M.)
Chapter Text
With all the preparations that need to be made for their departure, and with such short notice, Rhaenys doesn't have a chance to converse properly with Flemeth until it's almost time for them to leave.
She does see the woman at the morning meal, this time seated beside Laena. Rhaenys watches from across the table as Flemeth prepares a tea, a pleasant smelling herbal brew that she doesn't recognise. Instead of drinking it herself, Flemeth passes it to Laena, and her daughter closes her eyes in bliss as she takes the first sip.
'A fortifying brew'. Flemeth answers the question on the tip of Rhaenys' tongue before she can ask it. 'It aids the body in recovery after childbirth'.
Laena smiles at Rhaenys in a reassuring way, as if she thinks her mother might be concerned the tea is not what it seems. After her conversation with Corlys the previous night, Rhaenys does suspect there's a little more than simple herbs in the brew, but she's not concerned by it. Laena is whole and healthy, far more than any woman should be so soon after giving birth, and that can only be a good thing.
Rhaenyra leans closer to Laena to inhale the tea's aroma, their shoulders resting together with an ease that makes Rhaenys smile. 'It certainly smells better than the foul concoctions the maesters gave me'.
Flemeth makes a disgusted sound. 'Men are so quick to dismiss such things when it does not pertain to their own comfort. If it did, I don't doubt they would have invented tonics as sweet as wine'.
Rhaenys finds she rather agrees with Corlys. It will certainly be interesting to see how the Red Keep fares with Flemeth's presence.
Later, Rhaenys is midway through donning her riding leathers when it occurs to her that Flemeth likely doesn't have anything to wear for the journey. Whatever she'd worn beneath her robe was surely ruined by the journey from Pentos, and while it might do for the flight to King's Landing, she can't be expected to walk around the Red Keep in rags.
Corlys is positively offended by the idea. 'It simply won't do', he says, pulling at the stiff collar of his coat, 'what would it say about House Velaryon, were we to present her to the King in such a state?'
Rhaenys watches him adjust the leathers with thinly veiled amusement. She'd commissioned several sets of riding leathers for him over the years for the rare times he joined her upon Meleys, which was infrequent enough that the leather had not softened over time, as her own had. Despite his discomfort, he cuts a rather dashing figure, and she leans up to press a kiss to his cheek. 'Well, I'm sure she brought some spare clothing with her, though they may not be the finery you would prefer'.
Corlys looks faintly pained by the idea. He turns to to search through the garments in his wardrobe, and Rhaenys raises a brow when he makes a contemplative noise. 'This might suffice as some protection, until other arrangements can be made'.
He holds out another of the coats she'd commissioned for him. While the set he's wearing is dyed sea blue and decorated with silver seahorses, this coat favours the style of House Targaryen. It's dyed almost entirely black, the stitching crafted to mimic the shape of dragon scales over the shoulders, and a stylised image of Meleys follows the line of the collar as if she's draped her body around the neck, the only spot of colour on the garment.
Rhaenys narrows her eyes at her husband. 'This hardly indicates allegiance to House Velaryon'.
Corlys shrugs, his eyes twinkling. 'Is it not the plan to tell the King that it was your idea to bring her along, to keep the Hand's focus away from Rhaenyra?'
Rhaenys purses her lips. She eyes the coat with some doubt, and says, 'it may be a little short on her, but it'll have to do'.
Corlys looks far too pleased with himself in her opinion, but since it won't last long once he's faced with the prospect of actually flying, she allows him the moment, departing their chambers with the coat tucked under her arm in search of Flemeth.
She wonders how familiar Flemeth is with the more subtle matters of court. Whether she'll recognise that by wearing the coat, she won't simply be indicating allegiance to House Targaryen, but to Rhaenys herself.
Rhaenys pauses outside Flemeth's door, uncertain as to whether the woman might be elsewhere. She knocks, and is relieved when there's a muffled welcome from within. She steps inside, a greeting on her tongue, and stops still.
Flemeth stands by a table, bending low to inspect the contents of a number of small pouches. She's discarded her ever-present robe for the first time, revealing a pair of form fitting, high waisted trousers that have been reinforced with leather at the inner thighs. She's wearing a loose white shirt, the laces at the front half undone, and with the angle she's bent at, Rhaenys glimpses the curve of her breast, and her mouth goes dry.
Rhaenys considers herself someone not easily flustered. Perhaps it's less the sight of the woman's clothes that has struck her so, but rather what they reveal. There's strength in Flemeth's form that Rhaenys hadn't expected, emphasised by the leather fitted to her thighs and shape of her shoulders beneath her shirt.
A part of Rhaenys notes, in a rather detached way, that what Flemeth is wearing could in fact be counted as riding leathers.
Flemeth glances up when Rhaenys fails to speak, her brow raised in question. 'Can I help you, Rhaenys?'
It's the sound of her name on Flemeth's tongue that jolts her back to reality. She blinks, and gestures at the pouches strewn across the table, her voice mercifully steady when she says, 'am I disturbing you?'
'Not at all. I was simply taking stock of my supplies before we depart'. Flemeth straightens, and begins to attach the pouches to her belt, a sturdy looking thing slung low around her waist. It appears to have little to do with keeping her trousers secure, and more a method of carrying her supplies. There's a small dagger at her hip, and the clasp of the belt is fashioned in the shape of a dragon's head.
'Was there something you needed?'
There's a knowing note to Flemeth's voice, the light of her eyes burning bright, and Rhaenys straightens her shoulders, refusing to be mistaken for a blushing maiden. 'It occurred to me that you might not have anything suitable to fly in'. She waves a hand in Flemeth's general direction. 'You're certainly more prepared than most, but this will provide you with a little more protection'.
Flemeth takes the coat from her with a curious look, her fingers tracing briefly over the image of Meleys before she puts it on. It is a little short on her, but her shoulders fit it surprisingly well. Rhaenys steps closer, reaching out to adjust the coat, taking note of the places it doesn't quite sit right, and murmurs, 'it needs some adjustments, but it will do for now'.
Her hand splays briefly over the image of Meleys, and through the sturdy leather she can feel the steady beat of Flemeth's heart. Flemeth tilts her head slightly, watching her with something inscrutable in her eyes. 'Thank you', she says, her voice surprisingly serious, 'for the coat'.
Rhaenys inclines her head, and steps away, motioning for Flemeth to follow her. 'Come, it's time we departed. You will be joining me on Meleys'.
'An honour'. Flemeth folds her robe and packs it into a small satchel, leaving the coat open as she moves to follow Rhaenys. 'I do hope Meleys won't mind if I add a little to her burden'.
Rhaenys remembers the way her dragon had behaved with Flemeth the previous day, and laughs softly. 'I'm sure she won't. I do believe she's taken a liking to you'.
Even though she's not looking at Flemeth, she can feel the weight of the woman's gaze on her. 'Then I must be sure to tell her the feeling is mutual'.
Their dragons are clearly delighted to see Flemeth again, just as Rhaenys had expected. Flemeth greets them all individually by name, bowing her head each time, though her greeting of Vhagar is a little different.
Vhagar is already prepared for flight, staying still under Laena's command as she guides Baela and Jace atop the ancient dragon. Vhagar makes a low sound when she spots Flemeth, and Flemeth moves close enough to brush her hand over Vhagar's snout. By the lack of surprise in Laena's expression, Rhaenys can only assume the two of them also behaved this way on Pentos.
'Good morning, hatchling'. Flemeth pats Vhagar's scales with a fond expression, and the ground beneath them rumbles with Vhagar's reply. She sounds almost… amused.
'Hatchling?' Rhaenys can't help the smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. 'It's been a long time since Vhagar hatched'.
Flemeth smiles, a small, secretive thing. 'A little joke between two old women, Princess, nothing more'.
For the first time, Rhaenys wonders just how old Flemeth is. How old would one have to be to gain the title she seemed so pleased to carry? 'The woman of many years' could mean anything really, but if Flemeth did use sorcery to save Laena's life, perhaps her life has also been extended through such means. There were certainly tales of such magics being commonplace during the time of Old Valyria.
Could Flemeth be as old as Vhagar? Surely not.
Meleys makes a pleased sound when Flemeth greets her, and Rhaenys senses that same curiosity from her dragon, though she seems less confused than she did the day before, as if she's come to a conclusion about Flemeth in the time that's passed. Rhaenys would dearly like to know what that is, but there's only so much that can be communicated through their bond.
'Beautiful', Flemeth murmurs, her eyes bright as she regards Meleys' crown of copper horns, 'and as fierce as a queen should be'.
Meleys practically purrs, so pleased that Rhaenys feels the emotion as if it's her own. Perhaps it is a little. Flemeth is right, after all. Her girl is magnificent.
She climbs up into Meleys' saddle, and reaches down to take Flemeth's satchel from her, turning in her seat to add it to the saddlebags already in place. Most of their belongings were dispatched by ship earlier that morning, but it'll be some time before it arrives, and it wouldn't do to present themselves in court with nothing to wear but their riding leathers.
Rhaenys turns back to look down at Flemeth, and says, 'do you need a hand?'
Most people would certainly need assistance to mount a dragon, but Flemeth has already proven she's not most people, and Rhaenys is rather curious to see how she manages it.
Flemeth gives her a quick, almost playful smile, and shakes her head. Then she moves, climbing up Meleys' side with the ease and grace of one well accustomed to the motion, and Rhaenys laughs lowly. 'Aren't you full of surprises'.
Flemeth slides into the saddle behind her, her arms looping about her waist, and Rhaenys' laughter dies in her throat. With Flemeth pressed so close against her, Rhaenys can feel the strength in her arms, the warmth that radiates from her like the heat from Meleys' scales. The scent of wood smoke washes over, a fragrant smell tinged with something wilder, and Rhaenys feels her stomach clench.
Meleys trills beneath her, and Rhaenys has the distinct feeling her dragon is laughing at her.
'How long does it take to reach King's Landing?'
Flemeth's chin brushes the top of her head as she talks, and Rhaenys feels utterly encompassed by her. She clears her throat sharply, and says, 'a few hours at most'.
