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After the Dragons Danced (A Rhaena Targaryen SI) -- 06. Matrimony and Monarchy
🕑 Added 2024-09-04 09:00:00 +0000 UTCTHE QUEEN DOWAGER
7th Day, Seventh Moon, 131 AC | King’s Landing
Dawn found Alicent Hightower standing on the balcony of her chambers, looking towards the rising sun. A lifetime ago, morning meant a new day, a day full of promise and hope. Dragons were dancing in the brightening sky, a large silver one diving into the bay, a smaller pink one following it eagerly. They almost looked beautiful, she had to admit, but Alicent had danced with dragons and knew how deceptive that beauty was. She wished she had known so before, she wished she had learned before everything was taken from her.
She had been so eager to come to court that lifetime ago, to see for herself the splendour of the Targaryens, with their silver hair and amethyst eyes that set them apart from the rest of the realm. Even the light-blonde hair and blue eyes she had inherited from her mother could not compare, no matter how many times the Old King had confused her with some daughter of his.
Memories of mornings in Oldtown came back to her. She had been still a child then, not yet broken. Her brothers and she had loved to climb to the top of the Hightower to watch as the fires that served as a beacon to the entire city of Oldtown blazed. Helena Mullendore, her mother, had despaired of her during those days. She had been too wild, she had said, constantly following in her brothers’ mischief. ‘You are a lady, you have no place in the games of boys.’
These days, she saw only shifting shadows whenever she tried to imagine her mother’s face. The Stranger had seen fit to take her soul into the heavens just before she had turned seven, nearly four decades ago now. Gods, had it truly been forty years? She had reached heights she did not know possible, but she had also fallen far, far lower than she had ever climbed.
Coming to court had been an escape. Her father had thought of leaving her behind, to be fostered in Starpike ahead of her marriage to the heir of that castle, Unwin Peake, in fulfilment of a betrothal that had been set for her since she was five years old. At that age, she had no interest in being shackled to someone else. She had wanted nothing more than to see the King’s court and experience for herself the glory of the Red Keep.
It did not disappoint. She had gained a new family then. Queen Aemma Arryn kept a retinue of nine ladies with her, and the ten of them were as close as sisters. Everything was so novel at that time. From the gowns she wore, the food she ate, the very sights of the city; it was all new and fascinating for the third child of the second son of the Beacon of the South.
At the centre of that, had been Rhaenyra Targaryen, the precocious girl who had been like the younger sister she never had. Even now, even still, the memories of them running after each other in the luscious gardens of the castle came to her mind, laughter making her face shine with mischief. That was before she had become a monster.
She thought of the words Jaehaerys Targaryen had said to her, in a rare lucid moment during his final days, “Care for those you love, sweet one. They are our true legacy, and they should be protected, or else you will die old and alone like me.”
She had cared when Queen Aemma, the closest friend she had ever made, died in the birthing bed. Rhaenyra had been hers to comfort and care for, and she had done it gladly, just as her best friend had asked of her as she breathed her last. Many nights after Aemma’s death had been spent singing sweet songs while running her hands through the gleaming silver tresses of her friend’s only surviving child, trying to quell the torrent of sorrow she knew so intimately, the pain of losing a mother.
Through the darkness of grief, the light of a love so unexpected had been found. Alicent had seldom spent time around King Viserys, only seeing him when he chanced to come upon her when she was with the queen. She had never given him much regard, thinking him particularly lack-lustre compared to his dashing and daring younger brother that she had to stop herself from visibly swooning over whenever she was in his presence. Although Viserys was not all that, he was kind, caring, and of most import, gentle. He had treated her like a delicate flower, and Alicent knew that was not something many maidens could expect of their often uncaring or even brutal husbands. She had been content, happy even.
That had changed when her son was born, and her husband still kept his daughter as heir to the throne. Her father had finally made her see that she and her children were in danger of losing everything, even their very lives. It had taken him being dismissed from the council to truly realise the peril, and it was from there that she had begun to fight. The only way to ensure their safety was to make sure that her Aegon became king after his father.
