THE SEVEN'S DAUGHTER
Part Three: The Broken Wall
Summary: While King Viserys fills your head with tales of legendary Targaryens, an unexpected friendship begins to bloom with House Lannister, and a childish game inside your bedchamber leads you to uncover something that was never meant to be found.
Parings: [Future Aemond x Reader]
Words: 9k
Warnings: none
Part Two
Authors note: A longer chapter bc i went missing hehe
Disclamer: (I do NOT allow anyone stealing, translating or imitating this work)
Don’t forget to reblog, like and comment!
The first signs of the King's illness were almost imperceptible.
No one spoke of them aloud, of course. The servants lowered their voices whenever the maesters crossed the corridors carrying bundles of herbs, the ladies of the court politely pretended not to notice when His Grace left a feast earlier than expected, and the Small Council continued its meetings as though the kingdom itself had decided to ignore the slow passage of time upon its ruler.
But children noticed different things.
You noticed that he no longer climbed the endless staircases of the Red Keep quite as quickly as he once had, pausing every now and then to steady himself against the carved stone walls before continuing with an apologetic smile whenever he realised you were watching.
You noticed that the sleeves of his tunics were rolled up more frequently than before, revealing angry patches of skin the maesters covered with thick green salves whose bitter smell lingered long after they had left the room. You noticed that sometimes, after sitting upon the Iron Throne, his hands trembled ever so slightly when he reached for his wine.
You never understood why, you only understood that your father was unwell. And so, without anyone ever asking you to, you simply began accompanying him.
Whenever Grand Maester Mellos announced that His Grace required another bleeding or another treatment with leeches, you would quietly toddle faithfully behind the procession of maesters, servants and guards making their way towards the King's private solar as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
At first, the adults tried persuading you to wait outside.
"It will only frighten the princess."
"The smell is rather unpleasant."
Yet every single attempt ended exactly the same way.
You would look up at your father with those enormous brown eyes of yours, already glistening with unshed tears, your tiny fingers clutching nervously at the sleeve of his robe.
"But Father..." Your voice always becomes impossibly small. "what if you need me?"
Viserys never once found the heart to refuse.
After that, it simply became another part of the routine. The maesters prepared their medicines, the servants heated fresh water, the Queen remained nearby with her embroidery watching everything in the room..
And you sat faithfully beside your father.
On that particular afternoon, shafts of golden sunlight spilled through the tall arched windows of the King's solar, illuminating thousands of tiny dust particles dancing lazily through the warm air.
The chamber smelled faintly of melted candlewax, old parchment and medicinal herbs, though beneath it all lingered another scent you had long since come to associate with Father's treatments; sharp vinegar, crushed mint and the metallic tang of fresh blood.
Grand Maester Mellos worked with slow, practiced hands, carefully placing dark leeches along the King's forearm whilst another apprentice arranged bowls of steaming water beside the chair.
By the time the Grand Maester placed the first leech upon the King's forearm, you had already settled yourself upon the thick Myrish carpet at your father's feet.
It had simply become part of the ritual.
Whenever the maesters came carrying bowls of hot water, rolls of linen and little clay jars that smelled of vinegar and herbs, everyone within the royal apartments knew the princess would appear not long afterwards, trailing behind them with determined little steps, carrying something entirely unnecessary, a folded cloth or a wooden spoon, convinced that you, too, were helping the King recover.
Grand Maester Mellos no longer protested.
He merely smiled whenever your tiny hands reached towards whichever instrument he happened to require next.
"The bowl, Princess."
You hurried to fetch it.
"The cloth."
You passed it to him with both hands.
"The water."
You lifted the little jug with all the determination your four-year-old arms could muster, managing to pour only a few drops before the maester quietly took over with an indulgent chuckle.
"Excellent," Viserys said, smiling from his chair despite the leeches already clinging to his arm. "I believe the realm has found itself another maester."
You beamed.
Across the room, Queen Alicent looked up briefly from the embroidery resting neatly upon her lap. Her lips curved into the faintest smile before she lowered her gaze once more, allowing the gentle domesticity of the moment to continue undisturbed.
She only fantasized with it for a bit. Just for a moment, she imagined you being a Septa. Far away from court, hidden, living the paceful life you were always meant to.
Maybe you could even become a Maester, she was sure they would taught you in Oldtown. Surrounded by your family, the Hightowers, you would be far away from the evil whispers of your legitimacy.
She was sure her cousin Ormund would take great care of you until you were old enough, she was sure he would be delighted to have such a well-behaved and devoted girl in his house.
However, her thoughts were cut short after sje heard the first groan of pain that scaped Viserys throat.
The King's treatments had become unpleasant over the years.
The smell of herbs lingered for hours afterwards, and sometimes the bleeding left him pale enough that even you noticed it.
So, somewhere along the way, another little ritual had appeared.
They had started months before, almost by accident.
The first time, your father had noticed how frightened you looked at the sight of blood trickling down his arm. To distract you, he had begun recounting one of the old tales of House Targaryen.
The next treatment, you had asked for another and soon, it became short of a routine you and your father had.
You wandered away from the maesters almost immediately, climbing onto your knees beside the enormous stone model of Old Valyria that dominated the centre of the room. Tiny towers rose from polished black rock, delicate bridges arched over carved rivers, and dragons scarcely larger than sparrows rested atop miniature keeps.
Your father had spent years rebuilding it piece by piece from memory, old scrolls and forgotten histories until entire streets, temples and palaces stretched across the great carved table in miniature.
Delicate towers no taller than your hand reached proudly towards the ceiling, tiny bridges crossed impossibly narrow rivers of polished obsidian, and dragons scarcely larger than your thumb rested upon rooftops as though frozen in flight.
No one was ever allowed to touch it. No one. Not servants, not councillors, not even princes. Except you.
Viserys claimed that you possessed "careful hands but Alicent privately suspected it had rather more to do with the fact that His Grace could never deny his youngest daughter anything.
You carefully lifted one of the little dragons between your fingers, making soft roaring noises beneath your breath as it circled above the city.
