CHAPTER THREE
HER BROTHER'S KEEPER

"I had a brother who was my savior, made my childhood bearable."
— Maurice Sendak

The Red Keep
281 AC.

It's a beautiful day when King Aerys Targaryen II is slated to return to court. The sort of sunny springtime afternoon that would rouse poets to verbosity and serve as the inspiration for many a heartfelt ballad. Never before had the sky seemed so blue nor the gardens appeared so in bloom from Naerys's vantage point at the window of the Queen's solar. A pair of pale gray turtle doves flit past the window, basking in the sunlight that catches glints of gold in their feathers. As she watches them pass her by, Naerys's chest aches with the peculiar pain that comes from wanting something one can never have. She can only imagine what it would feel like to be that free.

Her father's return from Harrenhal feels like a black cloud blotting out the light of the sun. With the threat of his arrival so imminent, not even the loveliness of spring can distract from the rot that is his presence. Knowing what his homecoming will mean for her mother, Naerys spends her last day of freedom with Queen Rhaella and Viserys.

"My love, I believe it is your turn," her mother says, drawing Naerys's attention from the open window back to the cyvasse board on the table where her mother and septa are seated.

Naerys returns to the game, studying the board before letting out a dismayed gasp at the state of her pieces. While she had been distracted, her dragon had been overtaken, leaving her king in peril of being captured during the next turn—thus ending the game and resulting in yet another loss for her.

Turning her gaze onto her septa, Naerys shoots her a suspicious look. "Are you cheating?"

Calla's dark eyes glitter with good humor as she shakes her head. "Why Princess, I would never."

"I had hoped you might be," Naerys confesses with a dejected sigh, using her last turn to move one of her crossbowmen forward despite knowing that it is a futile effort and that the game has already been lost. "But alas, I think I am simply dreadful at this."

"You are new at this," her mother corrects, beaming at Calla as she makes the winning move and claims Naerys's king. "Very well played as always, Calla."

Calla dips her head in acknowledgment of the compliment and smiles. "Your Grace."

Naerys helps her clean up the discarded pieces and returns them to their original places. "I don't understand what I'm doing wrong," she complains. "Why do I keep losing?"

Her mother plucks one of the pieces from the board. Naerys can see that it is one of the dragons. "What am I holding here?"

"A dragon," Naerys replies. "The most powerful piece on the board."

"Mm," Queen Rhaella hums in agreement. "Most powerful, yes. But all powerful? No."

Naerys's brow furrows. "Meaning?"

"A dragon alone is not enough to win the game," her mother explains, returning the piece to the board. "Even dragons can bleed—can die. A dragon can be overtaken if they do not have enough allies to defend against those who would do them harm. They are powerful creatures, but they are not indomitable. Building a strong coalition of allies is equally as important as having a dragon on your side. Do you understand now?"

"I think so," she says slowly, studying the assembly of pieces. "You're saying that in order to win, I should focus less on the dragons and more on the other pieces on the board."

Her mother smiles at her. "Precisely."

"Then I shall keep that in mind for our next game," Naerys replies, shooting Calla a mischievous grin that her septa returns.

"I look forward to it, Princess," she says. "If Her Grace's advice serves you well, I may have to cease going easy on you."

Naerys gapes at her. "You mean to tell me that this whole time you have been you going easy on me and I still lost?"

Calla whistles innocently and pushes her seat back from the table. "I've just remembered that it's my day to light the candles in the sept. I'd best get going before the High Septon comes looking for me."

"This isn't over," Naerys calls after her as her septa retreats from the room. "We'll be having words about this later!"

Calla's laughter echoes down the corridor as she disappears from sight in a flurry of pale robes. Naerys turns and catches a glimpse at her mother's smiling face, watching the joy in her expression vanish once Calla is out of sight. Her stomach twists at her mother's suddenly grim countenance and Naerys knows that whatever her mother says next, she will not be glad to hear it.

"Naerys, there's something I've been meaning to talk to you about," Queen Rhaella begins, sparing Viserys a glance to make sure his attention is still preoccupied by his game of marbles on the floor. "I thought it best you hear it from me than from the gossip of courtiers returning from Harrenhal."

"What is it?" Naerys asks numbly, her mind racing to conjure all sorts of horrible scenarios. "What's happened? Did Father—?"

"Your brother," her mother says softly, her gentle voice at odds with the tight expression on her face, "dishonored his wife by naming another lady his Queen of Love and Beauty after winning the tourney joust. He chose the Lady Lyanna of House Stark instead of Princess Elia."

Naerys's eyes widen. Whatever awful thing she had been anticipating her mother would say, she had not been expecting that. In fact, she had not been expecting her to say anything about her older brother at all. "He... what?"

