Chapter Text
Chapter 1 – Rhaella I
270 AC, Moon 10
Rhaella had felt it—the subtle shift in her sons—since their nameday ceremony. She confided this to her dear friend, Lady Prudence, as they shared a quiet meal in her private chambers. Prudence was one of the few who had remained by her side after King Aerys confined her to Maegor’s Holdfast early that year. It had been soon after the pain of yet another stillbirth, and the isolation only sharpened her grief.
Rhaella’s circle had all but vanished. Her oldest companion, Violet Redwyne, the Mistress of the Keys, had been sent away; Rhaella had learned that Violet had chosen to join the Motherhouse of Rhaena in King’s Landing. Aressa Marbrand remained at court with her husband, Ser Burton Crakehall, but hadn’t visited Rhaella since. Delanna Vance had been married off to Lord Grafton’s heir, while Myrielle Footly had suddenly moved to her husband’s lands in Rosby. Her ladies in waiting were scattered like leaves in the wind after it became clear she had been stripped of the little power she had.
Rhaella tried to keep herself occupied. She sew and embroidered, prayed with Septa Johanna and Septa Alla, and read the books that Prudence brought her. She cherished each moment she was permitted to spend with Rhaegar and Gaemon, yet the days blurred in quiet monotony and worse, a endless melancholy. She was caged, and her husband Aerys delighted in making light of her confinement.
“Your dream come true, isn’t it, Rhaella?” he had jeered, “To have all the peace and privacy you could wish for.”
Prudence’s voice broke into her thoughts. “From what I’ve gathered, Rhaella, Prince Rhaegar and Prince Gaemon still attend their lessons regularly. Rhaegar remains focused on his training to become a knight, and Gaemon—well, he seems determined to grow into a scholar. He barely leaves his studies and the library.”
Rhaella managed a small smile. “Rhaegar is no fool either.”
Prudence returned the smile. “You’ve borne two very gifted sons.”
Rhaella’s hand drifted instinctively to her belly—a belly that, though no longer maiden-thin, was nonetheless empty. “Not enough,” she whispered, barely louder than a breath.
Prudence reached out, “Then tell me, why do you feel something has changed between them?”
Rhaella’s gaze fell, and her fingers twisted together. “They hardly spend any time together, Prudence. They’ve always had their own ways—Rhaegar with his head turned toward his sword, Gaemon with his books—but still, they were inseparable outside of it. Even when they had other friends, they would come to me together. But now… they visit me separately, as though some invisible wall has risen between them.”
“And when you ask them about each other?” Prudence’s voice was gentle.
Rhaella let out a sad breath. “They grow silent. They look away, and I can see the hesitation in their eyes. It’s as if they’re carrying secrets neither wishes to share.” She paused, swallowing. “I cannot bear the thought of my children set against one another.”
Prudence took her hand. “I would never doubt a mother’s intuition,” she said softly. “But if there is discord between the boys, none at court has remarked upon it.”
“But this isn’t something anyone else would notice,” Rhaella replied, worried. “It’s subtle, a feeling, but it eats away at me.” She leaned forward, almost pleading. “I cannot fathom what has come between them. They were so close, Prudence. And now they refuse even to speak of each other.”
Prudence squeezed her hand, brows knitted in thought. “Perhaps… something has happened that they cannot bring to you. Some childhood misunderstanding that will soon be solved.”
Rhaella shook her head. “I know them. And I know when they are keeping secrets.”
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.
Rhaegar was perched in his chair, his legs swinging idly, ignoring the disapproving glances from Septa Johanna. Her eldest son had a knack for mischief, his energy often boundless as he played with the other children of the court and charmed the maids into sneaking him sweets. Prudence had mentioned that Ser Willem Darry was particularly pleased with Rhaegar’s progress in sword training, a subject he now recounted eagerly to her.
“And have you made many friends?” Rhaella asked, though she already suspected the answer.
“Oh, yes!” Rhaegar’s face lit up as he launched into an excited recounting of his companions. Some names were familiar, but others left Rhaella puzzled.
“Who is Matthos?” she asked with a curious smile.
“He’s the royal armorer’s son! I finally convinced him to join us at sword practice. He’s strong and tall, but he’s fast too—Ser Willem says so.” Rhaegar’s tone was bright, and his pride evident. “I tried to get Jyck to come as well, but he’s still not sure.”