"Are you ready?" Viserys watched you with unmistakable fondness.
You nodded so enthusiastically that several loose strands of red hair fell onto your face.
"What story today?"
The King leaned back slightly, allowing Grand Maester Mellos to continue his work as though he scarcely noticed the leeches at all.
"Hmm..." He pretended to consider it for a long moment. "I think..." Another pause. "today, I shall tell you how Harren the Black believed stone could protect him from dragons."
"Harren The Black?" Your little dragon stopped flying immediately.
"The very one."
"He had a castle?"
"An indestructible one, so everyone believed. Harrenhal it was called"
Without another word you abandoned your game entirely, crawling back across the carpet until you sat cross-legged beside your father's chair, your elbows resting upon your knees and your chin cupped eagerly in both hands, leaving the little dragon somewhere abandoned near your.
Viserys lowered his voice, the way fathers always did when they knew every word already belonged to their child.
"Harren spent forty years building the greatest castle Westeros had ever seen. Its walls were thicker than thirty men standing shoulder to shoulder. Its towers climbed so high they vanished into the clouds. Every lord who saw it believed exactly the same thing."
He paused.
"No army shall ever conquer Harrenhal…But they had forgotten something."
You leaned closer.
"There had never been dragons in Westeros before."
Without even realising it, Grand Maester Mellos slowed his work and a servant paused while arranging fresh bandages, even Alicent's embroidery needle seemed to linger for just a heartbeat.
The King had always been a wonderful storyteller.
"So Aegon mounted Balerion..." Viserys raised his free hand slowly, tracing a wide circle through the air above your head. "...higher and higher, until Harren himself looked up from the tallest tower."
Your gaze followed his hand instinctively, as though the great Black Dread truly circled somewhere above the painted ceiling.
"And do you know what Harren did?"
You shook your head so fiercely that your braid bounced against your back.
"He laughed."
You gasped.
"He believed stone could never burn." The King's smile became almost wistful. "He was wrong."
You no longer noticed the maesters, nor the smell of herbs, nor the blood.
In your mind you were already soaring through dark clouds upon the back of the greatest dragon the world had ever known.
Viserys leaned forward just a little.
"And then..." His voice dropped almost to a whisper. "Balerion opened his jaws..." Another pause. "and the night itself caught fire."
You remained utterly still.
Grand Maester Mellos, who had been quietly gathering his instruments at the side of the room, paused for a moment as though something in it had finally aligned with a thought he had been carrying for a long time.
"You know princess, before His Grace ever sat the Iron Throne, King Viserys himself was once the rider of Balerion the Black Dread."
You blinked several times. Your mind tried, very carefully, to make sense of what you had just heard, but the idea refused to stay still. It shifted and changed every time you tried to hold it.
Your father and Balerion. Together.
The maester, unaware of the way your entire body had gone perfectly still, continued in the same calm, scholarly tone.
"It was a brief time, of course. The Black Dread was already ancient by then, and few ever dared claim him. But His Grace did, and for a short while, House Targaryen was once more united with the greatest of its dragons."
Silence settled more deeply over the room.
You turned your head very slowly. Your eyes found your father immediately, as though there had never been any doubt where they would go.
Viserys had a nostalgic smile on his face, as if he was remembering a much happier past.
"Father..." Your voice came out small, but it carried a kind of wonder that you could not contain.
"Yes, little one?" He looked at you then, and whatever distance had opened in his expression softened at once.
"The dragon..." You swallowed, your hands tightening slightly where they rested against the carved arm of his chair. "Did you really ride him?" You hesitated, because the thought felt too large to say properly.
"I did." A smile formed very slowly on his face. Not proud, not boastful, but warm in a way that made something inside your chest lift without warning.
Suddenly it meant everything you had ever imagined was not just a story your father told you. It was something he had lived.
"You rode Balerion?" Your eyes widened so much it almost hurt.
"Yes."
"The biggest dragon?"
"The very same."
A sound escaped you then, half gasp, half laugh, as if your body could not decide which emotion was stronger. You pushed yourself up slightly from the floor, leaning closer to him as though distance itself might make the truth less real.
"That means—" You stopped, searching for the right words, your thoughts tumbling over each other in excitement. "That means you were in the sky with him."
"For a time," he said softly, "Yes." Viserys' smile deepened, and for a moment the weariness that often lived in his face seemed to fade entirely.
That was all it took. Your entire face lit up at once, as though someone had placed a crown directly upon your heart.
"You were flying," you said, almost breathless now, turning the idea over and over as if it were the most wonderful thing you had ever heard. "On Balerion. The real Balerion.The Black Fury"
“The Black dread” Viserys laughed softly “But yes, the same one”
"I didn't know," you added quickly, as if this new knowledge required immediate correction of your entire understanding of the world. "You never told me."
"I thought I had told you many times." Viserys let out a quiet, almost amused breath.
"You didn't tell me that," you insisted, though there was no complaint in your voice, only awe.
"Then, I must correct that mistake." Viserys smiled at you.
You climbed onto his chair until you sat comfortably on his lap, studying his face with complete awe before looking down at the tiny dragon still clutched between your fingers.
"Father," you said again "what was it like?"
Viserys looked at you for a long moment before answering. And when he did, his voice was no longer that of a king speaking to a court. It was simply a man remembering something only he could ever truly see again.
"Like nothing else in the world," He said quietly.
“So..." You considered the matter with the solemn seriousness only a child could possess. "You were riding the biggest dragon in the whole world..." Viserys nodded. "and now you're my father." You beamed existedly.
The King's laughter echoed warmly through the solar.
For a brief, precious moment, neither the maesters nor the leeches nor the sickness mattered.
He simply hugged you tighter and kissed your head. You leaned into the embrace without hesitation, curling carefully against his side so as not to disturb the bandages or the maester's work.
Viserys rested his cheek lightly against your hair.
"That," he murmured with a smile only you could hear, "is the greatest honour I have ever had."
Long after the Grand Maester had removed the last leech and the servants had aired the King's chambers to chase away the bitter scent of vinegar and blood, your father's story refused to leave your mind.
