chapter seven,
the succession — 132 AC

This discomfort is how we serve the realm. We have royal wombs, you and I. The child bed is our battlefield. We must learn to face it with a stiff lip.

When Valyria combed for answers, deep in the whites of her mind, this was the one she obtained. It was not told to her, nor meant for her. Yet, moments from the past were all she had to guide her through life's tribulations. As sorrowful as it was, the young mother tried to make the best out of the hand she was dealt.

In her nineteen years, she had delivered three children. One of them did not live long enough to see the sun or feel its warmth. This pain, this loss, it hung over her like a dark shadow. Especially now, as she looked at the boy beside of her, silently reading from a book. Maelor, she named him. Born only one year after her first. He, like his brother Jaehaerys, prevailed. With them, her body did not fail her.

He was a quiet boy.

Her silver hair cascaded down her back as she leaned forward, flipping the page for him. The golden beams of the daybreak peeked through the windows, her violet gaze shifting to the five-year-olds on the floor. Jaehaerys sat calmly, playing with the aged and chipped ceramic dragon that was given to his mum years before.

Jaehaera, his other half, sat alongside him with a figurine of her own. She thumped it lightly across the stone titles, nudging her brother's leg with the toy.

Only fifteen minutes ago did Valyria return from a council meeting, one that was filled with a variety of information. The Septons wished to commission a bronze bust for the Festival of the Mother, which Lord Beesbury advised the crown to reject.

Then, news of a return. That of Daemon and Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Heir to the Throne sprouting a swollen belly upon her arrival. They were here merely to settle the succession of Corlys Velayron. Which, Valyria thought to be quite... foolish. As far as they knew, the Lord of the Tides still breathed, his heart continued to thump in his chest.

But that did not stop the Council from picking his choice apart. Or rather, the Queen Regent and her father, Valyria noted. After Laenor passed, the rights to Driftmark and the Velayron fleet fell to Lucerys, Rhaenyras second-born son. He would become the next Lord of the Tides.

It was Vaemond, the younger brother of Corlys, who fought against this decision. He was present that night— when the word bastard was uttered twice, both times resulting in a blade being drawn. Valyria thought he would learn his lesson then, but it seems he was only proving her wrong.

Moreover, the Sea Snake never formally named his heir. "The crown must choose what is best for the realm," Otto had said when this was pointed out by Lord Wylde. The princess wrote his words down in black ink as she listened in the shadows, silently watching.

Lord Beesbury was the only one to defend Lucerys, and more importantly, Rhaenyra.

When the council came to an end, Valyria felt a bundle of nerves settle in her stomach. She and her father had successfully avoided one another for six years. Yet now, here they were, once again— wandering the same halls.

The evening before, Aegon had come stumbling into the chambers of his second wife, begging her to sneak to the Street of Silk with him. Valyria had enough sense to decline him this time around, which caused a tense argument. The prince was already in a drunken stupor. He counted on getting his way, as he always did.

Ever since her return to her duties, he had been receiving less and less attention from her. A part of him assumed that by 'providing' her Maelor, the gift of another son, Valyria would be whole again. But when he saw there was no answer to her hardship, his conscience, drowned in wine, could not be stopped from lashing out.

He wanted to fix something he did not know how to mend.

Before he could awaken their sleeping boys with his yelling, she sent him out and had not seen him since. For her, this was a good thing. Lately when Aegon was around, she was raising three children— not two. Though Valyria became adept in being someone she was not, in pretending to be the princess the realm regarded her as, she still struggled.

It was difficult. When, if she desired, she could see everything that had ever come to pass. There were times when that temperance of hers slipped, all composure lost to the wind.

When that happened, she would close her eyes to find a moment that brought her peace. Before her boys, there was nothing. She had to remind herself that she had Aegon to thank for them; without him, her heart would have remained small and fragile. On certain days, that fragility would show itself. But her heart had grown so much that sometimes, only sometimes, it found its way to her sleeve.

Her chambers were spacious, high ceilings adorned with intricate carvings of dragons and Targaryen sigils. The walls were lined with rich tapestries that depicted scenes of their ancestors with their formidable dragons, the colors vibrant and well-preserved. A large, ornate fireplace dominated one wall, the hearth crackling with a warm, inviting fire. Above the mantle hung a grand portrait of Aegon the Conqueror, his stern gaze watching over the room.