“Jyck?” she repeated, unfamiliar with the name.
“Cooker Godry’s son. He’s always working as an errand boy, busy all the time.” Rhaegar’s lips turned down in disappointment.
Rhaella’s brows rose in mild surprise at her son’s choice of friends, sons of household staff rather than noble-born boys. He but he was still young, and Rhaella didn’t want to ruin his happiness.
“And then there’s Grella,” Rhaegar added with an exasperated sigh. “She’s always staring at us during training.”
Rhaella hid her smile. Likely Grella was a young girl nursing a harmless infatuation. “And who is Grella?”
“Ser Godric’s daughter. I asked her to join us—she clearly wants to, since she’s always watching us—but she turned red and ran off.”
“Oh, did she now?” Rhaella chuckled, amused by these budding friendships and fancies. How different her own childhood had been, every step planned for duty rather than delight. Her parents had wed her to Aerys at barely three-and-ten, sealing her fate long before she’d ever had the chance for girlish crushes.
“Ser Lotho of Driftmark says girls shouldn’t fight,” Rhaegar muttered with disdain. “I told him that’s stupid. He looked like he wanted to hit me for saying so, but since I’m a prince, he didn’t dare.”
Rhaella stifled a laugh. “Well, in some ways, Ser Lotho isn’t entirely wrong, my dear. Swordplay is considered a skill for men, though there are some women skilled with a bow or falconry.”
Rhaegar shook his head firmly. “But that’s not true! There were women warriors too.”
Rhaella sighed, amused by her son’s defiance. “Visenya, perhaps, but she was hardly an example for most.”
“No, not her,” Rhaegar replied proudly, “Jonquil Darke. She was Queen Alysanne’s sworn shield! You should have one too, Mother.”
Her heart warmed at his protective spirit. “That was a long time ago, Rhaegar. And besides, I have the Kingsguard and our household knights.”
“But they’re loyal to Father,” Rhaegar murmured, his voice tinged with a disquiet that caught her off guard.
“Rhaegar,” Rhaella said gently, though her hands trembled beneath her skirts. “You mustn’t say such things. Never, do you hear me?”
He frowned, a touch of wounded pride in his eyes. “I only say it to you. I’m not foolish like Sniv—” He stopped, seeming to catch himself.
“Who?” Rhaella’s voice was stern, and Rhaegar flushed.
Reluctantly, he looked up. “Gaemon,” he admitted, his voice soft. “He looks at me like I’m a fool.. Always thinking he’s better than me, clever than me.”
Rhaella’s heart sank. She had feared that there might be some rift between her sons, but hearing it spoken aloud made it all too real. “I know that boys often have… tensions,” she began carefully, “but you are brothers, twins. My precious sons. It would break my heart to see you set against one another.”
Rhaegar’s frown deepened, looking at her hands resting in her lap. With a sudden, he rose from his chair and embraced her, pressing his face to her skirts. She fought back the wince his fierce grip caused.
“I’ll be your sworn shield, then,” he murmured fiercely.
Rhaella’s heart swelled, and she wrapped her arms around him. “My knight,” she said softly. “But as my knight, I ask you to also look after Gaemon. He is your younger brother, and a knight must protect his own blood.”
Rhaegar looked up, his lilac eyes clouded with a mix of emotions, most of them making Rhaella sadder. She wished she could take his burdens from him, keep him in the innocence of childhood just a while longer.
“I will try,” he promised, though his voice held a hint of reluctance. “Even if it’s him.”
.
.
If Rhaegar was a rambunctious child, Gaemon was a quiet and contemplative one. Where Rhaegar dressed like a young prince in vibrant shades of red, gold, and occasionally the rich blues and purples Rhaella commissioned for them, Gaemon favored dark colors—most of the times he was clad in black from head to toe. His solemn, thoughtful manner reminded her so much of her own father, King Jaehaerys, that it sometimes left her breathless.
“Lady Mother,” he greeted, placing a formal kiss on her cheek, as he always did.
“Gaemon,” she said warmly, gesturing for him to sit. “How was your day, my love?”
