Capítulo 7: Chapter 7: First Betrayal
King's Landing - Tourney grounds…
The day had finally arrived: the tournament hosting the inevitable arrival of King Viserys's next child - one he insists will be another boy. Lords, knights, and squires gathered in the capital from all corners of the realm to compete. Aeonar sat in the royal box with Alicent, Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys, his father, and Otto Hightower. Joining him was none other than his sister, Princess Rhaenyra, dressed up in an elegant red dress before taking a seat to Alicent's left. Rising from his seat, Aeonar cleared his throat to address the growing and restless crowd.
"Lords and ladies of the realm. The crown bids you welcome on this historic day. It is my distinct pleasure to introduce my lord father - Viserys of the House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, who has a few words to share with our competitors."
"Be welcome!" Viserys announced. "I know many of you have traveled long leagues to be at these games. But I promise, you will not be disappointed. When I look at the fine knights in these lists, I see a group without equal in our histories. And this great day has been made more auspicious by the news… that I am happy to share: Queen Aemma has begun her labors!"
The audience cheered and applauded loudly.
"May the luck of the Seven shine upon all combatants!"
Aeonar, however, felt uneasy. In the corner of his mind, he felt a nerve twitching and tugging at his psyche. Vexing, but alarming. This feeling in my head… it's back again. I have not felt this tense since the Great Council, or my being named Prince of Dragonstone all those years ago. Something is wrong… I know it, but what is it? What does this mean? Mother… Now he had this distinct feeling many times when he felt something was not right. Acting the role, the prince joined the others in applauding the news. His eyes examined the tourney grounds closely, turning his head for suspicious activity. Glancing to his right were the Velaryon children - Laena, a child of twelve, and Corlys's daughter, who had a great mane of silver-gold ringlets that fell past her waist. According to his files, Laena had already been freshly flowered, and inherited her mother's beauty as well as her father's boldness; beside her was her brother and heir to Driftmark, Laenor - who had an aquiline nose, silver-white hair, and purple eyes. All pure-blooded Valyrian.
"Sheesh, you're even more tense than usual lately," Rhaenyra teased.
"Mock me all you want, Rhaenyra," Aeonar shook his head, "but a skilled spymaster must always be on alert… even during times of peace."
"You tell yourself that?"
"Sometimes."
"Well, don't think about it too much. Because look! Here they go!"
Horses neighed and charged forth, their rides extending their lances before crashing into their shields. Circling, the competitors grabbed a spare lance as they made another pass.
"Sigil - a striding red huntsman on a green field," Alicent observed. "House Tarly of Horn Hill."
"Words - 'First in Battle.' It highlights House Tarly's emphasis on battle and military service, but their seemingly unstoppable drive in pursuing their goals means they can be overambitious and stubborn."
"You believe that?" Rhaenyra teased again.
Aeonar stared at the field. "Once you look past the surface, the true intention of a person lies right before your very eyes," he said cryptically.
"You're being pessimistic in the hope of something will inevitably happen, my dear brother?"
"I am pessimistic, my dear sister. Keeps you on your toes. We would not want anyone getting bored now, do we?"
On the second pass, both jousters lunged forth - but the Tarly knight is thrown from his horse and lands on the dirt with an audible thud. Stunned and dazed, nearby attendants help escort the fallen competitor away as the crowd exclaims with excitement. The knight rides before the royal box and bows his head in respect.
"A mystery knight, do you think?" Rhaenyra inquired.
"No," Alicent shook her head, "a Cole, from the Stormlands."
"I've never heard of House Cole."
"Of course, you haven't," Ten black pellets on a scarlet field… Aeonar observed. "They're a minor noble house from the Dornish Marches in service to House Dondarrion of Blackhaven. Stewards, most likely."
Another rider approached - carrying the sigil of House Baratheon of Storm's End. It was Princess Rhaenys's maternal uncle, Lord Boremund Baratheon. "Princess Rhaenys Targaryen!" he called out extending his lance upwards. "I would ask for the favor of 'The Queen Who Never Was.'"
