Chapter Text
Miscarriage, Rhaenyra learns, is about the closest she will ever feel to having her soul cleaved in two.
Months after it happened, she still finds that she cradles her belly, digging her fingers into the soft skin there—her belly, which should have by now been plump, stretched taut with ample room for her little Visenya to grow. She doesn't know what had gone awry—why her body, which had given her five healthy boys, was not good enough to give her a little girl. She had Baela and Rhaena, at least; Daemon's daughters were instrumental in providing her support.
She balances Aegon on her hip, though he is perhaps a bit large now to be held there comfortably. Daemon silently moves at her side with Viserys and his car seat in tow, carrying the diaper bag on his free shoulder. She can see how he looks at her, then looks down to her stomach expectantly as if he doesn't remember—that expectancy fizzles into muted grief. He doesn't look at her as he once did, desire and longing tugging at the corner of his lips.
She had frozen him out after losing Visenya, despite his initial attempts to placate and comfort her. She didn't want to be coddled or touched or desired. He sleeps on the couch most nights, when he isn't entertaining whichever young woman he's decided to fuck. Neither of them say anything and no agreement was made, but she has accepted that since losing Visenya he's drowned his misery in the weeping cunt of a woman who isn't traumatized.
"Do we have everything?" she asks, lips pursed as she turns to look at him.
"I believe so."
As her father's health began to falter, they'd decided to make more frequent trips to visit him at his countryside estate. It was a far cry from the French press coffee and Montessori daycares of the city, but they didn't know how much longer Viserys had to spend time with his grandchildren. Baela and Rhaena had also taken the time off from university to join them.
Jacaerys walks up to her side and holds his hands out for Aegon. "Let me take him," he says, smiling. Her eldest three had all been upset when she'd lost the baby, but Jacaerys took it the hardest; he seemed to take it upon himself to do what he could to help her. Gracious, she hands the toddler to him; Joffrey runs ahead to open the doors for them all.
"Thank you, boys," she says, her hand finding that spot on her belly where it always wants to go.
Alicent is the first to greet them. Though she and Alicent had many glaring differences, since she'd lost Visenya Alicent had been almost unbearably amiable. "Rhaenyra," she says, leveling her with a veneered, too-white smile. "You're looking well." Alicent takes her hands, kisses her on each cheek. "I'm glad to see the boys carrying everything so you and the girls don't need to lift a finger."
It would be easier if Alicent wouldn't make anecdotal comments about her state after the miscarriage, but she at least means well.
"Yes," Rhaenyra sighs, smiling. "They've been good to me. Almost too good, I'm afraid. Sometimes I worry if they're plotting something."
Alicent looks at her assortment of children, the edges of her façade beginning to crack. She smiles harder, the skin around her eyes creasing. "You've always been such an attentive mother, and your boys have grown into charming young men." Rhaenyra doesn't miss the way her eyes flit briefly to Lucerys; Alicent had once wanted revenge for what he'd done to Aemond. "That's really all we mothers could want—for our children to be the best versions of themselves."
Aegon, she thinks. She's talking about Aegon.
Not Rhaenyra's Aegon, who had been the easiest of her children in both delivery and temperance. Alicent's own Aegon—her first foray into child-rearing, still a child herself when she'd had him. It was difficult to say whether Aegon's ill temperament and less-than-savory proclivities were nature or nurture, but the likely answer was some mix of both. Despite her best attempts, Alicent was not the most patient or affectionate mother, and Aegon had been the kind of child who required firm guidance instead of the almost severe punishment he received.
As a result he came off as resentful. Ungrateful. Rhaenyra was hesitant to call her younger brother a monster (which was how Daemon often referred to him), but he had been a constant headache for the family.
Helaena is the next to join them, pushing their father's wheelchair. He looks arguably worse since the last time she saw him, which had been right after the miscarriage.
"Hi, Helaena," she says, offering her a small smile. Her younger sister smiles back, then looks down. Her father looks up at her from his wheelchair, and a knot forms in her stomach as she looks at him. "Dad," she says, lowering herself next to his wheelchair so she can be level with him; he reaches out with a gnarled hand, touches her cheek.
"Rhaenyra," he sighs, his voice hoarse. He carefully plants a kiss on her forehead. "I'm glad to see you." He looks around, taking in the sight of her and Daemon's children. "My, they keep getting bigger by the day!" Joffrey especially beams at that, puffing out his chest. "I don't think you could've wished for more perfect children."
Aemond quietly enters the room, followed by Daeron. Rhaenyra notices Alicent looking at her children, strained. "Boys," she says, and that smile is back. "Where's your brother?"
"Still asleep," Aemond replies, his tone unreadable. The corner of Alicent's mouth twitches.