'Then I shall savour every moment'.
Rhaenys watches Syrax take flight, Joffrey's cry of joy fading on the wind as Rhaenyra urges her dragon higher. Meleys' muscles ripple as she prepares to launch herself into the sky, and Rhaenys allows herself to relax, leaning back a little against Flemeth's solid warmth.
She understands the sentiment. After all, there is no where she feels more at home than the open sky.
By the time Meleys lands in the Dragonpit, Rhaenys has become oddly accustomed to Flemeth's presence at her back, and finds she'd rather the journey had taken them a little longer. It's certainly more preferable than the prospect of what awaits them.
Rhaenys leans forward to pat Meleys' neck, murmuring a soft thanks to her dragon before she dismounts. Laena waves at her, standing off to the side with Baela and Jace, Vhagar having already taken off to settle outside the city walls. Despite the noise in the Dragonpit, Aemon doesn't appear to be disturbed by it, as there's no sound of distress coming from the sling tied across her chest.
Flemeth slides from Meleys' back with the same ease and grace with which she mounted her, but as soon as her feet touch the ground, something strange happens.
She doesn't stumble exactly. It's more as though she stiffens, like she's landed wrong, a jolt that locks her body tight, and her hands splay flat against Meleys' side. Meleys croons lowly, swinging her head around, shielding them from view in the curve of her neck, and Rhaenys feels her own concern reflected in their bond. She steps closer, and places a hand on Flemeth's forearm. 'Are you well?'
There's no sign of pain in the woman's face, no indication of what might have bothered her, but the muscles in her forearm are tense beneath Rhaenys' fingers. Flemeth blinks down at her slowly, and for a moment Rhaenys imagines the gold of her eyes has dulled. 'How many dragons have died here?'
Rhaenys frowns. 'Just the one. Balerion. He died of old age a year after Viserys bonded with him'.
'Ah'. Flemeth turns her head away, and though she stares at Meleys' side, Rhaenys senses she's not really seeing her. 'It is a warning, then'.
A deep sense of foreboding creeps up Rhaenys' spine, settling like a stone in her chest, and she grips Flemeth's arm a little tighter. Meleys makes a low, rumbling sound, and Rhaenys feels the heat of her breath wash over them as her dragon attempts to curl tighter around them. 'A warning of what?'
Flemeth pats Meleys' side. 'Something I shall do everything within my power to prevent'.
'Flemeth -'
'Cousin! What delays you?' Daemon sounds more amused than annoyed, his voice floating past the barrier Meleys has created between them and the world. 'It would not do to keep the King waiting'.
Flemeth covers Rhaenys' hand briefly with her own. 'Come', she murmurs, 'we have history to nudge'.
She turns to step away, and comes face to face with Meleys, her head tilted curiously to fix one large, bright eye on the woman. Rhaenys finds she rather agrees with her dear girl. She too would like to know why Flemeth asked about dead dragons.
But she doubts now is the place to push for further information. They are not alone, after all. She sighs, reaching out to stroke her hand along Meleys' jaw, and her dragon retreats with a low grumble.
Flemeth murmurs something low to Meleys before sweeping past her, moving quickly towards the entrance to the Dragonpit, where Laenor and Corlys are waiting by the wheelhouses. Rhaenys stares after her, watching as Laena, Rhaenyra and Daemon herd the children towards the exit, well aware that she should follow them, and yet she doesn't move.
Meleys presses her snout against Rhaenys' side, her concern clear through their bond, and Rhaenys allows herself to lean against her dragon, drawing strength from the warmth of her scales.
And yet that sense of foreboding that filled her at Flemeth's words has yet to lessen, and Rhaenys finds herself turning to address the dragonkeepers. 'Leave our dragons unchained'.
They stare at her, torn between obeying her orders as a dragonlord, and the rules they've followed since the time of her grandfather. An elder bows his head respectfully, and says, 'the King may have concerns'.
It's more of a question than a refusal. 'Our dragons are accustomed to dwelling close to people. They will not turn on the city'.
He nods slowly. After all, they do not chain their dragons on Driftmark, and Vhagar, despite being known as the more temperamental of the dragons, keeps to herself outside the city walls. 'And the young dragons?'
'Easily corralled by their elders if need be'.
There's a short pause, and then he bows a little deeper. 'As you command, Your Grace'.
The Hand will certainly make a fuss when he learns of it, but she can't regret the decision with Meleys' approval thrumming through their bond.
Corlys is waiting for her by one of the smaller wheelhouses, keeping the door propped open with one hand, and he frowns when he sees the look on her face. She shakes her head slightly, indicating the interior with a tilt of her head, and he nods, offering his hand to help her climb inside.
Flemeth is already seated, her body tilted to the side and her legs folded at an awkward angle so that she can fit into the space. Even so, Rhaenys can't quite avoid the way her knee presses against Flemeth's thigh as she sits opposite the woman, especially when Corlys joins them.
These wheelhouses have never been exactly roomy, but Flemeth's great height makes it seem positively cramped. It might be amusing, except Rhaenys can see the tension in Flemeth's face, and she doesn't think it's just because she's physically uncomfortable.
The wheelhouse jerks into motion, and Corlys winces, a queasy expression passing over his face. Rhaenys knows it has nothing to do with the movement itself, but a lingering discomfort from his flight upon Seasmoke. She'd found it highly amusing when they first married, that a man who spent over half his life on the sea without so much as a moments seasickness could be so affected by taking to the skies.
Flemeth stirs. She shifts awkwardly to reach beneath her coat, retrieving a small corked vial from a pouch at her belt. 'Here', she says, leaning across the minimal space between them to drop it into Corlys' hand. 'This will help'.
Corlys blinks, clearly surprised by the gesture, but he downs the concoction at once. An expression of relief passes over his face almost at once. 'You have my thanks'.
The corner of Flemeth's mouth twitches, but her expression is too heavy to be considered a smile. She says nothing else, leaning back into the shadows of the carriage, and Corlys turns to address Rhaenys in a low voice. 'The Kingsguard sent to escort us informed me that the King will receive us in the throne room, in front of the court'.
They'd anticipated as much, and yet Rhaenys feels a flare of irritation. They'll be granted enough time to change into something more appropriate for courtly proceedings, but she would have preferred to bathe first.
'Then we proceed as planned'. She glances at Flemeth, and adds, 'once we're alone with Viserys, I'll introduce you to him. With any luck, the Hand won't be present to object'.
Corlys hesitates before he turns to Flemeth, as if he too has sensed the tension, and is reluctant to disturb her. 'How will we keep you from being noticed?'
Flemeth flicks her hand dismissively. 'I am proficient at keeping myself hidden. No one will notice me until I allow it'.
That certainly raises some questions, but Rhaenys allows the matter to drop. She'd assumed it was the Dragonpit that had disturbed Flemeth, and yet the closer they get to the Red Keep, the more tense she seems to become. Rhaenys can feel it where her knee presses against the woman's thigh, the muscle pulling taut until it feels as hard as stone.
Rhaenys tries to ignore the sinking feeling that things might not go as they've planned.
She's not entirely successful.
Flemeth disappears once they reach the Red Keep, leaving Rhaenys to dwell on the shift in her demeanour in the time it takes them to change into the silks and finery required for court. She reappears once they're done, wearing her long robe once more, and while she'd cut a striking figure in the riding coat, she's hardly unnoticeable without it.
Rhaenys can admit she has her doubts about Flemeth's ability to remain hidden. She'd be difficult to miss even in a crowd, and she'll certainly stand out in court. Rhaenys had assumed that the woman would attempt to disguise herself, or that she'd simply wait until the court proceedings were over.
She does neither. She remains with them, walking behind and slightly apart from Rhaenys, and none of the guards or servants they pass so much as glance at her.
At first, Rhaenys wonders if they're simply intimidated. But when they reach the doors of the throne room and the herald takes note of each of them, his gaze passes over Flemeth as if she's not there at all.
Flemeth meets her eyes, and the corner of her mouth twitches, the first sign of humour she's displayed since they arrived, and she winks.
It sends a rush of relief through Rhaenys, and she has to remind herself to keep her expression neutral as the great doors to the throne room swing open and the herald begins to announce them. She watches Flemeth slip unnoticed through the doors to disappear into the crowded court, and she recalls the tales of the Faceless Men of Braavos, said to use glamours to disguise themselves when stalking their prey. Perhaps Flemeth is doing something similar, though preventing herself from being seen entirely except by a chosen few seems an entirely different league to Rhaenys, as little as she knows about such sorcery.
She tucks the thought away for later to focus on the matter at hand as they come to stand before the Iron Throne, and the man sitting upon it.
Viserys looks very much like he's trying not to smile as he looks down at them, waiting until they've bowed before him to speak. His eyes find Rhaenyra first, as they always do, and he does smile then, as a father to a daughter, rather than a King to his heir. 'My daughter, it brings me great joy to have you and my grandchildren return to the Red Keep'. His gaze flicks briefly to Laenor, though his smile remains. 'And my good-son, of course'.
Rhaenyra smiles at her father, her arm twined casually with Laenor's, and says, 'I apologise for the slight delay, father. Once we heard that my uncle and good-sister were soon to arrive on Driftmark, we had to seize the opportunity to allow our children to meet their cousins'.
Viserys' smile dims a little as he glances at Daemon, and Rhaenys wonders whether the Hand had attempted to persuade him to send Daemon away again. She glances at Otto Hightower, standing by the side of the Iron Throne as if he'd never left, his eyes fixed on Daemon in a way that indicates he's far from pleased to see him.
Alicent and her children stand by his side, and while the Queen appears a little unsettled, the boys look like they'd prefer to be anywhere else, and Helaena stares off into the crowd as if she's unaware of proceedings.
'Princess Rhaenys, Lord Corlys, the Red Keep is all the better for your presence'.
Rhaenys dips her head, as does Corlys beside her, and allows a small smile to touch her lips when she says, 'cousin. It is good to see you'.
