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Chapter Text

She looked like her mother, but her smile… Her smile belonged to a woman none but three in the Red Keep could remember. 

When Princess Valaena Velaryon smiled, it was the ghost of his own mother that Harwin saw.

His father could have kept his eyes averted and pretended to be oblivious to the truth, believing the murmurs spun by the Crown Princess and her husband as to why the children did not have Valyrian features. Baratheon. The children had Baratheon blood coursing through their veins, just as clear and true as Princess Rhaenys. However, when the youngest princess smiled—when men and boys alike were blessed with that beauty and could not help but return it—the Hand of the King could not remain blind forever. He could not ignore the smile of a beloved wife long dead. 

Harwin could only guess that his brother knew, understood what it meant. He could see the way his brother would soften for but a moment—become the boy who had clung to Harwin’s cloak as their mother was interred in her tomb, the boy who longed for the innocent, golden days their mother’s presence had brought—and then harden with the knowledge of what danger this truth could put them all in. 

“Hello, Ser Harwin,” the young princess said, her voice soft and gentle. Her smile was wide and he could not help but feel the stab of pain for the distance of her tone. He was not as close to her as he was with her twin and younger brother. With the boys, Harwin had every excuse to spend time with them. He helped train them when Ser Laenor was busy with his duties as husband to the Crown Princess. However, with his daughter, there were never any good enough reasons to spend extended periods of time with her. 

“Princess,” he said gently in return, setting his hand over his heart and bowing his head to her. 

She giggled, another smile from a woman who would have adored her. “What brings you to the training yard?” 

She was about to answer him when her eyes and smile widened. “Kepa!” 

Another stab as she rushed past him, and into the waiting arms of Ser Laenor. “My Little Star,” the young knight said, lifting her up and setting her on his hip. She threw her arms around his neck and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “What has brought my Little Star here? You shouldn’t be in such a stinky place filled with us awful boys.” 

She giggled again and pulled a handkerchief from her sleeve. “I made this and I want you to wear it for the tourney tomorrow for the new baby.” 

Ser Laenor took the handkerchief and held it as though it were a precious jewel. “Is that Kirine I see?” 

Princess Valaena’s expression brightened all the more. “I worked really hard on it and even the queen thought it was well done.” 

“That is a high compliment,” Ser Laenor agreed. “But are you sure you wish to give me such a precious gift? Are there no stinky boys you wish to give it to?” 

“No,” she replied. “I don’t like stinky boys, only pretty boys.” 

Ser Laenor laughed and Harwin felt like he was intruding, a brutal reminder that he would never be allowed this closeness to his daughter, never be able to hold her so openly, accept her hugs and kisses as confidently as Ser Laenor did. He would never be granted such closeness. “Your mother owes me a favor, I’m afraid,” Ser Laenor said. “And it would be very rude of me to accept a favor from another lovely young lady when I have already accepted someone else’s favor first.” He tapped her nose and a paternal way. “If you ever find a boy who does such things, you must steer clear of him.” 

“But who shall wear my favor?” Princess Valaena asked. 

“I think Ser Harwin would be very proud to wear your favor,” Ser Laenor said, setting her down. “Poor man doesn’t have a wife and he’s stuck tending to your brothers day in and day out. I’m sure he would be very happy to have the favor of a princess to wear.” She looked up at Ser Laenor, who stroked her dark curly hair and tilted his chin to suggest she look at Harwin. 

She looked up at him, a little flushed in embarrassment and took her handkerchief from Ser Laenor and then held it out to Harwin. “Would you wear my favor, Ser Harwin?” 

Harwin bent his knee so that he was nearly eye to eye with his daughter. He took her hands in both of his own, clasping them gently. “I would be honored, Princess,” he replied. “It would be an honor to carry your favor in the tourney tomorrow.” 

She smiled at him brightly and then turned to look up at Ser Laenor. “Can we go see Mother?” she asked. From a pocket in her dress, she pulled out a bundle that seemed to steam a little. “I want to give her some lemon cakes. She said she liked them a lot when she was still pregnant with Luke.” 