She turns back to them, clasping her hands in front. "I forgot there's something I needed to do before dinner," she says, overly saccharine. She excuses herself quietly, disappearing into the hallway.
"I hope you are all hungry," Viserys says, seeming oblivious to the matter at hand. "Growing boys need to eat." He looks at Baela and Rhaena and smiles. "As do young women who are hard at work studying."
Rhaenyra takes it upon herself to wheel her father into the dining room, waving off Lucerys and Jacaerys' attempts to do it themselves. She is not a frail old woman, and she wants to do something—anything, really—to feel useful. As they begin to take their seats around the table, Rhaenyra digs into the diaper bag for baby Viserys' bottle and formula. Daemon reaches forward for them, as though he means to go prepare the bottle himself, and she pulls her hands away. He looks at her coolly, his lips pressed into a thin line.
"Let me," he says, almost too quietly.
"I can do it," she replies icily. He puts his hands back to his sides, and that is that.
She makes her way into the kitchen, filling the bottle with water and mixing in the formula. She's shaking it when Aegon suddenly walks in, one cheek splotched with pink. He doesn't even seem to register that Rhaenyra is there as he grabs a bottle of wine and uncorks it, taking a long swig straight from the bottle before pouring himself a glass as well.
"Brother," she says brusquely. He looks up at her then, and she can see the shine in his eyes, wet with tears. He smiles a little bitterly, swirls his glass as if she hadn't just seen him chug a quarter of the bottle of wine.
"Sister," he replies, his voice still thick from sleep. "Lovely to see you, as always." His tone is resentful, sarcastic. He takes a pointed sip from his glass. "I'm sure dad was extra happy that you decided to join us for the weekend. Maybe we'll get to play some croquet tomorrow, enjoy what is sure to be a perfect day."
Rhaenyra remembers when he was just a boy, how he had been such a crybaby; Alicent would grow so overwhelmed sometimes that she would just leave him to cry until he tired himself out enough to stop.
"I guess we'll have to see what your mother has on the agenda for the weekend," Rhaenyra says, watching as Aegon suddenly flinches.
"Of course," he bites back. He says nothing else, but he brings the bottle of wine with him as he walks out to the dining room.
She stays behind for a moment, warming up Viserys' bottle and testing its temperature on the back of her hand before rejoining them in the dining room. The food has already been set at the table, a myriad of different dishes and desserts, and Joffrey is already munching on a roll—certainly given to him by Daemon so that he would be patient while they waited for Aegon and Rhaenyra to take their seats.
She sits next to Daemon, handing him the bottle so that he can feed Viserys. He takes it quietly, starting to feed their son.
"A prayer before we eat, shall we?" Alicent asks, smiling at everyone around the table. She doesn't wait for acknowledgment, bowing her head. Rhaenyra rolls her eyes. "We give thanks for this food we have today, that we have been granted the fortune to always have enough on our plates and do not need to covet what others have been given." Rhaenyra glances around the table, noticing Aegon has not only not bowed his head but is instead looking right at her. She expects him to look away when she sees him, but he watches for a while longer before looking down to his lap. Alicent continues, "May we also be shown guidance to do what is just and mercy when we stray from that path."
Daemon huffs a silent laugh next to her.
They begin passing the food around; Jacaerys attempts to hand everything to her first, stubborn when she tries to decline each proffered dish. She eventually gives up on declining, allowing him to pass whatever he wants as she pours herself a glass of wine so that at least she might have some relief. Jacaerys practically makes her plate, giving her more food than she wants or needs. "Thank you, Jace," she says, smiling at him as she pats his cheek. "That's very kind of you."
Aegon is watching her again, looking oddly disquieted. He looks toward his own mother, and she can see him chewing on the inside of his cheek as if he wants to say something. Finally, he grabs a dish with roasted potatoes, turning toward Alicent. "Do you… want some of these?" she hears him ask, and Alicent turns toward him, giving him a look that is equal parts wariness and confusion.
She puts on her best smile, acutely polite. "I'm good, but thank you, Aegon." A muscle in Aegon's jaw tenses; he nods once, snubbed. As he goes to set the dish back down, Rhaenyra clears her throat.
"I'll take some potatoes, Aegon," she says, surprising herself. Both Aegon and Alicent look at her, flummoxed. Table manners would urge her to allow him to pass the potatoes around, but she stands a little and leans forward, reaching her hand out to take the dish; she can see the way his face turns red with embarrassment as he hands the bowl to her. She scoops out a few potatoes onto her already full plate, mentally noting that she needed to eat those first in case she couldn't finish the rest of her food.
Her father sits at the head of the table, looking quite pleased; he smiles at Rhaenyra and Daemon. "I hope things have been getting along well in the city," he muses, reaching for his own glass of wine. "I trust the children are all behaving and giving you no trouble?"
