Chapter Text
RHAENYS
Jon blinked owlishly. His mouth worked, but no words came out. When they did, he was unsure, stammering. “Are you sure?”
Rhaenys nodded glumly. She remembered his reluctance and fear of fathering bastards. Gods, she wished she had not grown lax in drinking the moon tea Marela prepared for her. Did some part of her want Jon’s seed to take hold? Of course she did, but it never seemed pressing after the first time she failed to take it, and then a second, and then nothing happened - and of course it did not, because pregnancies did not happen all at once, and she berated herself for being so foolish. They did not couple every night, but they did at least every other night, and always more than once.
”I have been feeling sick in the mornings this last week, but it was never severe. I marked it as some sort of camp fever… but at tea with Arianne the smell of the tea repulsed me this morning and I retched it all up. My moon blood ought to have come a day or two ago.” She placed a hand on her belly. There was the slightest hint of firmness there. “I can feel it, Jon.”
Jon seemed entranced. He took a tentative step towards her, then another, closing the distance between them. He reached out his hand, slowly, and placed it on her belly. “A child?” he whispered, half to himself. Their eyes met. Rhaenys searched them desperately, but there was no hint of anger or rage in them.
”Please, say something. I’m sorry-“
He cut her off with a fierce kiss. It was hungry, possessive, and overwhelming. Tears streamed down her face as emotion blossomed within her. She wrapped her arms behind his neck and returned the kiss just as desperately. Outside, there was a shuffling of feet, and then she heard Bran's voice, in urgent tones, with Ser Barristan responding. She only pulled apart from Jon to have Bran burst in, half-dressed in armor. "Jon!" he shouted. Whatever they must have looked like in that moment, it clearly caught Bran off guard, for he looked fixatedly at the ground beneath their feet, not at them directly, and his face flushed red.
"What is it, little brother?" Jon said.
"The king has called an council. Theon's outriders pulled back when they saw banners coming up the Kingsroad across the Blackwater Rush."
"Banners?" Jon frowned. "Whose banners?"
"I don't know," Bran said. "Robb sent me to find you, that's all I was told."
Jon nodded. He stooped and wiped a tear from Rhaenys' eyes. "Come, love. We'll talk more of it later. Bran, attend me." They swept out of the tent, and Ser Barristan followed after them dutifully. The walk towards the command tent was a short one, but enough for Rhaenys to see that the entire camp was abuzz. Men ran to and fro, dousing fires, putting on their armor and sharpening their weapons. Serjeants bellowed foul-tongued commands as squires hastily helped their knights dress for battle and saddled their horses. The tent was filled with lords, but at Ser Barristan's presence they parted way for her and Jon. "Make way for the Prince and Princess," cried a voice. "Make way!"
Viserys leaned over a map at the center of the table. He was surrounded by Robb and Uncle Oberyn and Lord Edmure and the other highest ranking bannermen. Theon Greyjoy was there too, his face red and damp from sweat and exertion. He looked at them with a frown.
"Your Grace?" Jon said.
Viserys looked up at the both of them. His eyes lingered on her for a second. "Good, you're both here. Lord Greyjoy, please fill in Prince Aemon on what you saw."
"Banners, Jon - we crossed the Blackwater Rush at the ford an hour and a half past, but no sooner did we get across did we crest a hill and see an enormous army marching from the south. They came up the Kingsroad, from the direction of the Stormlands, if I had to guess. But they had dragon banners. Targaryen banners. Tyrell banners. They are a large host. I don't have a good count, but if I had to wager, I'd say there are near as many of them as there are of us."
"Lady Stark?" Jon asked. But Rhaenys' heart said no. Lady Stark was not so irresponsible to not send a raven, unless their ravens had been shot down. But that seemed unlikely to her.
"I don't know," Robb said. "She would have sent word."
"Aye, she would have," Jon said. "Your Grace, we could send a party with a flag of parley, to see who comes and ascertain their intentions."
"So advises the rest of the council," Viserys said. His voice was flat, but Rhaenys could sense anger under those words. "It concerns me that we had so little in the ways of eyes and ears that we could not see the Reach on the march until now. Prince Oberyn, I would speak to you about that later. Prince Aemon, you have command of the siege. Do you advise parley?"
"A parley as much as it would be a scouting mission," Jon said. "We need to know who comes, and why the Reach has stirred now. But do not stop the army from assembling. If we need to give battle, then we need to be ready. We should assemble our forces at the ford and be ready to defend the river crossing. Post men near the gates of King's Landing to watch for Stannis if he plans to sally forth. We need to keep a line of withdrawal open if we choose to yield the siege. If we are caught unawares we will all be slaughtered, that much is a certainty. We should send a small party north up the kingsroad to see how far away Lady Greyjoy is with her four thousand. Command her to watch the city gates and ensure our retreat lies unhindered."
