Dragonstone Castle
The sea breeze moved gently through the garden, stirring leaves and flowerheads alike. Roses nodded in their beds. Pale summer light lay soft and warm across the stone paths.
A round table had been set beneath the open sky.
The maids moved quietly around it, pouring tea and setting out cakes, small sweet tarts, and sugared biscuits upon painted dishes. Cups clinked softly. Steam curled upward. The air smelled of flowers, warm stone, and fresh tea.
Queen Alysanne sat with her daughters and Lady Jocelyn, enjoying the shade and the breeze as best they could.
After a while, the queen let out a soft sigh and turned her cup slowly between her hands.
"Still hard to believe," she said in a low voice, "that I have become a great-grandmother."
She looked comfortable, more grandmother than queen, dressed in a plain brown gown fit for ease rather than ceremony. Yet age had laid its hand more clearly upon her now. There were more lines in her face than there had been a year ago. Her hair, once silver-bright, had turned all grey.
Across from her, Lady Jocelyn smiled over the rim of her cup before taking a sip. She wore black still, though the gown was looser and easier than court silks. At three-and-forty, widowhood and years had settled upon her in a softer way. She had put on some weight, and there was much more grey threaded through her dark hair now.
"How quickly it all runs," Jocelyn said. "One day they are children beneath our feet, and the next they are giving us grandchildren of their own."
She set down her cup and dabbed lightly at the sweat gathering along her neck and chest.
"And the heat grows worse every year," she muttered with faint irritation. "I swear the sun means to roast us all."
Gael, seated to Alysanne's left, smiled a little at that.
"The maesters say this summer may last for years yet," she said.
At seventeen, Gael had grown into a quiet beauty that needed no display. Her silver-gold hair had been loosely braided for the day, though the breeze kept teasing soft strands free around her face. She wore a pale dress suited to Dragonstone's warmth, and there was an effortless softness in her manner now that had not been there when she was younger.
Beside her sat Maegelle.
The princess wore the grey robes of a septa still, plain and modest despite the garden's gentler mood. She ate her cake in small bites, careful and neat as ever. The worst of her ordeal had passed, but it had left its mark in subtler ways. She had a stillness to her now, and though health had returned to her face, there remained something more thoughtful in her eyes than before.
"We should have the summer clothes aired out properly, then," Maegelle said after swallowing. "If the heat means to stay."
The others nodded in agreement.
"Yes," said Jocelyn. "And the lighter linens must be brought out."
Alysanne gave a small sound of assent, then her expression shifted.
"That boy has shut himself in that tower all day again," she said, a trace of resentment entering her voice. "I sometimes think Aegon would sooner wed his forge than any bride."
Gael smiled at that, though it came out a little wry.
"He will likely come out soon," she said. "The tower has been quiet these past few days. I think he is done with his work."
Alysanne nodded in understanding. Then her eyes moved to Gael, and a warmer, teasing light entered them.
"Well," she said, "very soon your wedding will be upon us too."
Gael flushed at once.
"Mother," she murmured, lowering her gaze to her tea.
Jocelyn smiled behind her cup. Even Maegelle's mouth twitched faintly.
But then Maegelle frowned.
"Daemon has been back for some while now," she said, "and left his wife in the Vale."
That dulled the amusement a little.
Alysanne sighed.
"I do not know what to do with Daemon," she said, sounding tired. "Your father chose to pair him with the Lady of Runestone. Both of them are headstrong beyond good sense. Gods know how such a marriage is meant to hold."
That brought wry smiles around the table.
Alysanne shook her head once, then turned back to Gael.
When she spoke again, her voice had softened.
"My only wish left," she said warmly, "is that I live long enough to see children from Daemon and Rhea… and from you and Aegon as well, before the gods call me away."
That deepened Gael's blush anew.
Jocelyn smiled into her tea. Maegelle lowered her eyes, though there was gentleness in her face.
Around them, the flowers stirred in the sea wind, and the afternoon passed in sunlight, tea, and the quiet, aching warmth of women watching the years move onward.
Red Keep
The chamber was warm with afternoon light and smelled faintly of milk, clean linen, rosewater, and the last trace of some herbal tonic one of the maids had brought earlier.
