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Rhaenyra Targaryen had crossed a very dangerous line.
She knew better than anyone that in her mind, there was a fine line between acting recklessly or acting so promiscuously. From a young age, Rhaenyra let herself be carried away by the thoughts that arose in her brain — or by the lust that wet the middle of her legs.
She was never the best example of chastity. The furtive glances at Alicent Hightower when they were still best friends, the tameless desire for her uncle Daemon since she was a teenager, the loss of her virginity with Ser Criston Cole, the secret affair with Ser Harwin Strong, the kisses exchanged with Mysaria. And now... the unforgivable thoughts and actions with her daughter-in-law.
It was wrong. She knew it was wrong. It was sickly. Disgusting. She was mourning Jacaerys. You were in mourning. A mother losing her firstborn son and a girl losing her husband and the father of her newborn baby. Two women suffering for different reasons.
Rhaenyra mourned Jacaerys' death, the panic she felt during his birth still fresh in her mind. She was so afraid of dying the same way as her mother Aemma that she did not even allow any man to enter during the labor. She did not want any man around. No presence of Laenor Velaryon, her husband, or Ser Harwin Strong, her lover and biological father of the baby she was carrying. Not even Viserys, her own father, should enter and give his opinion there.
Rhaenyra remembered everything perfectly. When Harwin fucked her and she discovered she was pregnant almost thirty days later, when Harwin was surprised and at the same time worried about the idea of being a father in secret, when Laenor was happy with the news, when Viserys celebrated that he would have a grandchild — believing the baby was the result of Rhaenyra's marriage to her husband.
Rhaenyra remembered the nausea, the tiredness, the strange feeling of her belly growing to adapt to the baby that was developing inside her. Sometimes she wished she had drunk the Moon Tea to avoid it, and other times she was happy at the thought of giving birth to a beautiful little girl. The princess was sure she was carrying a daughter. Just as she wished Aemma had given her little sisters.
The pain during childbirth and the fear of dying made her wish that if anyone in that body had to die, it would be the unborn baby, not her. Rhaenyra Targaryen was still so young and had a long life ahead of her. If the baby died, she could try to have another in the future. Or perhaps not. Perhaps she should never have children, especially when they were outside of marriage. Either way, Rhaenyra was aware that if she had to prioritize her own life or the life of her child, she would not think twice about saving herself. She would not make the same mistake her father made with her mother.
It was a surprise when the baby was finally born. A boy. She had longed for a daughter throughout her entire pregnancy, trying to hold on to the possibility that having a daughter would be like being able to follow her mother's footsteps, but without that tragic ending.
Her mild disgust at the midwives' enthusiasm that she had a healthy boy soon changed to panic when she noticed the small thinning strands in the baby's hair. Even though he was so tiny in her arms, she could clearly see that he would have dark hair like his biological father, the Targaryen blood not being so strong anymore.
But now, so many years after that desperate night, Rhaenyra cursed herself for three reasons: for having cared so much about Jacaerys' damned hair color, for having despised him for a few days until she got used to the new routine of being a boy's mother and not a girl's mother, and especially because she said at that time that she would not save Jacaerys during labor.
She would do anything to go back in time and never have thought about that. Now, Rhaenyra would do anything to die in every cruel and painful way possible if it was enough to bring her firstborn back.
Rhaenyra and Jacaerys had built a mother-son relationship over the years. It was not automatic like it was with Lucerys, Joffrey, Aegon III and Viserys II. It was not even like the few seconds with her Visenya. She did not love Jacaerys immediately like she did her other children. She did not long for his life. She was a mother for the first time and each particularity of her connection with Jacaerys was created little by little. She learned to love him and she learned to protect him.
Rhaenyra learned almost everything about being a mother. But she never thought she would need to learn to live without her first son.
As for you, there was a painful feeling also rooted in your chest. It was not the same as what the queen felt, it bordered more on concern than guilt. You had nothing to blame yourself for.
When your twin brother, Cregan Stark, used you as a bargaining chip to ensure Rhaenyra's steadfast loyalty to the Northmen, you were not even surprised. That was what you and all the noble ladies were made for. Always used to bargain alliances and produce heirs.
Like brood mares, no woman had the right to say no.
Cregan was a good brother, despite everything. At least he had kept you in Winterfell until a truly necessary and promising betrothal came. Jacaerys Velaryon, the heir to the Iron Throne if Rhaenyra won the Dance of Dragons, would have you as his wife, and in exchange for that, the Blacks would protect the North and provide more resources for the harsh winter. It was a fair exchange and it would ensure that they would not simply ignore the treaty at any time. Lord Stark was a man of his word and demanded the same from Jacaerys' family.
You understood his reasons. It was better to marry someone kind and caring than an old and rude random lord who saw you as just a fertile young woman to produce heirs.