The floor was made of polished stone tiles, cool underfoot, and scattered with plush rugs in deep reds and golds, adding warmth and comfort. Near the fireplace, a set of comfortable chairs and a low table created a cozy sitting area, which was where she sat to write in her journals. On the table, a silver tray held a decanter of wine and a few delicate goblets, ready for use. That she had for Aegon.

The windows were tall and narrow, draped with heavy velvet curtains that could be drawn to keep out the chill. However, they were currently pulled back, the morning sun casting a warm glow over everything. The view outside showed the sprawling gardens of the Red Keep, lush and green, with the distant sound of birdsong in the air.

Against another wall, a large, ornate wardrobe held Valyria's gowns and cloaks. A vanity table stood nearby, its surface cluttered with brushes, combs, and various vials of perfumes and oils. This room became hers a year past, her old chambers turning into a shared one for Jaehaerys and Jaehaera. Maelor, quiet in his ways, stayed with his mother.

Her amethyst stare fell to the burning hearth, where an onyx pot sat above the orange flames. Inside it lay Maelor's egg atop crackling coals, the scales pale green with swirls of iridescent silver. Four years had passed and it had yet to hatch. But that wasn't a concern for Valyria. Her son would not be the first Targaryen without a dragon at the start of his life.

Shrykos, the emerald hatchling that belonged to Jaehaerys, cracked the night the boy was born. As did Morghul, his sisters.

Outside her chambers stood a silent Athens, who opened the door with a soft nod. Helaena Targaryen entered with the same defeated look she wore earlier— Dyana, one of her handmaidens, had seemingly disappeared into thin air. She went out to search for the girl, but judging by her expression, Valyria assumed she had no luck.

"You dressed Jaehaera." Helaena pointed out, her violet eyes landing upon her daughter on the floor.

Valyria offered a small smile. "I do not mind. That and she was quite eager to play with Jaehaerys."

Helaena's lips twitched into a faint smile, though her eyes remained clouded with worry. "She looks lovely," she said softly, her gaze drifting to the twins. "They both do."

Valyria nodded, her eyes following Helaena's. "They've grown so much." She whispered, an echo in her mind telling her that she had as well.

Helaena sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "Time moves too quickly. Sometimes I wish we could slow it down, just for a moment."

The princess stepped away from Maelor at the desk, moving to gently squeeze Helaena's hand. "I know. But we must cherish these moments, fleeting as they are."

Her eyes met Valyria's, a hint of gratitude in their depths. "Thank you. For everything." She spoke, but her words felt as if they held a deeper meaning. It was always this way with Helaena, constantly trying to unravel her riddles.

This was something they had in common.

Valyria shook her head. "You don't need to thank me. We're family. We look out for each other."

Helaena nodded, her expression softening. "Yes, we do."

A comfortable silence settled between them, broken only by the soft crackling of the fire and the quiet play of the children. Valyria glanced at the door, her thoughts drifting to Aegon. She wondered where he was, what he was doing. But she pushed the thoughts aside, focusing on the present.

"Did you have any luck finding Dyana?" Valyria asked, breaking the silence. Helaena only shook her head. "No. It's unlike her to disappear without a word."

Valyria sighed and with a quick glance she looked over at the children. "I will go look." She assures, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of her eldest son's head, gently ruffling his silver hair. Jaehaerys swatted her away, causing a small smile to wrap around her lips.

A small smile of agreement curled around Helaena's lips, "I'll walk the children to their lessons. Thank you. Again."

Pulling the door to her chambers open, Valyria wordlessly stepped out into the dimly lit corridor. Athens, her loyal guard, shifted in his stance at the sudden noise, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword. He looked to her, ready to follow.

"Watch over Maelor, will you? I'll return soon," Valyria requested, her voice soft but firm.

Athens nodded silently, his expression resolute. He turned on his heels and wordlessly retreated into the room where the boy sat, his eyes attached to the book he read. Tales of Old Valyria. For a child of four, most expected the boy to take interest in toys and swordplay.

The princess moved swiftly through the winding corridors of the Red Keep, her mind humming with a sense of direction. The stone walls, once decorated with paintings depicting the Targaryen lineage, now stood bare. Replaced with sigils of the Seven. Torches flickered, casting long shadows that danced eerily from the darkness. It was morning, but in this part of the castle it did not yet feel like it.

