Chapter 133: Chapter 133: A Year of Failing Health
The year after Jace and Aemond’s match did not begin with war, scandal, or another challenge before the throne. It began with routine.
Rhaenyra continued holding court beneath her father’s empty seat. Petitions arrived, taxes were gathered, ships entered the harbour, roads washed out in spring rain, and lesser lords discovered that their grievances remained urgent even while a king slowly died above them. The realm did not pause for Viserys. It simply learned to speak his name while expecting Rhaenyra’s answer.
By the end of the first month, councillors no longer looked toward the doors in the hope that the king might appear. By the third, even the newest petitioners understood that the carved chair beneath the Iron Throne held the authority that mattered.
Viserys still ruled in seal and title. Rhaenyra ruled everything that required breath.
The king’s decline came in stages, each one slow enough to become familiar before the next made the previous seem merciful.
At first, he could still sit upright in bed while Rhaenyra read selected decisions to him. He tired quickly, but he understood what she was saying and sometimes interrupted with the remains of the man who had once presided over a realm.
A merchant dispute bored him. A quarrel between two Crownlands houses irritated him. When she told him that one lord had attempted to claim a river changed its course because the gods favoured his boundary markers, Viserys laughed until the laugh became coughing and the coughing stained the cloth Alicent held to his mouth.
Even then, he waved the maester away. "The river belongs to whichever man can keep his sheep from drowning," he said once his breath returned. "Write that into law and spare my daughter the rest."
Rhaenyra smiled because he wanted her to. She did not mention that his blood had soaked through Alicent’s hand.
As the months passed, the meetings shortened. Then they became irregular. Viserys could no longer hold parchment without his fingers trembling, so Rhaenyra stopped placing documents before him. She described only what mattered and spared him the details of grain duties, harbour repairs, minor appointments, and the constant labour of government.
One afternoon, when summer heat pressed against the shutters and the smell of medicines could not entirely conceal what lay beneath his bandages, he looked at her with unusual clarity.
"You bring me less," he said.
Rhaenyra sat beside him, one hand resting near his on the blanket. "I bring you what requires the king’s attention. The rest can be carried by your council."
"Your council now."
"Your council serving through me."
Viserys gave a faint smile. "You have always been careful with words when you think the truth might hurt me."
"The truth hurts you enough without my assistance."
His gaze moved to me where I stood nearer the window. "Does she argue with Otto?"
"Frequently," I said. "Usually with better reasons."
"That was not the question."
"No. She listens when he is useful and rejects him when he is not. It irritates him more than open hostility would."
Viserys seemed pleased by that. He looked back at Rhaenyra, but the focus in his eyes had already begun to drift. "You must not let Daemon frighten the council," he murmured.
Rhaenyra’s face tightened. "Daemon is not here, Father."
Viserys frowned as if she had contradicted a recent memory rather than a fact. "He was here this morning. He said something about Stepstones and laughed at Lord Beesbury."
No one corrected him.
Alicent adjusted the blankets and told him that he had tired himself. By the time we left, he had forgotten the conversation about the council and asked whether Rhaenyra had come to show him her wedding gown.
She waited until the door closed before pressing her knuckles to her mouth. I did not tell her it would worsen. She already knew.
Helaena’s pregnancy advanced while the king faded.
The maesters suspected twins before they were certain. Helaena knew earlier than they did, though she explained it in a way that made Orwyle stare at his notes as if the parchment had failed him.
"There are two rhythms," she said. "One waits when the other moves. They do not like sharing the same dark."
Alicent asked whether she felt pain. Helaena answered that all growing required room, and no one seemed satisfied until the maesters confirmed two children.
The announcement brought another celebration, smaller than the first but more excited. Twins carried their own sense of blessing in a family that valued signs almost as much as blood. Septons praised the Mother. Ladies spoke of fortunate omens. Lords congratulated Aegon as though he had personally negotiated the matter with the Seven.
Aegon enjoyed that part.