So she had fought, throwing herself head-first into the stage and dancing with dragons. A marriage between Aegon and Rhaenyra, as was tradition among the Targaryens, would have solved all potential disputes, she had told the king. Her husband’s daughter would have become queen, and her son king, just as they both desired. King Viserys had objected to that. It had not mattered however, for soon enough, her son had a queen, Helaena.
No, it would not do to think of her. All she could see now was her body writhing in pain, the spikes of the dry moat jutting out of her bloody breast, neck, thigh and stomach; and her lovely daughter begging for death. The sight was stuck with her.
Oh, Gods. She had fought all these years, she had danced on the same stage as dragons and still, her family had been obliterated, almost in its entirety. Aegon had been poisoned by Lord Corlys, Aemond and Daeron died in battle, and Helaena… she had to shake herself out of those thoughts. Now there was only Jaehaera, sweet Jaehaera.
It was her turn to dance now, she knew; to dance on the same strings that lovely Helaena had, the same strings that Alicent herself had. And she knew that it would end with nothing but death and devastation. Oh, how she wished she had another chance to kill that monsters’ son. He had no right to her granddaughter, still so sweet and gentle despite everything she had endured.
‘A son for a son. Pick one, or we’ll kill them all, and then we’ll see whether ye cunts are as good as the Prince say they are….. Hear that boy, your momma wants you dead.’ She saw the blade move with decisive action and… no, no, no, no.
“Your Grace! Your Grace!” Alicent registered a panicked voice calling out to her, its owner holding her up to stop her from falling. The next moment she was sat on the settee in her chambers, tears flowing down her cheeks, and her hands holding her folded legs to her chest.
“Are you well?” the voice asked once she stopped shaking. She looked up at the owner of the voice, only to get the sudden urge to recoil once more and possibly run away. But she would not. She could not give the monster’s daughter the satisfaction.
“I am princess,” said Alicent, straightening herself and wiping the tears that were flowing down her cheeks and the snot that was leaking out of her nose. It took a moment more to compose herself, “good morrow to you Princess Rhaena.”
“Good morrow to you too. I have a gift for you, my queen,” she replied as she summoned four ladies, two of them carrying a gown, into her chambers. It is quite an ostentatious one at that. The dress was black almost in its entirety, with many, many rubies sown into the bodice and flowing into the skirt. She could swear that the gown looked familiar.
“Today is your granddaughter’s wedding to my brother, King Aegon. I thought it fitting that the dowager queen dress in the same gown that Queen Rhaenyra wore to your own childrens’ wedding. Of course, alterations have been made to accommodate your more… slender… frame,” Rhaena said.
The ladies behind the princess had the gall to giggle. She swallowed the jibe. It would not do well to show her anger at the insult. Rhaena had a dragon, and her sister now rode the largest dragon in the world, having returned to the city flying on her just a few days ago. Alicent and her granddaughter had no dragons of their own, they were all dead.
“That is very kind of you, princess,” Alicent replied in a contrite manner, “but I can’t attend the wedding today. I am not feeling well, and I did not wish for my condition to affect the princess.”
“Should I get a maester to examine you, Your Grace?” the Princess asked. “Princess Jaehaera so wished to have her grandmother present today, to witness her marriage and ascension to become my brother’s queen. You are the only family she has left, you know?” she told her, affecting a sympathetic look that Alicent knew was as false as sympathetic looks went.
The last thing Alicent desired was to see her granddaughter get married to the monsters’ son, much less bend the knee to that pretender. But she was cornered with no way out of this. As much as many still addressed her by a monarch’s honorifics, everyone knew her queenship had lost its teeth immediately her last remaining son had been murdered. There was no escape.
With as much grace as she could muster, she therefore assented, “There’s no need for that princess. I’ll be quite fine by the time of the wedding I believe.”
“Very well. Once you’ve bathed and prepared yourself, these lovely ladies shall help you dress.” Said lovely ladies were blushing at the complement. Looking at them, could see that some of them were from houses that were her son’s fiercest allies. One had a lion of Lannister on their gown, while another had the prancing stallion of Bracken. Traitors.
The princess continued declaring her instructions, veiled in sultry tones as they were, “you will ride with your granddaughter to the top of Visenya’s Hill, where the wedding will be held. You will then give her to my brother before they say their vows and the High Septon pronounces them husband and wife.”
