each made to resemble scales. Two wings sprouted from the sides of the prince's head, a hideous decision choice if Darla was asked.

The prince directed his horse to trot in front of the other contestant, moving up the line until he reached the end. He turned back around, stooping in front of a knight dressed in silver and dark green. His lance swung down pointing at the Hightower boy's chest.

"For his first challenge, Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King." The Master of Revels announced, as the two knights moved to opposing sides of the pitch.

As the drums reached a crescendo the contestants were off, rushing to meet each other in the middle of the field. Steel met wood with a crash, as Ser Gwayne's lance hit the prince in the chest and knocked him back slightly. The opponents quickly raced back to the end's of the field. As the prince urged his horse forward, he held his lance out straight. In the last moment before their lances would hit their targets, Prince Daemon shifted, swinging his lance lower and striking the horse's legs. The beast fell, throwing Ser Gwayne forward. The man's helmet flew off as he hit dirt, his body skidding across the ground.

His body remained still as the prince rode around the arena, arm held aloft in victory. Servants and squires rushed onto the field, lifting the knight's limp body to safety.

Darla silently seethed as the princess jumped to her feet and met her uncle, not caring to comfort her friend. The Lady Alicent followed after a moment, hesitantly standing behind the princess. Darla's jaw clenched as the bloodthirsty prince, pointed his lance in Alicent's direction. A small smile lit up the teen's face as she turned to pick up her wreath, though it quickly fell as she met her father's eyes. Darla's pointed gaze turned to the Hand, burning holes into the back of his head.

"Are you Darla?" A voice whispered from beside the attendant causing her to turn. A young servant girl stood beside Darla, plucking at the light brown apron she wore. A midwife, Darla realized.

"What is it?" Darla questioned.

"The Grand Maester has requested the King's presence in the Queen's chambers."

Darla quickly feigned a sense of immense concern. "What is wrong? Is the Queen alright?"

The young midwife shook her head and begun to speak, believing she had found an equally caring individual. "The babe, it is breech. And the Grand Maester is unable to turn it."

Darla nodded, squeezing the girl's arm as she passed. She quickly made her way back to the King, kneeling behind his seat to whisper in his ear. Viserys abruptly stood up, motioning for Darla to follow him as he left the Royal box.

★・・・・・・★

The Queen's pained screams had been heard long before they reached her rooms, echoing so thoroughly through the halls it was a miracle her cries had not been heard over the crowds. Upon entering the apartments, Darla moved to stand against one of the walls, watching as the King quietly conversed with the Grand Maester.

She watched the white haired woman writhe on the sheets, crying out as her body tried to force out a babe that refused to leave. It was a terrible sight, one Darla would have preferred to never have seen. Through the sea of maesters and midwives, watery blue eyes met Darla's own dark ones. All previous times Darla had met the Queen's gaze it had burned with hatred, though now it was bright with fear. Almost as if the older woman was pleading with Darla to do something.

Darla tore her gaze from the Queen as Viserys approached, joining her against the wall.

"What is happening, Your Grace?" Darla whispered as more midwives surrounded the bed, removing the pillows and blankets.

"Does not matter, it shall be over soon enough." The lack of emotion in Viserys' voice worried Darla. Her eyes flitted over to the woman as she began to question what was happening.

"What do you mean?"

"I shall have a son, an heir, and that is all you should concern yourself with," The King spoke, taking Darla's hand in his own. "I will be in need of a new wife however."

Darla froze as the King's words sank in and the midwives descended upon the Queen, grabbing tightly to her arms and legs as the Grand Maester climbed onto the mattress. The older woman cried for her husband as her shift was pulled back, exposing her swollen stomach. Darla's stomach turned as the Grand Maester brought his hand down, something held tightly in his fist gleamed in the sunlight.

"We're making the first incision." The Grand Maester announced.

Darla ripped her gaze from the Queen, staring out the windows across from her. Her mind raced, questioning if that was to be her fate. She took a deep breath attempting to calm herself. Viserys wished for her to be his wife, but that position was vulnerable.

No, Darla thought, she could not be Queen. She could not allow Viserys to become dependent on her for an heir. She needed someone else, someone easily manipulated. An image of glowing auburn curls filled her mind.

An easy smile pulled at her lips, as she turned to face the King. Her hand not held by Viserys lifted to cup the side of his face, pulling him down so their lips met. The King sank into the kiss all while his wife was cut open mere feet away.

The sound of a baby crying caused the two to separate, turning to see the Grand Maester approaching them a bundle of cloth held tight in his arms. "Congratulations, Your Grace. You have a son."

"It's a boy?" Viserys questioned, a smile lighting up his face.

"A new heir, Your Grace. Had you and the Queen chosen a name?" Mellos questioned, passing the babe to the King.

"Baelon," Viserys beamed down at the babe in his arms. "My heir."

All was peaceful for a moment, before a quiet choking sound filled the room as the babe began to struggle to breathe.

AN: In case you haven't seen I made a trailer/edit for Darla and Alicent and put it on the first page(?) so please check it out
Also ik Rhaenys calls him cousin in the show but it's  Boremund that asks for her favor not Borros. Boremund is Jocelyn Baratheon's brother aka Rhaenyra's uncle. (He's also her dads uncle but we won't get into that)
-ELE