Viserys' gaze sweeps over them all, and comes to rest on Daemon in a way that can only be deliberate. 'It brings me great joy to see my kin all together under one roof again'. The way he projects his voice makes its clear he's ensuring there can be no doubt to his words. Daemon is welcome, even if Viserys has not said it outright. 'It has been far too long'.
Daemon bows his head. 'Brother, may I present to you your nieces, Baela and Rhaena'.
Viserys' expression softens, his last attempts at seeming unaffected by the reunion melting away as he gazes down at the girls. He rises from his throne slowly, descending the steps with the care of a man who fears his body might betray him, leaning heavily on his cane, and Rhaenys almost frowns. He's been ill for some time, but his condition seems to have deteriorated significantly since she last saw him. She notes that the Hand's expression is carefully blank as he watches Viserys move slowly towards his wayward brother and his family, and wonders whether the timing can be a mere coincidence.
When Viserys finally reaches them, he smiles down at his nieces, and says, 'Baela, Rhaena, I am glad to meet you at last'.
As if the reason he hadn't was due to anyone but himself. The girls dip into perfectly practised curtseys, and Rhaenys senses the ripple of surprise that runs through the court, as though they had expected Daemon's girls would know nothing of manners, having been raised far from court in the East. Good, she thinks, let them be underestimated.
Laena bows when Viserys turns to her, lower than Daemon, but not as low as the girls, a hand carefully supporting the back of her son's head. 'Your Grace', she says, 'it is good to see you again'.
Viserys looks a little stunned at the sight of her. His gaze lingers a little too long on her face before he smiles, and says jovially, 'likewise, Lady Laena. You are as beautiful as your mother was at your age'.
Laena's smile is perfect and charming to anyone who doesn't know her well, but it doesn't reach her eyes. 'I can only hope to be as beautiful as she when I reach her age'.
Viserys laughs, and the court titters in amusement. 'And you have inherited her wit too, I see'. He glances at Daemon, his gaze searching. 'Perhaps you truly have met your match, brother'.
It's a statement that reveals far more about Viserys' thoughts about his brother's marriage than he might have intended, and Rhaenys feels a hot flash of anger in her chest. She had never wanted Laena to marry Viserys, and would forever be glad she'd escaped that fate, but he'd dealt Laena a great insult when he passed her over for the daughter of a second son, the kind that would have followed her relentlessly had she not claimed Vhagar. He did not need further that insult by implying, however unintentionally, that Daemon would treat Laena as he did his first wife.
Daemon's eyes sharpen, and there's a dangerous edge to his smile. 'Indeed'. His hand settles on Laena's back, and his voice rises a little to address the court at large. 'My wife has frequently demonstrated her strength, as she did today, flying upon Vhagar mere days after she delivered our youngest child'. His gaze sweeps over the court, and lingers on the Hand's face. 'A son'.
Otto's expression tightens briefly before he's able to smooth it over, and Rhaenys feels an echo of Meleys' growl in her throat. Of course the Hand would consider the birth of a legitimate son to the Rogue Prince to be more of a threat than his daughters, regardless of the fact that Baela has already hatched a dragon.
Viserys, oblivious to the tension as he so often is, beams at his brother, leaning forward a little in an attempt to glimpse the babe, wrapped so securely against Laena's chest. 'A nephew', he breathes, 'truly you bring many blessings with your return, brother'.
Rhaenyra moves closer then, perhaps anticipating that her father might attempt to reach for the babe, and says, 'he's far too young to be presented to court yet, father, but perhaps we could retire somewhere private?' She smiles at him, and tucks her hand into the crook of his elbow. 'There is much lost time for our family to catch up on'.
Viserys nods at once. 'Of course, my dear'. He turns then to beckon to Alicent and his younger children, and Rhaenys is rather surprised he remembered them at all. 'The family shall retire to my solar'.
Alicent moves forward, her hands resting on Aegon and Aemond's shoulders, though whether it's to guide them or to keep them close, it's hard to say. Helaena trails a step behind her, her attention elsewhere, though Rhaenys notes that instead of the usual far off look in the girl's eyes, she looks uncommonly alert. Her gaze keeps sweeping towards the crowd, darting between the gathered faces as if she's searching for someone, a faint furrow pinching her brow.
Rhaenys is distracted from her observation of the girl by the sight of Ser Cole falling into step behind her, and Laenor moves immediately. He steps in between the Queen's sworn shield and his sons, turning the protective action into a moment of fatherly care as he lifts Joffrey up onto his hip and ushers Jace and Luke ahead of him. With Rhaenyra guiding the King at the head of the group, Laena and Daemon step into place on either side of Laenor, the girls guided to walk with the boys, and a faint sneer curls Ser Cole's upper lip at the sight before he's able to hide it.
Rhaenys sees it though, and Meleys' roar echoes in the back of her mind as she takes up the rear guard with Corlys at her side, eyeing the back of Ser Cole's head as they depart the throne room. Normally they would walk ahead with their children and grandchildren, but by staying behind Ser Cole, it allows them to keep an eye on him.
Rhaenys would like to think she's being overcautious, and that he would never make a move to harm her grandchildren. But men are often emboldened when they escape justice, and the Queen has already shown she'll shield him no matter his crimes.
The air around her changes, like a blast of hot air curling up from the caves on the Dragonmount, and Flemeth steps into the space beside her. By the way no one glances at her, Rhaenys assumes she's still keeping herself hidden, and so she doesn't turn to address the woman, as curious as she is about what Flemeth might have gleaned from the proceedings.
When she glances at the woman, she realises that Flemeth's gaze is also fixed upon Ser Cole, the gold of her eyes as sharp as a newly forged blade, like a predator taking note of it's prey, and something eases between Rhaenys' shoulders.
Perhaps she should question the ease with which Flemeth steps into place by her side, and yet Rhaenys can only be glad to have her there.
Thankfully, Ser Cole doesn't join them in the solar, taking up a position outside the door beside Ser Westerling with an expression of reluctance that Viserys remains blind to. Otto also declines to join them, stating that he needs to return to his duties as the King's Hand. Rhaenys is certain he'll be using the time to inform his allies that all the Targaryens have returned to the Red Keep, and that there's a new babe to take into account.
Still, it's a good thing. Aside from the fact that she hates to spend time in the man's company, it will make their task easier.
Rhaenys settles herself in an armchair near the window, at an angle that provides a view of the entire room, and watches Viserys beam as he's introduced to his nephew, the other children gathered close around him. It might be a sweet picture, the perfect image of a doting grandfather, if not for the way his hands tremble, and the unhealthy pallor to his skin.
If not for the way his younger children remain apart from the scene, watching with mutinous expressions.
Well, Aegon and Aemond are, at least. Helaena, however, stares at a point beyond Rhaenys, her eyes as wide as saucers. Rhaenys follows her gaze to find Flemeth standing just behind her chair, her eyes two glowing coals in the shadows.
No one else has acknowledged Flemeth's presence, and she'd passed through the door without even a glance from the Kingsguard, and yet Helaena is staring right at her.
Before Rhaenys can do more than wonder whether she should intervene, Helaena moves. She rises slowly, crossing the space between them with hesitant steps, as if she expects to be stopped at any moment. Her brothers barely spare her a glance, and Alicent doesn't seem to notice her departure.
Helaena halts by the side of Rhaenys' chair, her head tilted back at an odd angle as she stares up at Flemeth, and she whispers, 'it was you'. Her voice trembles, though she doesn't sound afraid. 'You changed it'.
Rhaenys turns her head, just enough so that she can watch as Flemeth crouches down in front of the girl, her gaze intent. 'What did I change, child?'
'You know'. Helaena reaches out to grip the arm of Rhaenys' chair, as if to steady herself, and she barely seems to be aware of it. 'The threads. They were already woven'.
'Any thread can be unravelled'.
Helaena shakes her head, a sharp, jerky movement. 'Not these ones. It was certain. The daughter of the sea and the sky died, the eye was taken, and the dragons danced'.
Rhaenys stiffens. She's heard rumours about how odd the daughter of the Queen was, how quiet and strange, how she rarely spoke except to herself, or the critters she collected. But those words…
The daughter of the sea and the sky can only be Laena. Laena, who would have died without Flemeth's intervention. She knew it, and yet to hear those words from the mouth of a child, with such certainty, with such disbelief that it didn't happen, is something else entirely.
Flemeth's hand brushes her shoulder, so light and brief it registers as little more than passing warmth, but it's enough. The shadow of what might have been passes, and as she focuses on Helaena again, she sees how lost the girl looks.
'But you… you came. And you changed it'. Something like awe bleeds into the uncertainty in Helaena's voice, her eyes wet with unshed tears. 'I didn't think anyone could'.
'And what does it look like now?'
Helaena swallows. 'I don't know. The dreams haven't come'.
Flemeth reaches into her robes and withdraws a handkerchief that looks oddly small in her hand. When she passes it to Helaena, something shifts, as if the shadows were obscuring it's true colour, and it becomes a deep blue, almost precisely the same shade as Dreamfyre's scales. 'Do you dream often?'
Helaena clutches the handkerchief to her chest like it's a priceless gift, and nods, her lower lip jutting in that way that indicates she's trying not to cry. 'Every night. Sometimes they are different, but they always end with… with falling'. She takes a shaky breath, and when she looks up at Flemeth again, there's a light in her eyes that wasn't there before. 'But if you changed it… maybe I won't fall'.
Flemeth smiles. She leans a little closer, her voice lowering as if she's imparting a great secret, and whispers, 'sometimes, dear child, it is only when you fall that you learn whether you can fly'.
Helaena frowns, as children often do when they recognise an elder is attempting to impart wisdom, and yet are unable to make sense of it. 'I'm not a dragon'.
Flemeth's eyes gleam. 'Aren't you?'
'Helaena!'
It seems that Alicent has noticed that her daughter is not within her reach. She moves quickly, the action punctuated by a muffled snapping sound as the stiff fabric of her green dress strains in ways it hasn't had to before. She grasps Helaena's arm, unaware of how the girl winces, and when she looks at the space Flemeth occupies, her gaze doesn't pass over her.
