Work Text:
Queen Laena put up with a lot, the illegitimate brood her husband had created, his whore of a niece, the whispers of court when each child had hatched an egg in the cradle. She dealt with it all because that is the role of a wife, of a Queen.
Lords took mistresses all of the time, begged the Crown to legitimize their bastard sons if they had none from their wives. It was heartless and ungodly— yet still common.
So Laena understood, somewhat, to a certain extent. If only Rhaenyra hadn’t been such a smug little bitch, growing bolder and bolder with each son she bore the King. Two was a miracle, three a blessing but four, five? It was an omen, or at least that is what the Princess’ supporters would have the Queen believe. She didn’t care about that, she cared about Rhaena. More specifically, the treatment of Rhaena.
Laena had thought Daemon’s preferential treatment of Rhaenyra’s children was because they possessed cocks, until Visenya and Viserra were born and the truth became clear to the Queen. Rhaenyra’s children were preferred because they were Rhaenyra’s children. Rhaena had been four and ten to their three and the youngest Princesses of the Realm had already spent more time with the King than their half-sister.
That was how Rhaenyra wanted it, so that is how it would be. Her children would always be treated better, for their mother was loved by the King. What were empty words in a religion he didn’t fucking believe in compared to the snuggness of Rhaenyra’s cunt? It was nothing. Nothing to walk past Rhaena because Visenya was in his arms, taking up all of the King’s love and attention.
Laena had had it. She was done, done with the constant disrespect as Rhaena asked her mother over and over why her father didn’t love her. She snapped, sick of the sight of his bastards. Rhaena had been asking Daemon for a ride on Caraxes for what seemed like moons, but he insisted on taking one of Rhaenyra’s children each time he took to the skies.
As the Queen walked out of the Red Keep she sees the King’s wheelhouse destined for the Dragonpit still at the gates and… Viserys waiting for the King with his sworn shield, Ser Aeron Celtigar.
The young boy is jittery with excitement, too busy chattering to his guard about the blood wyrm to see his Queen approaching but the guard does. He bows and that prompts Viserys to peak over his shoulder. He doesn’t bow, just smiles.
“Good morrow, my Queen, Princess Rhaena,” he smiles at his half-sister.
“You may go back inside, young man.”
His eyebrow raises the same way his mother’s would. “The King asked me here, Your Grace, for a flight upon Caraxes.”
He can see the way her nails dig into Rhaena’s shoulder, her ire clear. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you to listen to your elders?”
“She taught me to obey the King, just as she does,” his smirk was an exact copy of his father’s, even if he had Rhaenyra’s eyes and hair color. “And he told me to be here at first light, so I am.”
“Might you learn to ask your father for a ride, I am sure he would be glad to take you up on Seasmoke.”
The insolent shit shrugs, “I’m partial to Caraxes over Seasmoke or Syrax. Perhaps Rhaena would enjoy a ride on Vhagar, my Queen.”
“I did not ask you your opinion! Go inside, now, Ser Aeron and take your charge with you. My daughter shall be riding with my husband today.” Still, the boy doesn’t move. “I will not say it again, boy! My husband is a busy man, he doesn’t have time to entertain his grandnephew,” and the Queen was pleased when his smirk morphed into a frown. “You are not wanted out here.”
She doesn’t hear the light steps of the King, but she feels the tug of her arm as he drags her into the wheelhouse, slamming the door behind them.
The royal wheelhouse shakes with his fury, “What the fuck did you just say to him?! I don’t ever want to hear that foul shit again!” There is more said, but at a smaller tone until a sharp smack is heard. “Refer to him as that again, and I’ll take your fucking head. Collect your daughter and go the fuck back inside,” the wooden door is opened and the King steps out, only to pull Laena and her reddened cheek from the carriage. He doesn’t even look to Rhaena, his eyes on Viserys, for his concern was the young Prince’s mood.
The King smooths out his riding leathers and snaps his fingers for his son to come to him, dressed in a matching set his father had commissioned for his ninth name day. “My Prince,” he gestures for him to get into the wheelhouse and he does, his guard following until the King holds up a hand. “Today it will be just the Prince and I.”
“I wish you a pleasant flight, sire,” and the door closed behind the King.
Viserys watched as he slumped into his seat, the vein in the King’s forehead throbbing wildly. “Kepa… I am sorry—,”
“No, Viserys.” His voice is firm. “You have nothing to apologize for. It is the Queen who should be sorry— and I promise to you she will be. You are wanted, by me. You know that right?”
He nods, running his hands over the matching leathers. “I know.”
“You are of my blood, Viserys. My bone and legacy and you mean more to me than you know,” he pulled his son into his arms and kissed the top of his head. Love brought viciousness out in dragons.
Viserys looks up at him with a gleam in his eyes, his voice soft as he says, “I know, father.” They are alone, hidden away from prying eyes as a wide smile takes over his face. He was only eight, but a bright boy his niece had raised. “I know.”
“You know.”
His son smiles back. “I think I have always known… they way you look at mother— papa doesn’t look at her like that,” and the King tries not to reel over papa. He hates that fucking name. “You don’t look at the Queen like that… you don’t look at Rhaena as you do Vis,” his voice trailed off at the end, as if the King would be angry.
He sighs instead. “Were I a stronger man things would be different but your mother is… a part of me, a dear part. Woven into my very being and by extension so are you, even if I wasn’t your father. You being her son is enough to earn my favor,” he stroked the boy's cheek, his face a copy of his mother’s. “You look so much like her, my love.”
He loved Rhaenyra more each day, told her how much he wanted to marry her before their gods, begged her to let him between her thighs and into her womb each day. Sweet sons and beautiful daughters, she had blessed him with and all seven were dragonriders. Aeraxes, Tyraxes, Shrykos, Arrax, Tessarion, Gaelithox and Vermax. One after the other, the eggs had proved fruitful.
“She loves you too, talks about how great you are all the time.” It warmed Daemon’s heart to think of how much his sons adoration of him came from the lips of his heart. “Calls you the Conqueror reborn.”
His smile was shit-eating as he thought of Rhaenyra perched over their sons, retelling them the stories of his youth that always interested Rhaenyra. She was a good girl, even at six and twenty and his little dragon had always known how to stroke his ego just so.
Whatever ire Laena had stoked was long forgotten as he looked upon the ethereal face of his son, the chirping calls of Caraxes floating through the cut outs of the wheelhouse.