Chapter four             𓃦          Use me, please

King Viserys' health declined rapidly, without a certain knowledge to why and how. The Hand, Otto Hightower, tried to ease the king's children with sweet talk of how this was expected for some time, that he was getting old. To everyone but Baelor, Genna noticed. How at dinner, he'd sooth Helaena, Aemond, Aegon, how he wrote letters to Daeron in Oldtown but never did his words reach Baelor. It could mean two things in Genna's mind – her husband and the Hand got in a heated fight (again) or there is more to it than the eyes allow to see.

Alyssa was prompted on her chair between her uncle Aemond and grandsire Tyland, enthusiastically explaining how she went on dragon back, using her hands to show just how big Vhagar was. Her words left bitter taste in Baelor's mouth, drowning it down with Dornish red. Genna's hand rested across the red clothing of her dress, across her belly, her thumb drawing circles to soothe the babe from kicking her.

The closeness of Baelor made her shrink in her seat as he leaned closer to whisper, "why did my brother take my daughter on dragon back?"

Genna tore her gaze from Alyssa to look on her right, swallowing a lump in her throat, "she asked. And Aemond was kind enough fo –"

Baelor chuckled, shaking his head. He pulled himself away, speaking in his cup, "unbelievable."

Tears prickled in her eyes, biting her lower lip from preventing them from spilling – not here, not now. She glanced away from Baelor, back at her daughter's smile and how kindly her father asked her silly questions to keep her entertained.

Aegon kicked Baelor in his leg, making his twin almost spill his wine. Baelor sucked in a breath before turning to Aegon, whispering in annoyance, "what?"

Aegon – nine wine cups in – grinned at his twin as he leaned on the edge of his chair, "Rijes nykeāōt, lēkia." (congratulations, brother)

His brows furrowed, "Syt skoros?" (for what?)

His twin almost chuckled, shaking his head, "Syt filling zȳhon womb, hen rhinka." (for filling her womb, of course)

Baelor was not stupid; he knew well enough what Aegon was trying to say. Still, he spoke, "Issa ābrazȳrys emagon issare rūsīr riñnykeā syt nykeā dorolvie moons sir, lēkia. Nyke suppose ao istan tolī jomōzare naejot notice olvie hen jēda." (my wife has been with child for a few moons now, brother. I suppose you were too drunk to notice most of the time.)

Aegon let out a chuckle, louder than Baelor wished for, "Nyke gīmigon ao act doru-borto, lēkia." (I know you act stupid, brother)

Baelor leaned closer to Aegon, gripping the wrist of the hand that held his wine, whispering, "Gaomagon daor tymagon rūsīr issa, lēkia. Ao issi sȳrī aware hen skoros nyke capable hen doing." (Do not play with me, brother. You are well aware of what I am capable of doing.)

Aegon chuckled again at the sudden outburst of his twin, "Lo ao jaelagon naejot ossēnagon issa, gaomagon ziry aderī. Gō kepa dies." (If you wish to kill me, do it soon. Before father dies.)

Baelor released the grip he had on Aegon's wrist and sat back on his chair, placing both hands on the table without responding to his twin. In the twisted mind of Baelor Targaryen, his twin brother just gave him the permission he wanted to have.

Alyssa shrieked of laughter as Tyland poked her side with his pointer, "grandsire!"

"Alyssa, sweetling," Genna sighed, "do not yell, please."

"Do not listen to your mother," Tyland poked her side again with a smile, "she has always been a bore."

Baelor snickered from where he sat while Alicent sat further on the edge of her chair, looking down the table to Tyland, "Genna is truly a lovely girl, my lord."

If the neckline of the dress wasn't sucking the air from her throat, Genna would smile at the Queen in thankfulness. But now, her fingers wrapped around the dress, the sudden dryness taking over her. She stood up abruptly and without apologizing rushed out of the dinning hall. Alicent looked at Baelor who was playing with the peas on his plate, "Baelor?"

Her son looked from his plate, offering his mother a sweet smile, "do not fret, mother. She has been like this recently. The Maester said it is due to the babe."

"I will check on her," Myna announced, offering a smile to the Queen as she pushed the chair backwards.

Alicent nodded her head without returning a smile. Myna pressed a kiss on Aemond's cheek which made Baelor bit his tongue and pull the cup to his lips once more. Myna walked out of the dining hall; the long dress adorned by green symbols dragging after her. She found the Lannister girl in the gardens, hand pressed against her stomach, the other one used to hold herself on the wall.

"My lady?" Myna asked from a distance, "are you alright?"

Genna scoffed through teary eyes for the first time in her life, not turning around, rather staring at the distance, "why do you care?"

Myna slowly walked closer, "I do not wish for us to fight, my lady."

Finally, Genna looked over her shoulder, tears falling hot against her cheeks, "not fight?"

Myna played with the rings on her fingers, "not fight."

Genna's lower lip wobbled, whispering, afraid for a servant to hear, "you wish me to be friends with the woman my husband seeks every night?"

For whatever reason, Myna believed Genna didn't know of it. Her throat became dry, clearing it, "we do not have to be friends just . . . civilized."

