. . . 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐚 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 . . .
The halls of the Red Keep are bustling with handmaidens, Lords and knights alike as they go to their respective stations and occupy their rightful duties. As usual, a quiet chatter fills each hallway as people make haste. But when the Sun reaches its peak, the crowd instinctively split themselves in two as a figure with a head of white darted through the long halls, her locks flying behind her and showcasing her bright smile to the Realm. In her hands, she clutches the ends of her blossom pink dress to ensure she doesn't trip on her way to her destination.
It had not been an unusual sight for the people of the Keep to see the young Princess sprinting as fast as she could to reach her mother's chambers. The whole castle had memorized her routine, and as it reached midday, they knew they would catch the sight of a rushing Princess. But today it seemed she was late.
Following after her at a safer pace was her Sworn Knight, Ser Quince, who had a head of messy blonde hair and a matching scruff at the tip of his chin. The Princess would like to think the two of them were friends, but with their age gap of almost Ten and One years and different stations, people would find it hard to believe how a Princess and a Knight could be friends.
"Perhaps the Princess would like to slow down to avoid getting hurt?"
Each day the same question is asked. And each day, the request is denied.
"Perhaps not, Ser! Now, please, keep haste!"
As they began nearing the doors to her mother's chambers, the Princess sets off in a faster sprint, bursts of giggles leaving her lips as the sound of a huffing and puffing Ser Quince matched her in pace.
Slamming open, the doors had alerted all those in the chamber to move their attention to the new entry with apprehension. But at the sight of the frequent visitor, they all breathed a sigh of relief.
With a gasp for breathe, Daenys reveals a teethy grin as she happily greets the exhausted and sweating woman resting on her bed. Making her way towards her, the Princess gives a greeting to those she passes. Ser Quince, giving a nod to his Queen, stands outside of the chambers and takes position in front of the doors.
"My sweet girl," the Queen greets back, an arm moving up so that it gave enough room for Daenys to lay next to her and cuddle into her side. Taking note of the time, she questions her daughter with a raised eyebrow. "Where were you?"
With a sigh, the girl leans her head into the side of her mother's neck. With one hand resting her pregnant belly, Aemma uses the other to caress the head of hair resting upon her daughters head.
With a quiet hum, Aemma encourages her daughter to indulge her in what has caused her lateness. A rare thing for her daughter, who never liked to be late. With a pout, Daenys reveals the reason.
"The Septa kept me overtime." She whines, looking up at her mother from where she rested comfortably. "I even had no time to get us cake!"
The Queen lets out a laugh. A sound that leaves her often when in the presence of her youngest. She shakes her head, nudging her nose to the crown of Daenys' head. "I think me and you have both eaten enough cake for a lifetime!"
With a gasp, the Princess lifts her head up slightly. "Do not be ridiculous..." Her giggles interrupt her attempt at a serious lecture, and soon after, Aemma finds herself joining in. Her own childish giggles leaving her dry lips.
As the years passed, the Queen had gone through many pregnancies. Too many to count, and yet had no children to prove of such battles. Each one had been their own failure, and each left their own mark on Aemma that took a piece of her with them as they were just out of reach once more. Every pregnancy sucked the life out of her slowly ── she had become weaker and so tired. Tired of the pain, tired of the wasted hope. The constant failures left a dark cloud over Aemma, that loomed over her with ill intent, but what was she meant to do? Beg to the Gods? She had already tried. But why would they listen to her, a mere woman, who could not even do her duty to the Realm and her husband, the King? Her children, if they survived the labours, did not last past their first name day. Though she had not managed to bring forth any sons like the Realm had wanted, she had been gifted with two daughters. And while neither bore a cock, Aemma was grateful for them. They were her world, her peace. But it needn't matter what Aemma felt or thought. If she could not bring forth a son, what use did she have? What was the need to listen to a woman who could not do her own duty? But Aemma knew herself better than anyone, and knew the cycle would only continue if these pregnancies continued. So, perhaps, later that night she should confide in her husband. No more pregnancies and no more loss. She had lost too many, her heart could not take it anymore. She was confident her husband would listen, he was a kind man after all and he loved her. He would understand.
It seemed that she slowly began to lose her spirit as her body weakened, but no matter how ill she became, the presence of her daughter always seemed to brighten her and make her young again.
Lost in her thoughts, Aemma is brought back to her body by her own grunt. Daenys goes to sit up in worry, but her mother's tight grip on her restricts her movement.
"Mother?" She asks, worried. "What is wrong?"
Aemma smiles, and at the sight of it, Daenys furrows her brows.
"Instead of me telling you," the Queen takes a hold of one of Daenys' hands and brings it on top of her pregnant belly. "Let me show you."