“Of course, Little Star, but we should bid farewell to Ser Harwin before we go.” 

“Goodbye, Ser Harwin,” she said with a smile, distant still. 

Another twist of the knife. Just like her brothers, she would never be allowed to know. “Goodbye, Princess.” 

—

Valaena stood beside Jace, clutching at his sleeve, her gaze flicking between her mother, Ser Harwin, who had come to say his goodbyes, and Jace. Baby Joffrey was fussy, giving soft cries of protest in their mother’s arms as she rocked him steadily back and forth. The movement was instinctual, and it was obvious that her mother’s mind was elsewhere. Ser Harwin was in traveling attire, ready to leave as soon as he was finished with his goodbyes. He looked almost gaunt and weary, as though he had already been traveling. Jace stood beside her, as straight as he could possibly be, tense and angry at the situation at hand. 

Jace had tried to meet with their grandfather and explain that the situation had all been Ser Criston and Aegon and Aemond’s fault. Ser Harwin had been provoked and there was no reason to punish him for their actions. However, their grandfather had remained resolute and told Jace he would understand why this must be done when he was older. 

Valaena let go of Jace’ sleeve and, instead, slipped her hand into his and he held it tightly. 

Ser Harwin knelt down to speak with Luke, who was playing with his wooden dragons. “Be good to your mother, lad,” he said gently. “I’ll visit when I can.” He stood slowly and looked at Jace. “But that may be some time.” 

When the knight stepped toward them, Jace pulled away, letting go of Valaena’s hand and going to their mother, who said Jace’s name gently. She opened her arm to him and pulled him to her side, stroking his hair and kissing the top of his head. 

Ser Harwin looked pained at Jace’s rejection and he looked down at Valaena. She could tell he did not know what to say to her. She didn’t know what to say to him either. She was not as close to Ser Harwin as Jace and Luke were. But she knew his parting made her brothers and mother sad. Valaena pulled out a handkerchief she had been working on for her mother. In the corner, an embroidered Syrax and Kirine circled each other. “Could you hold onto this for me, Ser Harwin?” she asked. “It’s for Mother. You will need to come back to give it to her.” 

He smiled at her gently and tucked her hair behind her ear and bent down to kiss the top of her head before taking the handkerchief. “I shall carry it with me, always, until I am able to return it to you, Princess.” 

She curtsied to him. 

He then went to Valaena’s mother and Jace. “I will return,” he told Jace, his voice deep and solemn. He reached out and tilted Jace’s chin back so that Valaena’s brother might look at him. “I promise.”

Soothed, Jace nodded quickly. 

Then, Ser Harwin turned his gaze to Valaena’s mother, but Valaena could not see his expression. She could see her mother’s, though. Her mother’s eyes were brimming with tears and her lips formed a thin line, trying not to let them tremble. Ser Harwin bent down and kissed baby Joffrey on the head. “I will be a stranger,” he said. “When we meet again.” He then looked up at Valaena’s mother, who shook her head, as though to deny the thought of him being gone for so long. Ser Harwin stepped back and bowed his head. “Princess.” 

He stepped away and gathered up his things and left. Jace followed after him, standing outside the door and Valaena followed after him, wanting to give comfort where she could. She linked her arm with Jace’s and watched as Ser Harwin continued to his destination, until he turned a corner and was now out of their sight. 

Their mother eventually came to stand beside them. She stroked Jace’s hair once more. “We will exchange letters by raven,” she said gently. “Won’t that be fun?” 

“Is Harwin Strong our father?” Jace asked, his voice tight. Valaena squeezed his arm tightly. They had never spoken of it. Never spoken of the way they didn’t look like Ser Laenor. Never discussed the way they didn’t look like the new Lord Baratheon, who had come to swear fealty to their grandfather. Never spoke of how close Ser Harwin was to their mother. Never spoke of it. Never spoke of the possibility of it all being a lie. Valaena could see the look of fear in her mother’s eyes. She looked at where Ser Harwin had just left and looked back down at Jace. He shrugged of Valaena’s touch and turned to look at their mother, tears and anger in his eyes. “Are we bastards?” 