He wore fatherhood before the children were born as easily as he wore a new cloak. He accepted toasts, spoke confidently about sons, and avoided Helaena’s chambers whenever pregnancy made her ill enough to disturb his appetite. When he did visit, he brought gifts chosen by servants and remained only until he felt he had fulfilled the appearance of concern.
Helaena did not complain. Her silence should not have been mistaken for contentment, but it often was.
Rhaenyra visited her more than Alicent liked and less than Helaena might have needed. Neither woman spoke openly about the arrangement. Alicent could not forbid her without appearing cruel, while Rhaenyra understood that too much attention would make Helaena another field of competition.
They found an uncertain balance. Rhaenyra brought her a small carved cradle ornament shaped like two dragons curled around the same egg. Helaena turned it over in her hands, tracing the wings with one finger.
"They are facing away from each other," she said.
"The carver may have thought two heads together would look crowded."
"They should face outward. Things come from outside."
Rhaenyra studied her. "Do you believe something will come for them?"
"Things come for every child. Fever, hunger, teeth, people with plans."
That last part was spoken with the same calm as the others. Rhaenyra sat beside her. "Your children will be protected."
Helaena placed the carving on the table. "Protection is a wall. Walls keep danger out until someone opens the gate."
Rhaenyra later told me she could not decide whether Helaena feared the future or merely understood families.
I could not tell her how close those things were.
The first major political change of the year arrived before the twins.
Otto presented it in open council rather than court, which told me he wanted the decision recorded without allowing the galleries to turn it into theatre. Tyland Lannister sat to his left. Jasper Wylde had three documents before him. Larys was present but unusually quiet, his cane resting against the table while his eyes moved from face to face.
Rhaenyra sat at the head in her father’s place.
Otto began with Storm’s End.
"Lord Borros Baratheon has responded favourably to the proposal regarding Prince Aemond and Lady Cassandra," he said. "The terms are respectable, the dowry substantial without insult, and Lord Borros asks only that the marriage be held after both parties have reached an age agreed suitable by their households."
Alicent sat straighter. Aemond was not present. The matter concerned him, but Otto had decided it first belonged to those who would weigh the realm around it. Rhaenyra did not look surprised. We had known the negotiation existed. What mattered was that Borros had accepted.
"Lady Cassandra is his eldest daughter," she said. "Has Lord Borros committed himself fully?"
"He has affixed his seal," Otto replied. "He considers the betrothal binding upon royal approval."
There was the chain. Borros had not merely expressed interest. He had arranged the matter so refusal would now come from Rhaenyra.
Jasper opened the first document. "The agreement contains no improper demand. Lady Cassandra retains rights expected of her station. Prince Aemond is not required to reside permanently at Storm’s End, though Lord Borros requests regular visits before the marriage so the pair are not strangers when the vows are spoken."
"That is reasonable," Rhaenyra said.
Otto’s expression remained neutral. "I thought so."
He moved to the second arrangement. "Lord Jason Lannister has likewise agreed to a betrothal between his daughter Cerelle and Prince Daeron. As Daeron remains in Oldtown, the agreement has been conducted through letters bearing his assent and the approval of those responsible for his household."
Tyland inclined his head. "My brother considers the match suitable for both houses. Cerelle is well instructed and of an age to allow the marriage to be delayed until neither party is rushed."
Rhaenyra looked over the table. "One royal son tied to Storm’s End and another to Casterly Rock," she said. "You have spent the year productively, Lord Hand."
Otto accepted the remark without pretending not to hear what lay beneath it. "They are strong marriages for princes of the blood. I would be neglecting my office if I failed to seek such matches merely because some might count loyalties before happiness."
"Happiness had little to do with how either proposal reached this table."
"No royal marriage is free from calculation. That does not make it unworthy."
Rhaenyra could not disagree without sounding dishonest. She turned to Alicent. "Does Aemond consent?"
Alicent answered carefully. "He does. He has not met Cassandra beyond brief occasions, but he knows her standing and understands what is expected of him. He considers the match an honour."