"Retreat?" said Lord Edmure. "We are on the verge of victory."
"We were on the verge of victory, my lord," Jon retorted. "Now we could be on the verge of disaster. It would be a smaller defeat to yield the siege and to regroup at Harrenhal with the rest of our forces than it would be to die here outside the city."
Robb made a noise of agreement. "Jon speaks truly, Your Grace. This may not be a battle we need commit to."
There was a pregnant pause as Viserys seemed to consider their words. "Very well. Assemble the army. Lord Stark, Lord Tully - once you have seen to your forces, come and join me with five of your most trusted banners. And you as well, Prince Oberyn. That will be our party to parley with the Tyrells. Lord Greyjoy, set pickets and see to our avenue of retreat if need be. Locate your sister and relay the Prince's orders. We trust in you and your outriders."
"At once, Your Grace." Theon bowed and left the tent, barking orders.
As men began to filter out under Robb and Lord Edmure and Uncle Oberyn's watch, she and Jon remained behind. The tent was empty save for Ser Brynden and Ser Barristan, and Bran who hung back behind Jon. "Your Grace, there is something pressing. It may not be solved now but the news of it cannot wait." Viserys arched an eyebrow in curiosity.
"Go on then," he said.
Jon shared a glance with her. Her eyes widened as she realized what he was about to do, but before she could say anything, Jon turned back to Viserys. "Rhaenys believes she is with child. Our child."
A deathly silence seemed to fill the room. Rhaenys reddened and her hand flew instinctively to her belly, a movement that did not go unnoticed by Viserys. He looked at Jon for a few moments, and then turned back to her. His eyes were wholly unreadable to her. Say something, she thought desperately. She wished Jon had given her warning, for it was all too rushed now, with battle bearing down on them.
"Sers," Viserys said slowly. "Guard the entrance to the tent, and leave me with my niece and nephew."
"Your Grace, I-" Ser Barristan said. The old knight looked as shocked as she might have expected.
"This is a private matter of the household, Ser. I must deal with it as the head of the house. Leave. You as well, Brandon Stark," Viserys commanded. His voice brooked no dissent.
"Bran, saddle my horse and meet me in my tent," Jon ordered. Bran nodded, and the two kingsguard and Bran filtered out of the tent, and Viserys began to pace slowly.
"You both have been careless," he said. "I would have believed you to have taken the necessary precautions. You have always been level-headed, Rhaenys."
"She did take the precautions," Jon said in defense of her. "They do not always succeed in preventing things. Your Grace-"
"You may dispense with the title, Aemon," Viserys said. "You are to be the father of my great-nephew or niece, and we are family besides."
"Uncle," Jon said, more carefully, hesitantly. "I vowed never to father a bastard. I lived the life of one for most of my life and I would not wish it upon mine own child. Give me leave to marry Rhaenys at the first chance we get. It is still early. Perhaps we could pass the babe off as early to come, if the gods grant us a healthy child." Viserys seemed to regard his plea in silence, but then he turned to her.
"I have always tried to forgive your transgressions and mistakes, Rhaenys, because from the moment we reunited in Essos after the downfall of our house, you were my closest friend. Dany may be my sister in name, but it was you who was my sister in bond, us two raising and looking after Dany and Egg before they could fend for themselves. You have not always been so forgiving in your heart for me, but I cannot find it in myself to hold those same things against you." He approached and placed a hand on her shoulder. A choking emotion constricted in her throat, squeezing the air from her passageways. "I would not let your child be born a bastard. Not the first child House Targaryen has seen in a generation. You and Aemon will wed as soon as circumstances permit."
Rhaenys let out a choked sob. "Thank you, Vis." She had not expected it of him. Rhaenys had been, if she was now honest with herself, harsh with Viserys, harsher than he deserved. It was not his fault that Dany had been left behind. He tried - and perhaps it was her own guilt of escaping that Dothraki ordeal that caused her to blame Viserys.
"Family is all that matters," Viserys said. "For both of you. For our house. It is the only thing that matters. But you must think in the future." He shook his head. "To you, I know my insistence on marrying Dany is just as foolish. But you know that she has always been the only one I have ever loved the way a man loves a woman. You think I am gambling my throne and my support on her, but I have planned it better than the two of you have planned this. I could have married you to the first lord I thought capable of bringing me armies. I could have sold you like Egg sold Dany, but I did not."
