Chapter eleven          𓃦           To want it

The chambers of Grand Maester Orwylle were always barely lit – a few candles on the desk to prevent the total darkness to prevail over the room that was located nearly under the Red Keep. Still, Baelor was grateful for it in times like these – his doublet was long discarded somewhere on the tens of armchairs Orwylle had in the room, crouched over for the man to inspect the ever-growing scars across the skin of his back. As much as Orwylle tried to be gentle while applying the crème to the skin, Baelor mentally noted his touch was never as gentle as Genna's was.

"The Gods have finally cursed me, did they not?" the prince spoke, not truly expecting an answer before scrunching his nose and closing his eyes tightly shut when the crème pounded inside the open cut.

"It is not the Gods, my prince, but your mind," the Grand Maester replied, focused on treating the severe cuts before closing the lid and moving away, towards his desk, "I have sent ravens to some Maesters through the Kingdoms. They wrote back with treatments they started to explore."

Baelor stood up to grab the doublet from the armchair, sliding it over his head, "and?"

Orwylle placed the jar on the edge of the table in favour of taking one of the papers in his hands. He scanned over the words, "some started to let the people free bleed. They say it is good for human mind to let the blood exit the troubled flesh."

"I think this might be the people wanting me dead," Baelor joked, fingers fidgeting to push the buttons through the right holes on his shirt.

"Doubtfully so, my prince, as I never mentioned who I am treating," Orwylle replied before grabbing another piece of paper, "they also say they use a diet for their patients. And, for some women after they gave birth and fell in some manic state, they also used some cold-water experiments."

"Well, save that for Genna, in case things go wrong," Baelor joked again which earned a scolding from the Maester, "what? I was merely joking; she will be fine."

Orwylle only grunted quietly in respond before his eyes traced the words on the papers again. Baelor looked at where a sound of cracking echoed through his ears. His eyes landed at the doors of the chambers but saw nothing. He bit his tongue, almost to bleeding state, before looking away. He thought about something for a moment before his feet led him back to the same doors. Orwylle called after him but Baelor was long gone.

               In the gardens, Rhaenyra's eyes wandered across the Godswood. Her head turned at the sound, expecting to see the face of Rhaenys but only met the face of Baelor Targaryen. Her fingers wrapped around her wrist, "brother."

"Sister," Baelor acknowledged Rhaenyra, his lips twisting in what he hoped was a smile before stopping a few steps away from her, "I hope the journey here was pleasant."

She nodded, "it was, thank you."

Baelor tapped his fingers against his wrist, nudging his head towards the baby bump hidden underneath the red cloak, "congratulations on the babe."

As if she was surprised, he knew, Rhaenyra tilted her head lightly, "thank you. Same to you."

He plastered a smile – a fake one, his sister presumed – nodding his head slightly, "thank you. To ease your obvious discomfort or confusion – I do not have a spy placed on Dragonstone. Genna told me about your pregnancy."

"I was not applying anything else," she hummed in response, her fingers gently gazing the bump below.

"Your eyes tell a different story," he retorted back, unwilling to be someone who lost a fight, "but I did not come here for that."

Rhaenyra shifted from one foot to the other, confusion growing with her brows furrowing, "then why do you need me?"

"Our father is ill," Baelor spoke after a sigh, fingers tightening around his wrist, "that much you know of. I believe he would enjoy my proposition."

"I suggest you stop speaking in riddles and tell me what you wish from me," Rhaenyra cut his rambling.

Baelor bit his tongue to prevent himself from bursting for he knew the truth he needed to remain calm, "I suggest a marriage. Eventually, of course, when the children are of age. I believe . . . I believe it would straighten our broken yet . . . strong bond we may have lost during our youth."

Though the comment didn't go unnoticed, Rhaenyra decided to ignore it, "Jacaerys and Lucerys are already betrothed. To Baella and Rhaena."

"Joffrey is not. As far as I am aware of your situation," Baelor continued, "as well as your other children."

Rhaenyra almost chuckled in disbelief. She shook her head, "why are you doing this, Baelor?"

Her younger brother shrugged his shoulders, lilac eyes glancing towards the old tree – a memory of what once was, "forever upholding the kingdom, the family, the law."

Memories, stingy little things, flooded her mind with his words – a reincarnation of the faithful Driftmark night; a brother lost an eye though two gained dragons, "I doubt the reason you do this is to uphold the family."

"This makes it sound like you do not trust your sons to be good to my daughters," he tried to riddle it.

Before his sister could argue back, Baelor looked away from the tree to meet her gaze – confused, angry, "I am only trying to mend broken bonds, sister."

She should've scoffed when he took a few steps closer, "my motives are my motives. You know that much. If you wish to know the truth, one day you shall be a Queen, will you not?"

Rhaenyra looked at him, "our father is still alive."

"For now," Baelor nodded, "but one day he will pass. You will sit on the Iron Throne and Gods forbid that I wish for my daughters to wed your sons so they may be the Queens of the Seven Kingdoms one day. We both know I will never be King. So, I wish for a bright future for my girls."

If she didn't believe his words, she didn't show it. But before she could agree or disagree, the woman she waited for – Rhaenys Targaryen – walked out in the Godswood. As if Baelor could tell who it was by their walk alone, her turned around with a smile plastered on his lips, "Rhaenys."

"Baelor," the woman acknowledged him, a nod his way before looking at his sister, "Rhaenyra. Baela tells me you wanted to speak to me."

"I will remove myself," Baelor spoke before turning his head to look at Rhaenyra, "do think about my proposition. I will be around for your confirmation."