Rhaenys stood from her seat, and looked at Corlys and her first cousin Viserys. Being called 'The Queen Who Never Was' was a nickname that stuck with her since she was passed over as heir to her grandfather, the Old King Jaehaerys, at the Great Council eleven years ago. A popular nickname amongst the commoners, others close to Rhaenys perceived it as an insult. Ignoring such backhanded comments, Rhaenys gracefully picked up a cyan-colored wreath and placed it on the end of Boremund's lance. "Good fortune to you, uncle," she said.
"I would gladly take it if I thought I needed it."
Such remarks like that would have earned you a punishment, Lord Boremund. Aeonar thought.
"Oh, and the day grows ugly," Rhaenys rolled her eyes as she returned to her seat.
"I wonder if this is how we should celebrate the birth of another prince," Corlys speculated. "With wanton violence."
"It's been 70 years since King Maegor the Cruel's end, husband. These knights are as green as summer grass. None of them have known real war. Their lords send them to tourneys with fists full of steel and balls full of seed, and we expect them to act with honor and grace. It's a marvel that war didn't break out at first blood."
Otto leaned close to Viserys. "You could have Baratheon's tongue for that," he advised.
"Tongues will not change the succession. Let them wag," Viserys dismissed. He shifted in his seat as the drums began beating. But before long, he noticed Aeonar and Alicent gossiping in front of them, holding hands. As a father his paternal instincts began to put the pieces together. "Well, I'll be!" he almost chuckled. "Look, Otto," he points to Aeonar and Alicent. "Look there. Not to make it any more obvious, but I think my son likes your daughter."
"Yes, I've noticed that as well, Your Grace," Otto agreed. "That would explain why they've been rather secretive in their… 'infatuated getaways', I believe the youth call it these days."
"Reminds me of myself and Aemma when we were young. They make a good match, don't you think?"
"They do seem rather close, I agree. If our two houses were to be joined willingly, a marriage-alliance of that stature would be beneficial as my daughter's relations with the prince are a genuine one."
"Hehehe, I can already imagine the pitter-patter of little feet running around the Red Keep already, Otto. Aeonar did mention to me earlier these past few weeks that he is already chosen a suitable bride. Looking at them now? I believe he was subtly referring to Alicent. Said he wants to make it official when this tournament ends."
"I suspected as much. Then as fathers we would have to address it as befitting a family of our stature."
Rhaenyra, unaware of the talks behind her, kept conversing. "I heard that Lord Stokeworth's daughter is promised to that young Tarly squire," she speculated.
"Lord Massey's son?" Alicent questioned.
"Mm-hmm. They're to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood."
" If he acquires it," Aeonar dismissed.
"Aeonar! That is so mean," Alicent giggled.
"You know you love it, Alicent."
"I heard that Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly beneath her dress."
"Really?" Rhaenyra asked curiously.
Aeonar raised an eyebrow. "Interesting gossip. I will have to investigate the rumors surrounding Lady Elinor to see if they warrant concern," he jested.
"Brother, don't ruin the fun!"
Lord Boremund's horse reared and galloped toward the opposing steed. It was the same Cole knight who dismounted the Tarly squire earlier. Lowering their respective lances, they thrust forward against their shields - shattering their lances with equal amounts of force. Both were knocked back by the impact. However, to the surprise of the crowd, it was Boremund who was thrown off his horse - eliminating him from the competition.
"Interesting," Aeonar leaned forward. The Baratheon men are said to produce the strongest warriors in the realm if they train regularly. Few outside the Stormlands could ever perform such a feat, and even rarer should a fighter emerge from the region itself.
"Ser Harrold," Rhaenyra beckoned. The Kingsguard approached her. "What do you know about this Ser Criston Cole, Ser Harrold?"
"I'm told Ser Criston is common-born, son of Lord Dondarrion's steward," Harrold replied. "But other than that, and the fact that he's just unhorsed both of the Baratheon lads, I really couldn't say."
"So, brother," Rhaenyra turned to her brother. "What would the Master of Whisperers and Lord Confessor see when he looks at this man?"