"It has caused a great deal of scandal," the queen continues slowly. Each word seems almost painful for her to speak aloud. "And people will undoubtedly have much to say about it once they are back from the tourney. I cannot speak for Rhaegar or his intentions, but regardless of whatever they may be, he has shamed his wife and offended her family and the families of many other noble houses through his actions. Lady Lyanna is betrothed to your cousin, Robert, and he was quite furious—as was the lady's older brother, Brandon."

Naerys thinks of Princess Elia. She had only met her good-sister twice before: once at her and Rhaegar's wedding and once after the princess gave birth to Naerys's niece, Rhaenys, and she and Rhaegar came to court to present the babe to Naerys's father. It had taken several months for them to visit after Rhaenys was born, as the delivery took a heavy toll on Princess Elia's health. When they finally presented her before the king, Naerys's father had been perfectly dreadful about the whole thing; refusing to hold Rhaenys and humiliating Princess Elia by insulting her and the babe for their Dornish heritage. Thankfully, Naerys's mother had received them both warmly in contrast to her husband, but Princess Elia had not returned to court since Rhaenys's birth.

From what she remembers of Princess Elia, she had been so very lovely. Not only was her brother's wife beautiful, but she was kind and clever and of good humor. Naerys had adored her and she had thought that Rhaegar had been fond of the princess as well. She had never imagined he was capable of doing something so cruel—and certainly not to his wife, of all people.

"But—but why?" Naerys finally asks, the question sounding strained and desperate to her own ears. "Why would he do something like that to Princess Elia? She is his wife."

Her mother's expression looks stricken. "Only Rhaegar can answer that. I shan't make up excuses for him. But I wanted you to know and to know it from me. I did not wish for this to be a thing you heard from someone else."

Her eyes prickle with heat and Naerys looks away, turning her gaze to the floor. She cannot help but imagine how it must have felt to be Princess Elia—humiliated in front of all those people as her husband scorned her so publicly and gave his favor to another lady. So many of her father's courtiers already spoke badly of the princess; whether it be for her Dornish blood or her frail health or some other vile gossip concocted by the rumormongers at court. Now Rhaegar had given them yet another cruel thing to whisper about.

Naerys had always thought her older brother to be the sort of prince that they sang about in the songs; noble and gallant and true. Rhaegar had been her hero for as long as Naerys could remember. He had gotten her through the very darkest days of her unhappy childhood and had seemed to her like Aemon the Dragonknight reborn. She does not know if she will ever be able to think of him in that way again after today.

"I did not mean to end our afternoon on such a somber note," Queen Rhaella says regretfully, reaching out to take Naerys's hands in hers. Her mother twines their fingers together and squeezes gently. "Thank you for spending some time with me, lovely girl. It does me well to see you."

"Of course," Naerys says, returning the squeeze and forcing a smile onto her face for her mother's sake. "I am always glad to be with you."

Her mother releases her hands to touch Naerys's cheek, brushing her fingers across her face. "And I, you."

The fleeting warmth of her touch is gone all too soon as her mother rises from the table. "I regrettably must take my leave of you now, my darling. There are some final preparations I must attend to before the king returns."

For a moment, Naerys had almost forgotten about her father. The reminder of his homecoming feels like a bucket of icy water being tipped over her head, settling a chill deep into her bones. "Yes, Mother," she says numbly, getting to her feet. "I'm sure there is much to do."

Naerys bids her queen mother farewell before leaving her solar. Only once she is out of view does her false smile drop, replaced by a pained grimace. Even thinking about her father makes her feel sick to her stomach. She had been able to breathe so much easier while he was gone. Naerys wishes he wasn't returning today. She wishes he wasn't returning at all.

"What possible reason could a princess have to look so unhappy?"

The voice startles her and Naerys jumps before she realizes who it is. "Ser Jaime!"

Her heart skips a beat when she sees her newly appointed sworn shield leaning up against the corridor wall. He looks rather bored for someone meant to be on guard duty. His sword hand rests lazily on the hilt of his weapon and his head is tipped back, keeping his golden curls from tumbling into his face. A small smile plays at the corner's of his mouth and the green of his eyes seems to brighten with amusement at her surprise.

"Did I frighten you?" He asks with mocking sincerity. "My deepest apologies, Princess. It was not my intention."

She scowls at him in return. "I wasn't frightened. You surprised me. That is all."

"Of course," the knight replies. "How presumptuous of me to think otherwise. You most definitely were not frightened—just surprised. I apologize for thinking otherwise."

Naerys glares at him. He smiles back pleasantly.

With a quiet huff, she turns on her heel and marches down the corridor away from him despite knowing that he will follow. It takes no time at all for his long strides to catch up with her shorter ones and the two of them end up walking side by side through the halls of the Red Keep.

"I meant what I asked earlier, you know," Ser Jaime says, quieter and more genuine than he had been before.