               Ginger tea was poured in the white cup before being placed neatly in front of her. On the other side of the table, the smell of some herbs – lavender, mint – enchanted her nose. Lord Larys thanked the servant ever so gracefully before she turned to Genna. The lady nodded her head with a smile, allowing the woman to leave the chambers. Genna fiddled with the spoon in her cup, nervousness creeping up her spine. With a clearing of her throat, she spoke without looking at the man, "I thank you for the invitation, lord Strong."

"Of course, my lady," he replied, placing his chin on his dark brown walking stick, fingers tapping against the others, "I heard you will not attend the petition, so I thought I might invite you for some tea. To cure the boredom."

Genna smiled weakly, still unable to look him in the eyes, "thank you, my lord. The girls went to study with the Septa and Visenya is sleeping, truthfully, I did not know what to do with myself with the free time."

Larys hummed, "and it is better for the babe, no? To rest."

Genna nodded, "they say so, yes."

He kept looking at her like he was a predator ready to slid his teeth in its prey, "I have seen you in the gardens with lady Myna."

She finally looked up at him, Larys starting to speak, "apologies for being so upfront, my lady."

Genna shook her head, her free hand placing itself under her bump, "it is alright, lord Strong. It is not like it was a private matter."

"Hm," he hummed again, "I have heard she will attend the hearing though."

Her nails twisted in the skin of her fingers, "she told me she will not attend."

Larys' hands let go of his stick in favour of the tea, "I have heard a different story. But time will tell, I think."

Genna nodded, eyes wandering to her cup of tea. Larys spoke again, "though they say the people of Naath have always been particular invested people when it comes to affairs."

She looked at him with furrowed brows, "Naath?"

As if he was confused, he slowly nodded, "Naath, my lady. Lady Myna is from Naath. The island of butterflies."

Butterfly fever.

She bit her tongue, slightly straightening in her seat as the babe kicked, "I was not aware she was from there."

"The truth often lays in front of our eyes yet we are blind to see it," he spoke, more in riddles than before, "as I said, the people of Naath are often in some affairs of some sort. The Lannisters are not so often from what I know of your House."

Before Genna could reply, the doors swung open, revealing Baelor – breathing sped and rigid as if he just ran across the Keep (he did). Larys slowly reached for his walking stick, unfazed by the prince. Baelor breathed out, "get out, Strong. Now."

Larys slowly pulled himself off his chair, nodding his head to Genna, "I wish we can repeat this one day, my lady."

"Of co-"

"You even look her way, Strong, and I shall cut your eyes out of your skull," Baelor cut her mid-sentence.

"Baelor," Genna quietly sighed and before she had the chance to pull herself off her chair, to prevent him from doing something stupid, Baelor held his pointer up, his eyes never leaving Larys',

"do not."

"My lady," Larys slightly bowed his head before moving pass Baelor, "my prince."

"Do not toy with me, Genna," Baelor spoke once the doors closed behind him.

She shook her head, eyes avoiding his as her hands crept back to her belly, "I am not."

"Have I not told you to stay away from Larys?" he breathed out and Genna almost mistaken it for care.

Her fingers curled underneath her belly, "he offered some tea because he knew I will not attend the hearing."

"Do you truly think Larys Strong offers tea to someone without a second intention?" her husband speaks before he walks forward, fingers clenching and unclenching. He stops at her feet, her head ducked down, refusing to meet his gaze, "what did you tell him?"

Genna shook her head, "nothing. It is him who spoke."

"What did he say?" Baelor asked without missing a beat.

His wife took a moment to respond, "he told me Myna originates from Naath."

"Naath?"

Genna finally looked up, nodding her head, "Naath."

Baelor poked his tongue against the inside of his cheek, thinking. His eyes wandered off; lilac coloured illuminated by the sun shining inside. Genna's fingers reached out, curling themselves around his own. He couldn't look her in the eyes when she spoke, "please."

He knew what she was asking for, whispering, "I would never hurt them. You know I would not."

"But would she?" Genna asked, not sure if he was to explode on her with rage or if he'll cry. She didn't know which one she'd prefer.

His thumb ran across the skin of Genna's hand. If he could, he would've curl himself within her warmth. If he could, he would've lived curled inside her ribcage, close to her heart, "she would."

"And did she?" she asked quietly, not sure which answer she would prefer.

This time, Baelor missed a beat before responding, "I am not sure."

"Why do you protect her?" Genna asked with a whisper, releasing his hand.

She didn't know the affect the loss of her skin against his made him feel, "I am not. I am simply saying that I am not sure about what happened."

"I understand that you enjoyed your time with her in the pleasure house and that you took her in the Keep for you own pleasure but to protect her with such passion, Baelor – just think of the shame. And –"

Baelor finally met her gaze with furrowed brows, "did you speak to her?"

Her eyes went wider like a deer caught by a hunter, "she invited me for tea."

"Genna," he whispered, getting on his knees in front of her, his hands placed on each side of her belly, "whatever she tells you, is a lie. She tells lies to survive, she always has. She has not told you the truth. She is like a spider that stings and sucks her prey dry."

Before Genna could speak, he continued, "she is from Naarth, yes. But I know she told you she was sold here. She was not. She came here on her own account. I have seeked her company, yes, I will not deny this, but I did not help her to get to the Keep. And definitely not with the marriage with Aemond. I may be an awful brother to him but I would not do that to him. I would not wed him to a woman like Myna is."

She wanted to ask further but a knock was heard on the doors. Baelor dropped his head, "yes?"

Ser Rolan's voice echoed, "the petition will start in the Throne room."

Baelor looked up at Genna, whispering, his thumbs circling on her belly, "you can come with me. If you wish."

Genna nodded, though unsure if she wanted it.