Chapter Text
Tywin knew his wife would be displeased, but he had not expected her to hold true to her family's words, she rained down fire and blood upon him. She barely spoke to her over the next moon, and stared at his hand pin with disdain over tense dinners. Still, as their child grew within her, she became more and more radiant.
He watched her, when time permitted, as she cared for their children and sewed diligently, little doublets and dresses, unsure of which their new child would wear. She was pregnant with just one, this time, it seemed. But she still whispered sweetly to her stomach and did not venture far from the Tower of the Hand.
The Hand of the King spent his days in small council meetings, finding Aerys to be a capable leader, despite his wife's fears. The king had managed to negotiate a larger portion of fruit and grain from the Reach for a minimal reduction in taxes, allowing their stores to refill after the recent winter. Lord Redwyne had increased the amount of Arbor Gold wine in the capital almost two fold, a gesture of goodwill towards the king's recent coronation, and to earn his good brother's praise in hopes of a seat on the small council. A Tully was already Master of Ships, and a Redwyne had been coveting the position ever since.
"Any news from your birds, Varys?" Aerys asked the newest member of the council. Varys was an interesting man, a eunuch who simpered more than he spoke, but more often than not, his words rang true. Varys did not need dragon dreams when he had little birds to whisper to him.
"A raven arrived from Lord Baratheon, it seems his bride has gotten with child again." Varys stated neutrally, "While Minisa Tully has given Lord Hoster a daughter, Catelyn. Lord Rickard has also written of a second son, Eddard."
Tywin watched the rage flash in Aerys' eyes, but the king only nodded. His cousin, Johanna, had also had a son, who they named Jason after her father. He held his tongue with that information, knowing how the king had vied for the Queen's handmaiden a few years ago. "Send the appropriate gifts then." Tywin spoke, waving a dismissive hand. The day had been long, and he wished to return to his wife and eat dinner in their chambers, just them and their children in the Tower of the Hand.
He knew better than to approach the topic, Aerys was a just ruler, but as a man his pride was wounded over the lack of another living child. Tywin did not need Varys to tell him of the stillbirths and heavy moon bloods the Queen experienced. Diana had been visiting her sister less and less as she herself grew larger with their child, it pained Rhaella to see her that way, they all knew.
With the council dismissed, Tywin was about to leave when he noticed the king had not moved. The room cleared out, and when they were alone Aerys spoke, "Rhaella carried a child for three moons, a son this time." His voice was cold, "She told no one she was with child, a servant found her in a bed of blood, I have confined her to her quarters, no visitors for now."
Tywin was silent for a moment, "As you wish, your grace." The Hand stood from his seat, "It would be best if this information was kept quiet, your grace."
"No one is to know, not even Lady Diana." Aerys commanded, his violet eyes hard. He stood then too, and moved to leave the room. Tywin followed him with his eyes, and watched the pieces on the board move in his mind, the game of thrones was a complex one.
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Diana found her dreams were stronger when she was with child, perhaps it was because Valyrian blood ran in their veins as well. " A Dragon is worth more than two commoners, your grace." She had dreamed herself saying the words for three nights in a row, sees her hands outstretched, her red dragon egg being offered.
Diana does not know who she is speaking to, but the lilt of panic of her voice is palpable, her reluctance to call the two she spoke of commoners has her falter slightly. Who is she speaking to, and about whom? In her dream, there is only darkness, save for the green fire and the bright red egg, glowing hot.
Her hand falls to her stomach, she feels like a fat house cat rather than a lady lion, the Maester claims her child would come into the world any way. Diana hopes to dream of her child, but all she ever hears is herself speaking of dragons and commoners. Would Tywin let her give the child another Valaryian name, like Visenya? Or would he insist on a Lannister name, like Lancel? As if reading her thoughts, the babe kicks.
The Tower of the Hand has a lovely view from the top floor, but Diana finds it isolated. She has not spoken to her sister in weeks, the Queen was avoiding her and she, her. The pain that etched into Rhaella's face when she thought no one was looking broke Diana's heart. Barristan Selmy, a recent installation to the King's Guard, stood before the Queen's door and tried to carefully craft an excuse of why her sister was unavailable whenever Diana tried to see her. After a third failed attempt, and an even more pitiful excuse, Diana stopped trying.
Diana's rage at her husband had lulled over the months they had spent in King's Landing, mainly because every night he insisted on sharing her chambers, sleeping with his palm pressed firmly to her ever growing stomach, accepting every kick of their child as if it were a rare gift.
She hated that this was enough for her, to be with him every night, even though was always up and gone before the sun rose, leaving her waking to a long cold bed.
The twins enjoyed the gardens, and the lavish name day presents that the court had presented them with for their second year of life. It would be time to write for a Septa for Alysanne soon, though Diana was loath to have a woman whose sole purpose was to ensure her daughter become a proper lady and follower of the Seven. Diana had shared a Septa with her sister, a woman named Septa Lizette, a stern woman who made embroidery sound like the most important thing a Lady could ever learn.
Sure, her stitches were straight and small, but she had a seamstress for things she did not have time to make on her own. Septa Lizette had given her lessons in the form of parables from the Seven, and Diana retold them to her own children, and to the orphans she passed goods out to, finding it kept her in good standing with the High Septon and the Faith.
She stood from her desk in her solar, it was a floor below her husband's in the Tower of the Hand, and gasped when the front of her gown was suddenly soaked. Water trickled down her legs and onto the floor, and a contraction had her gasping for breath. "G-guards!" Her voice was shaking slightly, it was time to meet her child.