Rhaenyra looks to Daemon, who blinks back at her before looking to his brother. "Yes. Jacaerys, Baela, and Rhaena are doing great in university, Lucerys is due to graduate this year, and Joffrey is excelling in school as well. Aegon and Viserys are a handful, but nothing that we can't tackle." He smiles at Rhaenyra, bouncing Viserys against his knee. She offers a small smile back, patting his hand on the table.
"I'm glad to hear that." Viserys cuts a piece of roast chicken on his plate, beginning to eat. Rhaenyra picks up her own fork and spears a roast potato, popping it into her mouth.
She quietly eats her food as the children talk among themselves and Alicent goes on at length about her spinning class; she finishes her glass of wine about a quarter of the way through her plate. She has barely set the glass back on the table before Aegon speaks up. "Do you want some more wine, Rhaenyra?" he asks, eyes bright. She wants to decline, not wanting to indulge too much, but she remembers the way he sagged when Alicent had spurned him earlier.
He looks at her expectantly, hopeful. She's never seen him so eager to please.
Warmth pools in her belly. "I'll take another glass. Thank you, Aegon." He sits there for another moment, almost dumbfounded at her acceptance, before he reaches for the bottle of wine he had brought in—the one he drank from; he seems to pause, embarrassed, before he grabs a different bottle instead. He stands and walks around the table to where she sits, and she holds out her glass for him to fill it.
When she turns back around, Jacaerys is looking at her. "If you wanted more you could've asked me," he says under his breath as Aegon returns to his seat, looking oddly giddy. He pours himself another glass of wine as well when he sits back down, his cheeks flushed.
She finishes an acceptable portion of her plate and leaves a little of her wine behind so that Aegon doesn't attempt to fill it again. He's been watching her like a hawk for most of the dinner, as if waiting for something to come up so that he may try to remedy it. The wine that she has drunk is enough so that she feels pleasantly tipsy. They all stay around the table for much longer than is necessary, until her father is practically dozing in his seat. Alicent asks Daeron to help his father back to his room.
Rhaenyra's two youngest children are also getting tired, judging by how fussy Viserys has become. He wriggles in Daemon's lap restlessly.
"Do you think it's time to take the children to bed?" she asks Daemon. He grunts in assent, standing. She looks down the table at Joffrey, who is making silly faces with Helaena. She doesn't want to drag him away, but it's well past his usual bedtime. "Joffrey, please help your father with Aegon and get ready to go to bed."
He whines a little in response at first, but she gives him a serious look and he picks his younger brother up, following Daemon out of the room.
They slowly begin to disperse. Rhaenyra eventually sends Jacaerys and Lucerys off to bed as well, and Baela and Rhaena as well as Alicent's children excuse themselves. Except Aegon, who sits very still in his seat.
Alicent finally stands to leave, seeming a little surprised that Aegon is still in the dining room. "You should rest early," she tells him, eyeing his bottle of wine—now empty—with a judgmental eye before she disappears into the hallway.
Rhaenyra looks at Aegon then, calculating. He looks quite drunk already. That same heat returns to her belly, and she rocks forward in her seat, surprised at the pang of arousal that zips from her spine to her cunt. She can feel herself getting wet. "Had a good night, Aegon?" she asks, smiling at him. He seems momentarily stunned, processing how to best respond to that.
"Yeah. I'm… I had a good time," he responds, his words slightly slurred. She clenches her thighs together. "Do you want another glass of wine?"
The way he looks at her, eager to please and yearning for her attention, makes her feel desired in a way she hasn't in months. "I already had a bit more than planned. Why don't you drink the glass for me instead?"
He looks a little confused at that, but he won't turn down an opportunity to drink; he pours himself another glass and drinks it a little too quickly. When he finishes that one, he pours another. He goes to pour himself a third, but Rhaenyra stops him.
When she stands, he mirrors her and stands as well; he goes to open his mouth, but then stops. He steadies himself on the edge of the table. "Sorry," he says, embarrassment coloring his cheeks bright red.
"Had a little too much to drink?" she asks, smiling. Aegon tries to stand fully, but catches himself on the edge of the table again. "Do you want me to help you back to your room?"
He looks at her—glassy-eyed, helpless, pitiful. She wants to take him in her arms and ruin his life a little bit more.
She holds out her arm, and he very slowly takes it; his hands are surprisingly soft, softer than she would've thought. "Are you going to be okay?" she asks as she leads him down the hallway, hand around his waist to support him. "I don't think I've ever seen you this drunk before."
"I'll be fine," he says, stumbling a bit over his feet as she leads him to his door; she ushers him inside, closing the door behind them. He seems to be confused for a moment, looking at his bed, then to Rhaenyra next to him. She cups his face, can smell the wine on his breath.