"When?" Naerys asks with a hum, pretending that she does not remember.

He shoots her a knowing look, but humors her anyways. "You looked upset when you left the Queen's solar."

"Did I?" She replies, feigning ignorance. "It was nothing."

Since his arrival in the capitol, Ser Jaime has become something of a grudging companion to Naerys. She has no ladies in waiting; no girls her age to befriend. As tales of her father's madness spread, many lords began to send their daughters away from court, returning them to the safety of their faraway keeps. But Ser Jaime is always at Naerys's side and so a certain kinship has formed between the two of them.

Naerys has learned that Ser Jaime Lannister is unequivocally arrogant, continually smug, and at times well-nigh insufferable. But most days he is good company—witty and clever and even charming on occasion—so Naerys does not mind spending time with him. After being so lonely for so long, Ser Jaime is the closest thing to a friend she has. For that reason, Naerys is willing to overlook the worst parts of him in favor of the best.

But it does not mean she wants to share what her mother had told her about her brother, nor does she wish to discuss her fears about her father's return with him.

"Princess."

"Ser."

"Fine," he relents and Naerys gives him her most winning smile, pleased by his concession. "But if you're going to lie, you should at least be convincing when you do it."

Her smile vanishes. "I'm not ly—"

"Yes, you are," Ser Jaime interrupts. "Liar recognizes liar. You lie all the time."

"Oh?" Naerys asks. "And how, pray tell, have you become such a master of the art of lying?"

He smirks in response but the smile does not quite reach his eyes. "Well, I could tell you, but it wouldn't be the truth..."

Naerys throws her hands up. "You're impossible."

"You flatter me, Princess."

Her cheeks flush with anger. "It wasn't a compliment."

Ser Jaime laughs and, in spite of everything, Naerys feels a little less terrible than she did before.

♠

The return of King Aerys Targaryen II to his court is celebrated with little fanfare.

His time at Harrenhal did nothing to quell the king's paranoia and he arrives at the Red Keep in a black mood, muttering under his breath about conspiracies and subterfuge across the realm. Just as Naerys's mother had predicted, the courtiers who traveled with the king as part of his party bring back whispers of their own from the tourney—most of which feature Rhaegar, Princess Elia, and the Lady Lyanna Stark. Naerys can write off her father's ramblings as the delusions of a madman, but she cannot so easily dismiss the things said about her brother. She had expected her father to be the subject of any scandal that might arise at Harrenhal. Not Rhaegar, never Rhaegar, and nothing like this. Her disappointment in him leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

That evening, Naerys is summoned to dinner in Maegor's Holdfast at the behest of the king. Only herself, Viserys, and her mother are invited to attend; the four of them spread thin across the large wooden table. An excess of food decorates the tabletop, but even after his food tasters sample every dish multiple times, King Aerys does not eat. He just sits in his seat at the head and stares into the flickering flames of the candles adorning the room until the meal is over and the table has been cleared.

For a fleeting moment, Naerys thinks that this will be all her father requires of any of them tonight. That her mother will be allowed to retire to her own bedchambers and the next time that she sees her, Naerys will not have to wonder what sort of bruises and other marks have been expertly hidden beneath the long sleeves and high collars of the queen's gowns.

"The hour grows late, Your Grace," Queen Rhaella says softly, her face a porcelain mask of demure serenity. "I am sure you are tired after your long journey and would like to rest."

"Yes," the king mutters and Naerys feels a flicker of hope at his easy acquiescence. It will be alright tonight, it will be—

"You will retire with me."

Naerys sucks in a sharp breath. She looks at her mother and sees the mask still in place. The queen's expression does not betray a thing, though she has gone slightly pale. "Of course, my love. Might I see Viserys to bed first?"

"No," her father replies sharply. "The boy is too old for such coddling."

Viserys's eyes go wide and begin pooling with tears. "Mother—"

"Silence, boy," King Aerys snarls. Viserys whimpers quietly. "Cease your sniveling unless you wish to wake the dragon."

Naerys watches as her little brother tries to stop himself from crying. His chin quivers violently with the effort and his shoulders shake with suppressed sobs. She knows he will not be able to keep his tears at bay forever. When she meets her mother's gaze, Naerys can see that she is thinking the same thing. The queen inclines her head ever so slightly in Viserys's direction—a silent request for Naerys to look after him once she leaves—and Naerys nods slowly, the taste of bile burning at the back of her throat. She hates this, she hates this, she hates this.

"Come, husband," Queen Rhaella says with false cheer and a mummer's smile that does not reach her glassy eyes. "Let us retire together."

Her father glowers at Viserys, but he does not linger for long. Naerys watches him leave the room with her mother and feels as close to crying as Viserys, who promptly bursts into tears as soon as their father is out of sight. Naerys goes to him and hugs him tightly, pressing his face into her shoulder when he begins to wail in earnest to muffle the sound. She strokes his silver hair and kisses the top of his head, holding him for what feels like ages until his tears begin to slow and his breathing steadies.