Genna shook her head once more, hands on her hips as she looked down at the floor. Myna tried again, voice as soft as possible, "my lady I . . . I am in a complicated situation and I just wish to have someone in the court."

The Lady Lannister looked up, "and you think that will be me?"

"Well, I just . . ." Myna stepped closer to take her hands but Genna took a step backwards, "my lady, I am scared. Terrified, really. I do not belong in the court, or among these people. I just . . . I – I have noticed you feel out of place a lot. And I, well, I just . . . I thought we can feel out of place. Together."

Genna almost laughed in her face, shaking her head, "who do you think you are?"

She stepped pass her and walked down the long hallway but Myna shook her head, calling after her, "it is not his child, I swear to you."

Genna quickly turned and walked to her, whispering, "quiet down. This is a snake pit; the whispers travel faster than you shall have a chance to stop them."

"I sw – swear it, my lady," Myna stuttered out a whisper, shaking her head, "this – this creature inside of me," a few tears slide down her cheeks, "it is not your husband's, I swear to anything that is sacred to me – I swear it on my mother's grave. Anytime my prince would – would come to my chambers, when he left a servant girl brought me tea. Ask – ask her! Please, my lady, I am not speaking lies to you. Her name – her name is Dyana. She, um, she dressed Aegon's children."

When she tried to take her hands again, Genna pulled them away, "do not touch me."

"My lady," Myna breathed through tears again, "I swear to you."

"I do not need you to swear anything to me, Myna," Genna whispered, "I do not need your promises. All I know is that I am being dishonoured day by day again. Do you know how foolish I feel? Knowing my husband seeks another woman every night? That there is his bastard growing inside a woman?"

"It is not his, my lady," she whispered again, "I swear it – I would swear to the Seven but I am not so religious. The creature is my husband's."

Genna bit her tongue before whispering back, "I do pity you; I hope you know it. But I feel more grief for Aemond than anyone else. He is a good man, better than any snake in this court. And you throw it away for a man like Baelor."

The feeling of Genna's pity felt like a cut across Myna's skin. She'd rather have her scream and punch than speak so calmly, like a blade. She watched as Genna slid her hand across her belly again before moving away and down the barely lit hallway, no doubt she was leaving for her chambers once more.

         The chambers of Otto Hightower were lit only by the fireplace. He sat behind his desk – a candle on the edge of it – pouring some wine in the cup before offering it to Baelor on the other side. He reached for it before leaning back on the chair, nursing the cup in his lap, "mother does not know?"

Otto shook his head, placing the bottle on the side, taking the cup in his hands, "no. Does your wife know?"

Baelor scoffed, bringing the cup to his lips, "Genna would not believe it even if I showed her the herbs. She would still believe in me like I was a God."

Otto chuckled, "she is far from a Lannister. What was her mother again?"

Baelor shrugged, pulling the cup from his lips, "I barely know she is a Lannister; I doubt I would care enough to ask about her mother."

Otto placed the cup on the desk, "do not become reckless, boy. Her father is here, you already messed at dinner."

His grandson clicked his tongue, eyes darting to the side where the family portraits of House Hightower decorated the walls, "I did not mess anything, grandsire. I spoke the truth; she often is like this."

Otto watched as Baelor looked at the portraits before speaking quietly, "one day your portrait will hang there. A portrait where you shall wear the crown of Aegon the First."

Baelor grinned and looked at his grandfather who wore the same expression. Otto continued, "if you play the game correctly."

"Am I not doing well enough, then?" Baelor whispered to the man.

"You are doing better than I expected," he answered truthfully.

Baelor tapped his fingers against the cup in his lap, "I always thought you will put Aegon on the Throne because you could easily make him do whatever you wanted."

"I did," Otto replied, leaning back in his chair, "but then I realized I need not to do it when you have the same mind as I do."

Just as his grandfather wanted to continue, Baelor spoke, "I wish to kill him."

Otto's brows furrowed, "who?"

"Aegon."

Otto sighed, "do not rush it, Baelor. First the king must die, then we continue the plan."

"The people want me, grandsire," Baelor spoke lowly, "not the drunken cunt that my brother is. And certainly not the whore that seeds bastards on the court and runs off to Dragonstone when things get hard for her."

Baelor took a gulp of wine but before Otto could say something, he was interrupted again, "father thinks Aegon is helping him. So, at any time, he shall start thinking that his first-born son is always at his side, always helping, always caring for him. Not his first-born daughter who hides on Dragonstone. His son. Who will he name Heir? The woman who refuses to return to King's Landing or the son who is always by his side?"

Otto took a sip of his wine, allowing his grandson to continue, "we are winning this, grandsire. Aegon shall sit on the Iron Throne before I take it. And if my whore of a sister tries to take what does not belong to her, she will be greeted with fire and blood."

Otto smiled proudly at the words of Baelor – his pride and joy. He nodded, "you have everything figured out."

"I do," he nodded again, "and when my wife finally gives me a son, I name him my Heir. My bloodline – yours as well, of course – continues."

Baelor placed the empty cup on the desk, clasping his hands together with a smile, "we shall win this war, grandsire. I promise you that."