chapter three,
the child beneath — 127 AC

THE SMALL COUNCIL WAS... tense. Valyria felt as if it would smother her. But she stood strong, just a few feet behind the King himself, a goblet of wine clutched in her grasp. Mere moments ago she had been lightly scolded for being at the training grounds (and striking Aegon). But only lightly. If it would've been the Queen alone who pulled her aside, the reprimand would have been much more severe. Like a strict ban from the yards, or even a temporary confinement to her chambers like before. Instead— it was a curt warning from Viserys, like a soft slap on the wrist.

"It is Lord Blackwood's contention, therefore, that the Brackens moved the boundary stones in the dead of the night and put their horses to graze in his fields." Lord Lyonel continued from where he sat, waving the princess over with his hand as he talked. Valyria wordlessly stepped forward, moving towards his raised cup to fill it with wine.

Alicent spoke next, who sat to the left of the King, "Why was this issue not brought before Lord Grover? Has he grown so feeble he cannot settle a quarrel over rocks?" She questions, Valyria's eyes catching Rhaenyra slouch in her seat— growing irritated at the mention of the everlasting strife between House Blackwood and Bracken.

Valyria stepped back to her position, noticing how the princess rested her hand over her stomach. She wondered how it was that women bounced back so quickly after birth. Or simply how they willed themselves to do so. The thirteen year old then began to dread the day she would find out.

"I've heard tale that Lord Grover's son now rules Riverrun in all but name." Jasper Wylde, who was the master of laws, spoke—his eyes settled upon Alicent who stared right back.

"Well, he is also a Tully and this remains a Tully problem." The Queen retorted, her hands tucked beneath her chin.

Viserys looked to his wife, "I would agree."

Of course you do, Valyria thought.

Tyland Lannister— master of ships, leaned forward in his seat, palms clasping together. "If we may move on, my-"

"And yet," The princess Rhaenyra chose to speak up, cutting the lord off, her back straightening. "The Brackens and the Blackwoods will use any excuse to spill each other's blood." She said, fingers running over the marble ball before her. "So... this dispute bears looking into."

Valyria watched her eyes fall from Alicent then to Lord Lyonel, "There will be countryfolk who know where the lines have been drawn for generations."

The Hand of the King nodded, "That is easy enough."

The thirteen year old could've swore she heard the light sound of a scoff leave the Queens lips, head shaking as she lifted her glass of wine. "Of course." She muttered, mostly to herself, but the words were heard by those around her.

Including Rhaenyra. Who did nothing but stare directly at Alicent, her fingers still absentmindedly tracing the ball. Valyria felt the tension creep up her spine, sitting heavily upon her shoulders until Lyonel Strong let out a sigh and attempted to switch the subject.

"Ser Tyland,"

The master of ships nodded, clearing his throat. "Uh," His eyes awkwardly looked around, "We should address the latest developments in the Stepstones, my lords."

Viserys let out a low grumble, sinking into his seat and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Will we ever be shut of that blasted place?" He questioned, both irritation and aggravation lacing each word he spoke.

Valyria knew of this issue. During the ninth year of the Kings reign, the Triarchy began attacking Westerosi ships in the region without provocation. This made Lord Corlys Velaryron antsy, he pressured Viserys to act quickly, but to no avail. Three years later, it was her father who put an end to the Crabfeeder and his men. With dragon fire and blades.

During the very hours of Aegon Targaryens second name day.

"If you ask me, I think the Blackwoods have the upper hand." Lord Beesbury, whose mind was old and fragile, spoke up from the his seat at the table in Rhaenyra's favor. Valyria looked to her hands and sighed softly. That conversation had passed, yet his thoughts remained there.

"We've moved on to the Stepstones, Lord Beesbury." Maester Orwyle whispered, sitting next to the older man.

Tyland Lannister then leaned forward, his voice raised, "And the Triarchy's new alliance with Dorne."

"I was hoping our negotiations with Sunspear might persuade them to see reason." Viserys overlooked the bickering mouths around him, waving his hand.

Dorne will never see reason, Valyria wanted to say. Even Aegon, his sisters, and the three ancient dragons that guarded them could not conquer the nation. They were... untamable. Rhaeneys herself flew to Sunspear with Meraxes, only for Princess Meria to tell her that she was not welcome. To leave. And leave she did, with Dorne remaining untaken, unconquerable.

"To trust a Martell is to be disappointed." The King added, with a weak cough into his hand.