Their mother looked back in the room to see if Luke was listening, but he was not. She brushed his hair from his face and cupped his face in her hand. “You are a Targaryen,” she said. “That’s all that matters.” She kissed Jace on the crown of his head and urged him back into their rooms. 

He returned, leaving Valaena and their mother, who still held Joffrey, in the hall. 

“Are we not real Velaryons, then?” Valaena asked quietly. 

Her mother kissed the top of Valaena’s head. “All that matters is that you are mine,” she said. “You are Trgaryens. That is all that matters.” 

Chapter Text

“Stand up straight, Aegon,” Viserys said briskly. His eldest surviving son from Alicent had gotten into the habit of slouching and it annoyed Viserys greatly. 

Dressed in green like his mother, Aegon straightened, yawning and flexing his shoulders against the cool morning air. They had to leave by boat early if they were to arrive at Driftmark at an appropriate time. Although he was, perhaps, the most lazy of his children by Alicent, Aegon was the only one fully dressed and ready to go. 

Alicent was tending to the two other children that would be traveling with them—Daeron, who had been sent to foster at Hightower was too far away to come to the funeral without elongating the Velaryon grieving process. Helaena was fussing, not liking the cloak she was forced to wear to keep off the chill of the sea, crying that she was not allowed to bring any of her bugs with her. Aemond’s head was bobbing, as though ready to fall asleep again at any moment. He leaned against Ser Criston Cole, the knight allowing his charge to do so. Viserys would have chastised the knight if it were not for the fact his wife would have chastised him for having them leave so early in the morning. 

Viserys sighed. He could not help the early hour for which they must leave. He wished to get to Driftmark as soon as possible. He wanted to see his brother again. It had been so long since he had seen Daemon, who had flown away the second he had married Laena Velaryon, without Viserys’ and Lord Corlys’ permission. Viserys had written often, asking for his brother to return, but Daemon had claimed to want very little to do with his brother or the throne for which he held, preferring to raise his family like novelties overseas. However, now that his wife was dead, it meant he needed family now more than ever to help raise his girls. Viserys could only hope that he could convince Daemon to return to the Red Keep. It would give playmates to Helaena, Daemon’s girls would, perhaps, help the girl be more normal. His granddaughter, Valaena, had been a sweet girl, but she had none of Rhaenyra or Daemon’s brashness to force Helaena out of her preferred comfort. Daemon’s girls, he was sure, would be quite like Rhaenyra and would not take no for an answer. 

On thinking of his grandchildren, Viserys knew he would be able to see Rhaenyra and his grandchildren as well. While he did not like the melancholic circumstances that had forced this reunion, he was glad to be able to see them again. Now that Harwin Strong was dead, he was certain the rumors that had blown through King’s Landing like a plague after the knight’s outburst, would eventually die down. There was no reason for Rhaenyra to be away with her children, away from her future throne and crown. 

“No,” Helaena whimpered. “No. I do not want him to have a blue eye.” 

“My love we must go pay our respect to your Aunt Laena,” Alicent said gently, stroking her daughter’s hair before bending to cup her cheeks and kiss away her tears. “We must go and support your cousins in their loss. We know of loss, do we not? We must show kindness.” 

Viserys huffed in annoyance. Alicent was far too lenient with her children and she had been more withdrawn than ever, waving away her wifely duties, claiming mourning and her recovering body were her reasons. Viserys knew it was because he had sent Daeron away as punishment for how worked up she got about his insistence that the boys play with their nephews. 

Being a lady who had not been raised amongst her brothers made it clear she did not understand how it was that boys bonded. But no, she claimed insult after insult had been laid at her feet because of what had been said to her boys by Jacaerys and Lucerys. Viserys huffed again in annoyance. Could she not see that she was babying her boys. It was why Aegon had not a single care in the world, Aemond had no spine, and Daeron… well, sending Daeron away was for the best. For all that Viserys found the Hightowers an annoyance, if Daeron had half the brain and skill of his grandfather, Viserys would feel somewhat pleased. 