That sounded like Aemond. Not pleased. Not reluctant. Honoured, because duty gave shape to ambition.
"And Daeron?"
Otto passed across a letter. "His own hand."
Rhaenyra read it.
Daeron’s response was respectful, warm without false intimacy, and dutiful in the way boys raised far from court sometimes became when they wanted their words to survive adult scrutiny. He thanked the king, the queen, the regent, and Lord Hightower. He praised House Lannister, promised to honour Cerelle, and asked that correspondence be allowed before they met.
There was no reason to refuse. That was the strength of Otto’s work.
He had not brought us improper demands or openly hostile alliances. He had found two excellent marriages for royal princes and placed Rhaenyra where objection would appear spiteful. If she rejected them, she insulted Borros Baratheon and Jason Lannister while giving Alicent reason to say her sons were being denied futures because of their mother.
If she approved them, Otto strengthened his side of the family with two of the greatest houses in Westeros. Rhaenyra read both agreements again before speaking.
"The Crown approves the betrothal of Prince Aemond Targaryen to Lady Cassandra Baratheon and the betrothal of Prince Daeron Targaryen to Lady Cerelle Lannister. The conditions will be recorded, and no wedding date will be fixed without further approval from the Crown and the families involved."
Otto bowed his head. "A fair judgement."
It was not judgement. It was acceptance of a loss we could not prevent without creating a worse one. The council moved to other matters, but Storm’s End remained with me.
Rhaenyra dismissed the others after the final reports. Otto left with Alicent, satisfied without looking so. Tyland gathered his papers. Jasper departed with the sealed agreements. Larys paused near the door as though considering whether to leave something behind, then thought better of it.
When we were alone, Rhaenyra remained seated. "We have lost Borros," she said.
"Not entirely."
"Enough."
She was right. Storm’s End had never been pledged to us by formal oath beyond the old loyalty owed to Viserys and his named heir. Yet House Baratheon had been one of the great houses we had reason to count as favourable.
Rhaenys carried Baratheon blood through her mother, Jocelyn. The Velaryons had longstanding ties with the Stormlands. Borros had previously received our messages well, and his pride made him receptive to being treated as an important partner rather than an obedient subject.
Aemond’s betrothal changed the balance. Borros would not merely be choosing between rival branches of House Targaryen if the succession fractured. He would be choosing between Rhaenyra and the husband of his eldest daughter.
"The Stormlands give Otto more than banners," I said. "They command the roads south of the capital, the marches, and one of the strongest castles in the realm. Borros may not love Aegon, but he will care that his daughter could become sister by marriage to a king’s brother."
"Or sister by marriage to the king, if some persuade Aegon to steal my throne."
"Yes."
Rhaenyra rose and walked toward the window. "We had worked on him," she said. "Letters, courtesies, invitations. Rhaenys believed blood would matter."
"Blood matters to Borros when it arrives with a marriage contract."
Her expression sharpened. "Do not mock her."
"I am not. I am measuring him."
She looked out over the city. "Cassandra is the eldest. Otto could have sought Maris or Ellyn and still gained a tie. He chose the daughter Borros values as his first piece."
"He chose the match most likely to make Borros see Aemond’s future as part of his own."
"And Daeron gives them Casterly Rock."
"Daeron gives them a path toward it. Jason Lannister still follows advantage before affection, and Tyland will not forget his office merely because his niece is promised to a prince. But the alliance matters."
Rhaenyra turned back toward me. "What would you have had me do?"
"Approve them."
Her frustration rose. "That is not useful."
"It is honest. Refusing would have cost us Storm’s End immediately and likely Casterly Rock as well. At least this way Borros has received no insult he can display before the realm. We may still speak to him, host Cassandra, honour the match, and make it difficult for Otto to claim the betrothal as a declaration against you."
"He will still claim it privately."
"Yes."