"And where, I wonder, is our Prince Daemon?" Lord Wylde questioned, his curious eyes shifting to Valyria, whose head raised curiously at the mention of her father. "Or I suppose I should call him King, as he styled himself when he won a battle there... once."

The princess was now tempted to pour wine into his lap next time he asked for a glass. She hated when they mentioned her father at the council, though it should be expected. Daemon Targaryen was the Rogue Prince, after all. Nevertheless, she could hate him as much as she wanted, but it irked her to see others do it for her.

Alicent met Lord Wyldes' stare, "That was a decade ago and he has since left that region undefended."

As if he was the only man wielding a sword. But it would always lead back to one thing. Battles need swords, swords need men— men need gold.

"We have left it undefended." Rhaenyra was quick to correct the Queen. "There should have been fortifications built, watchtowers, a fleet of ships, a garrison of soldiers sent to hold our ground."

"We cannot afford it." Alicent spoke, eyes wild with a testing irritation. "Our coffers are great, but not infinite. We must consider the cost to our subjects." She reminded as Viserys sunk his head into his hands, pale skin slick with sweat. Viserys Targaryen. Viserys the Peaceful.

Viserys the Rotting King, Valyria thought. He could keep the realm together, but failed to provide the same treatment to his own family. How fitting.

She then felt guilt for thinking these things. The King was kind to her. He cared for her more than her own father.

"I must agree." Lord Beesbury adds. But who could say the old man even knew what his fading mind was agreeing to.

"The cost of war is greater." Rhaenyra snapped, her stare drilled into the Queen across the table. "But we have been lax and the old monster now lifts its head."

It was silent for a moment. Valyria could feel the tension creeping up her neck once again, fingers tightening around the goblet in her grasp. She wanted to shatter the ceramic, to scream at the incompetence that surrounded her. How could her thoughts, at three and ten, be clearer than theirs? It angered her to no end. Their petty, insignificant problems and side glances hidden within sips of Red Arbor wine.

A drink here, a whisper there. The Princess is a whore, the Queen is a snake in the garden. The King is a blind man hiding beneath a crown of peace that was never his to inherit. Quite frankly, Valyria could not spend more than an hour around them without being reminded of the perils haunting their power hungry world.

"Let us be finished." Alicent finally spoke, the King muttering in agreement, as expected. The Queen stood from the table, followed by the rest— Valyria sitting the goblet down with a soft sigh. She was ready to sneak into the dragon pit, down in the deep depths of the caverns.

But the council was not yet finished.

"Wait," Rhaenyra remained seated, bodies falling still where they stood. "I wish to speak."

Viserys met his daughter's eyes then gave a motion to the table, "Be seated." He instructed, returning to his chair with a grunt— using a cloth to wipe across his forehead.

The princess stood, the council, one by one plopping down into their seats. All except Alicent, the two women staring at one another across the war table. There was no respect there, it was hard for Valyria to believe there ever was.

"I have felt the... strife... between our families of late, my Queen. And for any offense given by mine, I apologize. But we are one house. And long before that, we were friends." Rhaenyra began, her fingers tapping the surface of the table. "My son Jacaerys will inherit the Iron Throne after me. I propose we betroth him to your daughter, Helaena."

Right. The Queen had not made her plans to marry Valyria and Helaena both to Aegon known. She had only whispered it to the girls, and to the Prince, of course. Viserys had yet to agree, meaning they were sworn to keep it to themselves. Valyria believed it all to be an idea hatched by Alicent's father, the previous Hand— Otto Hightower.

Though she did tell her father, last he visited, months past. His stay was not a long one, he didn't even make his presence known to the King. A quick trip for information. Come to think of it, she wasn't even sure if he was listening.

There was no stopping it. She knew it would soon happen, that the schemes would intertwine with fate. The princess witnessed it take place in smoke filled dreams. Screaming flames, mourning the loss of four souls. Four would die, her lips would be cut with dragon glass, and her soul would be bound to Aegon Targaryens. And Helaenas with it.

"Ally ourselves." Rhaenyra added, "once and for all. Let them rule together."

Her words caused a smile to sprout upon the lips of the King, his eyes moving between the two cherished women in his life. "A most judicious proposition." Viserys spoke, agreement lacing every syllable he spouted.

Alicent, for a beat of a second, looked to Valyria in the corner, her head shaking with a smirk. The princess knew what the Queen thought of Rhaenyra's children: plain featured boys that had no place in court. Valyria did not think this way, they were her family— no matter who their father was. But Alicent would never see it like that.

She was no Targaryen. Only a Hightower.