He truly needed to force Alicent’s children to end their green visage. They were not Hightowers, they were Targaryens. There was no reason at all for them to wear green. He knew Alicent had only begun to do so because she was annoyed that he did not name Aegon his heir. He did not understand why his wife did not understand his need to keep Rhaenyra as his heir. She had even welcomed the idea when they were initially married. But after he had sent her father away, suddenly she had become so disagreeable in the matter. 

“I should have married Lady Laena instead,” Viserys sighed under his breath. 

He saw Aegon glance up at him. It wasn’t out of curiosity. No, Aegon had the rather unnerving ability to keep his features perfectly blank and, regardless of his coloring, he looked so much like Alicent it was unnerving. It was that blank expression he was often given in their marital bed before her expression shifted to one of her murmuring happy ones. 

“Had I married your aunt,” Viserys continued. “I would have had only daughters and, as a woman of Valyrian descent, she would have understood why it was that Rhaenyra must remain heir.” 

Aegon’s expression remained perfectly blank, but looked away. 

Even the Hightower face annoyed Viserys greatly. It would never have been possible for Alicent’s children to have the throne. They were half-bloods. They were not true Targaryens, not in full, and Alicent was only furthering his point in her little tantrum by dressing her children in green. 

“Aegon,” Alicent called. “Can you please help your sister?” 

At least Aegon and Helaena would continue the Targaryen tradition. With the lack of siblings of the opposite sex in Viserys’ generation, they had been kept from such things. Now, however, he could ensure Aegon and Helaena’s children were more Targaryen. 

Aegon’s expression softened and he made his way to Helaena and pulled out a box from his pocket and opened it to her. Helaena looked up at him with such devotion as she closed the box and held it to her cheek. It must be another bug. 

Now that the children were ready, they began to board the bot. Alicent slipped her arm into Viserys’ remaining arm and helped him onto the boat. 

“Had I married Lady Laena,” he said. “She would have understood.” 

Like her son, Alicent’s expression remained perfectly blank. 

—

Aegon set his arm firmly around Helaena’s shoulders as she trembled slightly, her lip quivering as she held back tears, no doubt blaming herself as they watched the remnants of Aemond’s eye was discarded into a golden dish by Driftmark’s maester. Not the king’s, of course. He squeezed his sister’s shoulder gently, grounding her in the way she had said helped her most when she got overstimulated. Their mother knelt at Aemond’s side, holding his hand and kissing it as she prayed, the only thing she could do as the maester pulled out a cloth to dab away at the blood as best he could. 

And gods, was there blood. 

Aemond’s skin was stained with it, his hair around his face was stained with it, his clothes were stained with it. Lucerys’ sleeve was stained with it, as was Lord Commander Westerling’s cloak. 

Aegon shifted his gaze to his sister’s children, rage boiling in his belly as they cried as though they were the one’s hurt when it was Aemond who had lost a fucking eye. Jace had his arms securely around Luke, soothing him, probably telling him he had done nothing wrong. Valaena was crying, for some reason, even though she hadn’t been there. Probably because of the blood. Ser Laenor was holding her as Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys tended to their granddaughters. Again, as though they had not been part of it. 

“How could you allow for such a thing to happen?” the king demanded as the maester took out a thread and needle to sew the gaping hole in Aemond’s head shut. The king sat upon a stately chair, dressed for bed. His voice tinged with the tone that made it seem as though this were all a great inconvenience. “I will have answers.” 

“The princes were supposed to be abed, my king,” the Lord Commander said gently, soothingly, as though he knew there were frightened children in the hall. 

Aegon’s stomach dropped as he saw Aemond’s lips tremble. This had to be mended quickly. There was no time for any sedative to be given. 

“Who had the watch?” the king demanded. 

“The young prince was attacked by his own cousins and nephews, your grace,” Ser Criston said just as gently as the Lord Commander. 

“You swore oaths to protect and defend my blood!” the king shouted, using his cane to raise himself from his chair. 

“I’m very sorry, your grace,” the Lord Commander said, lowering his head. 

“The Kingsguard has never had to defend princes from princes,” Ser Criston added. “Your grace—”

“That is not an answer!” the king roared in the Dornish knight’s face. 