"Will you do something else for me?" she asks, whisper soft. She cards her fingers through his hair, sliding her other hand around to the back of his neck; his skin is pleasantly warm. She can barely make out his face in the dark, but she can see the way his eyes dart to her lips. "Answer me, Aegon."
"Yes," he replies, his voice tremulous.
She smiles, strokes his face with her thumbs. He whines in the back of his throat. "Give me your phone and get down on your knees."
He nearly falls over, leaning forward and bracing his arms against her as he shakily lowers himself to the floor next to his bed. He takes out his phone once he's kneeling, passing it up to her. Rhaenyra unlocks it and starts recording; the flash lights up the dark room, and Aegon winces when she shines the light at him, squinting up at her. She reaches forward with her free hand and grazes her thumb along his lower lip.
"You look pathetic like this," she says suddenly, and he recoils, hurt flashing in his eyes. He goes to say something, but she puts two fingers in his mouth, hooking them in his cheek. "I want you to make me feel good."
"What are you doing?" he asks around her fingers. He seems to have a moment of near-sober clarity, eyebrows furrowing. "No—"
She removes her fingers from his mouth and unbuttons her pants with her free hand, slowly sliding them down her legs. Aegon follows the movement with his eyes, and she can see it there—arousal and uncertainty together. She pulls his head forward, pushing his nose up against the damp fabric over her cunt, shuddering as she rocks against his face.
"Be good."
He looks up at her then from beneath heavy lashes, his eyes shiny with tears. She cups his face with one hand, brushing a thumb over his cheek. He hesitantly opens his mouth, his breath hot against the wetness between her legs; she pulls her panties to one side and he nestles his nose into the hair on her mound. Tentatively, he pushes his tongue against her, licking a long, slow stripe along the seam of her cunt.
It's been so long since she's felt this exhilarated. Her clit pulses, and she rolls her hips forward, smearing slick fluid against his lips and chin; he groans, lapping at her clit, hungry for it.
He squints against the light from her phone, sliding a hand up across the softness of her belly, still purpled with stretch marks, and under the fabric of her shirt. He cups one of her breasts, palms at it, whimpering against the split of her cunt as he rolls a nipple between his fingers. It sends a shock of pleasure straight to her clit, and she throbs, biting down on her lip.
"Greedy little thing," she moans, pulling his head off of her; he cries out, frustrated. "You haven't even said 'please'."
He rests his cheek against her thigh. "Please," he whines pitifully, and she laughs.
"How about 'please, Mommy'?"
He looks up, wild and frantic, and she sees his throat bob. He pulls her forward again, trying to bury his nose in her cunt, mouth open, but she holds him back. He breathes heavily, palming uselessly over where his cock sits half-hard, neglected. "Please, Mommy," he cries, and she wipes a tear from his cheek with her thumb. "Please, Mommy, let me—" He stumbles over his words, slurring. "Let me do it. I want to be good. I'll be good."
She allows him to move forward again, and he sucks on her swollen clit, laving his tongue over her with surprising dexterity given how far gone he is. She props one foot up on his bed, giving him more room; she curls her fingers in his hair, gasping, watching him devour her with sudden vigor—sloppily, enthusiastically. He consumes her, unrelenting and insistent, as if she's the sweetest wine he's ever tasted. "You're such a good boy," she praises, moaning, and she can see him begin to cry, shiny tears rolling down his cheeks.
Pleasure winds in her belly, hot and sharp, as she's driven toward the brink of orgasm; she sucks in a wet gasp, shuddering as he pulls her impossibly close, slides his tongue against the swollen bud of her clit with such sharpness that she tumbles over the precipice. She gasps, her legs shaking as she grinds down on his tongue, her muscles pulsing sporadically. He kisses at her thighs in the aftermath, nuzzles into her as if he wishes to make a home kneeling at her feet.
She ends the video, the room once again bathed in darkness. "Lift your arms up," she says, and Aegon does so. She pulls his shirt up over his head, tossing it to the side. "Now stand up." Aegon attempts to stand, wobbly-legged like a newborn calf, but can't, incapable of getting his legs to bear his weight. She tries to lift him, but he slackens in her arms, dead weight. She grunts, frustrated, and she folds him half onto his mattress and slowly lifts each leg into the bed until he is at least mostly on it.
He looks up at her, sniffling. She can still see her fluids on his chin. "Sleep," she says, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead—a moment of tenderness. He reaches for her, but she hovers just out of range, grabbing his comforter and draping it over him.
"Wait," he whispers, voice wavering. "Are you—" He tries to sit up, fails. "Are you leaving?"
"Be a good boy and sleep," she repeats, stern this time.
She opens the video on his phone and locks the screen so that it will be the first thing he sees when he looks at it in the morning.
When she shuts the door behind her, she can still hear him crying.