She followed the echo of voices burning in the back of her mind. There was something unanswered in her blood. More than mere dreams. Valyria had yet to know what this was, and she did not believe she ever would.

It led her to a familiar hall.

Her silver hair flowed behind her like a silken banner. Her stare, sharp and perceptive, scanned the area as she approached. Her husband's chambers stood at the end, the wooden door cracked ajar.

For a moment, she could have sworn she saw a white dog slip into the space, its fur shaggy and stained with dirt and mud. The sight was unsettling, for whatever reason.

Her brows furrowed as she continued onward, ignoring the deep twist in her gut. The sounds of voices grew closer with each step. Her petite body, clad in a gown of deep crimson, slowed to a stop once she reached the door. She hesitated before peering through the crack with her amethyst eyes.

"Think of the shame on your wives. On me. How can you keep carrying on like this, especially on a day like today?" Came the voice of the Queen Regent, her words strained with exhaustion and a thin, wavering line of patience.

The white dog Valyria thought had seen was nowhere in sight, leaving her to assume it had been a figment of her imagination. She shook her head slightly, focusing on the scene before her. Alicent stood by her son's bed, Aegon tiredly (and nakedly) slumped beneath a white sheet.

He let out a groan, rising from his spot while rubbing his bloodshot eyes. "Why, what is today?"

A sharp smack resonated through his chambers. Valyria flinched by the door, her long nails subconsciously digging into the skin of her palms. Silence consumed the space, she watched as tears welled in her husbands' violet eyes— hand hovering over his cheek that hastily welled red.

His mother leaned forward, venom dripping from her lips. "You are no son of mine." Alicent whispered, the sentence she spoke drilling into Aegon as she turned to walk away. Her own hazel eyes held tears, but they were not for her son or his actions. Valyria knew they were simply for the shame he had brought onto her.

She watched from the door as the prince stood to his feet, clutching the sheet to conceal his body. "I did not ask for this." He said, stopping his mother. "I've done everything you've asked me to. And I try-" A quiet sob fell from his throat, anxiously shifting in his spot. "I try so hard but it will never be enough for you or father. Or even Valyria."

It was then when the girl pulled the door open, stepping into the space. She clasped her hands together behind her back, lying beneath her silver hair as her violet eyes landed upon the Queen Regent. Alicent wordlessly met her stare, swallowing the retort she had prepared for her son.

"Have you seen Dyana?" Valyria questioned, looking between her husband and his mother. Deep in the back of her mind, she knew the answer to this question. "Helaena has been looking for her. She's grown quite worried."

The Queen let out a sigh, glancing back to Aegon who merely pulled the sheet further up his chest. "Dyana has been relieved of her service. I will tell my daughter this myself, if you will excuse me." Alicent spoke, moving past the princess and making her exit from the chambers.

She stopped by the door, "And princess, when you're finished here— I expect you to join me. You must greet your father in the chambers of the King."

Valyria did not say anything. She remained silent as the door fell shut, leaving her and Aegon to themselves.

His eyes were glued on her, waiting to hear her voice. He would only ruin it with the sound of his own.

But she stood there, amethyst stare burrowing into him, picking him apart with each passing second. Aegon stepped forward, the thin sheet draped across his naked body. A drying trail of tears marked his pale skin, silver hair tangled and framing his sorrowful features. She hated when he looked like this. It only reminded her of their son, who she loved more than anything.

Only that was the difference between Jaehaerys and his father. He had a mother who cherished him. Aegon never would.

"I'm sor-"

"Do not." The words said were sharp and harsh, cutting right into him. "You're sorry?" Valyria echoed, her brows furrowed. She stepped forward— "I am not the one you should be apologizing to."

Aegon shook his head, the tears returning to his eyes before they could even think to retreat. It was pitiful. All he ever wanted was for her to protect him, to defend him like she had done for Jacaerys that day on the training grounds. Even for his own brother in the tunnel at Driftmark.

"Just- tell me what to do." He pleaded, stepping closer to grab her arm. His touch was warm, almost feverish against her cold skin.  "Tell me what to do and I- I'll fix it. I'll do it." Valyria listened as his voice grew quiet, like that of a child. "Just tell me what to do." Aegon begged, sinking into her stiff body— pressing his forehead against her neck in a desperate manner as he wrapped his arms around her.

She could feel hot breath on her skin, his body trembling with silent sobs.

