41 Chapter 41 - The Burdens We Bear In Silence

124 AC

The fourth day of the fourth moon

Rhaenys POV

"Grandmother, everything is so beautiful from up here," Baela exclaimed with delight as she enjoyed the breathtaking view from the skies, riding Meleys together.

I couldn't help but smile at her infectious enthusiasm, my heart swelling with love for my granddaughter. I ruffled her hair gently, taking in its scent that reminded me so much of her mother, Laena. How I missed my children, and now seeing their own offspring thriving filled me with both joy and a tinge of nostalgia.

"I cannot wait to ride Moondancer," Baela chirped excitedly, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

I chuckled softly, realizing her eagerness. "It will take some years for Moondancer to grow big enough to carry you, Baela," I explained gently.

Baela pouted for a moment, but then her face lit up again as she suggested, "But until then, can I keep riding with you, grandmother?"

"Of course you can, my sweet Baela," I replied, pulling her into a warm embrace from behind. I cherished these moments together, relishing the bond we shared as dragonriders.

As we flew through the skies, Baela's excitement bubbled over, and she couldn't contain herself. "I cannot fathom why Rhaena does not wish to ride with you, grandmother. Rather, she does not wish to ride with Kepa as well," she said, sounding slightly exasperated.

I understood Baela's confusion.

Rhaena had transformed from the quiet and reserved girl she once was when her mother, Laena, was still alive. The loss of her mother had awakened a fierce fire within her, burning in her eyes and fueling her every action. The death of her mother and the subsequent loss of her eye had shaped her into a fighter, a girl who grew angrier and fought harder as the years passed.

With each passing day, Rhaena's anger and fighting spirit only grew stronger. She aspired to ride her own dragon one day and had dedicated herself to training with the Braavosi waterdancer that her father, Daemon, had hired. Rhaena was determined to become a formidable warrior in her own right, and dragon riding was just one aspect of her ambitions.

"Rhaena wishes to ride on her own dragon once she gets one, Baela," I explained patiently. "Until then, she is solely focused on honing her skills with the waterdancer. She has a different path, my dear."

Baela huffed, crossing her arms in a display of mock annoyance. "Seven Hells!" she exclaimed dramatically. "I forgot that my lesson was there. Grandmother, quick! You need to take me back, otherwise Rhaena will become better than me."

Her sudden urgency made me chuckle, appreciating her competitive spirit. I gently guided Meleys back toward Dragonstone, eager to ensure Baela reached her lesson on time. As we flew, I couldn't help but let my thoughts drift back in time, reminiscing about the years that had passed since Baela was just a babe in waddling cloth.

It felt like a lifetime ago when I held Baela in my arms for the first time, her tiny fingers curling around my own. She was a precious bundle of joy, her eyes wide with wonder as she discovered the world around her. Time had flown, and now here she was, eight years old and blossoming into a fierce and spirited young dragonrider.

The memories of Laena's own childhood came flooding back, intertwined with the joy of watching Baela grow. Laena, my daughter, had been equally filled with fire and determination. It seemed like yesterday when she was a babe in my arms, her laughter echoing through the halls of Dragonstone.

As we landed on Dragonstone, Baela scrambled down from Meleys' back, her eagerness evident in her every move. She dashed off towards her lesson, her silver-blonde hair flowing behind her like a comet's tail.

Baela had grown so much since her waddling days, and I marveled at the remarkable young woman she was becoming. She possessed a fierce determination and a compassionate heart—a potent combination that mirrored the best qualities of her parents.

As I stood there, the wind gently caressing my face, I vowed to cherish every moment with my grandchildren. The world around us was vast and uncertain, but as long as the blood of the dragon flowed through our veins, the spirit of our family would endure, and the skies would forever be our domain.

I took a moment to reflect on the passage of time, realizing how much had changed since I was a young dragonrider myself.

I turned to face the source of the voice, a servant of Dragonstone who had come with a message. His presence brought me back to the present.

"Princess Rhaeynra and Prince Daemon have requested your presence in the Chamber of the Painted Table," the servant informed me, his voice filled with a sense of urgency.

A flicker of curiosity ignited within me. The Chamber of the Painted Table held great significance- It was a room where decisions were made, alliances forged, and wars strategized.