You thought about it while your lady Lady buttoned your little green gown after supper.
You thought about it while your mother brushed one careful stroke after another until it fell in a perfectly smooth auburn curtain down your back.
You thought about it while your mother kissed your forehead with absent affection before reminding you to thank the Seven for another peaceful day.
Even as you were led towards your bedchamber by one of the Queen's ladies, your thoughts remained hundreds of years in the past.
You were no longer a little girl walking through the corridors of the Red Keep.
You were Queen Visenya, itself. You had a dragon, you had a sword, and somewhere, a great black castle was waiting to burn.
Your bedchamber had already been prepared for the night by the time the servants left. The fire crackled softly within the hearth, chasing away the chill creeping in through the narrow windows, while dozens of candles filled the room with a warm amber glow.
Heavy green curtains framed your bed, embroidered with climbing ivy and tiny seven-pointed stars, and your favourite doll had already been tucked neatly beneath the blankets by some attentive maid.
"Sleep well, Princess," your lady whispered.
"I will." You nodded dutifully.
She smiled, lowered the flame of two candles, and quietly closed the door behind her.
Silence settled over the room as you remained perfectly still beneath the blankets.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Three.
Then one eye cautiously opened. You waited a little longer, listening.
Nothing.
No footsteps beyond the corridor, no servants, no guards, no Septa returning because you had forgotten your evening prayer.
A slow smile spread across your face.
Very carefully, you pushed the blankets aside and climbed out of bed. Your bare feet landed soundlessly upon the thick Myrish rug, now the room suddenly seemed much bigger without grown-ups inside it.
You looked around until your eyes landed upon the polished brass washbasin resting beside the water pitcher.
Perfect.
With quite some effort, you lifted the empty basin with both hands before lowering it carefully onto your head. It slipped immediately over one eyebrow.
You frowned. Adjusted it, tilted it back. There, much better. Now you had your war helmet.
You hurried towards the hearth, where the long iron poker rested against the stone.
The thing was almost as tall as you were. Dragging it across the carpet with both hands required considerably more determination than dignity. But eventually you succeeded.
You planted both feet apart exactly as you imagined Queen Visenya herself might have done. The poker became Dark Sister and your bedchamber became Harrenhal.
"You shall not take my castle!" you declared in your fiercest voice. Then, remembering the story properly, you immediately corrected yourself.
"No." You shook your head. "I shall take your castle."
You charged heroically towards an unsuspecting stool. The iron poker struck one leg with an impressive clang. The stool, quite unfairly, survived.
You circled it again. This time your enemies were not Harren the Black's soldiers.
They were Dornish knights.
The stories your father had told over the years had somehow mixed together inside your imagination until every great battle of House Targaryen had become one enormous adventure.
"You'll never catch me!" you cried triumphantly, darting around the room.
The poker scraped harmlessly across the floor.
You lunged at invisible soldiers, dodged imaginary arrows, leapt over a footstool, spun around…
And accidentally struck one of the tall bronze candle stands standing beside the eastern wall.
It rocked dangerously.
"Oh!" Your eyes widened.
You lunged to catch it before it could fall. The candle stand remained upright.
You sighed with enormous relief.
Proud of yourself, you patted the bronze as though it had personally thanked you.
Then—
Click.
You froze. It had been a tiny sound. So quiet you almost thought you had imagined it.
But somewhere behind you, a low grinding murmur followed, stone against stone.
Your smile disappeared as you turned around.
The great green tapestry hanging upon the eastern wall was moving.
Not much.
Only enough for the bottom edge to sway gently away from the stone.
You stared at it. The room suddenly felt much colder, an icy breeze suddenly ran through your chamber.
You swallowed and very slowly, taking one cautious step after another, you approached the tapestry until you stood close enough to touch the embroidered ivy stitched across its surface.
Gathering every ounce of courage a five-year-old princess possessed, you reached out with trembling fingers and pulled the heavy fabric aside.
Behind it, there was no wall.
A narrow stone passage disappeared into the heart of the Red Keep, its ancient steps swallowed almost immediately by shadow. The air drifting from within was damp and impossibly cold, carrying the smell of wet earth, stale water and old stone untouched by sunlight for what felt like hundreds of years.
For a long moment, your little mind simply refused to understand what you were looking at.
Walls were supposed to stay where walls belonged. They did not simply disappear.
Your heart stopped.
"I..." Your voice came out as little more than a whisper. "I broke it."
Panic flooded every corner of your tiny body. You had broken the King's castle. You had broken the Red Keep.
Mother was going to be terribly disappointed and Father would be sad because his beautiful castle was broken. Perhaps the servants would discover it in the morning and everyone would know it had been you.
Your eyes immediately filled with tears.
"I'm sorry," you whispered to the empty room, as though the castle itself might somehow hear you. "I didn't mean to."
You couldn’t hear a thing. Only the slow, rhythmic sound of water dripping somewhere deep below the castle.
You held your breath and your eyes struggled to make sense of the darkness beyond the entrance.
For one reckless second, curiosity won. You placed one tiny foot upon the first stone step and a chill reached you instantly. Much colder than your bedchamber.
A sharp squeak echoed somewhere below and something small darted across the passage. You caught only the briefest flash of a long pink tail before it vanished deeper into the darkness.
Your courage shattered. With a frightened gasp, you stumbled backwards, nearly tripping over your own feet before turning and running as fast as your little legs could carry you.
You scrambled beneath your blankets so quickly that the brass basin still sat crooked upon your head.
Only then did you realise you were still clutching the iron poker. You immediately shoved it beneath the bed as though hiding the evidence of a terrible crime.
Then you pulled the blankets over your head.
Sleep never truly came.
Whenever your eyes finally drifted shut, another creak somewhere within the ancient walls of the Red Keep startled you awake again.
The castle had always made noises, wood settling beneath the night's chill, distant doors opening somewhere far below, servants crossing empty corridors; but never before had you listened to them so carefully.
Now every sound meant the same thing. Someone had found the broken wall.
Someone was coming for you.