“Very well princess.” Alicent answered, weakly.
It was an hour later when the preparations were done and Alicent was deemed prim and proper. She gazed at her image in the dressing mirror, astonished. There was no mistaking that this was Rhaenyra Targaryen’s gown, judging from how nauseatingly ostentatious it was. It even smelled exactly like she used to. The urge to rip it to pieces and place it in the fires of the hearth, to watch it burn just as Rhaenyra had, was almost overwhelming. But she could not. For her granddaughter’s sake, she would have to endure.
Down the serpentine steps she went, making sure to walk slowly in order not to trip over the monster’s gown. She felt foreign in it, especially with how dramatic it was. Why did this pretender feel the need to bedeck herself in such excess? She was weighed down by the gown, and she had not even worn any jewels to go along with it. The many, many rubies were enough for the outfit certainly, though Rhaenyra would certainly not think so.
In the carriage, she was alone with her granddaughter. What could she even say to her? She was marching her to her doom, instead of trying to do something to rescue her from her fate. Their eyes met only once throughout the ride, and a chill shot down her spine at what she saw. Those were empty eyes, dead eyes, full of nothing. She herself was dead-silent, not even speaking, only seemingly staring at her, her gaze unseeing. Alicent felt like crying all the more. That was the same look Helaena had worn in the days leading up to her death. Mayhaps death might be a reprieve. No, she stopped herself from going down that path.
Their carriage creaked to a stop at the top of Visenya’s Hill after about an hour’s ride. The doors opened and she stepped out after her daughter, her expression impassive and still so very dead. A sea of smallfolk had crowded either side of the path that had been set aside for the nobility attending the wedding to reach the grandstands erected at the hill’s summit where they would sit in comfort through the ceremony. Gold cloaks stood guard on either side of the path, while others were guarding the nobility and their retinues.
Putting on a brave face, she took Jaehaera’s hand in theirs, and led her to her doom. She could feel the eyes of the gathered nobility on her, the combination of their attention and the winter air sending another chill down her spine. Tears were stinging her eyes. Alicent willed them not to fall. Today was not the day for tears. She looked down at her granddaughter beside her, her face smoothed into an impassive mask. She paused for a moment, and took a deep breath. Jaehaera was the blood of the dragon, though she herself may not be. She was brave, and mayhaps she might even survive this, mayhaps this did not have to be her doom. In time, mayhaps she might fly again.
That was when I heard it. A loud thud that shook the earth. A deep, guttural growl followed the thud. She looked up, and behind the High Septon and Jaehaera’s groom, the immense form of The Silver Queen had just landed, followed by the much, much smaller pink form of Morning, as she had learned Rhaena’s dragon was named. The old queen’s dragon bent her neck and both Princesses dismounted the saddle. Judging by her short hair, it was Baela that took a seat at the front, while Rhaena stood next to her brother, holding his shaking shoulders. Something was whispered between the two of them, then the twins shared a look, and the next moment, the two dragons shot back up into the skies.
The nobility’s eyes were all too fixed on the spectacle of the dragons to even notice her. Within a short time, they reached the platform erected for the marriage to take place, and the pretender’s son took her granddaughter’s hand in his. A lady guided her to the seat reserved for her, right next to the twins and their grandfather.
The High Septon, who had travelled all the way from Oldtown for this wedding, began the customary marriage sermon. Once that was done, the bride and the groom were beckoned to say the customary wedding vows.
“Father. Mother. Warrior. Smith. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am hers and he is mine, from this day, until the end of my days,” Rhaenyra’s son said, his voice flat.
“Father. Mother. Warrior. Smith. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his and he is mine, from this day, until the end of my days,” her granddaughter added her voice to her new husband’s.
Alicent wondered whether they even understood the vows the two of them were spouting. She herself had thought she had when she had married her own king. Oh, what a fool she had been. And she had been much, much older than Jaehaera was now when she said those vows. Binding oneself to a king was not definitely not the delight she had thought it would have been during her maidenhood. She had learned that lesson in the most brutal way one ever could.