“It will heal,” their mother whispered. “Will it not, maester?” 

Beneath the stained skin, Aegon could see how pale Aemond was. Gods. 

Only at the sound of the queen’s gentle tones did the king and all those in the hall turn to look at their wounded prince. 

“Flesh will heal,” the maester said, his tone even, but loud enough for everyone to hear. He finished the final stitch, Aemond’s face contorted in pain. “But the eye is truly lost, your grace.”

Their mother gasped softly, her brown eyes began to fill with tears as she gripped Aemond’s hand more tightly. 

The king looked more annoyed than anything. 

“Where were you?” his mother said, raising herself to grab hold of his arm. She slapped him hard across the face. 

He winced in pain, letting go of Helaena. “What was that for?” 

“That was nothing!” she said in her hushed tones, tears spilling from her eyes and Aegon had not realized until that moment that he was taller than she was now. “Compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were drowning in your cups.” She shook him slightly and gasped again in sorrow. She touched his smarting cheek and buried her face in her hands and her head rested against his collarbone. “Oh, I am so sorry.” 

Aegon felt sick. 

The doors swung open and in swept Rhaenyra, Daemon upon her heels. “Jace,” she called. “Luke!” she swept toward her children, paying no heed to the fact that there was a maester kneeling at her younger brother’s feet. “Show me. Show me.” She knelt down at the feet of her sons and cupped Luke’s face with one hand and pulled away the hand from his face so she could see the dried blood on his nose. “Who did this?” she demanded. 

“They attacked me!” Aemond shouted. 

Aegon reached for his mother, but she had returned to Aemond’s side and Aegon put his hand around Helaena once more. 

“He attacked Baela!” Jace shouted. 

And suddenly all the children were shouting save Aegon, Helaena, and Valaena. Helaena cupped her hands over her ears and hunched over, tears sliding down her cheeks. 

“It should be my son telling the tale!” their mother shouted. 

“He called us—” Jace began. 

“Silence!” the king roared, bringing everyone to his order. 

Even so, Jace whispered something to his mother. Rhaenyra stood, putting herself between her boys and the rest of the court present at Driftmark. 

“Aemond,” the king said, making his way toward the chair for which Aemond was sitting. “I will have the truth of what happened. Now.” 

“What else is there to hear?” their mother demanded. “Your son has been maimed. Her son is responsible.” 

“It was a regrettable accident,” Rhaenyra replied. 

“Accident?” their mother demanded. “The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush. If he thought there was true danger, he should have gotten one of his guards, not taken it upon himself to fight the boy he has history of tormenting. He meant to kill my son.” 

“It was my sons who were attacked,” Rhaenyra said, raising her voice to the pitch that made it clear to everyone that she was the truly wronged party, as always. “And forced to defend themselves. Vile insults were levied against them.” 

“What insults?” the king asked. 

And just like that, it mattered not that Aemond had lost an eye. It mattered not that it had been Luke that had maimed him. It mattered not that his own soon now sat there, for all the court to see that he had been maimed and crippled. What mattered was that Rhaenyra’s precious sons had been insulted, meaning, in the eyes of the king, Aemond’s loss was a worthy cost. 

“The legitimacy of my sons’ birth was put loudly to question,” Rhaenyra said, taking Luke’s hand into her own. 

Loudly. 

Aegon wanted to scoff. In the middle of the night, where no one would have heard it save for now when Rhaenyra wished for her boys to have reason to take Aemond’s eye. 

“What?” the king demanded. 

“He called us bastards,” Jace said firmly, looking to his mother for guidance. 

Aegon glanced at Aemond, whose lips twitched. It was not from his mouth the court heard that word said so out in the open. It was from the mouth of Jace himself. Nevermind that Ser Laenor was holding Valaena, who clearly looked nothing like him, not when compared to the daughters of Prince Daemon and Lady Laena. It was rather clear to anyone who ever had any doubts of what the union between Targaryen and Velaryon should appear. 

“My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, your grace,” Rhaenyra continued, stepping closer to her father. “This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond should be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders.” 

