Chapter 17: I Also Have a Favorite Nephew

Baby Viserys was adorable. Even at only a few hours old, his skin still sporting the distinctive shriveling common to newborns, he was a cute infant. No surprise, given how his parents were annoyingly comely. All my siblings were, from distant Aemon to childish Viserra, they were all easy on the eyes.

And then there was me. Long face, too-small mouth, and unkind eyes did not make for an appealing combination. My once-slim frame had filled out once I had been allowed to start practicing in the yard, the result of having a basic understanding of exercise and proper nutrition. Unfortunately, the dissonance between my cultivated bulk and the more graceful stature of my brothers was annoying.

But I could hardly be mad at my little nephew for that.

He was an adorable little child, after all. A little child who, if all my plans went mostly as they should, would have a calm and peaceful life ahead of him, free of factionalism and intrigue. All my nieces and nephews, present and future, would inherit a kingdom that was worth living in.

And all it would take was the complete economic, military, social, and political overhaul of society.

I passed the babe to Aemon before I got too carried away by my plans of dramatically reforging westerosi society, taking care to support the babe's head.

"Isn't this better?" Baelon asked as the tenuous calm settled deeper into the room. He would never give up on trying to forge peace between Aemon and me. One day, he might even succeed completely. "No need to argue, is there?"

"There is not," Aemon agreed, gently rocking his nephew with all the confidence of a man who had done this before. Yes, little Rhaenys was well-served to have this man as her father. "All is well, brother."

"Indeed it is," I agreed, leaning back in my seat, glad for the return of calm. The arguments were hardly anything new between Aemon and me, but that was no excuse. He was my brother, we were supposed to get along, but we just kept arguing whenever we were given the chance. It was maddening to know that this man, who for all his considerable intelligence just kept being wrong, might eventually sit the throne. "Indeed it is."

Luckily, a new common ground had presented itself in the form of our nephew, though the calm it inspired was largely one of our own creation. Little Viserys had to do nothing to guarantee the peace, which was convenient since he could not even support his own head.

"The Cannibal is infamous on Dragonstone not just for his feeding habits but also for the ferocity of his temper," Aemon commented after a brief reign of quiet. Where was he going with this? "Not unlike Caraxes, just older. I would be glad to share some of the things I've learned about handling such a beast, if you wish."

"It could be useful," I allowed after a moment's consideration. For now, the Cannibal's primary use was in promoting my, and by extension my family's, image. Since he was by no means a reliable mount and thus a faulty tool at best and an active detriment at worst, any means to change that unreliability had to be used. "Hopefully their temperaments are similar enough for that advice to be useful."

"Well, prospective dragon riders are usually expected to research their targets before claiming them," Aemon commented, and I bristled at the insinuation. "To prevent this exact kind of situation."

"Aem…" Baelon warned, but it was too late.

"And future kings are expected to produce a son, instead of creating an easily preventable succession crisis." I did not hesitate to shoot back. If Aemon wanted to continue our feud, then I would be happy to oblige. "Three years and no additional pregnancies? Are you even trying?"

"Vaeg…" Alyssa joined her husband in trying to shut down the argument. No doubt the birth had been exhausting, or else she would no doubt have leapt from the bed to try and beat some sense into us.

"Her mother died giving birth to her," Aemon said slowly, his jaw muscles tensing with barely suppressed rage. "Our grandmother, Vaegon. I will not force her to relive that trauma again. And I have an heir."

"One," I pointed out. "Like father did with Daenerys. And how did that go, exactly? Right, he and mother had more. As was wise and prudent."

"I will not hear of wisdom and prudence from the boy who thought taming the Cannibal was a good idea," Aemon hissed, rising to his feet. It was a good thing he had not brought a weapon, or things might have gotten ugly. Well, uglier than they already were.

"At least I have ideas," I shot back, before the ludicrous nature of the situation settled in. Aemon was still holding his nephew, which seemed to be the only thing keeping him even remotely calm. Baelon and Alyssa were making placating noises, and I… I was only escalating the situation needlessly.

In a birthing room.

My face heated up in shame. This was ill done of me, to feed an argument in this place.

Shaking my head, I rose to my feet. This argument was not worth it. Then again, neither were all the others, and I had continued those anyways. But no, today was different. Today was a special day, and I was not going to help ruin it. Aemon could have this one. "I should see how our siblings are doing."

Paying no heed to the protests of my siblings, I swiftly made my exit, making sure the door behind me was closed properly. The white knights gave me some odd looks, but they said nothing, so I paid them no mind.

Contrary to my stated intentions, I did not immediately visit my younger siblings. Doing so in a dark mood would be disastrous for the positive changes I had tried to instill in them. They would eventually need to learn about the ugly parts of the world, but that could wait a few years yet. For now, preserving that childish innocence took priority.

Thus, I found myself pacing the halls of the holdfast for a few minutes, walking several circuits around the central cluster of suites as the muffled sounds of screaming echoed just on the edge of hearing, a throaty exclamation of pain that sounded like it would tear my poor mother's throat to shreds. Every time she trailed off, I prayed it would be the last scream, only for it to have been a break to take another breath.

On and on it went for seven circuits of the holdfast.

As a distraction, my walk was failing horribly.

So, despite my misgivings, I went to visit my other siblings. They were not difficult to find; There were only two other doors with King's Guards posted outside, and one of them had significantly louder screaming than the other.

The children were in a room on the opposite side of the holdfast, far away from mother's labor, listening to an old septa read to them from the Seven Pointed Star while trying their hand at needlework. The crackle of the fireplace combined with the old woman's voice gave the entire room a comforting ambiance, one which drowned out all sound from the outside.

"… and so, the sons of Hugor divided the lands of their father between themselves," The old priestess read slowly from the book in her lap. "But they did not heed the words the Seven who are One spoke to their father, and thus- oh, Your Grace!"

The septa noticed my presence and rose from her seat in order to curtsy properly. It did force her to rapidly close her book, interrupting a story I quite enjoyed, as my sisters took notice of my presence. 

Daella, shy as always, only smiled briefly before returning to the piece of fabric in her hands. Viserra, still young, dropped her little project to run over with a happy giggle. Saera, however, had the grace to carefully set her project aside before charging me, rapidly outpacing her younger sister.

"Vaeg, you're back!" Saera, ever eager for attention, loudly exclaimed. She had wasted no time wrapping me in as crushing an embrace as a ten-year-old could manage. At least, that was what I assumed; I was still clad in my armor. "Why are you wearing that? Did you fight? Did you win?"

"Mayhaps," I allowed, tousling her hair. She exaggerated her irritation, as was her right as an adorable younger sibling, but leaned into it with far less subtlety than she probably thought. Viserra caught up by then and began tugging on my other arm for her own share of headpats. "Septa, would you mind if I took over the reading?"

She assented, of course, and I got to continue the tale of the sons of Hugor, and their tragic fall.

Gods I loved having siblings sometimes.

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