Twice you gathered enough courage to peek above the blankets, only to find the heavy tapestry hanging perfectly still against the opposite wall. Nothing emerged from the darkness behind it.
Or at least...
You hoped nothing had.
At some point, exhaustion finally claimed you.
It could not have been for very long.
The first thing you felt the following morning was sunlight warming your face.
The second was someone gently stroking your hair.
"There she is." Your mother's voice was soft enough that it almost belonged to a dream.
You blinked several times before managing to focus.
Queen Alicent sat upon the edge of your bed, already dressed for the day in one of her dark emerald gowns embroidered with delicate golden vines. Every strand of her long auburn hair had been arranged flawlessly beneath a modest headdress, and yet there remained something unmistakably maternal about the way her fingers carefully brushed a loose silver lock away from your face.
"You've scarcely moved all night."
You opened your mouth to answer but nothing came out.
Only then did Alicent notice the deep shadows beneath your eyes.
She frowned.
"My sweet girl..." Her cool fingertips rested briefly against your forehead. "No fever."
"I'm sorry." You lowered your gaze immediately.
"What are you apologising for?"
"I..." You hesitated.
Because you could hardly tell your mother that you had accidentally broken one of the walls of the Red Keep.
"...I don't know."
Alicent studied your face for another long moment before sighing almost imperceptibly.
"I thought as much." She smiled, though it carried the quiet weariness only your mother possessed. "I believe your father has been filling your head with too many heroic tales."
"No." You looked up at once.
"He has."
"No, Mother."
"You scarcely slept."
"I wasn't dreaming."
"No?"
You shook your head perhaps a little too quickly.
"I just..." Your words caught in your throat.
You could not tell her, you simply could not.
The Queen mistook your silence for embarrassment.
Her expression softened.
"Stories are wonderful things" She reached for the silver brush resting upon your bedside table and slowly began drawing it through your long dark hair with practiced strokes.
"But stories have a habit of following children into their dreams."
"I wasn't dreaming," you repeated in an almost inaudible whisper.
"No?"
You hesitated again and then looked very seriously into your mother's eyes.
"Mother..."
"Yes?"
"If..." You paused for a moment. "If someone broke something..." Alicent continued brushing your hair as you spoke "They should tell the truth."
"Always."
"...even if it's very big?"
The brush stopped for the briefest moment before continuing again.
"Especially then."
You swallowed, your eyes drifted almost involuntarily towards the tapestry hanging peacefully across the room, still hiding the enormous hole behind it.
Your stomach twisted before you answered with a small "I see."
Alicent noticed the direction of your gaze.
"You keep looking at that wall."
You froze, your heart hammering so loud you were certain she must hear it. For one dreadful moment you were convinced she had discovered everything.
Instead, she merely smiled faintly.
"I believe those stories have frightened you more than I realised." She leaned down and kissed your hair "I shall speak to your father."
"No!" Your eyes widened as you screamed.
The answer came so quickly that even you seemed surprised by it.
"I liked the story." You spoke again, this time softer and immediately lowered your head.
The Queen could not help smiling.
"I know you did."
She placed the brush aside before helping you down from the bed, smoothing the little green gown that one of your ladies had already laid out for the morning.
"Come." She offered you her hand. "The Small Council meets shortly, and His Grace wishes to break his fast with us beforehand."
You slipped your tiny fingers into hers.
For a moment, you almost told her. You almost confessed everything. That there was a great dark hole behind the tapestry and that perhaps the castle was falling apart because of you.
But the words refused to come.
As Alicent led you towards the door, your eyes wandered back one last time. The tapestry remained perfectly still.
Waiting.
And somehow, that frightened you far more than the hole itself had the night before.
The first time you ever spoke to Lord Tyland Lannister, he was quite convinced you had come to ask him something important.
It was, after all, the middle of a royal feast.
The Great Hall glittered beneath hundreds of candles suspended from wrought-iron chandeliers, their golden light dancing across polished goblets, silver platters and richly coloured banners hanging proudly from the vaulted ceiling.
Music drifted lazily from one end of the hall while servants threaded effortlessly between nobles carrying roasted pheasant, honeyed apples and warm loaves of bread still steaming from the kitchens.
The members of the Small Council occupied places close to the royal table, deep in conversation over taxes, harvests and ships from the Free Cities.
You understood absolutely none of it.
After finishing your supper, which consisted mostly of picking the berries out of your tart and feeding the crust to whichever hound happened to wander close enough, you slid quietly from your chair.
Queen Alicent was speaking with one of her ladies and your father was laughing with one of the lords.
No one seemed to notice as you slipped away.
You wandered around the edge of the royal table with the slow determination of a child following a very important mission, until you stopped beside Lord Tyland Lannister.
He did not notice you immediately. His attention remained fixed upon a parchment Lord Lyonel Strong had just passed across the table.
Patiently, you reached both hands upwards and wrapped them around the carved lion decorating the arm of his chair.
Then you waited.
It took perhaps half a minute before Tyland finally glanced sideways.
He blinked several times looking down as he found two enormous brown eyes staring expectantly back at him.
For perhaps the first time in many years, the Master of Ships had absolutely no idea what to do.
"Princess?"
"Good evening, Lord Tyland." You smiled politely, exactly as Septa Marlow had taught you.
"Good evening, Princess." He inclined his head automatically.
You continued staring at him and Tyland waited nervously, not knowing what you wanted from him.
Surely the daughter of the King had approached him for a reason, perhaps she carried a message from Her Grace, perhaps His Majesty wished to summon him.
Perhaps—
"How many lions do you have?"
"...I beg your pardon?" Tyland tried to fight the surprise on his voice as he answered.
"At Casterly Rock." You pointed towards the great golden lion embroidered proudly across his doublet. "How many?"
For several painfully long seconds Tyland simply looked at you. Then, almost instinctively, his eyes lifted towards the King.
Viserys had already noticed. Far from rescuing him, however, the King merely hid an amused smile behind his wine cup before giving the smallest, almost imperceptible nod, silently encouraging him to indulge whatever conversation his daughter had begun.
Tyland looked back at you, you were still waiting, looking entirely serious.