It did not take long for you to love Jacaerys. He was so handsome and affectionate trying to make you feel comfortable in Dragonstone, that you even kissed him a few days before the wedding ceremony, and you were not at all afraid of the consummation of the marriage. It was incredible. Especially when you noticed how shocked Jace was when you closed your legs around his hips, pushing his cock even deeper, allowing him to spill his seed inside your cunt. He did not want you to feel used just to procreate, he did not want it to be a sacrifice.
Jace did not plan on having heirs anytime soon. He wanted you to fuck with him because you liked it, because he gave you pleasure. But never out of duty.
And you enjoyed every second. You never had to fear what would happen to you if his seed did not take fast. Just as you never had to fear how he would react if you gave birth to a girl and not a man heir. Sometimes you even thought he longed more for a daughter. After all, he had lived with brothers his entire life and had never even met his little sister Visenya, who was stillborn. If the baby was a girl, he would name it after his sister. If it were a boy, he would name him after his younger brother Lucerys.
You never had to fear many things when you were married to Jace. However, you always feared for his safety. And, Gods... You were right to do that.
Now, even after Queen Rhaenyra's victory, you feared what would happen to you and your newborn daughter. You were afraid that the Blacks would break the treaty since you were just a widow of a dead heir. You feared what would happen to your people if Rhaenyra went back on her word. You feared what would happen to your daughter Visenya now that her father was dead. Rhaenyra would reign for many years to come, but what would happen to her granddaughter? You were not someone who was greedy, but you did not know if Rhaenyra would name Joffrey as the next heir to the Iron Throne, or if she would let Visenya reign in the future.
If your daughter's succession to the Throne was not considered, you feared that she would hate you or her father's family. If she were named as the legitimate heir, precisely because she was the eldest granddaughter and the result of the marriage of Rhaenyra's murdered firstborn, you feared that Joffrey would hate Visenya and you, as well as his own mother. You feared yet another war between family members. Another Kinslayer, just like Aemond Targaryen.
You feared what Jacaerys' absence would do to your and Visenya's lives in the not-so-distant future.
You and Rhaenyra felt different emotions about Jace's death, but both of you loved him and cried every night missing him.
It was not a surprise when Rhaenyra began to comfort you through your routine nightmares, all that involving the death of your dead husband. Rhaenyra also had nightmares every day. Always about her family's deaths.
She had regained what was rightfully hers, but at what cost?
It was not a surprise to her when you started hugging her while you had crying spells after dreams. It was not a surprise to you when she let you cry on her shoulder. It was not a surprise to her when you begged her to think about your daughter Visenya's future. It was not a surprise to you when she asked for forgiveness for not being enough to protect Jacaerys.
None of this was surprising or unexpected. Not even when the nighttime cuddles intensified. When caressing your hair and hugs were no longer enough. When Rhaenyra began pressing you against her full heavy breasts as you cried. When you started to put your hands under the nightgown Rhaenyra wore and caressed her soft skin.
It was wrong. Very wrong. It was sickly. It was disgusting and repulsive. It was too cruel to the memory of Jacaerys. How would the boy feel if he knew his mother was fucking his own wife?
Neither of you had any way of knowing the answer. Jacaerys was dead, after all. He never returned from the Battle of the Gullet. He and Vermax had been hooked like fishes and engulfed by the waves of the sea — Always wanting so much to have pure blood, to be legitimate... To end up just being a Velaryon rotting inside the ocean. It was ironic and you could not tell if it honored him as a Velaryon or just proved that the Strong blood running through his veins had cursed him, the last moments of his life in the middle of the place where a true Velaryon would belong, but never a bastard.
Rhaenyra hated herself for wanting you. You hated yourself for wanting her. Jacaerys would hate the two of you for this. And yet, both of you could not deal with the grief any other way. You needed each other.
You loved Jacaerys. You loved your late mother, Gilliane Glover, who died so soon after you and Cregan were born. You did not have time to live with her, just as Rhaenyra did not have time to live with her stillborn daughter.
You had lost your husband. Rhaenyra had lost her son. You needed a mother. Rhaenyra needed a daughter.
It was disgusting, very wrong. It was sickly. And you could not stop. You did not want to stop. It was the only way to deal with Jacaerys's grief and keep the boy's memory alive in your minds.
"How was the nightmare tonight?" Rhaenyra asked softly as you sat on her lap, your teary eyes closing. You let her wrap her arm around your waist, your hips bigger after you gave birth to your daughter Visenya.
"About the sea. About pain. About blood... About him." Your voice came out trembling and muffled, your face buried between her breasts, so full and heavy that you could barely breathe, even if you did not make the slightest effort to move away. You wished she still had milk to breastfeed you like your mother had done. She wished she still had milk so she could breastfeed you like she had done with Jacaerys. Like she should have done with her Visenya, if the little baby had not been born dead.
The content of the nightmares that tormented your mind was nothing new. They were always about death, just like Rhaenyra's. And she always wanted to know yours. She always wanted you to tell her what you had dreamed of. But she never shared her own nightmares. And everything was fine. You did not really want to suffer over Rhaenyra's thoughts either. Were you too selfish for not wanting that? Perhaps. And perhaps she was too masochistic, always wanting you to explain every detail that haunted you in the early hours of the morning and disturbed your sleep.