"Very well," I replied, my voice steady and determined.

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As I stepped into the Chamber of the Painted Table, the sight before me filled me with awe. The room was dimly lit, the flickering candles casting dancing shadows across the vast space. The Painted Table itself commanded attention—a colossal structure that dominated the chamber.

The table stretched before me, a masterful work of art carved from a single block of wood. Its surface was adorned with a meticulously painted map of Westeros, a sprawling depiction of the continent's varied landscapes and settlements. I marveled at the attention to detail, the intricacies of each brushstroke bringing the realms to life. However, one peculiar aspect caught my eye—the absence of borders. It was a deliberate choice, a reminder that the fate of the Seven Kingdoms was intertwined and that unity was paramount.

The table stretched for over fifty feet, its dimensions impressive and imposing. At its widest point, it spanned twenty-five feet, narrowing to a mere four feet at its thinnest. Positioned near Dragonstone's spot on the map, a raised seat awaited Rhaeynra, allowing her to oversee the entirety of the table. It was a seat of authority, a symbol of leadership and command. I couldn't help but think back to the days when my father, Aemon, occupied that seat. The image of him sitting there with me on his lap, his lilac eyes filled with delight, flooded my mind. I would attempt to braid his pale hair, which shone like spun gold, as he would discuss matters of importance.

"Cousin," Daemon greeted me as I entered the chamber.

"Daemon," I replied, a hint of warmth in my voice.

"I trust Baela enjoyed the dragon ride," he inquired, his eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"She certainly did, though she is eagerly waiting for the day when she can ride on her own," I responded, a smile playing on my lips.

"But let us set aside these pleasantries. Tell me, what was so urgent that I had to be summoned here instead of meeting with Rhaena?" I asked, my tone growing serious.

Rhaenyra's expression hinted at her impatience, her frustration barely contained. It was clear that time was of the essence, and Daemon wasted no time in handing me the scroll.

As I perused its contents, a mixture of amusement and exasperation washed over me. Viserys, my dear cousin, had always possessed a certain cluelessness, even as a child. It seemed that some things never changed.

I couldn't help but chuckle softly, the laughter escaping my lips. Rhaenyra glanced at me, her irritation momentarily forgotten.

The memory of the last family gathering flooded my mind, carrying with it a surge of emotions. The tension in the air had been palpable, each moment pregnant with the possibility of chaos and conflict. It was a day I would never forget, the day when the fragile bonds that held our family together threatened to snap.

Rhaena, my spirited granddaughter, had been the catalyst for the turmoil that ensued. Her fiery nature and relentless determination had clashed with the egos and ambitions of our kin. Swords were drawn, poised to spill blood, as tempers flared and loyalties were tested. In that moment, it seemed that the very fabric of House Targaryen was on the brink of unraveling.

But amidst the chaos, Viserys, ever the peacemaker, had stepped forward. His mere presence had halted the impending violence, quelling the storm that raged within our family. His voice, resonant with authority, had brought a temporary respite, reminding us of our shared blood and the legacy we carried.

The memory of that fragile peace lingered, serving as a stark reminder of the delicate balance we now tread.

Daemon's voice reverberated through the chamber, heavy with a mixture of anger, frustration, and raw pain. The venomous words spilled from his lips, each one laced with the bitterness that had consumed him. "That woman dared to name her grandson Jaehaerys and her granddaughter Jaehaera, a blatant mockery of our own grandfather, Rhaenys," he seethed, his voice dripping with contempt. "And now, as if to rub salt in our wounds, she expects us to attend the feast celebrating their first nameday. As if such a shallow gesture could make me forget the despicable act her son, Aemond, committed against my own flesh and blood, my beloved daughter, and your cherished granddaughter," he growled, his fists clenched with barely contained rage.

My voice softened as I responded, feeling the weight of the past and the uncertainty of the future resting upon my shoulders. "I know," I murmured, my words carrying a mixture of resignation and resolve. "That is why Corlys, my husband, has made a decision. He has chosen to host a feast in honor of my Fiftieth Nameday in Driftmark, and I extend an invitation to all of you," I said, a subtle smirk playing at the corner of my lips.