"Well," he said slowly, "quite a few."
"Really?" Your face lit up.
"Oh, yes."
"More than one?"
He pretended to think just for a moment. "I should certainly hope so."
"Five?"
"At least."
"Six?" You gasped.
"It would not surprise me."
Your mouth fell open with surprise. Tyland could see how you were almost jumping in your place, your little feet tippy tapping while your shoulders shook with excitement.
Tyland bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself smiling.
"Do they all live inside the castle?" You leaned closer, lowering your voice into a conspiratorial whisper.
"They do."
"They don't eat people?"
"Only occasionally."
"They do?" Your eyes widened in horror.
Tyland allowed the silence to linger for exactly one heartbeat before the corner of his mouth betrayed him.
"I'm joking." He smiled at you kindly.
You exhaled so dramatically that even Viserys laughed aloud from further along the table.
"They mostly eat deer."
"Oh." You considered that very carefully. Then another question immediately arrived. "Can they climb stairs?"
"They prefer not to."
"What if they have to?"
"They complain dreadfully."
You nodded as though that made perfect sense.
"I think dragons probably don't complain."
"No," Tyland agreed solemnly. "I think they shall simply burn the staircase instead."
Your laughter rang so brightly across the hall that several nearby lords turned to look.
Queen Alicent finally noticed where you had disappeared to. For one alarming moment she seemed ready to apologise profusely for whatever trouble her daughter was undoubtedly causing.
Instead she found Lord Tyland engaged in what appeared to be the most serious discussion imaginable concerning the habits of lions.
Viserys caught her eye. He merely sent her a smile and Alicent sighed quietly to herself. Then returned to her conversation.
However, many moons had passed since that first conversation.
Long enough for Lord Tyland to discover that, no matter how many matters of state brought him before the King, there was always one conversation that awaited him before any meeting of the Small Council could begin.
It never concerned ships, nor coin, nor the affairs of the realm. It concerned lions. Tyland Lannister had promised you that, the next time he came back to Casterly Rock, he would bring you your own lion.
From that very first feast onward, every time the Master of Ships returned to King's Landing after visiting Casterly Rock, you somehow seemed to know.
No servant ever announced his arrival to you. No messenger ever came running through the corridors. Yet, sooner or later, you always found him.
Sometimes outside the Small Council chamber, sometimes crossing the galleries overlooking the courtyard, sometimes halfway through the gardens.
It never seemed to matter.
The moment your little auburn head caught sight of the golden lions embroidered across his cloak, you came running.
This particular morning proved no different.
Tyland had scarcely crossed the outer gallery when he heard hurried little footsteps echoing across the stone floor behind him.
"Lord Tyland!"
He turned just in time to see a blur of green silk and auburn hair racing towards him as quickly as five-year-old legs could possibly manage.
The corners of his mouth lifted before he could stop them, he had been expecting this.
You finally reached him, slightly out of breath, your cheeks pink from running through half the castle.
"You came back!"
"I did."
Without wasting another second, you looked immediately behind him, to one side and then to the other. Your eyes searched the corridor with growing confusion.
Finally, you looked back up at him.
"...Where is he?"
"Who?" The Master of Ships pretended not to understand.
"The lion." You said it with complete certainty, as though there could not possibly be any other answer. "You said the next time you came you would bring a lion!"
Tyland crouched until he was level with your eyes.
"I'm afraid we had a rather unexpected problem." His expression became wonderfully solemn.
"What happened?" Your face immediately fell.
"The youngest lion refused to come."
"Why?"
"He says Casterly Rock is much too important to leave unattended."
"But... he's only a baby." You frowned deeply.
"A cub, yes. That was precisely what I told him."
"Did he listen?"
"Not in the slightest." Tyland sighed with exaggerated disappointment.
"He should listen to his elders." You thought about that for several moments and finally, you nodded.
"I quite agree."
"And next time? Maybe you can bring an older lion!"
"I shall try again."
Your smile returned almost immediately.
"I think..." You leaned closer, lowering your voice into an important whisper. "Perhaps you should ask his father."
"His father?" Tyland blinked.
"Yes." You nodded confidently. "Grown-up lions always know what to do."
For perhaps the hundredth time since becoming Master of Ships, Tyland found himself losing an argument to a four-year-old.
"I suspect," he admitted gravely, "that is an excellent idea." He answered quite seriously, nodding as he tried to fight the smile on his face.
"I knew it." You beamed.
He watched you smile for another heartbeat before reaching slowly inside the folds of his cloak.
"Although..." He continued taking something small out of his cloak "One little fellow insisted upon making the journey."
He opened his hand. Resting upon his palm lay a tiny golden lion, no larger than your own hand, its mane carved so delicately that each strand seemed to catch the morning light.
You stared at it in complete silence.
"I told him," Tyland continued gently, "that Princesses usually prefer dragons." He smiled at you "But he disagreed."
Very carefully, he placed the little lion into your waiting hands.
"He says he would much rather belong to someone who truly likes lions."
You looked down at the tiny figure as though it were alive, your fingers closed around it with extraordinary care.
"So..." You whispered. "He's mine now?"
"If you'll have him." Tyland smiled.
"Of course I will!” You hugged the little lion tightly against your chest.
Behind the two of you, His Grace happened to glance up from his conversation with Lord Beesbury.
He saw his youngest daughter smiling as though she had just been handed the greatest treasure in the Seven Kingdoms.
His eyes met Tyland's only briefly and he offered the smallest nod, a silent thank you.
Tyland answered with one of quiet respect before continuing towards the council chamber, leaving behind one very happy little princess who spent the rest of the morning introducing her new lion to every servant unfortunate enough to cross her path.
You had scarcely thanked Lord Tyland three times before turning on your heel and racing away again.
"My lady—!"
One of your mother's ladies called after you in alarm, but you were already gone, your little slippers pattering hurriedly across the polished stone floors of the Red Keep.
The tiny golden lion remained clutched safely between both hands, held so carefully against your chest that one might have believed you were carrying a living creature.