“Lessons with Maester Gladden are progressing well,” he replied, sitting upright, his back perfectly straight.
“Truly? I heard Grandmaester Pycelle was interested in guiding your studies.”
Her son’s dark eyes held steady. “A Grandmaester should have more pressing duties. I suggested to the King that Maester Gladden should oversee our lessons instead. He’s a Stormlander, a distant cousin of Lord Fawnton.”
Rhaella raised her brows, surprised and impressed by his diplomatic tact. “And you prefer Maester Gladden’s lessons?”
“He is fluent in High Valyrian and has a deeper understanding of the Free Cities than Pycelle.”
“The Grandmaester, Gaemon,” Rhaella corrected gently, though she shared his misgivings. She, too, found Pycelle insufferable—far too loyal to Tywin and, she suspected, a man with little regard for Aerys or herself.
Gaemon shrugged lightly, as if the title was insignificant. “He barely knows his alchemy from herbology.”
Rhaella couldn’t help but smile at her son’s sharpness, catching the resemblance between the twin brothers in their expressions of disdain. “And these subjects are important to you?” she asked, curious about her quiet son. So unlike Rhaegar who always came with a thousand stories of what was happening.
“Of course,” he said. “How else could I study healing and the true art of alchemy?”
Rhaella’s smile deepened with pride. “I’ve heard wonderful things about your progress, Gaemon, my very maester-prince.”
“A scholar,” he corrected, “Not a maester.” His gaze softened as he glanced up, realizing his correction might have sounded impolite. “Did Lady Prudence mention my studies to you? I see her often in the library. She told me you used to read together. Would you allow her to join our lessons? Maester Gladden could use her help with High Valyrian, and many healing texts are written in it—or in Myrish.”
Rhaella didn’t need to considered for too long, Prudence would only add good things to his education. “If Maester Gladden approves, I’m sure Prudence would be delighted.”
Gaemon nodded in satisfaction. “Good. She’ll help greatly. She’s not blinded by the Citadel’s ways, unlike… certain idiots who sit on the Small Council.”
“The Grandmaester is no fool, Gaemon,” Rhaella reminded him, though her tone held an edge of amusement.
Her son sighed, frustration flickering in his eyes. “Unfortunately, he can be competent—when he wants to be. But he wouldn’t even allow Lady Bethany Rosby or the Whent sisters to study with us. I doubt he’d let a woman twice as intelligent as he is attend, either.”
Rhaella noted his growing impatience, feeling a pang of concern. “What else have you been studying?”
“The usual—history, geography, mathematics. I’ve also been looking into philosophical texts. I think Rhaegar could benefit from them.”
“Really?” Rhaella asked, surprised and pleased to think her sons might be bonding over their studies again. Perhaps they could once more, be inseparable.
“He could stand to broaden his reading,” Gaemon replied. “Something like Machiavelli,—it might do him some good.”
Rhaella frowned, unfamiliar with the name. “Is your brother struggling with his lessons?”
Gaemon shook his head, exasperation clear. “Not struggling, exactly. To be surprise, he’s quite good at law and enjoys history too. But he could benefit from a wider perspective. When I suggested it, he snapped that he was better at astronomy than I was. As if that mattered here.”
Rhaella sighed softly. “I didn’t know he cared about astronomy.”
“He only likes to boast about his skill in swordplay and chivalry,” Gaemon muttered, his tone colored with derision. “As though bravery and brawn are all that matter in ruling.”
Rhaella reached out and gently took his hand. “Gaemon, your father has many years ahead of him, and the gods willing, Rhaegar will have ample time to prepare for his duties.”
Gaemon’s dark eyes lingered on her hand, his expression suddenly solemn as he met her gaze. “Yes, the King’s health is of utmost importance.” He hesitated, then added, “I told Pycelle as much. I’ve been reading books on medicine, but he barely listens. If it wasn’t written by the Citadel, he considers it worthless. But certain tonics and a proper diet could benefit the King. I’ve already asked the cook to send you more greens and fruits, Mother. You eat far too much meat.”
Rhaella’s heart swelled at his quiet thoughtfulness. When their conversation came to an end, she pulled him close, kissing his brow. Gaemon’s gaze softened, and he allowed himself a rare smile, letting his mother’s affection wash over him.