"I know," Rhaenys said. Her voice was cracked, fraught with despair even to her. "I don't say it because I think you should not marry Dany, you know that. Her happiness and yours means a great deal to me. But I do not want to see you fall into harm's way. You are king, Viserys. I want to see you as king until you grow old and feeble and then your children kings after you. I want this realm to remember you as Viserys the Third of his name, the great restorer, the wisest king of House Targaryen."
Viserys face softened and he took her hands in his. "Then work with me to achieve my goals, just as I have worked with you. Trust me in this, Rhaenys, and do not fight me as much as you have. Are you not tired of quarreling with me? It is all we've done since we left Essos. I am not Egg. I have plans on plans, but I will need your support - both of yours - to accomplish what I dream of. It is not just Dany - it is a strong house of ours, a prosperous realm. Help me, Rhaenys. Do not hinder me." He wiped away at her tears, and she flung her arms around him into a tight embrace. Viserys gently patted her back. "Come now. We must go face what is coming. Go now, and meet me when we ride out to face the Tyrells."
Jon took her hand and led her away, but she saw the surprise - and gratefulness - on his face as well. "We'll join you soon," Jon promised, and then they were out. Rhaenys wiped away the last of her tears and cleared her throat as Jon led her back to their tent. Bran was there ready with Jon's armor and weapons. The young Stark though a knight in his own regard now, still served as Jon's attendant, and quickly helped Jon armor himself. Rhaenys fastened his black Targaryen cloak around him as Bran handed Jon his helmet. "Jon," she said. "Please be safe. I need you to live."
"This won't be our last day, I promise you," Jon said. "But if anything should happen, leave. Flee the battle. And whatever you do, do not join the battle like you did at Riverrun. You have the child to think of. Bran, you'll guard her with your life? Swear it to me. Swear it to me on our blood, little brother."
"I swear," Bran solemnly pledged. "Princess Rhaenys is family to me as well." Rhaenys gave the sweet boy a watery smile and kissed his cheek.
"Thank you, Ser Bran," she said. She grabbed her riding cloak from her possessions and soon they were horsed, with Bran trailing behind them. The army had assembled rapidly, as men marched out in formation from their camp and into position. At the far southern edge of camp, Viserys and their party of parley gathered. As commanded, Robb was accompanied by five northern bannermen, and Lord Edmure by five riverlords. Theon Greyjoy was not present, as he had been commanded to screen their positions and to find Lady Asha, but Uncle Oberyn was there as well, armored and ready for war, spear in hand on his sturdy Dornish steed, with his own bannermen in tail. Ser Brynden and Ser Barristan carried lances with banners of House Targaryen, and Bran was given a standard to ride with as well. Viserys had exchanged his tunic and trousers for black armor, similar to Jon's, but even more exquisite in design. On his head was a black crown with rubies, similar in design to what she remembered of the conqueror's.
Their party rode south to the ford. At the edge of the river crossing, there were some outriders from their army awaiting them. Jon rode forward to speak with the captain and then rode back. "The Tyrell army is across the ford and behind the hill. We should send a messenger asking for parley here at the ford, on our side. I do not want to be on the other side of that river if they choose treachery." He spurred his horse back into position and leaned over to Robb. More quietly, so that only she and Robb could hear, he said, "Robb, I need you to be prepared for the possibility that Lady Stark was taken captive by the Tyrells. If they are here and she went to Highgarden, we do not know what has become of her. I need you to be patient, as difficult as it may be."
"It's my mother, Jon," Robb growled.
"Aye, I know. And I will do all I can to bring her back to our family. The Tyrells will not mistreat her. She is a lady of high birth and standing, and she would have traveled with them as a guest, even if unwilling." Jon sounded confident, but Rhaenys knew him well enough to see the doubt in her eyes. Yes, custom dictated the good treatment of Lady Stark, but there was no guarantee.
Robb did not look convinced, but he nodded. "I'll follow your lead, brother. But if the Tyrells have harmed her, I will raze Highgarden to the ground."
"And I will salt their fields with you," Jon agreed. "Thank you, Robb."
The messenger they sent returned after some time. "Your Grace, my lords, Lord Tyrell has agreed to meet you on this side of the ford," he said. "He wishes me to convey his good intentions. I saw among their number golden banners, however."
"Golden banners?" Jon said. "With any design or device?"
"None, my prince."
Jon cursed, and Rhaenys' heart sank. They both knew what that meant. "Were there many?" Jon asked.
"Yes, my prince. At least a quarter of the banners I spotted."
"The Golden Company is here," Viserys muttered. "I mislike this. Battle seems to be upon us."