You simply had to show Aegon. He would understand, he would be just as excited as you were.
The sound of steel reached you long before you reached the training yard.
The sharp ring of wooden practice swords echoed rhythmically against the ancient stone walls while Ser Criston Cole strode between four young boys with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, correcting a stance here, adjusting a grip there with the quiet authority expected of the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.
Prince Aegon moved with the easy confidence of someone for whom swordplay came naturally.
Beside him, Prince Aemond's expression remained intensely focused, his jaw set with stubborn determination as he repeated the same movement again and again with meticulous precision.
A little further away, Princes Jacaerys and Lucerys attempted to imitate the exercise with considerably more enthusiasm than discipline.
"Again," Ser Criston ordered calmly.
The four boys obediently resumed their practice.
Then—
"Aegon!" The shrill voice of an excited little girl rang across the entire yard.
Ser Criston's head snapped around so quickly that the movement was almost instinctive.
For one dreadful heartbeat his heart lurched painfully against his ribs that something had happened to the Princess.
He had heard panic in children's voices too many times during tournaments and hunts not to react before thinking. His hand had already moved towards the hilt of his sword before his eyes found the source of the cry.
You.
Running as fast as your tiny legs could carry you.
Your skirts bounced awkwardly around your knees, several loose strands of auburn hair had escaped their usual perfectly bruised place, and your cheeks glowed bright pink from having crossed nearly half the castle without stopping.
The moment Ser Criston realised you were not frightened but positively radiant, the tension disappeared from his shoulders almost immediately.
A smile, small enough that no one else seemed to notice, appeared upon his face before vanishing just as quickly beneath the stern composure expected of the Lord Commander.
"There you are." Aegon smiled as lowered his practice sword at once.
You almost collided with him, stopping so abruptly that you had to take two tiny stumbling steps backwards to keep your balance.
"I have something!" The words tumbled out so quickly they almost became one.
"You have to see! Lord Tyland brought him! He really did! I told you he would!"
"What did he bring?" Aegon crouched until he was level with you.
Instead of answering, you opened both hands with the solemn ceremony of someone unveiling the Crown of Aegon the Conqueror.
Nestled upon your palms rested the tiny golden lion.
The morning sun caught its carefully carved mane, scattering little flecks of golden light across your fingers.
Aegon's eyes widened theatrically.
"Well..." He leaned in closer, pretending to inspect the little creature from every possible angle. "Would you look at that?"
"He came all the way from Casterly Rock," You explained breathlessly. "Lord Tyland said he wanted to come."
"Did he now?" Aegon murmures with a kind smile.
You nodded so enthusiastically that your hair bounced against your back.
"He looks terribly fierce!" You exclaimed.
"I can see that." Aegon stroked his chin with exaggerated seriousness.
"And brave!"
"The bravest lion I've ever seen." Aegon nodded his head.
"I knew you'd understand." You beamed so brightly that it seemed impossible for any child to contain so much happiness.
By then, the others had wandered over as well.
Jacaerys immediately leaned forward to examine the tiny figure adn Lucerys stood beside him, trying to peek over his brother's shoulder.
"...That's your lion?" Luke asked.
"My lion." You nodded proudly.
"He's very small." Jace smiled despite himself.
"Well..." You drew yourself up as proudly as your tiny height allowed. "So am I."
Luke snorted and Jace elbowed him lightly, though he, too, struggled to keep a straight face.
You either failed to notice or chose not to. It hardly mattered, you were far too delighted.
"Now I have one too."
The four boys looked at you blankly.
"One what?" Aegon asked.
"A beast." You hugged the little lion proudly against your chest. "You all have dragons." You pointed towards Jace then to Luke. "You too. Helaena already has Dreamfyre."
Finally your finger stopped upon Aemond.
"And..." You thought very hard for a moment. "...perhaps Lord Tyland can bring you a lion too."
For perhaps two seconds complete silence reigned. Then Luke burst into laughter, not cruel laughter but simply the helpless laughter of a little boy who found the idea wonderfully ridiculous.
Jace covered his mouth, trying very hard to behave like the older brother he imagined himself to be.
You frowned, genuinely confused. You looked towards your older brother, still unable to understand why everyone suddenly seemed so amused.
Aemond had not laughed, not once. His violet eyes remained fixed first upon the little lion in your hands then upon Jace and Luke and his expression hardened almost imperceptibly.
He, too, thought comparing a carved lion to a dragon was absurd. Of course it was. Dragons were fire made flesh, the greatest creatures ever to soar across the skies. A little golden lion no bigger than your hand could never compare.
His sister was being childish, ridiculously childish. She sounded exactly like what she was: a little girl. But she was his little sister.
And for reasons he could not quite explain, he found her boring normality far more infinitely easier to tolerate than hearing the Velaryon boys laughing at her.
His grip tightened around the wooden practice sword. Neither Jacaerys nor Lucerys noticed.
You looked from one face to another, your brow furrowing ever so slightly. You did not understand, had you said something funny? You hugged the little lion a little closer against your chest.
Aemond was the first to speak.
"I don't want a lion." His voice was sharper than before, sharper than you had ever heard him use with you."I want a dragon."
"I know..."
"A lion isn't a dragon." His violet eyes settled briefly upon the tiny golden figure resting safely in your hands. "It never will be."
Your smile faltered.
You looked down at the lion as though searching for whatever fault your brother had found in him.
"...I know," you murmured quietly. "I only thought..." You hesitated. "...that then we would all have one."
Without even realising it, you took a tiny step sideways until your shoulder brushed lightly against Aegon's side.
The older prince immediately noticed. He said nothing, he simply remained where he was.
Luke, however, could not help himself. He let out another laugh.
"Careful, Aemond." Jace smiled behind his hand as his brother continued speaking "At this rate, your little sister will find you a lion before you ever find a dragon." Luke grinned. "I think the lion might suit you better."
The smile vanished from Aemond's face altogether. His fingers tightened around the wooden practice sword until his knuckles turned pale.
Before he could answer, Aegon stepped forward. It was only a single pace, just enough to place himself naturally between you and the Velaryon boys.