With a small downward turn of the lips, Daenys gazes at the hand that rests upon her mother's belly. For a moment, she worries that her sibling causes her mother discomfort, but at the feel of a sudden kick, she gasps. What is that?
"It seems your sibling is happy that you are here and wants to see you." Aemma tells her as if being able to read her thoughts. She laughs at the look of shock on her daughter's face, and at the slight confusion, she clarifies. "The babe is kicking, Dany."
"Does...does it not hurt?"
"Pregnancy hurts, sweet girl." Aemma gently pulls the girl back into her side, smiling at the fact her daughter's hand remains positioned on her belly. "But it gives me comfort. It is the babe's way of telling me I am not alone, and that they are still here with me."
As her fingers caress the fabric covering the pregnant bump, Daenys looks up to her mother. "You will never be alone, mother," She assures, confidently. "As long as I am here, you will never be alone."
With damp eyes, Aemma kisses the crown of Daenys' head, her lips morphing into a smile as they rest upon her forehead.
The chamber rests in a silence for a time. The mother and daughter embracing the peace that surrounded them and the attendants that hustle around and do their respective jobs. But, as usual, their silence is broken by its usual culprit.
Entering the chambers is the Queen's firstborn, Rhaenyra, who is followed closely by her closest friend, Alicent Hightower.
As Rhaenyra makes her way towards her mother and sister, Daenys lets her eyes move past her and to Alicent. With a small smile, she quietly greets her, but Alicent seems to easily be able to hear her as her eyes were already on her, a soft smile being sent back.
Full of lectures, Aemma turns to her eldest with a frown before Rhaenyra is even able to sit.
"Rhaenyra...you know I do not like it when you go flying while I am in this condition."
"You do not like me flying while you are in any condition," Rhaenyra corrects. "Yet, neither you or father mind when Daenys rides at the late hours of the night."
Aemma doesn't seem to hear her last comment as she turns to face the young girl situated by the door. Rhaenyra sighs, rolling her eyes wholeheartedly.
With a curtsy, Alicent greets the Queen softly. "Your Grace."
Greeting her back kindly, Aemma nods her head. "Good morrow, Alicent."
"Have you slept?" Rhaenyra is quick to question, a hand resting on her sister's calf.
"I do not need mothering, Rhaenyra," the Queen sighs. "I get enough of it from this one as it is." She gives a look to Daenys, shaking her by the shoulders slightly, and bathes in the small giggles that leaves her lips.
"Well, here you are, surrounded by attendants that are all focused on the babe." The Princess defends, eyes roaming across the people who are situated in the chamber. "Someone has to attend to you."
"You will lie in this bed soon enough, Rhaenyra." Aemma reminds her daughter. The thought of it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth at the thought of her daughters becoming mothers, leaving the nest and only being able to talk through letters. She knew it were inevitable, but that fact did not dishearten the dull ache in her heart. "This discomfort is how we server the Realm."
"I would rather serve as a knight, and ride into battle and glory." The girl grins, but it slightly diminishes at the sounds of laughter in the room. Lifting her head up, Daenys gives a narrowed glance to them all in her sister's defense.
"You would look beautiful in armour, 'Nyra." Daenys compliments, her foot going to push Rhaenyra in the side slightly. Her sister gives her a wink in return.
"Yes, well, we have royal wombs. You, me, Daenys...the child bed is our battlefield. And we must learn to face it with a stiff lip." She finishes, though the sickening though does not leave with it. Would they suffer the same fate as her, bearing no sons, struggling to bring forth a child? What if their husbands were not like their father and were ruthless and cold?
With a sigh, Aemma gives a teasing smirk to Rhaenyra. "Now, take a bath. You stink of dragon." She turns to Daenys, an eyebrow raised. "And I believe you have a cupbearer duty to uphold."
• • •
"What happened to your bath?" Daenys questions as Rhaenyra interlocks their arms, leading them to the Council chamber. She teasingly takes a sniff of the air, before letting sticking her tongue out and pretending to gag. "Mother was right. You kill the senses!"
With a shake of her head, Rhaenyra laughs as she pushes Daenys gently. "I am a cupbearer too, sister," She grins. "Do not want us to be even later, do we?"
Daenys goes to pinch at her nose to pretend to block out Rhaenyra's whiff, but as they make it to the chambers, she moves her hand away.
"And are we meant to weep for dead pirates?"
As the two enter the room, they just about hear as someone denies.
"Rhaenyra, Daenys, you are late. The King's cupbearers must not be late, it leaves people wanting for cups." The King mused, taking in the sight of his daughters who make their way towards him.