Her whole life, she was taught to serve the needs of those around her. It did not matter how she felt or what she wanted to do.

Her palms pressed against his bare back, feeling the warmth of his skin and the tremor of his cries. Her violet eyes were void of any emotion as her chin rested against his shoulder. The scent of sweat and wine clung to him like he to her, and she could hear his ragged breathing— each exhale a plea for solace she was not sure she could give.

The stone cold floor beneath her feet grounded her. She was detached, as if watching a scene unfold from a distance, unable to intervene. She was a princess, a wife, a mother— but in this moment, she felt like none of those things. She was simply Valyria, lost in the expectations and duties that sat heavily upon her shoulders.

And Aegon? He felt the sting of his mother's slap long after she had left the room. The sharp pain on his cheek was nothing compared to the ache in his chest. When he saw Valyria, standing there— her eyes piercing through him... he felt exposed. Not just physically but emotionally, as if she could see every flaw, every failure.

When she snapped at him, all he could feel was a fresh wave of shame wash over him. He wanted to disappear, truthfully. But he could only cry. He felt like a child, desperate for approval, for love. For that he held onto Valyria like a lifeline.

He felt her hands against his back, but there was no warmth to her touch. It was automated, detached. He could hear her heartbeat, in fact, he searched for it. He wanted her to hold him, to tell him everything would be alright, but he knew she couldn't. She was as trapped as he was, bound together by duty and expectations.

Aegon closed his eyes, letting the tears soak the crimson gown she wore. He felt like he was drowning, and Valyria was the only thing keeping him afloat. But even she could not save him from the weight of his own failures.

It took several minutes for his grip to finally loosen. She gently pulled away, her hands lingering on his shoulders for a moment longer before stepping back. His eyes, red and swollen, met hers with a silent plea for understanding. Valyria offered a small, almost imperceptible nod.

"I need to go," She whispered, her voice barely audible. "There are matters I must attend to."

Such as greeting her father after six, long years.

Aegon swallowed his words, his gaze dropping to the floor. Valyria merely turned and walked towards the door, her steps measured and deliberate. Emotions weighed heavily on her chest, suffocating her until she stepped out into the corridor. The door thumped shut behind her, a heavy breath falling from her lips, her tense shoulders relaxing slightly.

The cool air of the Red Keep greeted her as she steadied herself and made her way through the familiar winding halls. For a second, she thought to find Jaehaerys and Maelor, so that they could finally meet their grandfather. But she pushed that idea away quicker than it had formed, not wanting to expose either of her sons to the unloving touch of Daemon.

Approaching the king's chambers, Valyria instinctively straightened her back and clasped her hands together behind her back— twisting the rings around her fingers. She saw Alicent standing there, her posture rigid and her expression strained. Her hazel eyes met the girl, a flicker of recognition passing between them.

"Princess," Alicent greeted, voice formal but tinged with a hint of weariness.

"Queen Regent." Valyria replied, inclining her head slightly. "I trust you have spoken with Helaena?" She inquired, an attempt to distract her mind from the matters at hand.

The Queen nodded, her gaze running over Valyria, studying her. "I have. She understands." She answered, the girl turning to face the closed doors. Alicent's eyes softened, a rare moment of empathy breaking through her stern exterior. "He will be glad to see you." She assures softly.

The princess looked to her with a slight shake of her head, "He has not come for me, Your Grace." her voice was resolute as she spoke— facing the door with a deep breath. She stepped forward, hearing the low murmur of voices as her hand reached for the cold, iron door handle.

Valyria pushed the door open, the pungent smell of medicine and aged books hitting her the moment she stepped inside. The sound of distant labored breathing reached her ears, reminding her of the King's condition that only worsened. The Queen entered in behind her, the conversation that took place between Rhaenyra and Daemon falling to a hush.

He sat just a few feet away, his pregnant wife standing beside of him with an arm resting over her swollen belly. Valyria's eyes fell to their hands, which lay intertwined between them, then back to Daemon— who merely eyed his daughter upon her entrance. "Father." She said, though there was no meaning behind the title. It held no weight.

It fell loosely into the air, crumbling against the floor.

"Daughter." He muttered in return.

Alicent stepped forward, her stare lingering on her old friend. "Princess Rhaenyra." She gave a tight lipped smile, "And Prince Daemon." The Queen added, her hands clasping together over her stomach. "It has been so long since we were granted the joy of your presence."

