TGW:  Chapter Seven (Pt. 2)

 Chapter Seven (Pt. 2)

The seas were choppy that morning, a tumultuous reflection of the emotions boiling within Rhaenyra. The ship swayed, and she held a hand to her belly as the child within shifted. She had always loved sailing, finding comfort in the vast, open waters, but today was different. The winds carried her toward Driftmark, toward the iron will of Princess Rhaenys, a woman who had more reason than most to mistrust her.

Rhaenyra could feel the tension in the air even before she saw the high stone walls of High Tide rising above the surf. She glanced to Rhaena, who stood beside her, the girl’s silver hair caught in the wind, eyes fixed on the distant shore. Rhaena was quiet, her lips pressed thin, the echoes of her own uncertainties matching her mother’s fears. What would they find on Driftmark? An ally? Or an adversary?

The harbour was bustling, sailors moving in concert like bees in a hive, unloading cargo from vessels and shouting orders amidst the cries of gulls. As Rhaenyra’s party docked, she helped Rhaena descend, and they were met by retainers of House Velaryon, whose stiff bows spoke more of formality than warmth. They were led up the path that wound toward the Hall of Nine, the salty tang of the sea and the crunch of pebbles underfoot their only companions.

When the doors to the great hall opened, Rhaenys was waiting, resplendent in dark blue velvet embroidered with silver waves, her bearing regal as ever. Baela stood at her side, a flicker of genuine warmth brightening her expression when she caught sight of her sister. The two girls ran to embrace each other, and for a moment, the room seemed lighter. Rhaenys inclined her head to Rhaenyra, a slight smile on her lips that did not reach her eyes. “Princess Rhaenyra,” she said, her voice all courtesy and distance.

“Princess Rhaenys,” Rhaenyra replied, her own smile mirroring the same careful politeness. “If you might indulge me in a moment of privacy,” she added, glancing at Baela and Rhaena.

Rhaenys nodded, waving the girls away. “Go, my loves. We shall speak soon.” Rhaena gave her grandmother a quick hug before she and Baela departed, their excited chatter fading as they moved down the hall.

Once alone, Rhaenyra hesitated, her eyes softening as she looked at Rhaenys. "It has been some time since we spoke in confidence," she began, her tone gentle, almost wistful. "I have always admired your strength, Princess, especially now with Lord Corlys away. It is my hope that we can speak plainly, as family." She took a breath, her gaze earnest.

Rhaenys raised an eyebrow, her lips curving slightly. "Speak plainly, then. What troubles you so, that you have sailed all this way to Driftmark?"

"...I fear the intentions of those in King’s Landing," Rhaenyra continued after a brief pause, her voice lowered though there were no ears save Rhaenys’ in the hall. "Vaemond Targaryen is to be named Master of Ships. The Small Council is behind this decision, and with my father’s health failing…" She paused, her gaze searching Rhaenys’s impassive face. "I fear if Vaemond gains influence in such a position, he may grow bold enough to challenge Lucerys’s right to Driftmark."

Rhaenys’s eyes, still and unreadable, studied Rhaenyra for a long moment. Then, as though weighing her words, she said softly, “And why should I care for the games played at court? The realm’s squabbles over titles do not concern me here.”

Rhaenyra's heart sank, her fingers tightening around her skirts. “It affects your grandchildren, Princess,” she pressed, her voice tinged with urgency. “I ask you to contest this appointment, as you are ruling Driftmark in Corlys’s stead. Your word would carry great weight.”

Rhaenys's gaze dimmed, though her tone remained measured. "Rhaenyra, you come seeking my aid, and yet there are shadows between us that I cannot ignore. The circumstances of my son's death weigh heavily upon me, and I wonder if there is more I should understand before we proceed."

Rhaenyra froze, a chill spreading through her despite the fire burning in the hall. "...I don't understand."

"Don't play the fool. You know what I speak of."

For a moment, Rhaenyra couldn't find her voice. When she did, it was with a waver she couldn't keep out of her tone. “I swear to you, Rhaenys, I had no part in Laenor’s end,” she said, her voice trembling with the effort to control it. She could see the doubt in Rhaenys’s eyes, the distrust, the unspoken accusation. The older princess held her gaze a moment longer, then sighed, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Perhaps,” Rhaenys said quietly, “but words alone bring little comfort.” She waved a hand, brushing the matter aside as though it were a passing cloud. “You come to ask favours when you cannot speak plainly with me. Vaemond’s appointment, you say. I have known of it for some time, Princess, and I find no reason to contest it.”

The words struck Rhaenyra like a blow, and she fought to keep her composure. “No reason?” she echoed, incredulous. “Vaemond would see my son’s claim undone! Driftmark belongs to Lucerys by Corlys’s own decree.”

Rhaenys’s gaze did not waver. “Driftmark belongs to Corlys. And when he returns, he shall decide what will be done. As for Vaemond, he has not moved to challenge your son—not yet. And if he does? That is more your matter to resolve than mine.”

Rhaenyra swallowed her rising panic, her eyes narrowing. “Then consider this,” she said, shifting tactics. “I'll make you an offer. Back Luke's claim and let us betroth Laena's children to mine. Baela will be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and her sons will be heirs to the throne. Rhaena will rule in Driftmark, and the seat will pass to her and Lucerys's children in time.

Rhaenys’s expression softened, but not with warmth; it was pity that tinged her smile. “A generous offer,” she replied. “Alas, another offer has already been made to me. Vaemond seeks Baela’s hand should he be named Lord of Driftmark. His brother, Rhogar seeks Rhaena's hand in turn.”

Rhaenyra’s breath caught, her stomach lurching. “And you would consider it?”

“I would consider waiting,” Rhaenys said, her voice calm, deliberate. “Corlys will return, and he shall decide. If your husband, Daemon, allows us that honour and does not arrange their futures before then, that is. I have no intention of interfering with the appointment of Vaemond as Master of Ships. It does not concern the direct succession of Driftmark, only the realm’s fleets.” She paused, her gaze unwavering. “If you are to be queen, Rhaenyra, then be patient and act as one. Undo Vaemond’s appointment when you wear the crown, if you so wish.”

Rhaenyra could only nod, her throat tight, her heart heavy as lead. She had come seeking an ally, but she found herself alone once more, adrift amidst the dangerous currents of ambition and distrust. Rhaenys’s face was unreadable, a mask of serenity that betrayed nothing of her true thoughts.

“Thank you for your time, Princess,” Rhaenyra said finally, her voice hollow.

“Safe travels back to Dragonstone, Rhaenyra,” Rhaenys replied, her tone cool, polite—and unyielding.

Rhaenyra turned, her steps heavy as she left the hall.