"What did you say?" His voice remained light, but there was something beneath it that made both Jace and Luke hesitate.
"I only—" Luke opened his mouth.
"You only what?" The grin had disappeared from Aegon's face now. "You seem awfully interested in my brother's dragon."
Silence settled over the yard. The four boys stared at one another. You looked from Aegon to Aemond and back again, completely bewildered. Had someone done something wrong?
You looked down at your lion, perhaps it had been the lion.
Before another word could be spoken, Ser Criston stepped smoothly between the princes with the ease of a man who had interrupted more quarrels than he cared to count.
"Enough." His voice was calm, the sort of voice that required no repetition.
Once the boys fell silent, only then did Ser Criston turn towards you. The severity disappeared from his expression almost at once.
"My Princess."
You looked up immediately.
"I believe Lord Tyland told you that your little lion travelled all the way from Casterly Rock."
"He did." You nodded earnestly.
"That is a very long journey."
"It is."
"Then I imagine he must be terribly tired." Ser Criston inclined his head thoughtfully towards the tiny lion nestled safely in your hands.
"Oh..." Your eyes widened.
"I hadn't even thought about that." You looked down at him with genuine concern, you murmured.
"Perhaps you ought to take him to your chambers and let him rest while Their Highnesses finish today's lesson." The faintest smile touched the corner of the Lord Commander's mouth.
"You're right." You nodded at once.
Very carefully, as though afraid of waking him, you cradled the little lion against your chest. Before leaving, however, you suddenly wrapped your arms around Aegon in a quick, impulsive hug.
"Thank you for liking him." You murmured against his clothes, hugging him tighter.
"I like him very much." Aegon smiled down at you and he laughed softly, resting a hand upon your hair before kissing your forehead.
"Go on."
"I'll make sure no one bothers him while he's sleeping." Your face lit up once more. "I'll come back later!"
Then, with one final wave, you hurried away across the yard, your tiny slippers pattering against the ancient stones until the sound slowly disappeared into the corridors of the Red Keep.
Only after you were gone did Ser Criston's gaze return to the four princes. The warmth vanished from his face as though it had never been there.
"Back to your stances."
No one argued, wooden swords were raised once more.
Yet, for the rest of the lesson, Aemond's eyes found themselves drifting more than once towards the empty archway through which his little sister had disappeared.
Several hours had slipped quietly by.
The warmth of the afternoon sun had begun to soften, spilling long golden beams through the tall windows of the Red Keep and stretching them across the polished stone floors like ribbons of molten gold.
The bustle of the morning had faded into the calmer rhythm of court life. Lords disappeared into council chambers, servants hurried silently through hidden corridors, and the distant sound of practice swords had long since given way to the murmur of conversations echoing through the castle.
Your own lessons had finally come to an end.
The septa had spent what had felt like an eternity correcting your handwriting before moving on to prayers, numbers, and the names of long-dead Andal kings you were quite certain nobody remembered anymore.
By the time she finally dismissed you, your little fingers were stained with ink, your shoulders ached from sitting so straight, and all you could think about was whether your tiny lion had enjoyed his nap.
Queen Alicent held your hand as the two of you walked through one of the quieter galleries overlooking the inner courtyards.
She looked, as she always did, perfectly composed.
Not a single strand of auburn hair had escaped the intricate braids beneath her veil, her emerald gown swept elegantly across the stone floor, and every servant who crossed her path immediately lowered their head in respectful greeting.
You tried very hard to imitate her.
Your own little green dress had been chosen to resemble your mother's as closely as possible, and although your tiny steps were considerably less graceful, you lifted your chin exactly as she did whenever someone bowed.
Alicent noticed.
The corner of her mouth almost smiled.
Almost.
Then–
The rhythmic sound of a cane echoed softly against the floor.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
You recognised it before you recognised the man.
Your little fingers tightened instinctively around your mother's hand.
At the far end of the gallery walked Lord Larys Strong.
He moved slowly, leaning upon his carved cane with effortless familiarity, his uneven gait never hurried, never flustered. His dark robes seemed to swallow the afternoon light rather than reflect it, and while every other lord in court spoke loudly or laughed too easily, Lord Larys always appeared wrapped in silence.
To a little girl of four, he looked like someone who belonged inside the stories Aegon whispered after sunset.
The sort of mysterious stranger who lived in forgotten towers, who always knew things he should not know.
As he approached, you found yourself edging a little closer to your mother. By the time he reached you both, you had hidden almost half your body behind the folds of Alicent's skirts.
Larys bowed with perfect courtesy.
"Your Grace." Larys bowed with perfect courtesy.
"Lord Larys." Alicent inclined her head with her usual quiet dignity.
"It is always a pleasure."
"The pleasure is mine."
Only then did his pale eyes drift towards you. For a moment, they lingered upon your face with unreadable amusement.
"And Her Grace's little princess." His smile was gentle and almost kind. "You grow more beautiful every time I see you."
You did not answer. Instead, you lowered your head and clung just a little tighter to your mother's gown.
"The Princess has been shy today." Alicent gave your hand the faintest reassuring squeeze.
"I can see that."
Larys did not appear offended in the slightest but quite the opposite. His smile widened ever so slightly, as though your silence amused him.
"Children are curious creatures." He tilted his head. "They have a remarkable talent for finding places the rest of us overlook."
Your heart stopped for a moment as he continued speaking.
"...Though," he continued softly, almost absent-mindedly, "some corridors are only ever found by those who were never looking for them."
Your eyes flew open and the colour drained from your face.
He knows.
The thought struck with all the certainty only a frightened child could possess.
He knows I broke the wall.
You stared at him, unable to breathe. Images of the previous night flashed through your mind in an instant—the fallen candelabrum, the moving wall, the darkness beyond, the enormous rat disappearing into the shadows.
He knows, he knows.
Without another thought, you buried yourself behind your mother's skirts, clutching the rich green fabric so tightly your tiny knuckles turned white.
Alicent looked down in surprise.
"My sweet girl..." She frowned before looking apologetically towards Larys. "I beg your pardon, my Lord. I do not know what has come over her."