She folded her arms. "One son tied to Borros, one to the Lannisters, Helaena married to Aegon, and Oldtown already theirs through blood. Otto is building a court around a crown that does not belong to him."
"He is building options. That is what he has always done."
"And we are expected to applaud because the marriages are suitable."
"No. We are expected to survive long enough for suitability not to decide succession."
Her gaze settled on me. "This hurts us," she said.
"It does."
I did not soften it. Storm’s End could field thousands. Its lords were hard, proud, and accustomed to war in the marches. Losing Borros as a likely ally narrowed our strength close to King’s Landing and made the south less secure. If the realm divided, every force we lacked would become a force Aegon might wield.
Rhaenyra deserved truth more than comfort.
"We will need to strengthen the Riverlands and the Vale," I continued. "We have the Velaryons, our dragons, my forces, and houses that already respect your regency. But we can no longer assume Borros answers your call because Rhaenys shares his blood. Cassandra’s children may one day bind him more tightly to Aemond than old kinship binds him to us."
Rhaenyra looked toward the door through which Otto had left. "He did this while serving me."
"He did it while serving the royal family. That is how he will phrase it."
"I approved it while knowing what it might become."
"You acted as regent rather than faction leader. That distinction costs you today. It may help you later."
"May."
"Yes."
She disliked uncertain promises. So did I.
Aemond accepted the announcement with composure. Cassandra’s portrait arrived from Storm’s End several weeks later, accompanied by a letter written in a confident hand. She was dark-haired, proud-faced, and carried the expression of a young woman who had been told she was beautiful often enough to treat it as fact rather than compliment.
Aemond studied the portrait in Alicent’s chambers. "She appears strong," he said.
Alicent sat near the hearth, watching him more closely than the painting. "Lord Borros says she has been raised to manage a great household and understands the duty expected of an eldest daughter."
"He says much about her usefulness."
"He is her father and lord. Fathers often describe daughters according to what other houses value."
Aemond looked at her. "Did Grandfather describe you that way when you married the king?"
Alicent’s expression changed. "I was described as dutiful, well taught, courteous, and suited to court. All of it was true."
"That was not my question."
"No," she said. "It was not."
Aemond returned to the portrait. "I will honour the agreement. Cassandra will not have reason to say she was given a careless husband."
That was likely the closest he would come to hope before meeting her. Rhaenyra congratulated him personally. She did it without coldness, which surprised him.
"This is a strong match," she said. "Lady Cassandra will come to a family that expects much of her. See that she is treated as more than the price of her father’s banners."
Aemond’s single eye held hers. "You believe Grandfather sought those banners."
"I believe your grandfather notices every road leading to King’s Landing."
"And you do not?"
"I do. That is why I approved the betrothal despite knowing where the road may lead."
Aemond was quiet for several breaths. Then he bowed. "I will not apologise for being valuable."
"I did not ask you to. I asked you to remember Cassandra is a person before she becomes an alliance."
He accepted that more easily than he would have a warning about Borros.
Daeron’s betrothal remained more distant. Letters travelled between Oldtown and Casterly Rock. Cerelle sent him a small volume of western histories, and Daeron replied with a book on the Reach written by a maester whose opinions of Lannisters were politely unfavourable. Cerelle returned it with corrections in the margins.
That pleased him. For several months, their correspondence became the only part of either arrangement that resembled courtship rather than negotiation.
Helaena’s twins were born near the end of summer.
The labour began before dawn and lasted well into the night. The Red Keep learned of it room by room, through hurried servants, bowls of hot water, maesters called from sleep, and Alicent’s household closing around Helaena’s chambers.
Rhaenyra was not invited inside. She did not expect to be.
She waited nearby with me for part of the day, then returned to court because petitions could not be suspended indefinitely. Her attention remained divided. Twice she asked a clerk to repeat himself. No one complained.
Aegon paced early on. By afternoon, he had found wine. Alicent discovered him in an outer chamber and took the cup from his hand. "If you cannot remain sober while your wife labours to bear your children, you will leave these rooms and wait somewhere your weakness does not become another burden."