Aegon put Helaena behind him and stepped forward, setting his hand on his dagger strapped to his hip. Aemond sat frozen in his seat as Aegon moved to stand between his siblings and the Lord Commander, who would be in charge of Aegon’s brother being sharply questioned. 

“Over an insult?” his mother asked. “My son has lost an eye.” 

Rhaenyra lifted her chin, as though the price Aemond had paid were not enough. 

“You tell me, boy,” the king said, stepping toward Aemond, bending down to look at him, the first time he had done so since being brought in. “Where did you hear this lie?” 

“The insult was training yard bluster,” their mother said, stepping forward, letting go of Aemond’s hand, to soothe the king, as she was often required to do. “The worst insult he could think of. The lot of boys, it was nothing.” 

“Aemond,” the king continued. “I asked you a question.”

Aegon took Aemond’s hand in his own and squeezed it, tracing letters with his thumb along the back of Aemond’s hand. M. E. Aemond squeezed Aegon’s hand in reply. 

“Aemond,” the king repeated. “Look at me. Your king demands an answer.” As though he had ever been anyone but their king. “Who spoke these lies to you?” 

“It was Aegon,” Aemond said, his voice rough. 

Aegon straightened to the tallest he could manage. 

“You,” the king said, his voice rough with rage. “And you, boy?” He shifted to look at Aegon. “Where did you hear such calumnies?” He did not even have a moment to answer before the king shouted in his face. Aegon flinched against his rage. “Aegon! Tell the truth of it!” 

“We know, Father,” Aegon said, making it clear this had always been a matter of family, not the throne. He turned to look at the king. He had not realized how much taller he was compared to his father now. He was a man grown now, but, then again, how long had it been when he had not been considered a son by his father. “Everyone knows. Just look at them.” 

All the court’s eyes turned to look at Rhaenyra’s boys, whom she clutched to her side in protection. The king could see what Aegon had done, knew it too well for it was what he had always done when Aegon or his mother had asked for something to be done about the cruel jabs aimed at Aemond. It was a family matter. But those had been insults. Aemond had been maimed. He had been crippled. And gods only knew if he would survive. Grown men could die from such a wound and Aemond was only a boy. 

“This interminable infighting must cease!” the king yelled in Aegon’s face, as though he were the cause of it. The king stamped his cane in rage. “All of you! We are a family!” His voice strained. “Now make your apologies and show good will to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it!” 

Aegon knew the first two were directed at Rhaenyra and hers, the last was directed to Aegon and his. 

The king did not even look at Aemond as he passed. He did look at Aegon’s mother though and the pain Aegon saw in her eyes made him think the look had been that of condemnation. 

“That is insufficient,” his mother said, her voice wavering. The king turned to look at her, having already made his way nearly back to his seat. “Aemond has been damaged permanently, my king. Good will cannot make him whole.” 

“I know, Alicent,” the king said, using no titles for her, dismissing her treaties before she had even said them. “But I cannot restore his eye.” 

“No,” his mother said. “Because it has been taken.” 

“What would you have me do?” the king demanded, returning to her. And before all the court, Aegon wondered if they could recall how young his mother was when the king stood before her. 

“There is a debt to be paid,” his mother said firmly. “There must be some punishment.” 

“My dear wife,” the king said, his voice gentle, as though that tone could make up for all the horrors he had cast upon her. 

Aegon could still see his mother sobbing into her bed, clutching at the bloodied sheets. He could see how pale she had still been when Daeron had been sent away. 

“He is your son, Viserys,” his mother’s voice broke. “Your blood.” 

“Do not,” the king hissed, stepping closer, “allow your temper to guide your judgement. This matter is finished. Do you understand?” When Aegon’s mother did not answer, he stepped away to address the court. “And let it be known, anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s sons should have it removed.” 

Therefore making the loss of Aemond’s eye a punishment. An example for the court of how far the king was willing to go to protect his beloved child and grandchildren from slander. 

“Thank you, Father,” Rhaenyra said, her voice clear and calm amongst the silence of the court.