Chapter Text
Laenor stared at his cousin, certain that his expression was the very picture of befuddlement.
Surely she wasn’t serious.
“Ser Harwin?” He repeated when his wife didn’t begin laughing at her jape. “You want Ser Harwin Strong to sire our future children?”
Ser Harwin was an honorable man who clearly adored his wife, and Laenor truly liked him. But with his brown hair, large statue and most importantly, his pale complexion, the Heir to Driftmark wasn’t sure he would be the most logical choice to sire Rhaenyra’s children.
Their agreement had been set in stone even before they got married, and he would stand by it. They had always known it was a strong possibility that their marriage bed would remain an empty one, and six moons after they’d been wed, Rhaenyra had started to look elsewhere for their much needed heirs.
Though she went searching for an alternate solution with his blessing, Laenor regretted what felt like his failure deeply. His beloved Joffrey was no longer here to help him be a true husband to his dear cousin, and thus their attempts at coupling remained a failure. Pain shot through his heart. He missed him so much it felt like he couldn't breathe sometimes.
Joffrey had been his everything, his twin flame and the very wind in his sails, and the fact that his love had been murdered on his wedding day enraged him still. That Ser Criston Cole had escaped unpunished was beyond the pale and something he would never forgive the queen-consort for.
Now, sitting by the fire in his and Rhaenyra’s shared apartment in the Red Keep, Laenor mourned his loss even more.
There would be no heir coming from his seed, and thus both the Crown-Princess and her husband went looking for another way.
Rhaenyra nodded, seemingly glad he finally caught on. “Yes. Ser Harwin is a good, loyal man who cares deeply for me. He'll keep our secrets. I think he would be a good choice, cousin."
Laenor couldn’t help it, he burst out in laughter. Her offended expression only made it worse, but not even Rhaenyra could stop her lips from twitching at the delight radiating off her often melancholic husband. Even if it was at her expense.
“Rhaenyra,” Laenor spluttered, still chuckling. “Take him to bed if you so desire, but he surely you see why he can’t be the father of your, of our children.”
The idea alone was enough to make a foreboding feeling take root in his stomach. Laenor and the princess had tried for six moons already, and the pressure on his wife was building with each passing moon. But that didn’t mean they should be careless.
The Greens were already looking for fault in the King's chosen Heir. He'd heard the whispers and snide remarks as Rhaenyra stomach remained flat. Meanwhile, the queen-consort flaunted her green dresses like they were war banners, and he knew there had been remarks of the princess' similarities to the former queen and her troubles bearing children. Alicent had grown brazen. Too brazen.
Laenor knew that he'd been numb to it all since Joffrey's death, but no longer.
The princess frowned, offended. “Why ever not?”
The Heir to Driftmarkt felt an incredulous laugh bubble up his throat. Surely she was japing. Surely she saw the issue with picking the Commander of the Goldcloaks as the father of their heirs. But taking in the increasingly flustered expression on her beautiful face, Laenor had the sinking feeling she did not.
“Have you looked at the man?” Laenor exclaimed, arms waving through the air. “Have you looked at me, dearest cousin? We do not look anything alike! What if the child takes after him?”
Rhaenyra scowled, a stubborn set to her jaw that worried Laenor. “Why would they? Look at Alicent’s brood. The blood of the dragon is strong.”
Alicent Hightower had indeed whelped three - soon to be four - Valyrian looking children. But it seemed Rhaenyra had forgotten his own mother, who had been born with locks as black as any Baratheon. With the violet eyes of their Valyrian ancestry yes, but otherwise his mother was very much her mother’s daughter.
“Would you bet your reputation on that?” Laenor asked, knowing as well as she did that they couldn’t do that. “The lives of your children? You need trueborn heirs, or at least heirs that appear trueborn.”
His wife blinked slowly, all fight leaving her. “Oh.”
“I’m sorry,” He murmured, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around her. Laenor knew she cared greatly about Ser Harwin, and even more, Rhaenyra trusted him. He might not love her as a husband should, but Laenor did love her. She was his cousin and she'd become his dearest friend. Her support and kindness in these past few moons as husband and wife meant the world to him.
Which meant he couldn’t let her do this. At least, not without alerting her to the dangers of this choice.
Rhaenyra leaned into him, accepting the comfort he offered.
He knew the pressure she was under. The queen-consort's cool remarks and the court’s scrutiny were all on Rhaenyra - and her still-flat stomach. Even the king made the occasional thoughtless comment, and he hated what it all did to her.
“Who then?” She asked after a long silence. “One of your cousins? A dragonseed? Or maybe it would be wiser to pick someone completely unknown.”
So they were on the same page.
“We need to consider it carefully.” Laenor closed his eyes, thinking deeply. “We cannot be careless with this. Uncle Vaemond is ambitious enough as it is. If one of my cousins talks, we would be ruined. And if the child doesn’t appear Velaryon, Vaemond will be difficult.”
And yet…
His mind flashed to Cousin Daemion.
Cousin Daemion, with his purple eyes and complexion in a shade close to his own. Cousin Daemion, who was born of Uncle Vaemond and his pretty blonde Celtigar wife. Cousin Daemion, who was loyal, handsome and brave.
Daemion, who looked alike enough to Laenor that he could have been his trueborn brother.
“What are you thinking?” Rhaenyra asked, and Laenor opened his eyes.
“We can’t trust blindly.” He explained. “The dragonseeds might be a good idea, but it would take time we don’t have to build true trust and loyalty. But one of my cousins-”
There was one who would keep his secrets. Who already was keeping them. One who had no interest in the Iron Throne, or even the lordship Laenor was heir to. One who cared for family and the seas he sailed above all else.
“He’s the third son of the second son.” He murmured, aware that even in the princess’ private rooms the walls could have ears. “Three years older than I, and unmarried still.”
“You like him.” Rhaenyra stated softly. “But do you trust him with this?”
Did Laenor trust him with Rhaenyra and what could very well be their future children? He thought he might.
Cousin Daemion was like him. Well, in a way.
But unlike Laenor, Daemion had an actual choice. He liked both goose and duck, and while he cared more for the feminine form than the masculine, he still had been the one to introduce Laenor to the joys of watching knights train back in their shared childhood.
Daemion had told him about his lovers, both male and female, that he’d met on his voyages. He’d never judged Laenor for his preferences, which was something only his mother and sister had managed. And Rhaenyra, too, of course.
“Yes,” Laenor took a deep breath. “If there is anyone I could trust with this it’s Daemion.”
His cousin had always been uninterested in marriage or any other type of long-term relationship, and for other reasons than Laenor himself was uninterested. Daemion didn’t want to be bound to a woman or man, didn’t want to stay landbound for longer periods of time.
He knew he had nothing to give to a wife or paramour, he had no keep or lands.
And the sea had always called to his cousin.
“According to mother’s raven,” Laenor murmured, turning to meet the princess’ hesitant purple eyes, “my cousin has returned from his latest voyage. You could meet him, and then make your decision.”
Because it was her decision. It always would be. He would never force her to tolerate someone in her bed she did not want there. It was bad enough they had to attempt to couple themselves in these past few moons. It was their duty as husband and wife, but it had felt horrible for the both of them. Wrong. Sickening. And completely unsuccesful.
Never again.
“You truly trust him?” Rhaenyra hummed, indigo eyes considering. Laenor nodded. “Very well. I suppose we are due for a visit to Driftmark.”