Aegon rubbed his face. "I am doing nothing useful by standing here."
"You could begin by not making yourself useless."
"I cannot help her."
"No. You can only decide whether she must later hear that you drank while she screamed."
That kept him sober for the rest of the evening, though resentment sat on him more visibly than concern. The first child came shortly after sunset. A boy. The second followed before midnight. A girl. Jaehaerys and Jaehaera Targaryen entered the world small, red-faced, furious, and alive.
Helaena survived. That mattered more than the bells.
Alicent came out after the maesters had finished their first examinations. Her hair had loosened from its pins, blood marked one sleeve, and exhaustion had stripped her of every expression expected from a queen.
"They are well," she told Rhaenyra. "Both children are breathing strongly. Helaena is weak, but Orwyle says the bleeding has slowed."
Rhaenyra embraced her. Alicent stiffened at first, then allowed it. Only for a moment. When they separated, Alicent looked embarrassed by relief and too tired to disguise it.
"She asked for you," she said.
Rhaenyra entered alone. When she returned, her eyes were wet.
"Helaena named them before anyone could argue," she told me. "Jaehaerys for the old king, Jaehaera because she liked the sound beside her brother’s name. Aegon is pleased with the boy. Helaena refuses to let anyone take the girl farther than the next room."
"And Helaena?"
"Exhausted. Frightened. Happy in a way I have not seen from her before."
The court celebrated for three days. Viserys could not attend.
The twins were brought to his chambers after Helaena had recovered enough to walk the distance with support. Alicent later described the visit to Rhaenyra and me because Helaena had wanted it kept small: herself, Aegon, Alicent, the twins, two nurses, and the king.
Viserys had wept when he saw them.
He could no longer safely hold a child without help, so Alicent supported Jaehaerys against his chest while Helaena sat beside him with Jaehaera. He blessed them in a voice too weak to carry beyond the bed. For several minutes, his mind cleared. He knew Helaena. He knew Aegon. He called the children his grandchildren and spoke of dragons yet to hatch.
Then, as they prepared to leave, he looked toward the nurse carrying Jaehaerys and asked when Helaena intended to bring the babies. Alicent told him they had just been there. He became upset, insisting she had kept them from him.
Helaena returned to the bedside and placed Jaehaera’s small hand against his fingers until he calmed. Alicent’s voice remained steady while describing it.
Rhaenyra’s did not when she asked, "Did he know her again?"
"For a little while," Alicent said. "He called her by her name before she left."
By autumn, the rot had spread beyond what the maesters could conceal beneath neat dressings.
The king’s chambers carried the smell of boiled wine, herbs, damp linen, and flesh dying faster than men could clean it. Orwyle cut away what he could. Poultices slowed infection in one place while another darkened.
Viserys lost more of his fingers. One side of his body became too painful to move. He could no longer sit upright without servants lifting him and building cushions around his wasted frame.
His appetite disappeared. Broth replaced meals. Then spoonfuls replaced bowls. On difficult days, Alicent coaxed water between his lips while he turned his head away like a tired child.
His mind followed no orderly path. There were mornings when he recognised Rhaenyra immediately and asked sensible questions about the realm. There were afternoons when he believed she was still a girl returning from Dragonstone.
Once, he mistook Alicent for Aemma and apologised for failing her. Alicent did not correct him until he began asking where their newborn daughter had been taken. Afterwards, she sat outside his chamber alone.
Rhaenyra found her there. Neither woman spoke of their mothers, marriages, sons, or the throne. Rhaenyra simply sat beside her. They remained that way until Orwyle came to say the king had fallen asleep.
Winter approached early. The wind sharpened over Blackwater Bay, and Viserys weakened with it.
By then, Rhaenyra no longer brought him matters of rule. She visited as a daughter, though even that role changed depending on what year his mind believed it occupied. Some days he called her his heir. Others he asked whether she had yet chosen a husband. Once, he looked at me for a long time and asked why a sellsword had been allowed into the royal chambers.
