Chapter Text
Prologue
There's such a difference between us
And a million miles
Hello Adele
130 AC Oldtown, the Reach
One day at dawn, a raven flew out of one of the latticed windows on Dragonstone and set off.
The missive found Ser Gwayne Hightower, knight of House Hightower and the eldest son of Ser Otto Hightower, in Oldtown, in a massive stepped tower with a beacon on top to guide ships into port. The wind blew white caps of foam off the waves and rolled huge swaths of water onto the unadorned black stone at the castle's foundation. The fog was cloying, enveloping everything in a thick, wavering blanket, carried farther and farther away by violent gusts of wind.
Gwayne opened the message without stopping to listen to his nephew, Daeron Targaryen. He stared at the letter in utter bewilderment, while the boy couldn't cease talking about his dragon, Tessarion. The Blue Queen was to grow to her size to be ridden any day now.
“To my greatest sadness, I have found myself in a situation in which I need your help and which can only be discussed face-to-face. In memory of the friendship we once had, I ask you to come immediately to King's Landing.
Princess Rhaenyra”
Friendship?
Gwayne frowned perplexedly. What a bad attitude it was to use that word for everything that had happened between them.
There was no appeal in the letter. Typical Rhaenyra! Audacious, unlike any other. He could barely hear Daeron now.
Gwayne continued to stand, looking at the words written in neat handwriting with incredulous fury. She hasn't changed a bit in all these years! She was still spoiled, narcissistic, and so convinced of her own superiority.
But then Gwayne suddenly snapped to attention, realizing that his thoughts didn't quite match reality. She was a Crown Princess, for Gods' sake! She was an only child for a very long time, the only child her parents cared about. The Realm's Delight. What else could she be, if not brazen?
Apparently he was reacting so violently out of habit because, in truth, he didn't despise Rhaenyra at all anymore. And he wasn't any better back then, either.
The day he had met Alicent's former friend and stepdaughter, he'd felt the raging desire to possess her, a desire that had completely robbed Gwayne of the common sense he'd been so proud of. He drove into the capital, saw her cheerful smile and shining eyes, and lost his mind. No woman could make him feel both omnipotent and pathetic at the same time with a mere glance, nor awaken a desperate desire to prove that he could be better and nobler than he really was. Rhaenyra was so full of laughter and life, everywhere and in every corner, carrying the whole world in one hand, that he risked bridging the chasm that separated them.
She may have done a bad thing, but she was very young and very scared. When Gwayne mentally put himself in her shoes and saw everything that had happened through her eyes, he fully understood and justified her feelings and actions.
After all, it was all a long time ago. And now it was over.
“Is it from my grandfather?” Daeron inquired with a squeamish wince.
In his humble opinion, Otto Hightower was just a dull gray long-eared donkey, boring as a fall day, whose life consisted only of work and work. No entertainment. Well, and totalitarian control over everyone around him.
Gwayne broke away from the paper for a second to cast a glance at the tall, thin boy with tightly curled auburn hair. Daeron sometimes resembled his mother's face so much that his uncle was awe-struck. He was a handsome young man of whom the parental hearts could be justly proud.
Gwayne was caught off guard enough to be speechless for a moment. Not wanting to even imagine it. It was as if a heavy bar of lead had been laid on his heart. No one, not one person, had been able to uncover his secret or find out about his brief, unhappy connection to Rhaenyra Targaryen seventeen years ago.
Back then, he had to learn that living in the world was not as easy and simple as he had thought it was at home. That life could be far more complicated and ridiculous than he had ever dreamed. He had a lot to reflect on and internalize. He himself had done something that should not have existed among men of honor and good families.
Blinded and shaken, he had rushed out of the capital headlong, but outwardly he was cool, calm, and level-headed. Going beyond the customs of his family, he also did something unheard of in their clan: he kept everything a secret. Many men would rush to turn it around in their favor. But then Gwayne felt sorry for Rhaenyra and for himself too. Though he wanted to believe, he was too honorable to persist since she didn't want to.
Their fathers would have certainly paid no attention to the foolishness of two youths like them. For the first time in many years, Gwayne allowed himself the weakness to wonder: what if?
Had Rhaenyra been his wife, he would have been happy with his fate. Willful, indomitable, and fearless, she was still used to being mentored, supported, and protected from childhood. Whereas he was sensible and firm in spirit, he would have shared all her hardships with her. Maybe now she wouldn't have to exert herself in a mad rush of will to guard her children.
Gwayne suddenly realized the direction his thoughts had taken and, full of self-disgust, clenched his teeth. Rhaenyra didn't need any protection. She was as poisonous as a black widow, if the rumors about her first husband's passing were to be believed. Then, as now, she had chosen Prince Daemon, a man who couldn't even manage himself and certainly couldn't serve as reliable support for anyone.
One couldn't take someone else's share, and it was pointless to complain about the fate one had decided for himself.
“No.” Gwayne finally squeezed out and crumpled the paper in his hand. As soon as his nephew left, he would burn it. Not a living soul was to see it.