The healed scar against Rhaenyra's wrist was spotted by Valyria as she pulled her hand from her husband, twisting the ring around her finger. "Indeed, Your Grace."

"Though not long enough to merit a greeting upon our arrival." Daemon uttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. His tone was laced with irritation, the tension in the room palpable.

"I'm sure the Queen had pressing business, my love. What can either of us know of ruling a kingdom?" Rhaenyra quipped back, her voice sweet like honey.

Valyria's sharp stare narrowed slightly. "The Crown pleads for your forgiveness, Father." She replied, words coated with sarcasm. "We did not know the expectations of the Rogue Prince were held so high."

For a second, Daemon's eyes flashed with a mix of shock and amusement. "Always quick with your tongue, Valyria." He remarked, his fingers rhythmically tapping against the wooden arm rest of his chair, testing her.

Alicent cleared her throat, causing the attention of the princess to snap back at her. "I do not rule, as you well know, Rhaenyra." She reminded, "My father and I are mere stewards of the King's will and wisdom." She adds, gesturing towards the bed where Viserys rested.

"And how exactly is that wisdom expressed?" The Rogue Prince retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "In blinks and wheezes? I'd be surprised if he could remember his own name. Or if you could."

"King Viserys's condition has worsened since you saw him last." The Queen spoke, her words receiving a laugh from Daemon. The sound was a harsh one that grated on Valyria's nerves, shifting in her step as she squeezed her fingers around her wrists. But she kept quiet, allowing Alicent to handle this herself.

"It subjects him to considerable pain. On advice of the maesters-"

"Ah, the maesters." Rhaenyra sighed, shaking her head. "Of course. It is they who keep him... addled on milk of the poppy while the Hightowers warm his throne."

Valyria could feel the tension in the room thickening, like a storm about to break. It was always about laying the blame on one another, never acknowledging their own faults.

"The maesters do what they can to ease his suffering," Alicent continued, her face remaining composed, but there was a hint of frustration in her eyes. "It is not an easy task."

Rhaenyra's gaze only hardened, lips pressing into a thin line. "And yet, it seems, his suffering is prolonged for your benefit." She replied, her tone icy.

The princess could feel her heart pounding in her chest, the weight of the family's discord and strife pressing down on her. She glanced at her father, who was watching the exchange with anticipation and amusement. His fingers drummed a restless rhythm on the armrest, strands of silver hair framing his sharp, angular face.

She looked to the chosen Heir. "If you had returned to King's Landing in the past six years, you would have seen his condition for yourself, Princess." Valyria could not cease her interjections, "Or has ruling Dragonstone kept your priorities occupied?" She finished, the room falling silent at her words.

The princess met her stare, shoulders tense.

Alicent nodded slightly, a flash of unexpected gratitude filtering through her features. Though Valyria had not done it for her. The Queen stepped in, not allowing a reply from Rhaenyra or Daemon.

"Rhaenyra, if you could see him without it, almost blind with suffering..."

Daemon shook his head, stretching his legs out in the chair. "Alicent, I have no doubt it was an act of the purest mercy, but tell me, and you as well daughter of mine, for the King's suffering, did the maesters also prescribe the removal of Targaryen heraldry and the installation in its stead of various statues and stars?" He spat, standing from his chair to near the three ladies.

Valyria could not say anything. She was but a silent watcher in the council, when this was requested, she could do nothing but write it down, marking the choice into history. This was why she had the tapestries and heraldry moved to her chambers, at least that of which she could fit.

The Queen Regent spoke the very reason she had given at the table, as if it were still etched into her mind. "The emblems of the Seven serve only to guide us on an uncertain path. To remind of us of a higher authority."

"And on the morrow, which authority will sit in judgment of my son's claim on his own inheritance?" Rhaenyra questioned sharply, eyeing her old friend.

"That would be mine." Alicent answered, in an obvious manner. "And the Hand's. But be assured, the Father is just and commands me to forget to accusations you have hurled in this room today." She spoke sweetly, a small smile laced around her lips before she motioned for Valyria to follow.

The princess hesitated for a moment. Not because she wanted to remain, but rather because she had more to say. Several hours could be spent hurling insult after insult at her father, who watched her in a testing way. But she said nothing, tearing her violet eyes away from him, making her exit from the chambers with a heavy mind. Why must every encounter with him feel like a battle?

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this is unedited i apologize greatly