You did not mind telling her. It felt good to share all of this with someone who understood. It was good to seek comfort from a mother.
Rhaenyra moaned when she felt your tongue circle her pink nipple, your teary eyes made you look like a child being soothed by a mother's breast.
She stroked your hair, thanking the Gods that you did not have silver or blonde hair. Thanking the Gods that Alicent did not let her marry Jacaerys to Helaena Targaryen. Thanking the Gods for allowing Jacaerys to annul his betrothal to Baela Velaryon when Lord Cregan Stark demanded that his army's loyalty would only be agreed upon if the prince married his twin sister.
She could never seek that comfort from Helaena. Her sister had always been too pure for her own good. And Helaena was too much like Rhaenyra herself. She could never pictured Jacaerys in Helaena's place because of her hair.
Just as she could never seek that comfort from Baela. Her stepdaughter had Laena's appearance and the rebellious and tameless personality of her uncle and dead husband Daemon.
Joffrey had the same dark hair as his older brother, but you... You were everything she needed. You had dark hair like Jacaerys and you were a girl like her stillborn daughter. You were everything she wanted currently. A daughter. But also a concubine.
"It feels good?" Rhaenyra questioned when her hands went down to your nipples, sensitive from your lack of breastfeeding. You did not breastfeed Visenya often, preferring that she be fed by a wet nurse. Looking at her reminded you of Jacaerys and that made the moment difficult. Your milk would dry up quickly if you continued looking for Rhaenyra and leaving your daughter aside. You knew you needed to act like a mother, however, you liked to enjoy your time like Rhaenyra's daugther and affair.
You did not judge Rhaenyra for imagining her son licking her breasts when you did that. You knew she had never seen him in a sexual way. It was an innocent nostalgia, even if you were also pressing her other breast while memories of Jacaerys filled her mind. She wanted her eldest son back. You wanted your husband back. She wanted to feel you the same way her son felt you. And you wanted to feel every inch of the woman who gave birth to the man you loved.
You nibbled on her nipple after gasping as Rhaenyra she placed a hand on your mound, squeezing it rough enough to make your breast milk start to flow out. "Good girl..." She growled softly, admiring your embarrassed smile.
Rhaenyra ran her fingers through the milk before bringing it down between your legs, rubbing the liquid into your already wet folds. "N-Nyra..."
"Mother." The Queen corrected while you squirmed under her touch. Your milk was supposed to be to feed Visenya. And here you were, letting your mother-in-law rub it on your clit. It was so disgusting and depraved. Motherhood was a sick thing.
"M-Mother..." You whimpered the way Rhaenyra suggested, even though the word brought a bitter taste to your mouth. Was this how she felt whenever she was eating you out? Did she pictured her son cumming inside your cunt so many times at the beginning of the marriage, filling you with his seed until it flowed, the same way his biological father had done to her in secret? Was this how Rhaenyra felt whenever you rubbed your face between her large breasts? Did she remember how difficult it was to get used to breastfeeding her firstborn? Was this how she felt now with her hand wet with your milk? Why did not she hate you, already knowing you would rather her do that than force you to breastfeed your daughter Visenya, while she did not even have the chance to feed her Visenya?
You wanted to know if she also felt disgusted by it all. You wanted to know if motherhood was really that sick for her too.
You wanted to know a lot of things, and you chose not to ask any of them. Ignorance was bliss. The answers were on both of your faces. The way she moaned as you pushed your fingers hard into her cunt, fucking the tight walls that had once dilated so baby Jacaerys could come into the world. The way your breast milk that was supposed to feed Jacaerys' little daughter had a different use now, soaking your own cunt as you took advantage of the additional liquid to ride harder against Rhaenyra's thick thigh.
You both felt sick and dirty, mentally begging for Jacaerys' forgiveness as you came, moaning each other's name. Your fingers were still inside her and your sensitive and sore clit was still pressed against her soft white skin, your cum and milk running down her thigh, while Rhaenyra kept your face against her chest.
"Thank you, Mother, thank you..." You sobbed, making no move to get off of her or release her walls. You wanted to prolong the feeling of self-loathing, enjoying the overstimulation of having your bud pulsing along with the continuous tremors of your body, just as Rhaenyra was enjoying feeling your trembling hand inside her, the four motionless fingers spreading her cunt like if you were preparing her for labor. Jace's birth or yours, you could not say. Both, perhaps.
"I love you, my dear daughter. My new daughter." Rhaenyra kissed the top of your head, caressing your dark hair. It was true. You were everything that kept Jace's memory alive in her mind. She loved her firstborn and she loved you in a sick way. After all, motherhood was sickly, sickly enough for a grieving mother to mourn her son's death while kissing her widowed daughter-in-law's lips.