Hope that her granddaughter would not go through the same was a folly, she knew. Unbidden, her mind went back to the wedding that Rhaenyra had won the very gown she was dressed in now. Helaena had barely been a maiden when she had married her to her son. She would end up a mother the next year, all in the name of bolstering Aegon’s claim to the throne. She let the silent tears flow then. Jaehaera would not even have a childhood to look forward to, married as she was now.
The gentle beckoning from a lady beside her to inform her that the ceremony was at an end startled her out of her tears. She quickly dried them up. Alicent observed the king and his queen climb into an open litter, the household guard forming a protective ring about them as they rode back to Aegon’s High Hill. Again, a raucous shout went up from the smallfolk.
She herself climbed upon another wheelhouse, Rhaena and some of the other ladies at court climbing in with her. Suddenly, she heard the loud, ground-shaking roars of Silverwing drown out the cheers of the smallfolk as they rode through the city and back to the Red Keep, for what she was told was the official ceremony to crown the pretender and her granddaughter as his queen.
It was noon when that ceremony began, since a small break had been offered to those who had attended the wedding to refresh themselves. Alicent had wished to change into a more comfortable garb, but she had been forbidden from doing so. Nobles from all across the realm were gathered in the throne room. A sea of banners, belonging to lords great and small littered the exalted hall, all of them there to bear witness to the ascension of a false king.
As the grandmother of the queen, she stood at a place of honour at the base of the platform that held the Iron Throne, looking out to the room. Memories of a ceremony similar to this came to her.
“Announcing, Prince Aegon of House Targaryen his lady wife, Princess Jaehaera of House Targaryen, and his sisters, Princess Baela and Princess Rhaena Targaryen,” the voice of a herald boomed. The great iron and oak doors of the throne room opened, and in walked the four aforementioned Targaryens. All of them were dressed to the nines in their house colours, black and red. Even Jaehaera, who had worn nothing but green since she was born to her daughter, had shed those colours and donned her grandfather’s hues.
Baela and Rhaena stood out among the four of them, due to the fact that they had worn identical red gowns, black embroidery depicting dragons in flight. The gowns were expertly cut, being strapless, to reveal their décolletage in a tasteful but still chaste manner. Baela wore a golden necklace with a dragon-shaped pendant around her neck. Her hair, as always, was cut to a boy’s length, but its silver sheen still shone in the torches and sunlight that seeped through the gallery. Apart from the golden chain, there was no other jewellery on her.
Rhaena, on the other hand, wore more jewellery than her twin, sporting a necklace and earrings made of silver, with a ring on her middle finger that seemed to drink all the light of the world. Her long silver hair flowed in waves down to her waist. Both of them carried a red pillow each, crowns placed on top of them.
That the pretender looked handsome in a black sleeveless surcoat with the sleeves of a red shirt emerging from underneath the surcoat, she had to admit. Clearly, he was his father’s son. He wore black breeches to accompany his black surcoat. Her granddaughter was dressed in a gown that was exactly like the ones the twins wore, the only difference being its reversed colours; red embroidered dragons flying on black. And she wore no jewellery at all. Her eyes looked as dead as they had at the wedding, an expression mirrored by her new husband.
The twins and Jaehaera fanned out to stand at either side of the Iron Throne, Rhaena and Jaehaera coming to her side while Baela stood at the opposite end. Aegon remained in the middle, meeting the High Septon for his swearing in. The applause had died down and now silence reigned in the great hall, hundreds of souls watching in anticipation.
The High Septon began his short sermon, preaching on how the king was chosen by the gods to lead the men of the realm, and how the rest of the realm was to be guided by him. Rather unsubtly, he proclaimed that this new king had come to free the realm of usurpers, pretenders and false kings and that he would heal the realm and make it whole. Alicent fought not to scowl at that.
Then came the investiture. His bade the pretender kneel as he proclaimed for all to hear, “Do you, Aegon Targaryen, stand before the Seven, in sight of gods and men, to take up the sacred mantle of king and protector of this realm?”
The pretender king replied, “I do.”
“Then say the sacred vows,” he beckoned.
In a voice that was surprisingly eloquent for his meek disposition, he began, “I swear by the Father to be just, to rule with wisdom and to judge fairly, never allowing hatred, pride, prejudice or false counsel to sway me. I swear by the Mother to protect the innocent, to defend the weak, to uphold the peace of the realm and to guard its lands from the threats of those who would seek to usurp or destroy them.