Aeonar narrowed his eyes to examine Criston Cole up and down. He observed his fighting style, his movements, his tactics… "He is a foot soldier, one who has lived through combat. My guess? Frequent border conflicts with Dorne. Being exposed to such dangers daily can force one to remain in a state of constant vigilance. To enter the Stormlands from the mountain pass leading into the Marches, incursions would take place along the Boneway - which is guarded by House Dondarrion and other Marcher lords. This would make Ser Criston Cole a more battle-hardened opponent compared to the formidable Baratheon lords."
Alicent and Rhaenyra looked at him.
"What? You just asked me." Aeonar turned to see more knights galloping to the center. "Alicent, is that your brother down there?" he pointed.
Alicent turned to see Gwayne amongst the competitors for the joust. Donning silver plate armor, his tabard bore the sigil of House Hightower - a white stone watchtower with a green fire on top of a grey field. Joining Gwayne were fellow knights hailing from their respective families - House Bolton of the Dreadfort, House Tyrell of Highgarden, House Mallister of Seagard, House Caron of Nightsong, House Lefford of the Golden Tooth, House Cole, House Stark of Winterfell, House Lannister of Casterly Rock, House Baratheon of Storm's End, House Tully of Riverrun, House Darklyn of Duskendale, and House Tarly of Horn Hill. It was time to begin the second round of the joust - where the reigning champion would personally choose his opponent.
The Master of Revels soon entered the tourney grounds. "Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, Prince of the City, will now choose his first opponent!" he announced.
Riding swiftly onto the field, Prince Daemon rode atop his steed as the crowd cheered loudly. He wore black plate armor with dragon scale chainmail underneath, his helmet - forged from Valyrian steel - was adorned with the head and wings of a dragon on each side that had a red plume on top. His shield was his personal coat of arms, which features the three-headed red dragon of House Targaryen, adorned with golden scales and within a border of golden fire. Grabbing his lance, Daemon galloped to his fellow jousters.
"You," Daemon pointed his lance at Gwayne.
Alicent gasped.
"For his first challenge," the Master of Revels said loudly, "Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King!"
Otto shook his head. He knew Daemon was intentionally mocking him even further by choosing his son as his opponent. Alicent, filled with concern for her brother's well-being, anxiously began picking at and biting her fingernails.
"Hey, hey, hey," Rhaenyra placed a hand on Alicent's left hand to reassure her. "Don't worry, Alicent. Everything is going to be okay. We're right here with you."
Aeonar noticed. "Easy now," he placed his hand on Alicent's right hand. "Gwayne will be all right."
Alicent exhaled shakily. "Thank you. Both of you," she said nervously.
"Five gold dragons on Daemon," Lyman quietly bet money.
Daemon locked eyes on his target. Briefly glancing up at the royal box, he could see Otto staring down at him. Good. Take a long, hard look as I unseat your precious boy, Otto. "Ya!" Lowering his lance in a straight line, he gave his horse the command to charge. The horse neighed loudly and galloped towards Gwayne. The two lances collided on impact, causing both riders to lose their primary weapons. Daemon maintained his balance and regained control. The boy is tougher than he looks. Well, not for much longer. Both riders charged again, but as soon as they got close, Daemon aimed his lance low and took out the legs of Gwayne's horse from under him.
Gwayne's horse shrieked and fell forwards, throwing Gwayne off his saddle and causing him to land on his face.
"Oh no!" Alicent gasped.
Aeonar frowned. The same trickery he used on me last year. He noticed Alicent panicking. "Shhh, shhh. Easy, Alicent. Easy, easy. Settle down now," he gently massaged her back. The prince turned back to see more attendants hauling the injured Gwayne away to receive medical attention. He then noticed Daemon galloping towards them.
"Nicely done, uncle," Rhaenyra congratulated.
"Thank you, princess," Daemon acknowledged. He turned to Alicent. "Now, I'm fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but assure it." He extended his lance upwards, swiftly trading glances at his nephew.
Needless to say, Aeonar was not too pleased with Daemon's gesture to his girlfriend. You have gotten quite the gall to be making that kind of request, uncle. He was nonetheless surprised to see Alicent grasping at a wreath behind them.
Alicent, looking up at her visibly disappointed father, courteously threw it around Daemon's lance. "Good luck, my prince," she said gracefully. Why? Why do you continue tormenting me and my family, Daemon? Why?