The heir caught wind of this hesitation, "Additionally, if Syrax brings forth another clutch of eggs, your son Aemond will have his choice of them..." Rhaenyra stated, her stare shifting to Valyria— "And you as well, princess. A symbol of our good will." She assured, patiently returning her eyes to the Queen.

The promise made the thirteen year olds heart skip beats beneath her ribcage. The mere idea, the thought of being able to choose from a clutch of eggs... after all this time, it was something that made her happy. Excited. Valyria wanted to see these days come, not hide away as they approach like she usually would.

"Rhaenyra." Alicent paused, motioning towards the princess's chest.

Valyria peered over, spotting the two wet spots that formed through the material of her dress. The men were looking down at their hands now, awkwardly so. Rhaenyra hastily placed her hands over her chest, attempting to cover the marks with her palms. "Oh, Seven Hells." She muttered.

Valyria was quick to grab a nearby cloth she would normally reserve for wiping down the table after the small council was finished, stepping forward and holding the material out to the princess who gratefully took it. She situated the fabric over her breasts, covering the spots.

"My dear..." Viserys started as Rhaenyra sat back down in her seat, "a dragon's egg is a handsome gift. Let alone two."

"The King and I thank you for your offer and we will consider it duly." Alicent stepped in, her hands resting against the table. Valyria could tell she did not truly mean it. "You must rest now, husband." She turned her attention to Viserys with a soft, clearly fake yet gentle, smile.

As he, yet again, agreed— the small council finally came to a close.

Valyria watched, still and quiet in the corner as they all dispersed, then finally cleaning up the mess they had left. It didn't take her long, she had grown quite used to the routine. Emptying out the wine, wiping down the tables, adjusting the seats into their rightful place... All while the men standing guard watched her, silently and valiantly.

When she came to a finish, the princess found herself standing at the head of the table. Where the King sat. She couldn't stop herself from reaching forward, grabbing one of the marble balls the council used. Valyria took it into her grasp, running her thumb over the slick surface, analyzing each detail laid out before her.

It wasn't much, but holding it was a weight that she was not yet ready for.

For a split second, in the back of her mind, she saw a boy sitting in the seat she stood next to. Her eyes closed, hands tightening around the marble texture. One eye was gone. There was... greed lingering in the other that remained. Power rested upon his shoulders, but he was happy with it. Content. She could see this. It was what he wanted.

"Princess," A voice spoke, pulling her from the moment.

When she opened her eyes, the image was gone. But the tension remained hovering over her, the marble ball returning to its place in the center of the table. She lifted her head, spotting the distant figure of Athens Strong standing at the door. The temporary Lord of Harrenhall while his family remained in the city of Kings Landing.

But... he was here.

"Athens." Valyria bowed her head, placing a small smile around her lips. He was six years older than her, putting him at the grown age of nineteen. Grown for this world, that was. He had yet to marry, apparently his duties... prevented him from doing so. Or that was the excuse he used, at least.

"If I may ask, why exactly are you here?" The princess questioned, walking around the table with her hands clasped behind her back. "Did the ghosts of Harrenhall bore you? Or did they finally manage to scare you away?"

"I see you have managed to sharpen your tongue even more so than it already was." Athens retorted, chuckling softly at the teenager. "You truly are your father's daughter, Valyria."

She tilted her head, smiling softly. "Thank you."

"You know, not many would take that as a compliment." He spoke— "Nevertheless, I've returned on the word of my father. It seems he's grown restless in this... tight space that is the Red Keep." Athens answered, information slipping from his lips and directly into Valyria's grasp.

That was all it took. A smile and a soft tone, after that nearly everything was handed to her on a silver platter. With men, that was. A girl as young as she, what could she possibly do with a few words and whispered sentences? Turns out, the options varied more than they could ever dream of.

"The Hand wishes to leave?" Valyria asked curiously, looking up at the Lord.

Athens moved his eyes to her, squinting ever so slightly to analyze her features. "Can you blame him?"

No, she wanted to say. But she didn't. Instead, her head tilted to the side and she hummed with a shrug of her shoulders. "The feasts are enjoyable. And the library is quite vast." Valyria answered, "I assume the events of today did not help." She added, leaning against the council table.

She looked back at the guards, who listened silently. As they always did. Valyria found they too guarded many secrets.

"I hear you witnessed these... events." Athens informed, his stare following her. Almost like a predator with its prey, or a lion with its cub. "Perhaps you could deliver a more detailed version than my own brother." He suggested, hand idly resting on the ruby hilt of his long sword.