“I swear by the Warrior to stand as the sword of the shield of the realm, to lead its armies in times of war in defence from all its enemies, both from within and without. I swear by the Smith to mend this realm from the wrents caused by the war fought these past two years, instigated by usurpers, pretenders and accursed kinslayers. I will toil every day of my reign to keep the kingdom whole and united.
“I swear by the Crone to honour the wisdom of the wise and seek the counsel of those who serve the realm with knowledge. I shall strive to rule with fairness and clarity, seeking always to learn, so that my reign may bring prosperity and peace. I swear by the Maiden to cherish life and seek to bring hope and health to all my people. I swear by the Stranger’s shadow to keep my vows and hold fast to my duty so long as the light of life shines upon me, knowing that death shall come for all, even kings. I shall reign with honour until the day my time comes.
“I swear this once more by the Old Gods, as I’ve sworn by the New.”
The High Septon did not miss a beat, announcing, “In the sight of The Gods and men, I anoint you with the holy oil of the Seven, and crown you Aegon of House Targaryen, the Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.”
Princess Rhaena presented the crown she had been carrying, a simple circlet of gold, unadorned by any embellishment, which the High Septon placed on his head. “Rise, Your Grace, as king of the realm, chosen by the Old Gods and the new to rule.”
Alicent could her outrage no more. Second of his Name, no! Rhaenyra sought to steal her son’s name, and now her pretender steals his title? She could not let that stand. No. That monsters’ son already had her son’s name, her son’s throne, he could not have his title as well.
The realisation that she was in fact speaking those words aloud for the entire realm to hear came too late. Immediately, she felt two hands on her, dragging her as if she was a sack of hay through the king’s door behind the Iron Throne. Rising murmurs were the last thing she heard from the throne room before said door was shut. She was then thrown onto a lounging chair nearby.
Her ears were burning red and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment when Rhaena came upon her once more, a deadly smile on her face. She sat down on the seat next to her, the very picture of grace, “Your Grace. Isn’t this what you wanted? Your granddaughter is to be the queen. Your blood will be in the future monarchs of the Seven Kingdoms until the end of time.”
She opened her mouth to rage once more, but the four burly-looking guards surrounding her had their hands on the pommels of their swords. Alicent demurred, “Yes, princess.”
The kind smile remained in place as Rhaena gave her instructions, “Very well. If you wish for your daughter to remain as my brother’s queen, we shall return with you to the great hall. The lords are being called upon one by one to swear their fealty to him as the new king. You shall be the last to be called, and you shall swear fealty as well. And this time, you shall keep those oaths for as long as your life remains to you. Should you abide by this, you will be allowed to live with all the dignity and luxury that is afforded to a Dowager Queen. Are we in agreement, Your Grace?”
A nod was all the reply she could give amidst the silent tears that were flowing down her face. Rhaena got up, gave instructions to two of the four men who had accompanied her to discreetly escort her to the hall once she had composed herself, and returned to the throne room.
All was lost truly, wasn’t it? Every one she had thought to be her ally were either dead or had turned their cloaks. She looked at the gown she wore once more. There were no blacks and no greens anymore. There was no righteous duty that her father had engrained in her since she had borne him a future king for a grandson. He would not even be known as king, only a usurper. She took a deep sigh, wiped the tears and straightened her gown once more.
She returned to the great hall as the last of the lords was swearing their oaths of fealty to the king. Princess Baela, who was currently serving as herald, called her name next, “Queen Dowager Alicent of House Hightower.” Alicent walked up to the foot of the throne. She did not need to rehearse the vows even once, she had heard them before, when she was swearing to her own Aegon. The words she would use now were the exact ones she had used then.
She went to one knee and pronounced meekly, willing her voice not to break and the tears not to flow, “I, Queen Alicent of House Hightower, in the sight of gods and men, do swear fealty to you, King Aegon of House Targaryen, Second of his Name, the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. I pledge my loyalty, my faith and my service to you in good faith and without deceit. I shall uphold and abide by the laws you decree and render to you the tribute and obedience you are owed as King. I swear this by the Old Gods and the New, and cursed shall I be if I forsake this solemn oath.”