Aeonar stared daggers at his smug uncle, watching as Daemon rode off to continue competing in the joust. Before long, it felt that twitch in the back of his mind again. Shaking his head, he sat down and brought a hand up to massage his temple. Each twitch tugged and pulled at him again.
"What's wrong?" Rhaenyra asked.
Alicent noticed too. "Aeonar? Sweetheart, what is wrong?" she asked concerned.
Aeonar shook his head again. He briefly turned his head around to glance up at the Red Keep, lowering his eyes enough to catch a maester whispering into Otto's ear. The Hand of the King nodded and leaned forward to convey the news to King Viserys, whose cheerful demeanor dropped into a concerned expression before leaving the royal box. But it was not much before Aeonar noticed. Where are you going, father? What are you…? Mother? No, something is happening! I know it. I can feel it! Something is not right! "Something's wrong…" he uttered. He turned to Otto - who temporarily locked his eyes with the crown prince. "I… I need to go," he moved to rise from his seat.
"Aeonar?" Rhaenyra inquired.
"Aeonar, where are you going?" Alicent called out.
Otto noticed and moved. "Not yet my prince. Remain in your seat for the time being. This matter concerns the king," he tried to restrain him.
"Take your hands off me!" Aeonar forcibly removed his arm and left the royal box in a hurry. What started as mere speculation, then a growing pit turned his stomach in knots and his head felt like it was being crushed. Avoiding the Kingsguard and Targaryen soldiers, Aeonar initially speed walked before increasing his pace and eventually running through the streets towards the Red Keep. Viserys had already gotten great distance and was leagues ahead of him. No, the streets had too many people and obstacles in front of him. They would only slow him down. Glancing up at the houses, shops, alleyways, windows, and rooftops, Aeonar changed directions and began climbing the buildings from loose bricks, leaping from one building to another like a nimble feline, the prince continued racing towards the Red Keep - jumping from one rooftop to another until he could reach his destination. "Mother! Hold on, mother! I am coming!" he panted.
Red Keep - Maegor's Holdfast…
"GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!" Aemma screamed and wailed loudly.
Handmaidens and wet nurses were rushing all over the room, each one in a state of hysteria regarding the Queen's wellbeing. Some more experienced female attendants who were mothers themselves noticed that Aemma was going through an exceedingly difficult labor. Her back was arched up and her legs were parted, leaving noticeable blood stains on the sheets.
"WAAAAAAAAHHH! NNAAAAA!"
"Oh dear…" a handmaiden gasped.
"This isn't good," another murmured.
Bursting through the front doors, Viserys entered the room in a hurry. When he turned to see his beloved wife in her current state, he immediately knew something was wrong. "What's happening?" he demanded in a worried tone.
Grand Maester Mellos approached the king. "The infant is in breech, Your Grace," he explained. "All attempts to turn the baby have failed."
"AAAAAAAAAAAAARHHHHH!"
« After this miserable pregnancy… I wouldn't be surprised if I hatched an actual dragon. [… ] T he tourney… to celebrate another son that we presently do not have. You do understand nothing will cause the babe to grow a cock if it does not already possess one? »
No… No, no, no, this was not supposed to happen! Not like this! "Do something for her! Give her something! Anything!"
"WOOAAAAAAAAAA!"
"We've given her as much milk of the poppy as we can without risking the child." Mellos turned to look at Aemma who continued struggling to give birth. "Your Queen is a strong woman. She's fighting it with all her might, but it may not be enough."
Not enough? Wha… what are you saying?
"No! NNNNNNNNGGGH!" Aemma grunted and groaned.
« Father, have you ever considered what kind of toll this is having on her? [… ] As disappointing as it sounds, just… promise me that for mother's sake that you will not keep trying. You already have an heir. »
« This is the last time, Viserys. I've lost one babe in the cradle, one stillbirth, and two pregnancies ended well before their term. I'm sorry if I failed to help you further the family line. But I've mourned all the dead children I can. »
So many thoughts raced through his head. Viserys, who was excited about the birth, was now in panic mode. The voicing concerns of his wife and son had come back to haunt him. "Aemma!" He ran over to his wife's bedside. "Aemma… I am here. I am here, darling, see? I am right here," The king tried to keep calm, but his voice betrayed him.