Perhaps its because Helaena had been speaking to her that has allowed Flemeth to be seen, or perhaps it's that Flemeth has chosen this precise moment to reveal herself. Whichever it is, Alicent's gaze fixes on Flemeth, still crouched in the shadows by Rhaenys' chair, and her eyes narrow. 'Who is this?'
It's said sharply, a Queen offended by broken protocol, a mother wary of a stranger near her child.
Alicent's gaze darts to Rhaenys as if in accusation, her mouth opening with a rebuke, but the words die on her tongue when Flemeth moves.
She rises slowly to her feet in a manner that brings to mind the lazy grace of a dragon unfurling from the shadows, and when she stands at her full, impressive height, it seems impossible that her presence could have gone unnoticed at all.
Alicent goes white, stumbling a few steps backwards in a hasty retreat from Flemeth's towering form, her eyes widening in honest shock. She attempts to push Helaena behind her, but Helaena, in a move that seems very unlike her, stays stubbornly where she is.
Rhaenys decides it's as good a time as any to set things in motion. She rises from her seat, moving past the stunned woman with barely a glance, and comes to stand in front of Viserys. 'Cousin, there's someone else we would like to introduce you to'.
Viserys looks up, still beaming, the flush to his cheeks standing out oddly against the usual pallor of his skin. 'Oh? Surely no one can be as important as my nieces and nephew'.
Without prompting, Flemeth steps into the space beside her, and Rhaenys sweeps a hand towards her. 'This is Flemeth. She's a healer from Essos'.
Flemeth inclines her head a fraction, as if she's acknowledging his presence rather than paying respect to a King. 'Your Grace'.
Viserys blinks rapidly, staring up at Flemeth as if he can't quite believe his own eyes. Perhaps its his astonishment that keeps him from taking offence at the lack of deference, or perhaps it's that he's among family, still alight with joy at having them all gathered around him. Perhaps he simply doesn't notice, too busy staring at the woman. At last he says, 'welcome to King's Landing, Flemeth. Though I have to wonder what brings you here from Essos'.
'She accompanied us home, brother'. Daemon leans forward slightly, enough to add the weight of his presence to the conversation, but not enough that Viserys might think he's pushing his own agenda. They'd discussed how to handle this very carefully. Too much input from Daemon would only make Viserys turn away, simply because it was his brother who'd suggested it. 'After she saved Laena's life, and the life of our son'.
Viserys' eyes widen slightly. He looks to Laena, cradling Aemon against her chest, and then his eyes dart to Rhaenyra. It's a quick, brief thing, but the guilt that flashes in his eyes lingers there. Viserys, as slow as he can be to read a room, knows exactly what dangers can befall a woman and her child in the birthing bed, and Rhaenys is rather glad they don't have to spell it out for him. 'I see', he says slowly, turning his attention back to Flemeth, 'then you have my gratitude, both as King and the head of my House'. He sighs, a sound that ends on a wheeze, and his gaze turns distant. 'Our family has known far too much tragedy there'.
It's easy to see how Viserys might become lost in his ghosts, and so Rhaenys pushes forward. 'Given her talents, we thought perhaps she might have some fresh insight into what ails you'.
Viserys frowns, and it seems to take him a moment to understand her words. 'The maesters -'
'Are not infallible, cousin'. She makes an effort to gentle her voice. 'As you well know'.
Alicent, who seems to have recovered from her shock, clears her throat, and says, 'the maesters are learned men, none more than those who serve the King. What knowledge could a healer from Essos have that they do not?'
Rhaenyra makes a sharp sound. 'The kind that would have saved my mother'.
Alicent pales again, her gaze dropping to where her hands twist in the folds of her skirt. 'I -'
'Father', Rhaenyra leans forward, and reaches out to place her hand on Viserys' arm, her gaze imploring, 'if we'd had such knowledge, my mother might still be with us. If Flemeth can provide even a little aid to you, would it not be best to try?' Her voice lowers just a little, an edge of pleading woven into her words. 'I would not lose another parent if it can be prevented'.
Just as they'd predicted, Viserys caves under the weight of his daughter's plea. He covers her hand with his own, and Rhaenys watches Flemeth's gaze fix on the stumps of his amputated fingers. Her eyes narrow slightly, and she makes a low, thoughtful noise at the back of her throat.
'You are right of course, Rhaenyra'. Viserys turns to Flemeth, looking momentarily taken aback at the sight of her, as if in the brief time he'd looked away, he'd forgotten just how tall she is. 'I would welcome your opinion, Lady Flemeth. When would you like to begin?'
Flemeth's eyes twitches faintly at the title, but she doesn't comment on it. 'Now, if it suits Your Grace'.
Viserys hesitates, his gaze falling to his grandchildren. Rhaenyra squeezes his arm, and murmurs, 'you will see them again at dinner, father'.
'Yes, of course'. He pats Rhaenyra's hand again with a rueful smile. 'And they should rest after the journey'.
Corlys rises from his seat, and the children flock to him at once, finding their place at his side like the tide meets the shore. 'Come. You all stink of dragon'.
Laenor snorts. 'So do you, father'.
The children laugh as they're herded towards the door, and as Laena follows them, she turns towards Alicent, and offers her a polite smile. 'Would your children like to join us, Your Grace?' She glances down at Helaena, and her smile warms. 'Baela and Rhaena have been looking forward to spending time with another girl their age'.
Rhaenys doesn't know if that's true, or if it's simply part of the plan to coax Alicent away from the King's side, and to keep her from reporting Flemeth's presence to the Hand. Whichever it is, the smile Rhaena gives Helaena is bright and genuine, and Baela leans in to whisper something Rhaenys can't hear, though she catches a mention of Dreamfyre.
Helaena looks a little startled, but a small, shy smile graces her face, and she looks up at her mother with large, pleading eyes. 'Can we, mother?'
Alicent hesitates, glancing between Viserys and Flemeth warily. 'I don't believe the King should be left alone with a stranger'.
Flemeth fixes her with a piercing look, and her brow lifts slightly. 'Did I say I would be? If you would summon Ser Westerling from the hall, he can keep watch over my shoulder, lest these old eyes mistake one herb for another'.
Aegon sniggers, and quickly steps out of his mother's reach when she shoots him a quelling look. Daemon laughs, a sharp, somewhat grating sound, and says, 'you're welcome to stay, of course. Your children will be perfectly safe with us'.
Alicent pales, and for a moment she seems torn. Rhaenys wonders if she's thinking of her father, who would absolutely insist on being present. But staying means leaving her children in the company of people she doesn't trust, and so it's with an air of reluctance that she departs with them.
Ser Westerling appears a moment later, and helps to guide Viserys into his bedchambers. Flemeth follows them, leaving Rhaenys and Rhaenyra alone in the solar, which feels strangely empty without all the children gathered around them.
Rhaenyra immediately stands, crossing first to the side-table, where her hand hovers over the pitcher of wine for a moment before she turns away, moving instead to stand by the window.
Rhaenys follows her more slowly, and rests her hand lightly on the young woman's shoulder. She can feel the tension in her good-daughter, and with no one there to observe them, she rubs her thumb gently over the tense muscle, and murmurs, 'what has you worried so?'
Rhaenyra sighs, and leans just a fraction into the contact. 'A lot of things, really. That Flemeth won't be able to help him, and if she can't, I doubt anyone can'. She twists the rings on her fingers, staring down at the city below them. 'That the Hand will learn of what we're doing before she's finished, and find some way to intervene'.
Rhaenys gives her shoulder a light squeeze. 'The Hand has no knowledge of her presence. Alicent will not leave her children's side, and she's unlikely to send Ser Cole to inform her father when she prefers to keep him by her side'.
'And if he decides to visit the King?'
'You saw his face when Daemon announced the birth of his son'. It's not a question, because Rhaenyra has learned the art of courtly observation, and she knows to watch Otto above all else. 'I'm sure he's far too busy informing his allies about the newest member of our family, and what is to be done with us all here in the Red Keep'.
Rhaenyra's jaw clenches. 'We can't allow the children to be left alone with anyone who doesn't have our absolute trust'.
Rhaenys inclines her head. 'It will be harder to weed out those not entirely loyal to us than it was on Dragonstone'. She pauses, and reconsiders. 'Well, it will be harder to do it subtly'.
Rhaenyra glances at her, and her mouth curves in a small smile. 'Perhaps it's time for you to play the role of the overbearing good-mother. What am I to do if you decide to dismiss the servants around me, when you're so clearly worried for my well-being?'
A laugh bubbles up in her throat, and Rhaenys allows it to escape her as a soft chuckle. When she'd taken on the task of mentoring her good-daughter, they'd decided to keep the knowledge between those they trusted. Rhaenyra had pointed out that Otto had only pushed for her to be named heir over Daemon because he considered her to be a spoiled child without the patience or the temperament for politics. That would quickly change, if he knew she was being mentored by Rhaenys. As long as Otto thought Rhaenyra wasn't a threat, she would be in less danger herself.
It was Laenor who'd suggested they take advantage of the rumours that the boys weren't his, the very same rumours spread by the Hand and the Queen. Despite recognising the wisdom of her son's idea, Rhaenys had struggled with it at first. Not because she couldn't play the part, as hiding her true feelings had been second nature to her since she'd been a child, but because she was worried it might have an adverse affect on her grandsons.
Yet somehow, it hadn't. Perhaps it was because she visited them so frequently on Dragonstone, and showered them with the affection she couldn't show in court. When they'd been old enough, Rhaenyra and Laenor had explained it in simple terms; that their grandmother had to play a part in front of others in order to protect them.
And so to those on the outside, Rhaenys was cold and distant towards her grandsons, and only visited Dragonstone to keep her poor son company. They'd long since cleared the place of spies, and so there were no whispers of the truth; that she adored them, and spent as much time with them as she could, when she wasn't helping prepare Rhaenyra for the throne.
And if they visited Driftmark regularly, well, surely that was because Luke needed to familiarise himself with his future seat, and not at all because they were a family who adored each other's company.
Rhaenys squeezes Rhaenyra's shoulder once more, and murmurs, 'they won't recognise you, when it's time to stop pretending'.