"Ser Harwin would not tell you?" Valyria retorted, golden eyebrows furrowing.

"Larys." The Lord corrected.

The princess nodded. Larys Strong, the man of many whispers. She would see him, hiding in the same corners as she, listening as a shadow in the background, his cane supporting him. A child abandoned, discarded. Much like herself. He spent many hours alone with the Queen, the doors to her chamber secured and sealed shut.

"Criston Cole made a... remark." Valyria stated, "That of a relation to the princesses sons." She informed, her eyes resting on the distant guards— she did not worry about them, the thoughts remained in all of their minds. Surely her secrets were not the only ones they have witnessed.

Even if they were, they served the Queen— and Alicent herself partook in spreading these same treasonous truths.

"Thus your brother's reaction of fists and blood." She finished, words vague, yet it was more information than what Athens had previously received.

"I see." He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and heaved a heavy sigh, this wasn't anything new to him. "Those boys will be the death of him. They call him Breakbones for a reason, princess. I am sorry you had to see it." Athens added the first part under his breath, his apologetic stare landing upon her.

Valyria shook her head, "No apology necessary. It was truly a sight to behold." She assured with a smile— bracing off the table and straightening her back. "It took four knights to pull him away." She informed, and for a second, Athens could see the child that was buried beneath her features.

It was rare for anyone to see such a sight. The princess stopped being a kid when she was placed into the care of the Red Keep. To ward, her father said. Abandonment, more like. Kings Landing was no place for a little girl with no identity, no true purpose. She was left there and forgotten. Used only as a siphon of truth and information.

A body to be sold, a mind to be tainted. She was kept on a leash made of barbed wire. A sacrificial lamb running headless into a horde of wolves.

But... there were many things they did not know about the princess. That of her dreams, the visions shown to her in bright, intense flashes. Valyria did not know if it was the Gods speaking, her ancestors, or just... her.

After a short minute, the girl bid farewell to Athens Strong, using a well rehearsed excuse. She made her exit from the chambers of the small council, mind racing, searching for a place of solitude. She thought of the one eyed boy, the busted face of Criston Cole. Then, eventually, of her family.

You truly are your fathers daughter.

Was that truly a good thing? She wondered, body leading her into the lower depths of the Red Keep, down into the darkness of the Black Cells. It was quite there. The prisoners learned early on in their stay to not make any noise, less they preferred to lose their tongue.

It wasn't until she heard hushed whispers that she slowed her footfall.

The distant flickering of torchlight cast odd shadows against the cavern walls, dust particles lingering in the open space. Valyria peered around the corner, spotting a handful of guards standing behind one Larys Strong— the club footed brother of Harwin and Athens. As if her previous conversation had summoned his presence.

He braced himself with his cane, the wooden one with a firefly carved into its handle.

Fireflies... they could be mesmerizing. Distracting, even. When you're distracted by one light in the dark, you ignore all that happens around you. This is what Valyria thought. Maester Orwlye once told her the insect symbolized death.

"What a collection of heroes I have before me." Larys spoke with a wide, genuine smile. This surprised the princess around the corner, she had never even seen him laugh. She did not believe it to be capable, not with the pitiful look he keeps locked on his features.

Ah. She sees now.

Perhaps he wishes to be underestimated.

"A murderer... a deviant... a traitor to the crown." He talked to a group of prisoners clustered together in a single cell— their faces hidden from Valyria's view. But she did not need to see them to know what was happening.

"For your crimes, you've been sentenced to death by hanging."

It was silent. For a moment.

"What do you want with us?" One asked, voice trembling.

Larys leaned forward, "I am prepared to offer you mercy. If you're prepared to pay a little price."

The next words he spoke were a whisper that failed to reach the girls ears from where she stood, but she felt a heat creep up her spine, warming her back. When she heard the rustling of footsteps, followed by the faint sizzling of metal against flame, Valyria chose to leave. Back through the dungeons, attempting to block out the echoing screams that began to ensue.

She could see it, in the back of her mind, as if she were looking through the eyes of Larys himself. A tongue, laying against a wooden stub. Then a man with a bloodied mouth and no voice to use, fear written into his malnourished features. But also loyalty. For he had signed his soul away.

—
3617

also unedited 🙏 but it's 3am i'll look
over it tomorrow. anyways!!! athens introduction
whoop whoopppp now his family will soon join...

the graveyard.
ive made this to keep track of the many many
deaths that will take place throughout this series
and will be adding names to it. rip to my girl rhea