Aemma rested against a mound of pillows upon her bed. The worst of the birthing weakness had passed, but it had not left her untouched. She still tired more easily than before, and softness lingered in her face, though much of her color had returned.
Beside the bed stood a carved cradle draped in pale cloth.
One maid adjusted the coverlet over Aemma's legs. Another hovered near the cradle, fussing over the tiny blankets tucked around the sleeping babe.
"No, not that one," Aemma said, lifting her hand a little. "The softer blanket. The white one. She squirms when the other cloth brushes her cheek."
"At once, my lady."
The maid changed it carefully.
Aemma watched with the full seriousness of a new mother, then nodded, satisfied. Rhaenyra slept on, small and red-cheeked and impossibly delicate. One tiny hand had slipped free of the wrapping and now rested by her face, curled into itself.
Aemma's expression softened.
"She has your nose, my lady," one maid whispered with a smile.
Aemma let out a quiet laugh. "Then pray for her. I was hoping she might be spared that."
The maids giggled softly.
Before more could be said, the chamber door opened a quarter of the way and another maid slipped inside, a smile already brightening her face.
"My lady," she said, dipping into a curtsy, "Lord Arryn is here."
Aemma blinked.
And before the maid had even straightened, the door opened wider.
Lord Taron Arryn stepped in first, travel-worn but smiling all the same. Beside him came Lady Janyce, composed despite being road-worn. After them came the two boys, Godric and Osric, bursting into the room with all the energy of young lords who had been told too many times on the journey to behave with dignity.
Aemma let out a delighted gasp.
"Taron! Janyce!"
She reached forward instinctively, forgetting for a moment that she was still abed.
"You came."
Lord Taron's smile widened. "Of course we came."
Lady Janyce moved ahead first and bent to kiss Aemma's cheek.
"How are you?" she asked at once, drawing back to study her with the frank concern of kin.
Aemma laughed softly, though the sound carried fatigue beneath it.
"I am sore everywhere, I have slept in scraps, and everyone speaks to me as though I might shatter if I sneeze." Her smile warmed. "So I am very well."
Janyce laughed at that.
"That sounds very much like motherhood."
Only then did Aemma notice the figure lingering near the doorway behind the others.
"Rhea!" she exclaimed. "Quick, come in. It is so wonderful to see you here."
Lady Rhea Royce stepped inside at last.
She offered Aemma a polite smile.
"You look as glowing as ever," Rhea said. Then, after the faintest pause, "More so now, with the motherly charm."
Aemma let out a soft, incredulous laugh. "Surely you jest."
Lady Janyce's mouth curved.
"Rhea is here to see her husband," she said, not troubling to hide the tease in her voice.
Aemma's brows rose. "Oh! That is so nice. Daemon is so lucky to have you."
Rhea's smile held, but only just. She sent Janyce a brief sideways glance that carried a good deal more meaning than courtesy.
Janyce pretended not to see it.
Aemma, who saw enough, chose the kinder path and added, "Then I am doubly glad you have come."
Rhea inclined her head. "Thank you."
Lord Taron stepped closer next.
"You look well enough," he said. "Better than I expected, if I am honest."
"Oh, thank you kindly," Aemma said dryly. "You always knew how to flatter your sister."
He snorted. "I was not flattering. Merely relieved."
The boys had no patience left for the talk of grown folk. They had already hurried to the cradle and were standing on their toes to peer inside, their small faces full of wonder.
Godric looked back first.
"Is this Rhaenyra?"
Aemma nodded, smiling. "It is."
Osric leaned in even closer, studied the sleeping babe for another solemn heartbeat, and declared, with all the honesty in the world, "She is so ugly."
Aemma's mouth twitched hard.
One maid choked on a laugh. Another looked quickly down at the floor.
Lord Taron reached the boys in two long steps and smacked each lightly on the back of the head.
"You two were uglier," he said.
"We were not!" Godric protested instantly.
"Was too," said Osric, turning on his brother with ready betrayal.
"You were the ugly one!"
"I was not!"
That broke the chamber fully. Laughter rose around the room, light and easy. Even Aemma laughed, though she had to press a hand to her side for a moment afterward.
"Hush, both of you," Janyce said, though she was smiling as well. "You are speaking of a princess."
Godric looked back at the cradle, suddenly grave. "Sorry."