The door to Viserys' bedchambers swings open, and Flemeth emerges. The tension immediately returns to Rhaenyra's shoulders, and she says, 'that was quick'.
Flemeth's expression is inscrutable, and yet a sense of unease twists in Rhaenys' stomach. 'One manages to be both thorough and efficient at my age'.
Rhaenys let's her hand drop from Rhaenyra's shoulder, and steps closer to Flemeth, trying to discern what she's learned from her expression. 'And did you discover anything?'
Flemeth glances towards the door, and says, 'how secure is this room?'
Well, that certainly doesn't bode well. 'We won't be overheard, if that's what concerns you'.
Rhaenyra's expression is one of barely hidden concern. 'Is his condition that serious?'
'In a manner of speaking'. Flemeth purses her lips. 'He isn't ill. He's been poisoned'.
The words fall like a heavy stone in the silence of the room, and Rhaenys feels… resigned. She should feel surprised, and yet the knowledge settles readily in her mind, as if she had unconsciously suspected there was something amiss with Viserys' mysterious illness. She recalls the moment in the throne room, when she'd wondered if it was merely a coincidence that Viserys' sudden decline in health aligned with Otto Hightower's return to court, and in the depths of the Dragonpit, Meleys roars.
Rhaenyra has turned pale, and she stares at Flemeth like she can't quite believe what she's heard. 'What?'
Flemeth watches her with the look of someone aware they're breaking bad news, and yet knowing there's no way to soften the blow. 'Based on his condition, I'd say it's been going on for some time'.
Rhaenyra sinks into the nearest armchair, and Rhaenys moves closer instinctively, settling a hand on her good-daughter's shoulder. Rhaenyra takes a shaky breath, and says, 'how could the maesters miss that?'
Flemeth scoffs. 'They couldn't'.
'You mean -'
'Unless the standards of education in the Citadel have significantly declined, then yes. They're involved'. An irritated expression passes over her face. 'Though that may be difficult to prove'.
That surprises Rhaenys, but perhaps not as much as it should. Though she's rarely dealt with the maesters of the Red Keep, she remembers how Aemma spoke of them, and that was enough to inform her dislike of the men. And she knows from Corlys that the Grandmaester tends to agree with whatever Otto says. Perhaps it's only Mellos who is involved in this matter. But if it's the Citadel as a whole, however… that is something else entirely.
Rhaenyra takes a steadying breath. 'Can you cure him?'
Flemeth inclines her head. 'I've given him something to counteract the immediate effects, but I will need further supplies before I can do more. What he requires most is time, though I cannot say whether he will fully recover'.
Rhaenys squeezes Rhaenyra's shoulder, focusing on Flemeth as she says, 'have you told him?'
'No. I assumed you would wish to come up with a plan first'.
Rhaenys nods. 'We must move quickly. The moment word gets out, those responsible will act to destroy any evidence'.
Rhaenyra's back straightens, the line of her jaw tightening with resolve. 'But where do we begin? There could be any amount of people involved in this, and my father won't listen to accusations towards the maesters without proof'.
That is certainly true. Viserys has relied far too much on the Grandmaester's advice to listen to their suspicions. If he did, he would have to acknowledge that he had dismissed Aemma's concerns about them on the advice of a man who might be part of a conspiracy to see him dead. And then he would have to face the fact that he had pushed her towards an early grave, and he would do anything to avoid that admission.
Flemeth makes a thoughtful sound. 'I imagine there will be an investigation. Ensure you or someone loyal to you is in charge of it, and you will find your proof'.
Rhaenyra takes another deep breath, and then stands. Rhaenys gives her shoulder another squeeze before she lets her hand fall. 'We should tell him now'.
'I will gather supplies from the maesters' stores'. Flemeth moves towards the door, and then pauses. 'If I find anything suspicious, I will ensure it is secure. That way, the maesters' won't be able to claim I tampered with it'.
A look of relief passes over Rhaenyra's face, and she nods. 'I'll summon a servant to guide you'.
Flemeth waves a dismissive hand. 'Oh, there's no need. I'm sure I can find my way'.
The room falls silent after she departs, and Rhaenys watches Rhaenyra run a hand over her face, waiting for her to gather herself. After a moment, Rhaenyra turns to face her, not as a woman seeking comfort from her good-mother, but as a protege seeking advice from her mentor. 'This will have to be handled… delicately'.
'Quite'.
There's a small part of Rhaenys that hates that this has to be a lesson. That she can't simply comfort the young woman, because whatever her own complicated feelings are towards Viserys, learning he's been poisoned for however many years can't be easy.
But she's proud, too, that Rhaenyra is able to push her personal feelings aside to deal with the matter at hand. It was one of the first lessons Rhaenys had learned as her father's heir.
Rhaenyra will make a fine Queen one day. And Rhaenys will not allow those responsible for this plot to stand in the way, because she doesn't doubt that is the end goal.
'We can't tell him about the maesters, at least not until we have some evidence'.
Rhaenys nods. 'Indeed'.
'And he'll want to tell the Small Council'.
'We can use that'. Rhaenyra sends her a puzzled look, and Rhaenys continues, 'we'll need their cooperation, and if they resist… well, that will tell us something'.
Rhaenyra nods slowly. 'We should suggest someone to lead the investigation. If we leave it to my father…'
She doesn't have to finish the sentence. Viserys might not put Otto in charge of the matter, but he'd likely listen to the Hand's recommendation, and that might as well be the same thing. 'Who would you suggest?'
Rhaenyra sighs heavily. 'I would say Daemon, but I doubt my father would listen'.
'And even if he did', which they both know he won't, 'Daemon's dislike of the Hand is well known. Otto will simply claim that any evidence found against him was planted'.
It's the first time she's voiced her suspicions about Otto's involvement, but Rhaenyra only nods, as if she too has reached a similar conclusion. 'Then it will have to be you'.
Rhaenys blinks. 'Me?'
Rhaenyra's brow lifts, as if she can't quite believe Rhaenys is surprised by the suggestion. 'Well, it can't be me, though I'd certainly like to assist you. And what objections could my father have with putting you in charge?'
Rhaenys purses her lips. 'The Hand won't like it'.
For the first time since they received the news, Rhaenyra smiles. 'Good'.
Viserys does not take the news well.
'Poison?' He shakes his head with a weak attempt at a laugh. 'Surely you jest, cousin'.
Rhaenys doesn't smile. 'Have you ever known me to joke about such things?'
'Father', Rhaenyra leans forward from her perch at his bedside, her face the picture of fearful concern, 'this is serious'.
Viserys looks somewhat helplessly between the two of them, and Rhaenys experiences a brief flash of pity. 'But… poisoning. Are we sure Lady Flemeth hasn't been a mistake?'
The pity dies at once. 'She treated you, did she not? Do you not feel better than you did prior to it?'
Viserys nods slowly. 'I… yes, I do. But poisoning, cousin. That would mean -'
'That someone in the Red Keep is committing treason'.
He looks aghast at the very thought, and Rhaenys reminds herself that she is not an impatient woman. She finds herself looking at Ser Harrold Westerling, standing as still as a sentinel by the door, and she feels a sense of comradery with the man. As the Commander of the Kingsguard, it's his duty to see to the safety of the King, and yet Viserys seems reluctant to even acknowledge the threat to his life.
She knows why. In Viserys' mind, a plot against the crown means there are those dissatisfied with his rule, and he is forever surrounded by men who do nothing but praise him. Nevermind the fact that Rhaenys suspects this plot has less to do with Viserys, and more to do with the question of who will rule after him.
'Father, we must investigate this matter'.
Viserys lifts a shaking hand to pat Rhaenyra's arm, and says, 'of course, my dear. Ser Westerling -'
'I don't doubt Ser Westerling's abilities, cousin, but given what we've learned, would it not be unwise for him to leave your side? This matter will take time to investigate, and you should not be left unguarded'.
She takes care to phrase it in a way she hopes won't offend Ser Westerling, as he's one of the few men in the Red Keep she's sure will do his duty above all else. He meets her gaze with a respectful nod, and says, 'I agree with the Princess, Your Grace. We cannot be sure the perpetrators won't escalate their attempts now that the plot has been uncovered'.
Rhaenys nods, glad to find that her measure of his character was correct. Viserys sighs heavily. 'Then who do you suggest?' He casts Rhaenyra a sharp glance. 'It cannot be Daemon. Your uncle will turn the Red Keep upside down in his search, and he won't care how many innocents are harmed in the process'.
Rhaenyra's shoulders tense, but her expression doesn't change. 'I actually had someone else in mind, father'.
Viserys blinks. 'Oh?'
'Cousin Rhaenys'. Rhaenyra keeps her eyes firmly on her father, leaning forward slightly as she begins her argument. 'If not for her, we wouldn't even know the truth behind your illness. She knows the Red Keep, is above corruption, and is respected by servants and Lords alike. And no one would ever accuse her of being overzealous'.
Viserys laughs. 'That is certainly true. She has always the been the most level headed of us, even when we were children'. He looks between them curiously. 'I had no idea my daughter had such a high opinion of you, cousin'.
Rhaenys smiles thinly, not quite able to hide her irritation at the fact that he sees this as a moment for sentimentality. Viserys clears his throat, attempting to straighten from his slumped position in the bed, and regards her more seriously. 'As for the suggestion, I find myself agreeing with my daughter. Will you accept the task?'
Rhaenys feels some of the tension leak from her shoulders. The Hand might try to challenge the King's choice, but as much as Viserys tends to listen to Otto, once he makes a decision, he tends to stick to it.
Rhaenys steps up to Viserys' bedside, and reaches down to take his hand. 'I will find those responsible, cousin, this I swear to you'.
He looks up at her with surprise, his eyes watering faintly, and for a brief moment, Rhaenys sees the shadow of the boy who used to run after her in the halls of the Red Keep. Of a time when both their fathers were alive, and they had yet to learn the truth of the world; that it was a harsh, merciless place that cared little for the bonds of childhood.
Viserys squeezes her hand, and murmurs, 'and I have no doubt you will succeed, cousin'.