I answered gently. "You invited me years ago, Your Grace."
Viserys frowned. "That sounds like something I would regret."
Rhaenyra laughed before she could stop herself. For one brief moment, Viserys smiled because she had. Then he began coughing and could not remember why any of us were amused.
Near the end of the year, Orwyle asked Rhaenyra, Alicent, Otto, and me to meet in a small chamber adjoining the king’s rooms.
He looked older than he had at the beginning of Viserys’s illness. Physicians carried every failure personally even when death had been waiting before they arrived.
"The king’s strength is nearly spent," he said. "The decay has spread through more tissue than we can safely remove. His body no longer repairs what is damaged, and the medicines required for pain leave his mind further clouded."
Alicent’s hands were clasped in her lap. "How long?"
Orwyle did not hide behind maester’s language. "He may live several months. He may not survive the next severe fever. I would prepare for less time rather than more."
Otto lowered his head. Whether in grief, prayer, or calculation, I could not tell.
Rhaenyra remained motionless. "Does he suffer?"
"Yes," Orwyle said. "We lessen it where we can. There are periods when he feels little, though those often come with confusion. When he is lucid, he understands more than he says."
Alicent looked toward the chamber door. "He asked me this morning whether the council still obeyed him."
Rhaenyra’s gaze moved to her. "What did you tell him?"
"That the realm remained at peace and his daughter governed in his name."
"Did that comfort him?"
"For a moment."
Silence settled over the room. Outside, a servant moved past with fresh linens. Another carried a covered basin away from the king’s chambers without looking at any of us.
Otto finally spoke. "The realm must not be allowed to mistake illness for absence of authority. Until the king dies, his will remains law."
Rhaenyra looked at him. "I have ruled under that principle for more than a year."
"I know. I speak because the next weeks will invite men to prepare for what follows."
"They began preparing long ago," I said.
Otto met my eyes without denial.
Aemond was promised to Cassandra Baratheon. Daeron was promised to Cerelle Lannister. Helaena had given Aegon a son and daughter. Storm’s End had shifted away from us, and Casterly Rock had been given reason to look more warmly upon Alicent’s sons. Otto had not waited for Viserys’s final breath to shape the field.
Neither had we. That did not make the coming moment less dangerous.
Rhaenyra stood. "Father is still alive," she said. "While he lives, he will be treated as king. His chambers will be guarded, his dignity protected, and no one will use his weakness to issue commands he did not give."
Otto’s face remained composed. "On that, we agree."
Agreement did not mean trust. It merely meant the same rule served us both for the moment. Rhaenyra entered Viserys’s chamber after the meeting.
I remained near the door while Alicent helped her sit beside him. The king’s face had thinned until his bones seemed too large for the flesh left upon them. Bandages covered part of his cheek and neck. His breathing came shallow and uneven.
For several minutes, he did not wake. Then his eyes opened. They found Rhaenyra slowly.
"My girl," he whispered.
She leaned closer. "I am here, Father."
"The throne..."
"Your throne is secure."
He struggled to form the next words. "You must..."
His breath failed before the sentence did. Rhaenyra took his hand carefully, avoiding the bandaged places.
"I know," she said. "You have already told me."
Whether that was true no longer mattered. Viserys closed his eyes again, but his fingers tightened faintly around hers. Outside his room, the Red Keep continued preparing for a death no one dared announce early.
Two new children slept in royal cradles. Two princes had been promised to powerful houses. Storm’s End had moved beyond our easy reach, and the west had been drawn closer to Otto’s design. Rhaenyra governed a realm that increasingly treated her father as memory while he still breathed above it.
The year had given House Targaryen new life. It had taken nearly everything from the king. And when I watched Rhaenyra sitting beside the ruined body of the man whose crown she would soon inherit, I understood that we no longer had years to prevent the future I remembered.
We had months. Perhaps less.
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