"Lord Edmure, you are one of our most senior lords," Jon said. "Your efforts will be needed to prepare the army. Will you ride back to the army and lead the commanders in throwing up stakes and digging ditches? We will need to be ready to ride back and give battle, or at least to build greater defenses around camp."
Tully puffed up his chest. "Of course, Prince Aemon." He spurred his horse back with the other Riverlords. Rhaenys watched them disappear behind them, dirt rising up where their horses raced away. Fear began to rise up from her gut, ugly, squalling, possessive. What the Golden Company was doing here she could not tell. They would only come here for someone who could claim the throne. Was it possible that Stannis had lured them in somehow? Baratheons were said to have been bastards of Targaryen descent, long ago, with Orys - was it possible that for lack of a Blackfyre they had thrown in behind the stag?
A few minutes later, the Tyrell party crested the Kingsroad, as did the advance column of their army. The scout did not lie. There were Targaryen banners, yes, but Tyrell banners and Golden Company banners. Somehow Rhaenys did not feel as though Lord Tyrell had come here to make a dramatic offering of his fealty as well as the Golden Company's. No, something was afoot. The Tyrell party rode out tightly packed together, but as their horses loosened formation, she saw him.
It was as if every part of her insides was coated in freezing ice all at once. Silver hair, black armor, violet eyes - as he drew nearer, she was sure her eyes deceived her. It was Aegon. Viserys cursed quietly under his breath, and Jon exchanged a glance, half worried, half shocked, with her.
"Is that...?" Jon muttered. But Rhaenys did not say anything - could not say anything. It was Aegon. He looked older, a little more grizzled, than when she last saw him that fateful evening in Essos. There was a small scar on his cheek from some battle wound that was unfamiliar to her. Next to him, on a white mare, rode a very beautiful young woman, with thick, softly curling chestnut hair. She wore a green dress, with a riding cloak of autumn flowers. Anger, sorrow, fear, and hate roiled in her belly, and she fought against a rising wave of nausea that threatened to have her heave over the side of her horse. Jon's hand softly touched her forearm, and they shared a look. HIs eyes were filled with concern for her.
A crier accompanying the Tyrells announced Aegon first. "You stand in the presence of Aegon, sixth of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm!" Rhaenys felt bile rise up in her throat once more. Aegon was none of these things. He could have been, but he made his choices and then vanished. She thought he was dead, or in hiding... not here, not at the head of an army.
"You stand in the presence of Viserys, third of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men," snarled Jon in response. To the surprise of everyone, he rode out of their party and came face to face with the Tyrells. "Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm. To claim the royal title is to pronounce yourself an upstart and a rebel." He took his helmet off and let his long hair tumble out. The Tyrells looked surprised, but Aegon wore a cross of hatred and shock on his face. Last time he saw Jon, Jon was dressed as a sellsword, a member of the Company of the Rose. Now he was dressed in black armor and a winged helmet, with a long Targaryen cloak around his shoulders, on a fine steed. Frostbite, his sword, gleamed on his hip. He looked every bit a prince.
Viserys and the rest of their party rode closer. "My nephew Prince Aemon is a zealous defender of my throne," Viserys remarked coolly. "A better champion I could not ask for than the man who defeated the Mountain and the Kingslayer in single combat. My brother Rhaegar would have been proud of him." Viserys patted his shoulder. "However, I am not so certain he would be proud of his other son - nor pleased with House Tyrell, my lords, for their lateness in arriving, and for the refusal to bend the knee to their rightful king."
"Prince Viserys," an older man said. He was dressed finely - very finely, Rhaenys noticed, but not for battle. He was heavyset and round of belly, and nothing about his appearance made him seem like a great, threatening warrior. "It is your claim that is the usurping one. His Grace, King Aegon, is the rightful heir of his father, who was Prince of Dragonstone. By what law or custom of succession does the crown fall to you? After Prince Rhaegar, it comes to His Grace, and his issue; and only then to the Princess Rhaenys, and then - only then - to you."
"My father pronounced me his heir after my brother fell on the Trident," Viserys responded. "When he died, I became King."
"A fact that you did not acknowledge when we were in Essos, uncle," Aegon barked back.
"Because I dared not upset your benefactors, nephew," Viserys replied. "Were we not hosted as the guests of men who plotted to make you king and to steal my crown?"
Aegon glared at him, and then turned his attention to her. His eyes were bright and angry, Rhaenys thought. Then he turned to their uncle. "Is this how Dorne treats Elia's son?"
"Elia's son was prepared to sell Elia's daughter to a Dothraki horselord," Jon retorted. "You have earned nothing of Dorne's support. Rhaenys has. She was the one to make an alliance of Northmen and Dornishmen. She forged the bonds that have led our army to triumph over the Lannisters and soon, the Baratheons. You have done nothing."