Rhaenys steps away, and Viserys clears her throat. 'Now, Ser Westerling, if you would be so kind as to send for my manservant, and have word sent to the Small Council. I believe it's time we informed them about this'.
The tension returns to Rhaenys' shoulders at once, and when she glances at Rhaenyra, she sees her own dread reflected in her good-daughter's eyes. Neither of them are naive enough to hope this will go well.
As Rhaenys predicted, the Small Council meeting is a disaster.
It might not have been, had Viserys allowed her to retrieve Daemon and Corlys herself. She would have been able to warn them of what they'd learned, and to brief them on the plan already underway.
But Viserys had insisted that time was of the essence, and while Rhaenys agreed with that, she didn't think that required blindsiding Daemon. Particularly not when Viserys was already convinced his brother would be so focused on vengeance that he couldn't be allowed near the investigation.
If he'd allowed Rhaenys to do things her way, perhaps they wouldn't be where they are now; Daemon with Dark Sister held at the Grandmaester's throat, Otto shouting for Ser Westerling to intervene, and Viserys desperately trying to regain order.
Daemon appears calm as he stands amidst the chaos, his blade never wavering from Mellos' throat, but the fire in his eyes is as clear as the sound of Caraxes' shriek high above the Red Keep. 'Tell me, Grandmaester', he says, and the title sounds like a mockery as it leaves his tongue, 'how it is that you did not know my brother was being poisoned?'
Mellos' throat bobs as he swallows, and he leans back in his chair in an attempt to avoid the point of the blade, but it's Otto who answers for him. 'We have no proof that there is any poisoning!'
'If you want proof, Lord Hand, you need simply look'. Rhaenys gestures towards Viserys, who's watching his brother with a mix of anxiety and exasperation, as if he considers Daemon's behaviour to be similar to the antics of a child. 'A single treatment, and already the King's strength is returning to him'.
It's true, though perhaps an exaggeration. Viserys has remained standing since Daemon drew his sword, and he certainly wouldn't have been capable of that a mere hour ago.
Otto's jaw clenches. 'And where is this so called healer? Are we to simply take a stranger's word on this?'
Daemon's hand twitches, like he's considering turning his blade on the man, and Viserys says sharply, 'lower your sword, Daemon. This matter will be investigated thoroughly and fairly. There will be no blood shed over baseless accusations'.
Daemon stares at his brother, and for a moment the disbelief in his face is clear to see. Then his eyes harden, and Rhaenys sees the moment he understands that Viserys will always perceive him to be too reckless, too violent, too blood thirsty, no matter the reason for his actions.
Viserys doesn't see what Rhaenys sees; that Daemon is afraid for his brother despite the distance between them, and that he's hurt that Viserys didn't think to tell him the truth of his condition before the rest of the Council.
The doors swing open, and Flemeth arrives on the scene with all the subtlety of a dragon, which is to say, none at all, and Rhaenys knows at once that she's discarded her concealment.
Her certainty is only confirmed when Lord Tyland Lannister glances up over the rim of his goblet, and immediately chokes on his wine.
Flemeth strides forward until she stands at the head of the table, her gaze sweeping over the scene, taking in the Lords' stunned expressions, the bead of blood blooming at Mellos' throat, the way Alicent shrinks in her chair, before she meets Rhaenys' eyes, and her brow lifts slightly. 'I appear to be late'.
Corlys coughs, which doesn't quite disguise his laugh, and reaches over to slap Lord Lannister on the back until he stops choking. Viserys beams at the woman, though its unclear whether he's genuinely pleased to see her, or simply glad that her entrance has momentarily halted the chaos. 'Ah, Lady Flemeth, I'm glad you could join us'.
'Yes', Daemon says lightly, finally sheathing his blade, though his eyes never leave Mellos' pale face, 'perhaps you could help us understand how the maesters missed the fact that their King was being poisoned'.
Otto is the first to recover from his surprise, disbelief clear in his voice when he says, 'this is the healer, Your Grace? Surely this… woman is not qualified in such matters'.
'Mind yourself, Lord Hand'. Rhaenyra leans forward from her seat at Viserys' side, glaring at the man sitting across from her. 'That woman likely saved my father's life'.
'Forgive me, Princess', Otto's attempts to placate Rhaenyra sound far too condescending to be genuine, and Rhaenys can sense the way Daemon bristles, 'but surely you must see how this appears. A strange woman from Essos, brought into the Red Keep to attend the King without the Council's approval -'
'The King does not require your permission to act, Lord Hand'. Rhaenys cuts across Otto without raising her voice, and somewhere above Meleys roars, as if to emphasise her point. 'The Small Council is here to advise the King, nothing more'.
Otto turns his sharp eyes on her, but in a rare move, Viserys holds his hand up to silence him. 'Peace, Otto. While I appreciate your caution, the fact of the matter is that Lady Flemeth had already proven her talents to my cousin, and I certainly feel rejuvenated after the treatment she gave me'.
'I am glad to hear it, Your Grace'. Flemeth's eyes glint oddly as she stares down at Otto, like firelight reflecting off hard sheets of polished gold. 'But I must caution you not to overexert yourself. It will take more than a single treatments to fully counteract the poison'.
Viserys immediately moves to sit, and Alicent rises to aid him. The move seems to have been instinctive, as Viserys doesn't appear to need her help, and the woman lingers by his chair uncertainly. She glances at Flemeth, and says, 'but he will recover?'
Flemeth turns her gaze on the woman, and Alicent twitches, as if she'd attempted to hide a flinch. 'He will, with time'.
Rhaenys watches Alicent curiously. She'd been sure to note the woman's reaction when Viserys informed the Small Council of Flemeth's discovery, and she'd seemed genuinely shocked by the news. Now as she takes her seat again, she seems almost relieved, and Rhaenys finds herself wondering just how much of the King's care had fallen to her.
That certainly doesn't mean Alicent isn't involved, willing or not, not with the hold Otto still has over his daughter.
Lord Beesbury shifts in his seat, addressing Flemeth with far more deference than the Hand. 'If possible, Lady Flemeth, would you be able to tell us how you discovered that the King was being poisoned?'
It's a polite way of asking for proof, but they had anticipated this. Flemeth inclines her head, and produces an old, leather bound book from the folds of her robe. 'I took the liberty of retrieving this from the library. An Archmaester's account of various mushrooms found throughout the Seven Kingdoms'.
She opens the book to a marked page, and turns it around to face them. Rhaenys can't read the text from this distance, but there's an illustration done in a careful hand that depicts several, long capped mushrooms growing out of a gap in some stonework. They look rather like long, thick fingers, except they're coloured red.
'It has an academic name, of course, but it's known more commonly as the Bloody Gripe. It grows in damp, dark crevices beneath the earth, in places where blood has been spilled and inadequately cleaned away'. Flemeth pauses, and adds, 'I'm sure you'll all agree that there are many such places to be found in the Red Keep'.
Mellos squints at the page, and he seems to relax a little, a patronising note creeping into his voice as he says, 'ah, but the Gripe causes little more than a stomach ache when consumed. Uncomfortable, but hardly enough to account for the King's condition'.
Flemeth smiles, though it's more a baring of her teeth than anything. 'Indeed. But, as recorded here, there is a certain method of preparing the Bloody Gripe that creates a poison referred to as the Wastrel, so named because of how often the symptoms are mistaken as signs of wasting sickness'. Her eyes gleam as Mellos turns a remarkable shade of grey. 'As for how I discovered it, well, a good healer makes no assumptions. I noted the symptoms, and conducted the test, which consists of placing the key herb used in the treatment under the victim's tongue. Should it turn as red as the Gripe, then it is no mere sickness'. She gestures first at Ser Westerling, and then at Viserys. 'As both the Commander of the Kingsguard and the King himself can attest, the test was successful'.
Mellos immediately turns to Viserys and bows until his forehead touches the table. 'Your Grace, I am -'
'Incompetent at best'. Daemon sneers down at the man. 'And that is being generous. Let me investigate this matter, brother'. His hand flexes on the pommel of his sword, and Mellos' prone form trembles. 'I will not rest until I find who is responsible for this'.
Otto is on his feet at once. 'Your Grace, I must protest. Prince Daemon has already shown he is incapable of -'
'I have already decided who will lead the investigation'. Rhaenys has never heard Viserys interrupt his Hand, never mind twice in one day, though she suspects it's an attempt to forestall any further argument, rather than a sign that things have changed. 'The Princess Rhaenys will be taking charge of the matter, as it is due to her wisdom that we were made aware of it in the first place. Moreover, she is level headed, well respected, and loyal to the Crown. I expect you all to grant any assistance she may require'.
Rhaenys glances at Daemon, uncertain as to what his reaction will be when she was unable to warn him. He looks just as surprised as the others, and the smile he gives her is a little brittle, but she sees disappointment rather than hurt in his eyes. It's a relief. As much as he can't be in charge of the investigation, she'll certainly need his assistance in it.
'Your Grace', Otto begins carefully, his manner one of caution rather than objection, 'as respected as the Princess is, she has little authority within the Red Keep. That may make investigating… difficult for her'.
Viserys sighs heavily, and Rhaenys wonders if he realises that his words should have been enough to settle the matter. He's silent for just long enough for Rhaenys to worry he might backtrack, and she senses Rhaenyra stiffen beside her. Then Viserys' gaze comes to rest on the empty seat at the table, and he straightens. 'Then I will grant her that authority. We have yet to find someone suitable to fill the position of Master of Laws'.
There's a light in his previously clouded eyes, as if he's delighted by his own idea, and yet nothing could have prepared Rhaenys for what he says next. 'So, my cousin will temporarily take up the title of Mistress of Laws and Lady Justiciar, to investigate the crime of treason against the crown, and to act with my authority'.
In the moment of stunned silence that follows, Rhaenys finds she has the bizarre urge to laugh. There was a time long ago, after the events of the Great Council, where she had pushed aside how she truly felt about being passed over, and offered her counsel to aid her cousin. He had not been prepared to be made King, and their grandfather was not as able to guide him as he once was.