Rhaenyra slept through the whole offense.
Lord Taron folded his arms. "There. You see? She forgives you already. More gracious than either of you deserve."
The boys grinned.
Aemma looked between them all, her eyes bright. "It is so good to see you. You cannot know how glad I am."
"We thought as much," said Janyce, settling into the chair a maid hurried to pull near the bed. "And truth be told, I wished to see with my own eyes whether Viserys had yet gone entirely mad with fatherly pride."
Aemma's smile widened. "Oh, he is nearly lost to us."
That amused Taron. "Already?"
"He hovers," Aemma said. "He stands over the cradle and smiles at her as though she has descended from the heavens herself. And every time she yawns, he looks as though she has performed some miracle."
"As he should," said Janyce. "He is her father."
Taron shook his head. "Give it a month. He will start boasting that no child in the Seven Kingdoms has ever gripped a finger so nobly."
Aemma laughed again. "He already has."
That won another ripple of laughter.
For a brief moment, the room softened again.
Then Taron cleared his throat, stepping back into the conversation before silence could take hold.
"Father and Mother both wished to come," he said. "But the carriage no longer agrees with them. Not for such a distance, and little Jeyne was left with them as well." His voice was gentle. "They sent all their blessings, though. For you and for Rhaenyra."
"Jeyne would not be parted from them once she understood we were leaving," Janyce said with a small smile. "And I think Mother was glad of the excuse to keep one grandchild to herself."
That touched Aemma. Sadness flickered through her face before she smoothed it away.
"I wish they had been able to come," she said softly. "And I should have liked to see Jeyne too. She must have grown so much."
"So should they," said Taron. "Father complained all through breakfast that he was being kept from his daughter's child by treacherous roads and an old back."
That pulled a smile from Aemma again.
"That sounds exactly like him."
"Mother also sent a knitted cap," Janyce added. "Though I have no faith in the color."
Aemma blinked. "What color?"
Janyce gave her a patient look. "Three colors, in truth. None of them peaceful."
Aemma covered a laugh with her fingers.
"Then we must put the poor child in it at least once, for love's sake."
She looked back to the boys again. "And you two? Did you behave on the road?"
"No," said Janyce.
"We did," said Godric.
"Mostly," said Osric.
Taron gave a grunt. "They fought over a wooden horse for half a day."
"It was mine," said Godric.
"It was our horse," said Osric.
"And they asked every league whether we were almost there," Janyce added.
Aemma smiled warmly. "Then they are true Arryns."
That pleased the boys immensely.
At last Taron glanced toward the door. "I should go and greet the king first."
"Yes, of course," said Aemma.
He bowed lightly to her, then clapped a hand upon Godric's shoulder and guided both sons away from the cradle.
"Come along. Do not breathe on the princess too hard."
"We were not breathing hard," Osric muttered.
"You were making faces," said Janyce.
"We were not," said Godric.
"You were," said Rhea dryly.
That set the boys protesting again as the room stirred into motion.
Aemma watched them all with a fond smile, then turned to one of the maids.
"See that chambers are prepared for Lord Arryn and his family," she said. "Properly. With all due importance."
"At once, my lady."
Aemma looked back to her kin.
"You should all freshen yourselves. The road from the Vale is no small journey, and you look as though the dust means to claim you permanently."
Janyce laughed. "I believe it nearly has."
Rhea nodded. "A bath would be welcome."
The boys did not seem eager to leave the cradle, but one look from Janyce was enough to set them moving. Still muttering about whether babies truly looked odd when fresh-born, they followed the maids out.
Aemma smiled warmly as she watched them go.
Then, as the door stood half-open and the room quieted once more, something occurred to her.
"You," she said to the maid who had remained near the bed. "Go and tell Prince Viserys and Daemon that the Arryns from the Vale have arrived. Tell them they will be joining us for lunch."
The maid bowed. "Yes, my lady."
She turned to go.
"Wait."
The maid paused and looked back.
Aemma hesitated for a moment.
"Umm… do not mention that Lady Rhea is here to Prince Daemon."
The maid's brow lifted slightly in confusion.
Lest he slip away again, Aemma thought, but did not say it aloud.
The maid nodded, accepting the instruction anyhow, then bowed once more.
"As you wish, my lady."
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