"Oh, Viserys… Help me, please," Aemma pleaded.
"I'm here. It is all right. It's all right."
"I don't want to do this! I do not want to do this! Please, make it stop!"
"You're going to be all right. Do you hear me? You are going to be all right?"
Aemma collapsed on the bed, exhausted and nowhere near close to being done. Her face was matted with sweat, and her hair stuck to her face as she panted heavily. Her handmaidens gently dabbed her face to clean her. Unlike her past pregnancies, the Queen felt ready to give up. She was too old and too tired. "Oooh… Viserys," she panted weakly. "Aeonar… Rhaenyra… Haah… haah…"
Viserys held his wife's hands. There's… got to be something we can do. "Mellos?" he turned to the Grand Maester. "Is there something else we can do for her? Something we have not tried yet?"
Mellos nodded grimly. "Your Grace," he beckoned. The Grand Maester pulled the king aside to whisper out of earshot. "During a difficult birth, it sometimes becomes necessary for the father… to make an impossible choice?"
"Well, speak it."
"To sacrifice one or to lose them both. Now, there is a small chance we can save the child. A technique is taught at the Citadel, which involves cutting directly into the womb to free the infant. But the resulting blood loss-"
Viserys stood in silent shock at the Grand Maester's suggestion. He was now faced with an impossible choice: to sacrifice Aemma or lose both her and the child. "Seven hells, Mellos," he cursed quietly. "I… I…" he glanced back at Aemma, whose eyes were shut as she tried to get some rest.
« You have me, you have Rhaenyra. Why continue to put mother through this? She has been through enough of it already. What if this pregnancy fails again or worse: it kills her? Have you ever taken that possibility into account? »
"You… Are you certain you can save the child?"
"We must either act now or leave it to the gods," Mellos confirmed.
Viserys felt his heartbeat accelerating faster now. Do nothing and lose both Aemma and the baby, or sacrifice Aemma's life to save the baby? For the first time in his life, the king was at an impasse. This was his beloved wife who he had been married to since they were seventeen, the mother of their two living children. Aemma was the love of his life! But he was stuck in a lose-lose situation. Slowly, he reluctantly returned to his queen's beside. "A-Aemma," he choked as he massaged her hand. Gods, please forgive me. I'm…
Wearily, Aemma turned her head. Her tired eyes opened slightly. "Vi… Viserys?" she quietly called out.
"Yes. I am here, Aemma. They're… they're going to get the baby out now."
"Mmm… how? I am… I am so tired, Viserys…"
"I know, darling." Viserys felt his eyes watering. "I-I know." He turned to give the signal to the handmaidens, watching them coming to the bed to remove the pillows. "I love you, Aemma. I love you so much…"
"I… I love you too, Viserys…" Aemma smiled weakly. She then felt her legs being pulled. "Oooh! Viserys? What's… what is going on here?" she asked, confused.
Viserys shut his eyes tight and held her hand. "No, it's all right," he tried to reassure her while his voice cracked.
Something is wrong. Why is he…? Aemma then felt her bare stomach being exposed when the handmaidens lifted the lower hem of her gown. "No, what's happening?" she insisted. "Viserys? Viserys, talk to me. What is happening?" Aemma looked up to see her handmaidens, one by one, holding her arms and legs down by the wrists and ankles. "Wh-What are you doing?" she now sounded frightened.
"They're going to get the baby out. It's all right."
"I-I don't understand… How are they…? Viserys, please!" Aemma pleaded.
"It's all right."
"No. No, I'm scared. Not in-"
"Shhh, shhh. Don't be scared, my love. It'll be over soon."
"What's happening?"
"They're going to bring the baby out. Don't be scared now. They're going to get the baby."
"Oh no," Aemma whined. She then heard clanking around the table next to her. Slightly elevating herself to get a better look, despite Viserys's attempts to placate her, Aemma saw Grand Maester Mellos approaching with a scalpel in his hands. Realizing what was about to happen, the Queen's eyes widened and she began struggling, trying to free herself. "NO!" she yelled fearfully. Viserys! How could you?! "No! No! No!" Please! Don't do this to me! Viserys, please! Anything but that!