"I was visiting mother," Rhaenyra informs, who bends down to kiss his cheek. But as she goes to rise, Viserys takes a hold of her arm.
"On dragon back?" He questions, an eyebrow raised before leaving her to poor the cups. Turning to his youngest, Viserys reveals a fond smile. "My dear Daenys," he greets as she moves towards him, gifting him with her own kiss on the cheek. He asks her the same question, as it was unusual for Daenys to ever not be on time.
"My Septa kept me late," she pouted. "And I had to visit mother. No excuses."
"Perhaps I should talk to your Septa?" The King brings forth as his daughter stands.
"No need to add anymore stress onto your shoulders. My lessons running overtime are not the worst of your problems." She reassures, but she knew that her father would be going through with it either way. She rubs his shoulder for a moment before moving to the cups and wine.
"Your Grace, at Prince Daemon's urging, the Crown has invested significant capital in the re-training and re-equipping of his City Watch. I thought you might urge your brother to fill his seat on the council and provide an assessment of his progress as Commander of the Watch." Lyman Beesbury says.
Daenys moves to the other side of her father, and to his Hand, the increasingly imperious Ser Otto Hightower, and fills his cup. Otto Hightower had held the position of Hand of the King long before Daenys' own father had ascended the throne. Before him, he had served her great grandfather, the King Jaehaerys. And with time, people were able to gain a glimpse of the true nature of the man. He was full of ambition, and with his ruthlessness──as well as her father's reliance on him──he had earned him much enmity at Court.
She greets him quietly as to not interrupt the meeting.
He returns it with his own. "Thank you, Princess." He says as she finishes pouring him a cup. With another smile, she leaves him, moving onto another Lord.
"Do you think Daemon is distracted by his present tasks? And that his thoughts and energies are occupied?" questioned Viserys.
The discussion of her uncle brought an amused lift of the lips to Daenys. Even when not present, he still manages to make a rise out of people. A talent she knows he is proud of.
When her father had ascended the Throne, he had granted his brother offices (after denying of putting aside his marriage): Master of Coins for a year, and Master of Laws for half. But for both of these positions, her uncle was ill-suited for the duties. And, unsurprisingly, it had been Ser Otto Hightower who had been the one to convince the King to relieve him again of those positions. The King then made his brother the Commander of the City Watch. A duty that Daemon greatly preferred, and was better suited for. And for a time, his position seemed to satisfy the Prince. However, it did not satisfy the Hand. Ser Otto Hightower greatly disliked the Prince, and it had been a mutual feeling between the men.
Their disagreements humored Daenys greatly.
The topic of her uncle was swiftly pushed underneath the carpet as Lord Corlys speaks.
"I would urge that you do not allow this Triarchy much latitude in the Stepstones, Your Grace. If those shipping lanes should fall, it will beggar our ports..."
"The Crown has heard your report, Lord Corlys, and takes it under advisement."
"Shall we discuss the Heir's Tournament, Your Grace?"
"I would be delighted." Viserys brightened, his interest peaking as he smiles happily. "Will the Maesters' name day prediction hold, Mellos?"
"You must understand that these things are mere estimations, my King, but we have all been poring over the moon charts, and we feel that our forecast is as accurate as it can be." Mellos informs him.
Beesbury interjects, "The cost of the tournament is not negligible. Perhaps we might delay until the child is in hand?"
And as the Council continues, the noise dims in Daenys' ears as her eyes focus on the wine she pours into each of the Lords' cups. A crimson red, and if she squinted, she could see the dark outline of her face in the reflection. She just about registers the ending of the meeting, where everyone makes their way out. As the last Lord leaves, she makes her way to her father.
With a hand resting on his shoulder, she gives him a grin.
"I believe I am to expect a brother, too, father." She encourages honestly. She leans in closer, her voice a whisper as if she were to be sharing a secret, and even in the quiet tone, he can hear the excitement that fills her. "I felt him kick."
Viserys looks down at his daughter with a loving smile. He brings a hand to rest on her head, stroking the soft locks of hair that fell past her shoulders. Her periwinkle eyes look up to him with childlike wonder and excitement, and it seemed only yesterday when Viserys had held her for the first time. Where she had only a tuff of white on her head, and everything she glanced at would be viewed with awe. It had seemed like time had slipped through his fingers, and he was unable to grasp onto the fragments of it all as his daughters blossomed into young women, leaving that innocent wonder with them. Viserys sighs, softly, eyes admiring his daughter.
"My darling girl..."
! obamabab speaks !
look at me w
the dress symbolization
( pink = love, youth, sweetness )
I WANT MORE
i <3 aemma !!