The tension in the room palpably shifted as my words sank in. Rhaenyra's eyes met mine, a glimmer of relief flickering within them, mirroring the weariness etched upon her face. Daemon, too, seemed to exhale a sigh he had long held, a fleeting moment of respite from the burdens that had weighed him down.

With a mixture of anticipation and defiance, I continued, "And now, my dear cousin, you do not have to endure the name day feast at King's Landing".

"Now that the matter is resolved, I wish to go and see my other granddaughter," I declared, leading Daemon and Rhaenyra towards the bustling training yard. The weight of our previous discussion had dissipated, replaced by an eagerness to witness Rhaena's skills in action.

As we approached, the sounds of clashing swords and the echoes of grunts grew louder, drawing our attention to the heart of the training yard. There, amidst the flurry of movement, Rhaena and Lucerys engaged in an intense sparring session. Their blades clashed with a resounding metallic symphony, filling the air with a tangible energy.

Rhaena, with her fiery spirit and unwavering determination, displayed an impressive display of agility as she deftly dodged Lucerys' swift strikes. Her movements were fluid and calculated, a testament to the training she had undergone under the watchful eye of her waterdancer mentor. She danced around Lucerys, anticipating his every move with uncanny precision.

But there was more to this exchange than mere physical prowess. A flicker of mischief glinted in Rhaena's eye as she whispered something to Lucerys in the heat of the battle. The words were lost in the cacophony of clashing steel, but the effect was unmistakable. Lucerys, driven by a mix of frustration and anger, intensified his assault, raining blows upon Rhaena with renewed vigor.

Yet, in a blink of an eye, Rhaena seized the opportunity to turn the tables. With a swift maneuver, she caught Lucerys off guard, exploiting his momentary lapse in focus. Her strike landed solidly, sending him stumbling backward, his grip on his sword faltering.

The training yard erupted in a mixture of awe and surprise, as spectators marveled at Rhaena's skill.

But in that fleeting moment, as Rhaena's gaze momentarily drifted away from Lucerys, a surge of betrayal coursed through his veins. Seizing the opportunity, he rose swiftly, his sword arcing through the air with a chilling intent. Fear gripped my heart as I watched, helpless and filled with dread, unsure of what would unfold before me.

Time seemed to slow as Lucerys brought the sword down upon Rhaena, his strike fueled by a mixture of anger and resentment. The blade hurtled towards her, threatening to shatter the delicate balance of the training yard and our family unity. A gasp escaped my lips, but it was drowned out by the clash of metal meeting metal.

In that critical moment, as despair threatened to overwhelm us, a figure materialized with remarkable swiftness. Ulf, Rhaena's loyal Swornshield, positioned himself between her and the descending sword. With a display of unwavering loyalty and unyielding determination, he intercepted the strike, his own blade intercepting Lucerys' with a resounding clang.

The impact reverberated through the air, a testament to Ulf's unwavering resolve. His sheer strength and skillful maneuvering disarmed Lucerys, causing the prince's weapon to clatter to the ground. The training yard fell into stunned silence, the weight of the near-tragedy hanging heavily in the air.

Rhaena stood frozen, her eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

Ulf, ever vigilant, maintained his position, his eyes locked on Lucerys, his stance unwavering. The prince, though disarmed, seethed with a mix of frustration and humiliation. The atmosphere crackled with an unresolved tension, threatening to erupt into a storm of emotions.

"I will kill you, you fucking bastard!" Rhaena's voice pierced the air, her rage palpable as she lunged towards Lucerys, fueled by a maelstrom of emotions. But before she could reach him, Ulf, her steadfast Swornshield, intercepted her with lightning reflexes. He wrapped his strong arms around her, holding her back with a firm but gentle grip, his voice filled with urgency and concern.

"Rhaena, no!, Ulf implored, his eyes locked with hers, his voice laced with the weight of responsibility.

Rhaena's body trembled with a mixture of fury and frustration, her muscles straining against Ulf's hold. Her gaze burned with an unyielding determination, her desire to avenge the perceived betrayal etched upon her face.

In the distance, the urgent footsteps of Daemon and Rhaenyra echoed through the training yard, their hurried pace reflecting the gravity of the situation. The tension in the air was palpable as they arrived, their expressions a mix of concern, anger, and parental instinct.