“All hail King Aegon!” Princess Baela announced, once she was finished and had gone back to stand at the place she had been allotted.
“All hail King Aegon!” the hall replied, following with more cheers and applause.
Said king climbed to the very top of the Iron Throne and sat upon it, the barbs and swords of his namesake’s fallen enemies surrounding him. He held his hand up to cease the cheers, and the crowd obeyed.
Aegon began, in as assured a voice as a child his age could possess, “Thank you, lords and ladies of the realm. My first act as king shall be to formally declare the line of monarchs since the conqueror united these realms. The first king was Aegon, the first of his name, who reigned from 2 BC to 37 AC. His son Aenys, followed him until his death in 42 AC. Maegor the Cruel reigned after his brother for the next six years, until his death in 48 AC. After Maegor came Jaehaerys, who ruled until his death in 103 AC, to be succeeded by my grandfather Viserys, who ruled until 129 AC.
“My mother, Queen Rhaenyra, followed him, until she was murdered in 130 AC.” He seemed to pause at that last part, his voice breaking, but it became resolute once more as he continued, “my reign began officially after my mother’s death, on the twenty second day of the tenth moon of 130 AC.
“Aegon, the first-born son of King Viserys and Queen Dowager Alicent Hightower, is to be stripped of all royal titles he ever possessed in life. All accounts, annals and records that mention him are to name him only as Aegon the Usurper. Aegon’s brothers are also to be stripped of all the royal titles they ever had due to the part they played in the treason of their attainted brother. Only Helaena, the mother of my queen, shall retain the status due to her as the daughter of a king, but no more. She shall be known as Princess Helaena in all records that mention her.
“In accordance with this, all laws, policies, decrees, edicts, proclamations and appointments made by him and those who served him are declared null and void. They are to be stricken from all records.”
The nobility broke into applause. The tears came once more, and she did nothing to stop them from flowing. They not only stripped his son of his rightful kingship, but they were also making it as if he had never even existed.
The king continued once the applause stopped, “Due to the contradictions caused by the lack of a clear rules of succession, the realm has faced succession conflicts at almost every turn, some of which have led to war. Maegor slew his own nephew in order to secure his kingship. The conciliator called a great council to solve another conflict between his two grandchildren. We have just come from the most devastating war in living memory due to a conflict of the same kind.
“To prevent another conflict of this kind, an official law of inheritance has been drafted. From now until the end of time, succession of the Iron Throne shall follow principle of male-preference primogeniture, meaning that the sons of the monarch and their lines, in order of their birth, shall have precedence on inheritance. Where there are no sons, daughters and their lines in order of their birth shall be first in line.
“Where the monarch has no descendants of his own body, the monarch’s brothers and their lines, in order of their birth, shall be the heirs and failing that, the monarch’s sisters and their lines, in the order of their birth. Targaryen bastards, meaning any child born by a Targaryen outside the bonds of marriage between a man and his wife, shall have no claim to the Iron Throne under any circumstance, whether they were legitimised or otherwise. This writ has been signed by all the great lords of the Seven Kingdoms or their regents, and is therefore binding, regardless of me being in my minority.
Rage welled in Alicent’s belly on hearing that. What right did this pretender have to declare this? These were the same exact reasons her own Aegon has been crowned!
“In accordance with this law, I acknowledge my sister, Princess Baela of House Targaryen as heir presumptive to the Iron Throne and the current Princess of Dragonstone, until such a time as I sire heirs of mine own body. Following her in the line of succession as it is now is Princess Rhaena, Queen Jaehaera and Archmaester Vaegon.”
Her mind was in a daze after that, not hearing a thing as the knights to serve in the Kingsguard were bestowed their white cloaks, nor when the members of the council were selected and accepted their posts. She needed to get away from here. She needed a way out. But there was none. Her dance had begun the day she found herself in a grieving king’s bed, and Jaehaera’s the day she was born.
What was the point of it all? What was the point of playing the game, on dancing of the strings laid before her? What was the point of making her children dance along with her, if it was all to end in fire and death.
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