Terms of Endearment │Part I: The Princess and the Rogue

Chapter 26: Isle

THE PRINCESS

Laena had awoken lethargic and disoriented on the day following her labours, her voice little but a weak croak from the strain of screaming as she had brought baby Corwyn forth. "My son," was the first thing she had asked. "Where is my son?"

You had smiled through tears as Ser Harwin helped your cousin cradle her babe, a fine boy with toffee skin and hair as dark as his father's. It is interesting to note the differences between him and his elder sisters, Baela and Rhaena, with their silver locks and azure stares. Little Corwyn already has the Valyrian look about his own eyes, the indigo paling to violet more and more as the days pass. Laena's children are perfect blends of their begetters, a mix of Velaryon and Strong features in equal measure.

Save for a small but persistent bleed from her womb, your cousin improves with each sunrise, a tincture of ergot and yarrow having been prescribed by Grand Maester Mellos to be taken with each meal. It is supposedly an experimental concoction, but Laena had gratefully conceded to his recommendation.

"I thought I was going to die," she had said to you shakily, still frail, backs of her fingers petting the downy-soft flesh of her babe's cheek, utterly besotted with every twitch, every fuss, every whine that had emitted from the infant. "If it is this potion which has granted me my life, then I shall take it as often as I must."

With the Grand Maester having declared Laena well enough to make the journey by sea to Dragonstone, the preparations begin afresh. It is with dolorous spirit that your father receives the news of your own departure to the isle from you and Daemon while taking luncheon. It is a tense affair, facing off against Alicent and Lord Hightower across the table. The Queen has retreated further from you into the company of her own father, though you have little time to lament the freeness of conversations past in the bustle of planning.

You had firmly reminded your husband to be on his best behaviour, fearing that his usual witticisms will emerge in the presence of the Lord Hand and spoil your chances at securing wardship of your siblings. Having grown accustomed to his character, it seemed a reasonable assumption that he might attempt to derail the meal by doing his best to nettle the other man. He had rolled his eyes and pinched your waist through your shift as you had rifled through your half-emptied wardrobe in search of an appropriate gown, capitulating begrudgingly to your request.

"The Keep will be much quieter without yourself and the Prince's presence, Your Highness," Otto says after you inform your company of the decision. "It seems we will have none but my own grandchildren as young representatives of House Targaryen at court."

He has provided the perfect segue to your own aims; you swallow nervously.

"... Actually, Papa"—you narrow your eyes at Daemon when he huffs lightly—"my lady stepmother; I did wish to make a petition to you in regard to Helaena and Daeron."

The King hums inquisitively as he chews, mouth full. Alicent watches you with inquiring eyes. You press forward.

"It is the tradition of the Seven Kingdoms to foster noble children away from their parents when they have weaned." You try to gauge the expressions of the three individuals around the table. From the light pursing of lips, it appears Lord Hightower understands your meaning immediately. "And yet, House Targaryen has not partaken in this convention in some generations—at all, in fact, if I recall correctly."

"Well, yes." Viserys chuckles wryly, dabbing at his mouth with a cloth. "I should think the reason obvious."

Maegor. Aegon and Rhaena. Yes, the reason is obvious. With all the familial in-fighting, House Targaryen had long lacked the security to engage in such practices.