The door to the dining hall opens slowly and Naerys tenses before she sees a flash of pale armor and tumble of golden hair. Ser Jaime looks at her with a question in his gaze. Alright? He seems to be asking and she nods wordlessly before returning her attention to her brother.

"Let's get you to bed, Vis," she says, trying to sound cheery.

Her brother's face, puffy and swollen with tears, remains sullen and unhappy. "I want Mother."

So do I, Naerys thinks bitterly, but does not let her own misery show on her face.

She tries to remember what Rhaegar would do to comfort her when their mother was with their father, determined to provide Viserys with the same solace he had once given her. "I could sing for you, if you'd like," Naerys suggests, tapping Viserys's nose gently. Ordinarily, the gesture would bring a smile to his face but his expression does not change. "Or we could play a game. Or I could tell you a story. Come, Vis, it'll be fun."

Viserys does not look convinced, but he allows himself to be led from the dining hall. His little hand clutches tightly at Naerys's as they walk to his chambers together; Ser Jaime trailing behind them like a silent shadow, save for the quiet jingling of his armor as he moves. The clinking sound gives her an idea and when they reach his rooms, Naerys has Viserys go inside first and tells him to wait there before she shuts the door behind him, leaving just her and Ser Jaime in the hallway together.

"I need your help," Naerys says promptly, folding her hands together and looking up at him expectantly.

Ser Jaime's brow furrows. "What is it?"

She hesitates for a moment before asking, "How well do you know the tales of Dunk and Egg?"

"Well enough, I suppose," he admits before his eyes narrow with suspicion. "Why?"

"Good." Naerys beams at him. "You're going to put on a play with me."

He looks at her incredulously. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'll play Aegon the Unlikely and you can play Ser Duncan the Tall," she explains impatiently. "Unless you'd rather be Egg and I can be Dunk. It doesn't really matter who plays whom, but I need you to help me. I can't act it out on my own."

"No," Ser Jaime protests, shaking his head. "Absolutely not."

Naerys gapes at him in disbelief. "You said you would help me!"

"I asked you what you needed help with," he corrects, holding up a hand. "I did not say that I would do it. I'm a Lannister of Casterly Rock. We Lannisters have a certain pride, you know. And on top of that, I am a knight of the Kingsguard. A true knight would never partake in such a childish venture."

She scowls at him and stamps her foot indignantly. "A true knight wouldn't care about the opinions of others and neither would a lion," Naerys says, turning her nose up at him. "But if you're too cowardly to help me then that's fine. It just shows me what kind of knight you really are."

Ser Jaime's expression darkens and he works his jaw angrily, as if he wants to say something to her, but decides against it. Naerys moves to open the door and enter her brother's chambers, but the knight steps in front of her, blocking the entrance.

"What are you doing?" She demands, setting her hands on her hips and glaring up at him in an attempt to make herself look more intimidating than she is despite the fact that Ser Jaime is a head taller than her.

"I'm not a coward," he says through gritted teeth, green eyes narrowed to slits.

"Then prove it," Naerys challenges.

Ser Jaime's scowl deepens before he turns and yanks the door to Viserys's room open. "You owe me for this," he hisses before stepping inside. "And I'm going to play Ser Duncan the Tall. You wouldn't even begin to know how to properly portray a knight."

Naerys rolls her eyes and shoves at his shoulder, pushing him into the room. Viserys sits on the bed where she left him. His purple eyes flit between her and Ser Jaime uncertainly, so Naerys steps forward and clears her throat before speaking.

"Vis, we're going to put on a show for you," she tells him cheerfully. "You like the tales of Dunk and Egg, don't you?"

Viserys nods slowly, a small smile crossing his lips, and Naerys beams back at him. "Good. Then we'll begin."

She looks over at Ser Jaime, who does nothing but stand there with a sullen expression on his face. Her eyes narrow and he glares at her in response before straightening his shoulders and launching into his role as the famous hedge knight turned Kingsguard. Together, the two of them do their best to make Viserys laugh, until he trades his tears of sadness for tears of mirth and their father's cruelty is forgotten for the evening.

When the play comes to a close, Viserys nearly knocks Naerys over by wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug, squeezing her tightly with all his strength. Naerys hugs him back, wrapping her arms around him and resting her chin on top of his head to peer up at Ser Jaime.

"Thank you," she mouths to him over her brother's head. The knight rolls his eyes, but a grin spreads across his face and Naerys counts that as a victory of its own.

AUTHOR'S NOTES.

posting this on my break at work so if there are any edits that need to be made i will fix them later 🫡 see u in chapter 4!