Viserys had rejected the offer. He'd done it in that apologetic, almost kindly manner of his, and said that while he appreciated it, he'd been advised that it would not do to have his rival for the Throne seen to influence him. That he must be seen to stand alone, so that the Lords would know they had chosen correctly.
She never made the offer again.
The memory leaves a bitter taste in her mouth, but she lets nothing show as she bows her head to the King. 'An honour I do not accept lightly, Your Grace'.
Viserys smiles at her, as if they're children sharing a private joke again, as if he hasn't turned tradition on its head by elevating a woman to an official position on the Small Council for the first time since Maegor. 'And who knows, perhaps we will find there is no one better suited to the position'.
Lord Beesbury clears his throat. 'A wise decision, Your Grace'. He offers her a small, yet genuine smile. 'I remember the time Prince Aemon took to educate his young daughter on the laws of the Realm. I am sure she will serve just as adeptly as he did'.
Her father had been the last to hold the title of Lord Justicar, as Lord Strong had not taken it when he became Master of Laws. The thought is heavy, like the ghost of her father's hand settling on her shoulder across the ages. 'Thank you, Lord Beesbury'.
A murmur of welcome sweeps through the Small Council. Even Otto declines to protest, perhaps deciding it's best not to object to the King's ruling when he's already done so, though his expression remains pinched with displeasure. Corlys doesn't attempt to hide his delight, smiling broadly as he congratulates her, and while Rhaenyra's smile is more restrained, her hand finds Rhaenys' under the table, and she gives it a brief, quick squeeze.
Rhaenys glances at Flemeth, standing half hidden in the shadows, and when their eyes meet, the woman smiles, a warm thing that burns hot between Rhaenys' ribs. There's an edge to it, like the sharp sting of triumph forged through hardship, and Rhaenys has the uncanny feeling that she's being seen right down to her very soul.
The light in the chamber flares red as Meleys soars past the windows, and Rhaenys let's her eyes sweep over the room before she meets Flemeth's gaze again. 'Well then. Let us begin'.
The rest of the meeting passes quickly. Her orders are simple; knowledge of the poisoning is to remain among the members of the Small Council, though the rest of the family will be discreetly informed.
While they won't be able to keep the truth a secret for long, certainly not once interrogations begin, there's a purpose to it. If the knowledge has somehow spread come morning, she will know one of the Lords is responsible.
Her second order causes a little more consternation. Daemon is to select two trustworthy members of the Gold Cloaks and have them stationed within the Maesters' tower. She argues that it's not an assumption of guilt, as anyone could have tampered with the maesters supplies, and that assigning a member Kingsguard will draw too much attention. Mellos and Otto could say little against that, as much as it bothered them.
Viserys calls the meeting to a close after that, retiring to rest before the family comes to join him for the evening meal, something he still insists they all attend despite everything that's been discovered. Rhaenys watches him walk away with Ser Westerling a close step behind him, and deliberately turns her back on Otto, refusing to acknowledge his sharp eyed stare.
She spots Rhaenyra quietly conversing with Corlys and Daemon just outside the chamber doors and moves to join them. As she does, Flemeth emerges from the shadows to walk beside her. 'A word, Princess?'
Rhaenys blinks, a little surprised by the oddly clipped note in the woman's voice, and glances at her out of the corner of her eye. Flemeth's expression gives nothing away, but there's something tense in the sharp line of her jaw, and the shadows deepen the lines around her eyes. Rhaenys inclines her head towards a side corridor, waiting until they've stepped out of earshot before she turns to the woman, keeping her voice low and quiet as she says, 'is something amiss?'
Flemeth stands facing the way they came, her bright eyes fixed on a point beyond Rhaenys, presumably to make sure they're not followed. 'In a manner of speaking'. The muscles in her jaw tense. 'Is there anywhere in this Gods forsaken city one might find a moment's peace?'
Rhaenys stares up at her. She remembers the change that overcame Flemeth when they arrived in the Dragonpit, and how tense she'd been during their time in the wheelhouse. It's as if all that tension has returned to her tenfold, and this time the dread that prickles up Rhaenys' spine is tinged with concern.
It takes her a moment to answer. When she'd lived in the Red Keep in the past and needed a moment's peace from it all, she'd simply take to the skies on Meleys. Sometimes she'd fly to Dragonstone, but given everything that's happening, leaving the city simply isn't an option.
There's only one other place she can think of that might suffice.
She motions for Flemeth to follow her, pausing briefly to tell inform the others that they'll rejoin them before dinner. She assumes they'll use the time to tell Laenor and Laena of what has occurred, and that Rhaenyra will inform them all of what's been planned. If any suggestions or changes are made to the plan while she's absent, she trusts they'll inform her when she returns.
Corlys gives her a significant look as they turn to leave, one that would amuse her, if she wasn't so focused on the change in Flemeth's manner.
It doesn't take them long to reach the Godswood, but Rhaenys continues to walk until they come to stand before the weirwood tree, and it's only then that she turns her attention to her companion.
It's immediately clear to her that bringing Flemeth here was the right decision; the woman isn't holding herself as rigidly anymore, and when she sighs, it's with relief. She moves to seat herself on the ground amidst the great roots of the weirwood tree, and lifts her hands to rub slow circles at her temples.
Rhaenys watches her with a slight frown, her earlier concern yet to abate, despite the fact that Flemeth seems more relaxed. There's something oddly jarring about the sight of Flemeth doing something so… mundane. 'Are you well?'
Flemeth says nothing for a moment, and when she looks up there's something almost searching in her gaze. As if she's trying to determine whether Rhaenys truly wishes to know the answer, or if it was a question born of courtesy. Then she sighs, and says, 'I will be, once the headache passes'.
Rhaenys' frown deepens. 'One would think curing a headache would be a mere trifle for a healer of your skill'.
Flemeth scoffs. 'That would be true, were the cause a usual one'.
'And what is this unusual cause?'
'…Do you truly wish to know?'
Despite the lighthearted note to her voice, her eyes are serious. Rhaenys thinks of the look in Flemeth's eyes when she spoke of warnings in the Dragonpit, and realises that Flemeth will tell her the truth if she wishes, but that she thinks Rhaenys won't like what she hears.
She doesn't know if the question is a test, or a warning. Either way, her answer would be the same.
'If I didn't, I wouldn't ask'.
Flemeth blinks, and warmth touches her eyes, the hard gold edge softened by fire. 'No, I suppose you wouldn't'.
She shrugs her robe from her shoulders and spreads it out between the roots of the tree, inviting Rhaenys to sit without a word. Rhaenys raises a brow at the gesture, but sweeps her skirts to the side to settle beside the woman.
The evening sun casts warm light through the leaves above them, and for a moment as Flemeth sits there among the roots of the ancient tree, the loose shirt clinging to the strong lines of her shoulders, her silver hair crowned gold, it's easy to imagine she belongs to another time. To an age where knowledge of magic and dragons was commonplace, and the world did not try to strip women of their power, or chain them for reaching for the skies.
'How much credence do you lend to tales that Harrenhal is haunted?'
It's not at all what Rhaenys was expecting. She stares at Flemeth for a moment, trying to determine whether she's being serious. She remembers the cavernous halls and melted towers of Harrenhal, and the way the walls swallowed words that should have echoed. 'Enough to be glad it is not my home, but not enough to believe the recent tragedy was the result of a curse'.
Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin Strong might have been the latest in a long line of men to die in that monstrosity of a castle, but their deaths had benefited too many people for Rhaenys to doubt the involvement of a mortal hand, especially given what they've discovered.
'A very practical perspective'. It sounds almost approving. 'And how do you suppose a castle comes to be haunted?'
Rhaenys arches a brow. 'Isn't that obvious?'
Flemeth laughs, and Rhaenys finds she's rather missed the sound. 'True, and yet it is a little more complex than simple death'.
'Violent death, then'.
Flemeth inclines her head. 'Violent, bloody death. The kind that erodes the barrier between the world of the living and that of the dead'. She lifts a hand to press her fingers to her temple, and grimaces faintly. 'The Red Keep has such a history, does it not?'
That would certainly be an understatement, even factoring in Maegor's reign alone. A faint chill creeps up Rhaenys' spine, like the touch of a cold hand on the back of her neck. 'You're saying the Red Keep is haunted'.
'Not in the same way as Harrenhal, certainly. But the barrier here is so thin that it's little more than a veil, and the spirits gathered here are rather insistent on being heard'. She snorts. 'I should have anticipated as much. They've gone unnoticed for generations, and the blood of the dragon does so hate to be ignored'.
Rhaenys stares at her. Her first instinct is to dismiss the woman's words, not because she thinks Flemeth is necessarily lying, but because the whole idea is… unsettling. How many times had she wondered what her father might think of what had become of his family after his death?
How often had she wondered whether Jaehaerys might have chosen differently, if he knew what his actions had wrought?
Her throat feels tight, and yet her voice remains steady when she says, 'you're saying you have a headache because my dead relatives are talking to you'.
'Talking at, really. Shouting, in some cases'.
Rhaenys swallows past the lump in her throat, and resists the urge to turn her head, as if this new knowledge might suddenly reveal them to her. 'Are they here now?'
Something must show in her face, because Flemeth's eyes soften, and she reaches out to place her hand on Rhaenys' knee. The touch is warm and grounding and far too familiar, and yet Rhaenys doesn't shift away. 'No', Flemeth says, her voice as soft as a whisper upon the wind, and she indicates the weirwood tree with a tilt of her head, 'it seems the old magics have not been entirely forgotten. This place is blessedly silent'.
Rhaenys is rather glad of that. If Flemeth had answered otherwise, Rhaenys might have been tempted to ask exactly which relatives were bothering the woman, and that is not something she's prepared to deal with tonight. She clears her throat, and murmurs, 'so will they continue to hound you once you leave the Godswood?'
Flemeth shakes her head. 'I have spent time in such places before, and I've become rather proficient at guarding against such… distractions. I was simply unprepared this time'. She smiles then, a small, genuine curve of her lips that warms the gold of her eyes. 'By bringing me here, you have granted me the chance to gather myself. I will not be affected in such a way again'. Her fingers flex on Rhaenys' knee, and the subject of ghosts suddenly seems unimportant. 'You have my thanks, Rhaenys'.