"And this sellsword bastard presumes to speak to me, his rightful king," Aegon snarled. There was more hatred in him directed to Jon than anyone else, Rhaenys could see that plain as day. Aegon was jealous, angry, and perhaps he felt supplanted. Well, it was not Jon's fault that Aegon chose to sell their family to secure his crown.
"No bastard," Viserys disagreed. "I have seen the proof. Your father took Lady Lyanna Stark as a second wife. He left a dragon egg to her child - a dragon egg now in Prince Aemon's possession. I consider him to be a legitimate member of House Targaryen. What's more, he is to be your brother in blood and your brother by-law as well."
It took a moment for Viserys' words to truly impact Aegon. When they did, she could see his face transform, twisted into further anger. His skin, which had lost some of its Essosi tan from what she could remember, reddened, and his eyes narrowed to slits. Jealousy made him look like the monster he had become. "I see. Further proof that you are not suited to lead the house of the dragon, uncle, for who marries their niece to a bastard?"
"Who marries their aunt to a barbarian?" Viserys lost his temper for the first time, and his eyes blazed with rage. "Who sells her to savages on the end of the world? You fool, you who would trample upon the gentlest of us for a crown!"
"It is my crown!" Aegon said.
"It is the Conqueror's crown! The Conciliator's, the Young Dragon's, the Blessed's, the Unlikely's!" This crown belongs to our house. This country belongs to our house. All these houses before me have sworn their oaths to House Targaryen, because it is I who have seen fit to bring our house back to take what was once ours. I did it for House Targaryen, not for myself," said Viserys. Aegon spat and sneered, but Rhaenys was stirred to anger.
"Our uncle speaks truly. This was to be our homecoming, Egg, all of ours. Daenerys should be here with us. And it is because you could not be patient that you chose a bad plan. We could have waited. Look what Viserys and I were able to do here without that cheesemonger pulling the strings, without his tainted gold."
"Do not speak to me of homecomings," Aegon retorted. He leveled a finger against her. "I might have expected treachery of Viserys, for he was always envious of my claim and the shadow I cast on him, and it is no surprise coming from this bastard from the North, but to see it of you, sister, is a grievous wound."
"Speak lightly," said Jon. His voice was low, but dangerous. "Though perhaps you would care to back your words with steel. We don't need let our armies bleed out in front of Stannis Baratheon and the city. This can be settled between the two of us now. I need no champion, though if you care to name one, you may. You southern pricks don't know how to take a life with your own hands."
"These hands have taken lives," Aegon said, showing the metal palms of his gloved hands. "And they will take yours if you speak another word to me, cur."
"Enough," Viserys said. He looked to Lord Tyrell. "My lord, your family served my father during the Rebellion. He named me his successor. I will give you this one chance. Bend the knee and your momentary lapse of allegiance will be forgiven. Side with my nephew, and the Reach will have a new warden soon enough."
"It is only natural for Prince Rhaegar's son to be king, Prince Viserys," said the man. Rhaenys grit her teeth. The pretty girl next to Aegon - surely that was a Tyrell daughter. This was Lord Tyrell's play for power, to seat his blood on the Iron Throne. He would not side with them. "Please, my prince. Bend the knee to Aegon instead. His Grace is prepared to offer amnesty to you, and a place of honor at his side. He will find a good marriage for his sister the princess, and all the lords here will be forgiven - with the appropriate assurances, of course." Hostages is what he meant by that, Rhaenys thought. "And as for... Jon Snow... he will be allowed to return to Essos and seek his fame and fortune there as befits his status."
"As befits his status?" This time, the indignation came from Robb, who then elicited a whistle. From behind them came Ghost and Robb's wolf, Grey Wind, prowling. Though it had been just a few hours since Rhaenys last laid eyes on Ghost, he seemed even larger now - and Grey Wind larger still. The Tyrell party recoiled in fear and their horses protested, rearing and backing away. "Jon - Prince Aemon Targaryen - is my cousin by blood and my brother for the father who raised both of us. Whatever else the world will call him, he is a Stark of Winterfell, too, and a wolf does not take lightly threats against its packs. If you intend to send him away, I swear on the souls of the Lords of Winterfell before me, and the Kings of Winter before them, and all the gods old and new, that you will all die screaming and gasping deaths in the swamps of the Neck and the snows of the North."
"Lord Stark's answer is like mine own," Viserys said with a mirthless smile. "You have made your choice, nephew, Lord Tyrell. Farewell."