The carriage of a wheelhouse creaked as it rolled down the cobbled streets of King's Landing, the clatter of hooves and turning axles muffled behind thick velvet curtains.
Rhaenyra sat opposite the Lady Alicent with them conversing as they usually did.
While they did so... the air outside the carriage was alive with shouts and smells... maybe fish from the docks, bread from the bakers, and the ever-present stink of the city that no sea breeze could wash away.
She assumed them to probably be so...
For the design of the window was a bit too guarded and the curtains were drawn, its small slits giving only fleeting glimpses of the city beyond.
Sometimes she caught sight of the rooftops, sometimes of children running barefoot, or the blur of banners fluttering from merchant stalls.
But most of it was noise and shadow. She had always found it strange that, though she was the Realm's delight, she saw little of the realm itself... the wheelhouse and its closed design made sure of that.
Which is why she loved riding Syrax, it gave her a glimpse of so much more.
Accordingly, by the time their entourage reached the Red Keep, the air had changed... the noise of the city dimmed, replaced by the echo of boots, the bark of orders, and the heavy sound of gates being drawn open.
When they stopped, Alicent was the first to rise. The door opened, and sunlight poured in.
Together, the two of them stepped out onto the courtyard. Guards and servants bowed as they passed.
Rhaenyra adjusted her cloak and kept her head high, feeling the weight of eyes on her as they crossed the Keep's stone path and passed through its archways.
Deeper inside the Keep was quieter. Familiar. Its echoing halls swallowed their footsteps as they passed red banners, old portraits, carved columns... testaments to the past.
Rhaenyra moved faster now, her heart quickening as they neared her mother's solar.
When they entered, her mother Aemma was reclined on a cushioned couch, heavy with child, worry beading her brow yet it eased at the sight of her.
Attendants flitted like moths around her, adjusting pillows, pressing cool cloths to her skin, offering drinks she refused with the turn of a wrist.
"Ah... Rhaenyra." The Queen's voice was breathy but clear. Her eyes fluttered while she said. "You know I don't like you to go flying while I'm in this condition."
"You don't like me to go flying while you're in any condition," Rhaenyra said, removing her gloves.
"Your Grace." Alicent, who stood behind, offered with a practiced curtsy.
"Good morrow, Alicent." Aemma said kindly, before turning back to her daughter.
Which is when Rhaenyra asked. "Did you sleep?"
"I slept."
"How long?"
Rhaenyra sat by her mother's feet. The Queen looked down at her, softening just slightly to say. "I don't need mothering, Rhaenyra."
"Well, here you are, surrounded by attendants, all focused on the babe. Someone has to attend to you."
An empathetic sentiment that made Aemma want to remind her that. "You will lie in this bed soon enough, Rhaenyra. This discomfort is how we serve the realm."
"I'd rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory like the famous Ser Royce." She rebutted but the Queen was just amused, with her own experience that carried the weight of years.
"We have royal wombs, you and I. The childbed is our battlefield. We must learn to face it with a stiff lip." The queen gave that lesson and then she commanded. "Now take a bath. You stink of dragon."
Rhaenyra reacted as she did but her mother's words stayed with her.
Of course, that thought was paused as she remembered that she still had cupbearing to do, a fact that was actually brought up by Ser Harrold.
Who then saw to accompanying her in the upcoming flurry.
--------
Before long, they arrive at the Small Council chamber...
But by the time Rhaenyra entered... the Masters of the Small Council were already in mid-discussion.
With her father, the King, saying this. "And are we meant to weep for dead pirates?"
"No, Your Grace." Which was the Lord Corlys of Driftmark and Master of Ships assenting.
Consequently, her father came to notice her, who then said. "You're late, Rhaenyra. The King's cupbearer must not be late. Leaves people wanting for cups."
"I was visiting Mother." She reasoned.
"On dragonback?" He wondered after sniffing the scent she has yet to wash off.
Meanwhile, Corlys Velaryon sat down heavily, his face dark with frustration.
Her interruption must have been the reason and Rhaenyra could only attend to her duty more seriously. Reaching for the flagon and moving around the table to fill their drained drinks.
As it so happens, Lord Lyman Beesbury, the Master of Coin, brought up something about her own uncle.
"Your Grace, at Prince Daemon's urging, the crown has invested significant capital in the retraining and re-equipping of his City Watch. I thought you might urge your brother to fill his seat on the council and provide an assessment of his progress as commander of the Watch."
"Do you think Daemon is distracted by his present tasks?" Her father questioned. "And that his thoughts and energies are occupied?"
"Well, one would hope so..." Lord Lyman wearily answered. "...considering the associated costs."
Perhaps to put a stopper to that, her father declared. "Then let us all consider your gold well-invested, Lord Beesbury."
Rhaenyra resisted the urge to smirk. Beesbury could always be counted on to count coins and fumble words.
She liked her uncle Daemon well enough, and she trusted his instincts more than these old men did.
But still, Daemon played games with everyone... including her.
Lord Corlys then spoke up. "I would urge that you not allow this Triarchy much latitude in the Stepstones, Your Grace. If those shipping lanes should fall, it will beggar our ports."
And the quite Hand in Lord Otto interjected. "The crown has heard your report, Lord Corlys, and takes it under advisement."
While the Lord of the Tides' jaw tightened and as her father also kept quiet.... Rhaenyra noticed how Lord Otto actually spoke firm and condescending, but still with that cool Hightower calm.
The Lord Hand clearly had a different way to stop an issue compared to the king.
He also had his own way of shifting the topic, by saying. "Shall we discuss the Heir's Tournament, Your Grace?"
"I would be delighted." Her father was enthused as he then turned to the more older man in the table, asking. "Will the maesters' name day prediction hold, Mellos?"
Mellos, the old grandmaester, cautioningly said. "You must understand that these things are mere estimations, my King, but we have all been poring over the moon charts, and we feel that our forecast is as accurate as it can be."
As that went on, Rhaenyra eventually reached Lord Corlys and tilted the flagon... but he raised his hand to stop her.
A quiet rejection.
Still... the talks continued.
"The cost of the tournament is not negligible. Perhaps we might delay until the child is in hand?" Lord Lyman expressed his concern.
While Lord Lyonel of Laws, countered. "Most of the lords and knights are certainly on their way to King's Landing already. To turn them back now…"
"The tourney will take the better part of a week." Her father interrupted. "Before the games are over, my son will be born, and the whole realm will celebrate."
"We have no way of predicting the sex of the child." The grandmaester said in contrast to the king's assuredness.
But her father remained stubborn. "Of course, no maester's capable of rendering an opinion free of conditions, are they now?"
Adding that. "There's a boy in the Queen's belly. I know it. And my heir will soon put all of this damnable hand-wringing to rest himself."
Rhaenyra could only listen quietly to that fervent belief.
Her smile didn't falter, but it thinned.
The prospect of having a brother was fine to her but she didn't like how it consumed her father.
Still, she already steeled herself.
With him having his heir, she will eventuality be set aside... and as a princess, Rhaenyra could only accept.