Daemon wasted no time in confronting Lucerys, his grip firm as he forced the young prince to the ground. His voice crackled with a potent blend of fury and frustration. "What the fuck is wrong with you, boy?" he bellowed, his eyes blazing with a righteous anger that threatened to consume him.

Rhaenyra, her heart torn between defending her son and seeking resolution, stepped forward, her voice laden with a mother's protective instinct. "Daemon, do not touch my son," she pleaded, her tone a delicate balance of authority and vulnerability.

Daemon's grip on Lucerys momentarily loosened, his eyes meeting Rhaenyra's with a mixture of defiance and anguish. "He tried to attack my daughter when her back was turned," he explained, the words weighted with a father's instinct to shield his own.

Rhaenyra's voice trembled with a mix of disbelief and anger as she repeated her question, desperation evident in her tone. "Lucerys, why did you do that?" Her eyes bore into his, seeking an explanation, a flicker of hope that there might be more to the story.

Lucerys, his voice strained with remorse, pleaded for understanding once again. "Muna, I am sorry," he choked out, his vulnerability laid bare for all to see.

Rhaenyra's brows furrowed with concern, her voice softening as she implored him to share his truth. "Just tell me, son," she urged gently, her motherly instincts overpowering the tempest of emotions swirling within her.

Lucerys hesitated, his gaze shifting between his mother and the cousin who had unwittingly ignited his fury. With a deep breath, he summoned the courage to reveal the source of his inner turmoil. His words, filled with wounded pride, trembled in the air as he spoke. "While looking at Rhaena," he began, his voice tinged with a mix of hurt and confusion, "she told me that I am not as strong as I look."

Rhaenyra's eyes widened in shock, her voice rising with a mixture of indignation and disbelief. "What? Did you say that, Rhaena?" she exclaimed, her voice echoing through the training yard.

Rhaena's demeanor shifted, a defiant smirk playing upon her lips as she met her stepmother's gaze. "It was supposed to be a compliment, stepmother," she retorted, her words laden with a touch of arrogance.

Daemon's voice cut through the lingering tension, commanding attention and demanding resolution. "Rhaena, apologize to Lucerys right now," he stated firmly, his gaze fixed on his daughter. The weight of his authority hung in the air, urging her to take responsibility for her words.

Rhaena's face contorted with a mix of anger and defiance, her pride momentarily battling with the need for reconciliation. After a brief pause, she begrudgingly let out the words, her voice laced with a touch of resentment. "I... apologize, Lucerys," she muttered, her eyes avoiding direct contact, the struggle within her evident to all who observed.

Daemon's gaze then turned to Lucerys, his expression imploring the young prince to follow suit. "And now, Lucerys, you do the same," he urged, his tone a mixture of sternness and compassion.

Lucerys, his initial anger now giving way to a deeper understanding, looked directly into Rhaena's eyes. His voice, tinged with a newfound humility, mirrored the sincerity of his apology. "I apologize too, Rhaena," he spoke softly, the weight of his words resonating in the hushed atmosphere.

"Remember, both of you are betrothed to one another," Daemon reminded them, his eyes shifting between Rhaena and Lucerys. "You share a future, and it is in your best interest to find common ground and support each other."

After everyone had left, Rhaenyra's commanding presence softened, and she approached Ulf with a mix of concern and defiance. "Do not touch my son," she insisted, her voice tinged with protective instinct. "You are meant to protect the blood of the dragon," she reminded him, her gaze unwavering.

Ulf, his posture unyielding, met her gaze with an air of indifference. "No," he replied firmly, his voice laced with an unexpected conviction. "I am meant to protect Princess Rhaena," he stated matter-of-factly, refusing to waver in his loyalty.

Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed, a mix of confusion and anger surfacing. "What did you say?" she demanded, her tone now heated and confrontational.

Ulf stood his ground, undeterred by the intensity of Rhaenyra's reaction. "The prince was going to injure the princess," he explained, his voice calm yet resolute. "If I had allowed it to happen, I would have failed in my duty," he added, emphasizing the gravity of his role as Rhaena's sworn shield.