"There is nothing to forgive." Larys' voice remained as calm as still water. "Castles are very large places." His gaze lingered for one brief moment upon the frightened little glimpse of auburn hair peeking from behind the Queen's skirts. "And children often imagine there are monsters hiding inside their walls."
You squeezed your eyes shut. He definitely knew, you were sure of it.
Alicent rested a comforting hand upon your shoulder.
"Princess." Her voice was gentle, but carried that familiar firmness every royal child knew. "You must not hide. It is impolite"
Slowly, reluctantly, you peeked around the folds of her gown. Larys met your eyes once more and then, to your complete surprise, he simply smiled.
"I hope," he said with a courteous inclination of his head, "that we shall speak again soon." He bowed once more. "Your Grace. My Princess."
Then he continued on his way, the steady rhythm of his cane echoing through the gallery.
You did not move until the sound had disappeared entirely, you kept looking anxiously back down the empty corridor where Lord Larys had vanished.
Alicent did not speak immediately. For a moment, she simply studied the way you were still half-hidden in her skirts and the way your fingers clung to the fabric as though the stone walls themselves might swallow you whole.
When she finally spoke, her voice was calm but firm in a way you recognised all too well.
"Come here."
You hesitated, then stepped out just enough for her to take your chin gently between her fingers and lift your face towards her.
"This is not how I have taught you to behave."
You lowered your gaze but Alicent’s expression did not soften.
"You are a princess of the realm." Her hand fell from your chin, only to smooth your hair back into place with careful precision. "You do not hide from lords of the court. You shall greet them properly."
Your lips parted slightly, but no words came. The Queen’s gaze held yours, steady and unwavering.
"I will not have you shrinking away in fear every time someone enters a room." Her tone lowered just a fraction. "Do you understand me?"
You nodded quickly and Alicent studied you for another moment, as though making sure the lesson had truly settled.
Then, finally, she released you.
"Good." She turned slightly, already beginning to walk again. "And you will remember it next time."
You followed silently at her side, your small hand once again finding hers but this time, your grip was more careful.
And you did not look back down the corridor again.
Night had settled gently over the Red Keep.
The corridors that only hours before had echoed with the voices of courtiers and servants now lay wrapped in silence, broken only by the distant crackle of torches and the occasional call of a sentry somewhere upon the walls. Moonlight filtered through the narrow windows of Maegor's Holdfast, casting pale ribbons of silver across the stone floor of your bedchamber.
Everything was quiet.
Too quiet.
After your mother had finished your nightly ritual, your lady had tucked you into bed some time ago, carefully pulling the heavy woollen blankets up beneath your chin before extinguishing every candle save the one that burned softly beside the door. She had wished you sweet dreams, kissed your forehead, and disappeared into the corridor with the silent certainty that every little princess was now fast asleep.
You were not. You lay perfectly still beneath the covers, your eyes fixed upon the far side of the chamber.
By daylight the tapestry had always been your favourite. It stretched almost from floor to ceiling, woven in rich crimson and black threads that told the tale of Aegon the Conqueror descending upon Harrenhal atop mighty Balerion.
Great towers melted beneath dragonfire, soldiers fled in terror across embroidered fields, and above them all the Black Dread spread his enormous wings across half the cloth, stitched so masterfully that, as a child, you had often been convinced they moved whenever candlelight danced across them.
Tonight, It no longer looked like a story. It looked tortuous, screaming at you from across the room knowing that behind it the wall was broken.
At least, you thought it was.
You squeezed your blankets a little tighter beneath your chin. Perhaps something was already standing behind it, perhaps the enormous rat had come back, perhaps there were more, thousands of them, perhaps monsters truly did live inside castle walls, just as old stories claimed.
You hugged your litte lion close to your chest. For a moment you tried to imagine it. You lion jumping out of your bed and running towards the dark tunnel behind the tapestry. How he would roar fiercely to protect you, scaring away all the rats and other monters that hid behind the walls.
Your eyes remained fixed upon the tapestry, certain that, at any moment, it would move. Certain that something would step through the hole you had made.
Minutes passed or perhaps an hour, you could no longer tell. But eventually, curiosity became stronger than fear.
Very slowly, you slipped one foot out from beneath the blankets. The stone floor would have been freezing beneath bare feet, had it not been for the thick Myrish carpets spread throughout the chamber. Their soft woven patterns muffled every tiny step as you crept cautiously across the room, clutching your nightgown tightly in one small fist.
You stopped before the tapestry.
For a moment, you looked at it.
Then, gathering every ounce of courage your four-year-old heart possessed, you reached out with trembling fingers and carefully lifted the heavy cloth aside.
You froze.
The hole had vanished. Before you stood nothing but an ordinary stone wall. Every stone sat neatly upon the next.
No crack, no opening, no darkness beyond. Nothing.
You blinked several times and your little mouth slowly fell open.
"They fixed it..." The whisper escaped almost without your noticing.
Someone had repaired the wall. In a single day.
The thought should have comforted you. Instead, a fresh wave of panic settled inside your tiny chest. If someone had fixed it, then someone had seen it. Someone knew you broke the wall.
Your eyes grew impossibly wide.
Lord Larys.
The memory of his gentle smile returned with frightening clarity.
"Some corridors are only ever found by those who were never looking for them."
Your breathing quickened.
He knew, he had known all along.
Without another glance, you let the tapestry fall back into place and scrambled hurriedly into bed, pulling the blankets over your head until not even a strand of red hair remained visible.
Only after several long moments did your frightened heartbeat begin to slow.
Outside your little fortress of blankets, the chamber was perfectly still. The tapestry no longer moved, the wall stood exactly where it always had. Safe, silent, and whole.
You never learned the truth until years later. The wall had never been repaired. Nothing had been rebuilt.
Behind the tapestry, hidden within the ancient stones of Maegor's Holdfast, the passage still existed exactly as it always had for generations.
Only its entrance had been closed once more and somewhere within the Red Keep someone already knew that the King's little daughter had found it.
Ohhh the plot begins to form
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