The chill that had lingered when Flemeth began to speak of hauntings and bloodshed is swept away by the warmth that rises in her chest, and Rhaenys inclines her head in acknowledgement, partly to hide her smile. 'It was the least I could do, given everything'.
Flemeth hums softly, an oddly melodious sound amid the quiet of the evening. Her hand remains where it is, and after a moment, she says, 'and you?'
'Me?'
'Are you well, Lady Justiciar?'
The title settles across her shoulders like the burden she was once raised to bear, and it aches like a disused muscle. She hesitates, grappling with the instinct to hide any weakness that might be used against her. Usually, if anyone but Corlys asked her such a question, she would immediately dismiss it. And yet… Flemeth had answered her inquiries into her well being with an unexpected honesty.
In the end, perhaps it's not surprising that she finds herself returning the favour. 'I am… tired. It has been a trying day'. She sighs, and turns her head away. 'I cannot help but feel that the task before me is more immense than it appears. And the world will be watching to see if I fail'. And fail she cannot, because it would spell disaster for her family, and she refuses to lose any more of them.
A hand touches her chin, and Rhaenys turns her head quickly, as surprised by the touch as she is by the fact that it feels welcome. Flemeth's fingers linger there a moment, warm and gentle, and her gaze burns with an intensity that leaves Rhaenys' breathless. 'Hurtled into the chaos you fight, and the world will shake before you'.
Her voice carries the same gravitas as when she stared into the flames on Driftmark, and Rhaenys doesn't know if it's the words or the touch that leaves her feelings so flustered. 'Yes, well', she says at last, 'you seem rather certain of that'.
Flemeth hums. 'One does not need to have the gift of foresight to know you will make your mark on the world'.
'And is that what you have?' It's something she'd wondered since she'd watched Flemeth stare into the flames before she agreed to aid them, and the question had risen to the forefront of her mind when she listened to the woman converse with Helaena. 'Are you a Dreamer?'
Flemeth sweeps her thumb along Rhaenys' jaw once before her hand falls away, and Rhaenys rather misses the warmth. 'Not in the way that child is, but your ancestors might have called me that'.
The confirmation of Helaena's nature isn't exactly surprising, when she'd come to the conclusion herself. 'So your ability to see spirits…'
'Is not one she shares, thankfully. That child is burdened enough'.
Rhaenys finds herself wondering whether Flemeth speaks from experience. If her… abilities had manifested at such a young age, and if she'd suffered for it. It's hard to imagine Flemeth as a child at all.
'Perhaps we can find a way to help her'.
Flemeth tilts her head, her attention shifting as if she's listening to something far away, and she says, 'we should start with joining your family for dinner. I believe we may be a little late'.
She rises with an ease at odds with her age, and offers Rhaenys her hand. Rhaenys takes it, allowing herself to feel the strength in that hand as Flemeth pulls her to her feet, and if the touch lingers a little longer than is appropriate, well, there's no one there to see it.
Their brief time in the Godswood seems to rejuvenate Flemeth, and she spends much of the evening meal answering the children's eager questions about the places she's travelled. Her answers are far more reserved than they were on Driftmark, presumably due to the presence of the Hand, who watches her across the table with narrowed eyes.
Still, it's enough to lighten the rather tense atmosphere in the small dining hall. There's a few notably awkward moments, mostly due to Alicent hushing her children whenever they attempt to join in, casting wary glances at her father as if she fears his reaction.
Given how poorly the day has gone for the Hand, perhaps her fears are valid.
Viserys is blind to it all, perhaps even more-so than usual, flushed with wine and the company of his family, far too jovial for a man who had recently learned he was being poisoned. At least he'd waited for Flemeth to inspect his meal before he started eating.
Towards the end of the meal, Laena retires early with her son, with Laenor accompanying her. It had been decided that none of them were to go anywhere alone, and Daemon clearly wishes to remain at the table, unwilling to leave his daughters in the company of the Hand, even if he's unlikely to do anything. Not long after, Baela invites Rhaena to dance by the hearth, and Daemon's expression softens as he watches them, the rigid set of his shoulders easing for the first time since the Small Council meeting began. Corlys rises a moment later, Joffrey tugging him along, and for a moment, watching her husband attempt to dance with his smallest grandson, it's easy for Rhaenys to imagine that all is right in the world.
Flemeth seems a little relieved to be spared from the children's endless questions, leaning back in her chair in a lazy fashion. Rhaenys turns to face her and reaches for her goblet of wine, noting as she does that Flemeth is eyeing it rather intently. She glances at the setting in front of Flemeth, and realises the woman hasn't poured herself any wine. 'You're not partaking this evening?'
Flemeth shakes her head. 'I rarely indulge when my services might be required'.
Perhaps that's why she was staring at Rhaenys' goblet. 'Ah, that's a pity'.
A small, almost sly smile curls at the corner of Flemeth's mouth, and she tilts her head. 'Oh?'
Rhaenys blinks, realising how that might have sounded to the woman, and clears her throat. 'I had hoped to hear your thoughts on the difference between the wine served here and those in Essos'.
The gleam in Flemeth's eyes is the only warning she has. 'Well, I would hate to disappoint'.
Flemeth plucks the goblet from her hand and brings it to her lips to take a slow, measured sip, her gaze never wavering from Rhaenys' face. When she lowers the goblet, her tongue sweeps over her bottom lip, as if to savour the taste, and heat blooms between Rhaenys' ribs. 'Not bad, but a rather young vintage if I'm not mistaken'. Flemeth hums low in her throat. 'I prefer something a little more mature'.
The warmth has crept up her spine to flush the back of her neck, and Rhaenys is rather grateful that her hair conceals it. Decades of experience keeps her expression carefully neutral, but she lowers her voice so that only Flemeth can hear her, just in case it reveals too much. 'Well, I think you'll find we agree on that'.
The distinct sound of someone clearing their throat interrupts the moment, and a soft voice says, 'Lady Flemeth?'
Helaena stands by Flemeth's chair, her presence surprising not because her approach went unnoticed, but because it's still so strange to see her apart from her mother and brothers. Flemeth looks down at her expectantly, and Helaena glances over her shoulder to where Baela and Rhaena are dancing together. She turns back, and Rhaenys notices she's woven the handkerchief Flemeth gave her into simple bracelet around her wrist. 'Will you dance with me?'
Aegon chokes on his drink across the table, and Otto's face pinches with displeasure. Alicent pales, and rises from the table as if to stop her daughter. Flemeth doesn't spare her a glance. Instead, she smiles down at the girl, and says, 'well, why not?'
She downs the rest of Rhaenys' wine in one go, and then stands, reaching down to offer Helaena her hand. Rhaenys watches them join her granddaughters with a faint smile, biting back the laugh that rises in her throat at the absurd height difference between them. It's rather similar to the sight of Corlys and Joffrey, though Rhaenys wouldn't call what they're doing dancing exactly, when her husband is simply shuffling on the spot with Joffrey standing on his feet.
Rhaenys is a little surprised at the lack of objection from the Hand or the Queen, but perhaps it's because Viserys is watching the whole affair with an amused smile. It only widens when Luke tugs Rhaenyra up from her chair, and Otto, though clearly displeased, seems reluctant to be the one to intrude on the King's joy.
There's a faint cough beside her, and Rhaenys turns to find Jace bending in a low bow by her chair, his eyes as mischievous as his father's often were at that age. 'Would you do me the honour, grandmother?'
Rhaenys keeps her expression carefully neutral, though she's sure her grandson can see the amusement in her eyes. 'Of course, my Prince'.
Despite being shorter than her, Jace does an admirable job of leading them, his eyes fixed on his feet as he moves, clearly concerned that he might step on her feet. After a little time has passed, Rhaenys leans down so that Jace can hear the affection in her voice when she says, 'you may have a more enjoyable time with someone closer to your age. And height.'
Her grandson beams up at her, and Rhaenys senses she's just walked into a trap of some kind. Jace turns just as they pass Flemeth and Helaena, and says, 'Lady Flemeth, could we swap partners?' He smiles at Helaena, bending at the waist in a polite bow. 'If it pleases you, aunt'.
Helaena flushes faintly, but there's a lightness about her that seems entirely new, and she accepts Jace's hand with a small, shy smile. Jace makes a show of passing Rhaenys' hand to Flemeth, and then spins Helaena away to join Baela and Rhaena, who laugh in delight at the sight of them.
Flemeth's hand settles on her waist, and she sounds rather baffled as they fall into step together. 'I confess I find children rather confounding'.
A smile tugs at Rhaenys' lips. 'In my experience, they're far more clever than their elders give them credit'.
It would be very easy to allow herself to lean into Flemeth, into the warmth and strength of her arms, just as secure around her as they had been upon Meleys. But Rhaenys is very aware that there is a difference between two young girls dancing together, and two older, unrelated women holding each other close. If it was just her family, and they were in the safety of Driftmark's halls, she wouldn't be so conscious of it. But she's keenly aware of the Hand's watchful presence, and the dark gaze of the Queen's sworn shield, and so she holds herself a little stiffly as they turn about the floor.
Flemeth notices. Her grip loosens a fraction, her hand sliding to a less familiar position up her back, and she murmurs, 'do you not enjoy dancing, Princess?'
Rhaenys hesitates, not wanting the woman to think she's uncomfortable, but knowing the truth will have to wait for later. 'I do as a rule, but I find it easier after I've had some wine'.
'Ah'. Flemeth spins her away on a rather dramatic twirl, and Rhaenys finds she's not surprised that the woman knows how to dance. 'Well, that one wouldn't have agreed with you'.
Rhaenys waits until she's pulled close again, tilting her head up to give Flemeth a questioning look. 'No?'
Flemeth dips her head towards Rhaenys' shoulder, her voice so low Rhaenys might not have heard it, if her lips didn't brush dangerously close to her ear. 'Not unless you're partial to the taste of poison'.