As I observed their exchange, a flicker of recognition ignited within me. Ulf's unwavering dedication to his duty and his willingness to stand up for what he believed to be right mirrored the qualities I had admired in my late father , the great corwn prince aemon. It was a piece of my fathers spirit that lived on in Ulf, reminding me of the strength and nobility that once radiated from him.

However, there was a change in Ulf, a transformation that had taken place over the past two years, he become more reserved and seldom laughed if what was to be said by daemon and the dwarf mushroom who had come to dragonstone after the wedding of Helaena and aegon.

"Rhaenyra, I believe you should go and check on Lucerys," Daemon said with a somber tone, concern etched on his face. Hearing his words, Rhaenyra nodded and hurriedly left to attend to their troubled son.

Alone with Daemon, a heavy silence enveloped us. I could see the weight of the situation etched in the lines on his face, mirroring the sadness that tugged at my own heart. We began walking, the sound of our footsteps echoing through the empty corridors.

"What happened to him?" I asked, my voice filled with worry, knowing that something grave must have transpired.

Daemon's voice was laden with sadness as he spoke. "Helaena did," he replied, his words barely audible. The revelation sent a shiver down my spine, and my eyes widened in shock.

"Don't tell me..." I trailed off, unable to articulate the fear and disbelief that consumed me.

Daemon nodded solemnly. "The boy was in love with her," he confirmed, his voice heavy with regret. I felt my heart break for Ulf, knowing the pain he must have endured in silence.

"No wonder he made her the queen of love and beauty," I whispered, the realization hitting me with a wave of melancholy. It was a love that was never meant to be, a tragic tale hidden beneath the facade of a grand celebration.

But Daemon's next words struck me even harder. "That's not all," he continued, his voice tinged with both sadness and a hint of bittersweet reminiscence. "She asked him to run away with her," he revealed, his gaze distant as memories intertwined with regret.

A surge of anger rose within me. "What a load of rubbish!" I exclaimed, my voice betraying a mixture of frustration and sorrow. I struggled to comprehend the pain that must have plagued Ulf, torn between his love and his honor, burdened by a secret he could never reveal.

"Who told you all this?" I demanded, my voice sharp and filled with urgency.

Daemon's gaze met mine, his expression filled with a mix of resignation and understanding. "The fool of a dwarf," he replied, his tone laced with bitterness. "Apparently, he found them confiding in each other during the wedding," he added, a note of resentment coloring his words.

Rage surged within me, threatening to consume my composure. "So why are you telling me this now?" I hollered, my voice echoing through the empty corridors, reverberating with frustration and desperation.

"My father's blood flows through him, and right now the boy thinks that he is all alone, with no one to love him," I pleaded, my voice quivering with emotion. The thought of Ulf, burdened by unrequited love and the weight of his solitude, pierced my heart with an unrelenting sadness.

"We have to tell him," I continued, my voice filled with an urgency that begged for action. But Daemon's response cut through the air like an icy gust of wind, his tone cold and resolute.

"No, it is too soon," he said, his words devoid of warmth or empathy.

"For the past two years, he has thrown himself into relentless training," Daemon elaborated, his voice tinged with a hint of regret. "When he is not with Rhaena, Aegon, and Viserys, he seeks solace in the company of his friends. Hugh, the sworn shield of your other strong grandchildren, and Harlon Flowers, who teaches Baela archery," he explained, painting a picture of Ulf's lonely existence, seeking refuge in the companionship of others.

The weight of my nephew's solitude settled upon me like a heavy shroud. I envisioned him training tirelessly, honing his skills and burying his pain beneath a facade of determination. The image of Ulf, battling his demons in the silence of his own thoughts, evoked a profound sense of loneliness, as if he was adrift in a sea of unrequited love and unspoken truths.

I yearned to reach out to him, to offer solace and reassurance, but the words remained trapped within me, restrained by Daemon's stern resolve. The anguish of keeping such knowledge hidden gnawed at my soul, a relentless reminder of the fragile balance between duty and compassion.

"So when do you plan on telling him?" I asked Daemon, my voice laced with both urgency and a hint of desperation. The weight of Ulf's pain pressed upon me, and I yearned for a resolution that would bring him solace.

"I am not sure," Daemon replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of our unspoken fears.