The mention of his father made him grin with grim irony and grit his teeth. Well, at least now it wasn't hard to guess what Rhaenyra wanted from him.
Gwayne was aware that Ser Vaemond Velaryon was soon to petition to be the next Lord of the Tides. Now that his father had taken over almost all the affairs of the kingdom, it was not difficult to predict the outcome of this event. And Rhaenyra acted so carelessly with the birth of her sons...
The Princess, the King, Lord Corlys, and, as far as Gwayne knew, the deceased Ser Laenor Velaryon always treated her sons as her legitimate children. Wherever the boys showed up with their parents, people accepted them as if they were her legitimate sons. Indeed, it was not the fault of these children that they were born so unhappy. The Faith of the Seven considered bastards born of lust and weakness, although Gwayne saw a hitch in that logic. If a child born out of wedlock was so unnatural, then why would the deities even allow their lives to blossom? Why would the “just” gods punish a child when a newly born baby was more sacred than all the saints put together? When had the sins of its parents been washed away, and it had not yet done anything wrong?
“What a clever head you have!” laughed all his relatives when he objected to all remarks that he considered obsolete. Over time, he had mastered the art of covering them with sarcasm to be taken as a joke and keeping quiet in front of his father.
Though he did not regard the princes' situation as a personal affront, as many did, Gwayne sincerely doubted whether this state of affairs could be maintained after the king's demise. Even if they had had disagreements in the past, he dreaded the day when Rhaenyra's arrogance would be broken.
But then it was hard to see how he was supposed to help her. And why would he?
His debt to Rhaenyra, if any, he had paid in full. Gwayne had never said a word to anyone and never hinted at what had once bound them together. In good conscience, he never even indulged in those sinful memories. Only at night was he tempted by dreams that defiled the bonds of kinship.
But he didn't feel any guilt toward Alicent either. In his actions, he was always a faithful brother to her, replacing both mother and father for her son.
After he had returned home, a certain calmness came over Gwayne—it must be because the human soul cannot endure suffering without end. This was the case with him even after his mother's death. He was either going to be in trouble or he was going to be healed.
But now things have changed. He couldn't be of support to both Rhaenyra and his family. Old wounds opened up in his soul all at once.
“You're not going to answer that?” Daeron prodded on, watching his uncle, noting the subtle changes in his face, and unsuccessfully trying to keep the curiosity out of his voice.
“No answer is needed.” Gwayne mumbled with a petrified face. He nearly burst out laughing hysterically. What was the response to that? And could one refuse a princess?
Of course, he could cite some non-existent ailment. Gwayne snorted, choking with laughter as he imagined describing the kind of his supposed gout to Rhaenyra in great detail. Besides, that seemed like a cowardly thing to do. And he considered himself above it.
“I need to go to King's Landing.”
He should try to form a notion of his father's and sister's affairs himself. Some things reached Gwayne's ears, and, frankly speaking, he had never wanted to know more. There was safety in the unknown, while he preferred to think about things where he could accomplish something on his own. But now it wasn't enough.
Moreover, if he wasn't burying his head in the sand and was honest with himself, he was mildly intrigued as to what Rhaenyra would tell him and his own possible reaction to her after so many years.
“Shall I come with you?”
“No.” Gwayne cut him off sharply, but he immediately regretted his rudeness and added more gently. “Your Highness will be a pain in the ass on the road.”
Between his meeting with Rhaenyra and reacquainting himself with his family, he would barely have any time to keep an eye on his nephew.
Daeron chose to let the unflattering remark pass his ears. “Once I take to the sky, I'll make you take that back.”
Gwayne was simply enchanted by the sly smile and his familial brown eyes and decided to call a draw in today's squabble. “I don't doubt it.” He assured him and asked more seriously already. “Do you want to?”
Daeron had only seen his parents a few times, so he was sadly deprived of their affection. Gwayne tried to fill in the gaps as best he could, but he still feared the consequences would be irreversible.
Now he was ready to explain to him all he could about his decision, but the boy seemed at a loss for words and was afraid to even meet his eyes.
At last, Daeron, who until then had been staring intently out the window, turned silently and cast an attentive glance at his uncle.
“Not really.” He answered honestly. “The more time passes, the more I keep feeling like they're all strangers who are somehow simultaneously my family.”
Gwayne tried in vain to squeeze out something reassuring, to convince him that somehow it would all work out. But how could he do that?
He would have to take a closer look at his other nephews and niece to see how much Daeron could hope to awaken kinship feelings to help him settle into his new, unfamiliar environment. After all, his version of the tale may seem overly sentimental to some, but theoretically, it may well turn out that his siblings would sincerely attach themselves to their brother, and all would be well with them. Well, if reality turned out to be far more unfun, he would at least have time to prepare him to cushion the blow.
“Well, you always have me.”
“And how long do you intend to be away?” Daeron asked snidely, even though the expression on his face was one of appreciation and embarrassment.
Gwayne was tempted to tease him more, but he still decided to take pity and simply replied. “A month and a half, maybe more.”
The trip would take about two weeks over land, while he sincerely hoped that he wouldn't have to spend more than that in the Targaryens' “cozy” family nest.