PRIDE & GUILT, cregan stark

002

OR A SON.

— chapter two

          His eyes had always made him stand out. Those who gossiped liked to compare his stare to that of his younger brother's common brown. The first-born child of Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Laenor was spoken about less but still stared at, nevertheless, but he was the image of his Mother and nothing of the sort in resemblance to the Commander of the City watch.

His younger brothers were not so lucky. Their backs were targets.

( But which was safer for the greens, one would argue? Lord Jasper wonders once. Was it safer for Rhaenyra's children to be bastards, and one day referred to as such (though her husband would never see sense, if you asked Alicent Hightower) or was it safer for her son, Monterys, to be a Targaryen through and through in the end?

Which had the bigger target on their back? Jace and Luke looked the part of common, sure. But they were claimed. And the threat was their brother, Rhaenyra's heir. The one who some swore would be another version of Daemon. )

The Prince's feet were firmly planted on the ground, the grip his fingers had wrapped around his sword never wavering.

A natural, Viserys had been proud of his first grandchild when Monterys was younger. He still clapped when Rhaenyra's son bested another, and as much as he made the Grandsire proud, he also worried the man — he was like the King's brother, after all. And the King's brother acted on his own most of the time.

Sat above and having a clear view of the Princes training in the yard, King Viserys wore a tired smile. His Hand, Lord Lyonel, stood silently a little behind him.

"They improve everyday, do they not?" The King wondered, exhaustion clear on his face. "Monterys is fine at all he does. . . he will be the most excellent King one day."

Lord Lyonel looks from the King to the heir's first-born. The Prince had stopped his quick movements and had now turned to his younger brothers, a hand stretched and gripping Luke's shoulder.  "Indeed, Your Grace."

If Viserys heard the concern, he ignored it.

( He ignored everything. )

Luke clung to Monterys side the most, always stood between his two elder brothers. He had nodded at the words of encouragement on how to wield his sword with a better hand, "Thank you, Monty." And Monterys grinned toward him, proud of being able to help.

Brown eyes dropped to the ground at the glare he was thrown, "He does not like us," That was Jace mumbling, avoiding the intensity of Ser Criston Cole's hateful gaze. He had always treated them that way and for reasons unknown to Rhaenyra's sons. "Ser Criston has never liked us and I do not know why."

The oldest of the trio wrapped his fingers around Jace's and squeezed with reassurance, "That does not matter. He is naught but a twat." And then he threw a piercing stare back to the Queen's Sworn Shield who blinked, though not surprised.

Monterys was his Mother's son, after all. He had all her looks and all her fire, and though it lit up the resentment that burnt within the Kingsguard as he thought it, he knew the Prince was everything the Princess had been when she was younger.

Privileged entitled leech, Ser Criston had uttered to himself once.

A shadow moved behind Rhaenyra's sons and then Ser Harwin appears to the side of them, an eyebrow raising down at the eldest, who smiled up at the Commander of the City Watch rather innocently. As if he hadn't just insulted a Kingsguard.