"I'm going to make the first incision," Mellos lowered the scalpel.
"NO, NO, NO! VISERYS, NO! PLEASE! NO, NO, NO!"
I am so sorry, Aemma. "Don't… don't be scared," Viserys choked again.
"WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHH!"
Beginning the cesarean section, Mellos pressed the scalpel and began to cut open Aemma - who began screaming and howling wildly in pain. Blood poured from her abdomen as the acolytes reached into her womb, digging around to search for the infant. Aemma's screams slowly grew faint and her fierce struggle began to slowly cease. Aeonar… Rhaenyra… With a final gasp of pain, Aemma's last thoughts were focused on her two children, Prince Aeonar and Princess Rhaenyra. She watched them grow from babies to young adults; being their mother was the happiest Aemma had ever been. Her one regret… was that she would no longer be around for them. Aeonar… Rhaenyra… I love you… With that, blackness consumed the queen.
Viserys silent began crying when he felt Aemma's hand slip from his grasp. "I-I'm so sorry, Aemma," he wept over Aemma's body, his wife having bled to death from the procedure to save their child. "I'm sorry!" Filled with regret at having granted the request, he pondered if it was worth losing his wife over.
"*Waaah! Waaah!*"
The tiny piercing cry filled the room. Viserys, still in mourning, looked up to see Mellos carrying the newborn baby from Aemma's womb.
"Congratulations, Your Grace," Mellos said mournfully. "You have another son."
But Aemma… was it worth it? Viserys looked at him grief-stricken. "It's… it's a boy?" he sniffled.
"Yes, Your Grace. Had you and the Queen chosen a name?"
"Baelon."
Viserys turned away to stare at his wife's lifeless body. Was the 'prophetic dream' mentioned by his firstborn son worth the cost? He had no answer. If Aeonar or Rhaenyra were to ever find out…
"Mother?!"
Viserys, Mellos, and the other handmaidens quickly turned to see Aeonar standing before them. His eyes widened in shock and horror, his pupils dilated, and he began trembling badly. Judging by the look on his face, Aeonar had arrived too late. Seeing that Aemma was not moving, and the bed was soaked in blood, he realized that his mother was dead. His eyes scanned all of them… until he saw a discarded scalpel covered in blood. Putting the pieces together, Aeonar concluded that there was only one person in the Seven Kingdoms who could ever authorize a cesarean section.
"Aeonar-" Viserys choked.
"What have you done…?" Aeonar said silently as his voice cracked with grief - his sights locked onto Viserys. Murderer. "What have you done?" his tone got louder. Murderer! "What have you done?!" he got louder again. MURDERER! "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!" he screamed.
"No, my prince," Ser Ryam intervened. "Enough! Stop this!" he restrained him.
Two more Kingsguard knights, Ser Erryk and his twin brother Ser Arryk Cargyll, arrived to forcibly restrain Prince Aeonar who kept thrashing around trying to claw his way out. His mother was dead, and someone had to pay for taking her away from him. Knowing that it was his father who did the deed, something inside him broke. Aeonar went mad with grief.
"YOU KILLED HER!" Aeonar howled, tears now streaming down his cheeks. "YOU BASTARD! HOW COULD YOU?! YOU KILLED HER!"
"My prince, please calm down!" Ser Erryk strained.
"Restrain yourself!" Ryam called again.
Panic and distress began to set in; handmaidens huddled to one corner in fear. But in all the chaos that ensued, a faint cough and gargling choke was heard. Grand Maester Mellos looked down at the baby in his arms and gasped when the newborn stopped moving. Viserys, still unable to come to terms with the fact that his son and heir walked in on them - that Aeonar was blaming him for Aemma's death. He would never forgive him for this. And when he heard the baby choking, Viserys lost all hope. He failed. It was all for nothing.
Aeonar finally went limp, but his focus switched to Aemma. Mother… please wake up. Come back… This can't be happening! This can't be happening! "MUÑAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! (MOTHEEEEEEEEEEEEEEER!)" he cried.
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Maddy_Alee
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