Had the Young Prince survived the Great Spring Sickness, what would have been of House Targaryen and the Seven Kingdoms?
ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ
❀˖ ° Author's Note: Their first night together, but don't expect anything sexual yet. I did warn you all that this was going to be excruciatingly slow.
❀˖ ° Tags: @dreambigdreamz ; @dutifullysillywasteland and @opposite-of-icarus ; @ainandra ; @noraklaricselem and @theywhisper
❀˖ ° Pairing: Prince Valarr Targaryen x Tyrell OC.
❀˖ ° Trigger Warnings: Absolutely nothing because I am a nice person.
The banquet was nothing if not boastful. A wide variety of food had been imported from all corners of Westeros and beyond, and the Throne Hall was filled to the brim with cheerful lords and ladies. Candlelight brightened the evening as music flooded the chamber, and the main table was presided over by the dragon House. King Daeron II sat at the front, a wide smile playing on his lips as he took his wife's hand and placed a swift kiss on the back of it. To his other side, Prince Baelor observed the room with a cup of wine in his right hand, his mind as clear as ever.
And just to Baelor's right, Prince Valarr and Lady Rosalyn sat in awkward silence, debating between eating their food and exchanging strange looks. Valarr twisted his rings incessantly, occasionally reaching up to caress the amethyst pendant around his neck: his mother's prized possession. He had engaged in polite small talk for most of the evening, delivering a swift yet politically meaningful speech as his father nodded in agreement. But he had not spoken a word with his new lady wife, who seemed more interested in the reflection of the candlelight than in Valarr himself.
His jaw tensed. He believed that, perhaps, they had shared a… moment? During the ceremony, he had felt something when they kissed. He could not explain what, exactly, but for a second, all the public around them had faded, as if they had fallen off the edge of the world. He could only remember her soft, delicate lips and how perfectly they fit against his. His breath hitched as the memories flooded his mind, and he had to physically bring himself back to reality with a strong gulp of wine.
Rosalyn, on the other hand, had preferred to entertain herself with the shadows of those dancing in front of them. They twirled so gracefully that Rosalyn believed they looked like flowers moved by a soft spring breeze. She kept her hands on her lap, playing and fiddling with her fingers to stop them from moving to her hair, a gesture her father had forbidden. He sat on the King's and Queen's left, speaking of politics and trade while his daughter had just married the heir to the heir. She could barely believe it; she would one day become queen.
But Rosalyn did not want that.
She spared Valarr a quick look before returning her gaze to the dance floor. He was… unexpected, yet not entirely unwelcome. There had been nothing but kindness in his words and gentleness in his gaze, and oh gods, she doubted she would ever forget what had happened in the Sept of Baelor. How caring he had been when he kissed her, but most of all, how Rosalyn had basked in the feeling. She had enjoyed it. And she felt guilty for it.
Her mother was suffering in a home that had become her cage, and her brother was now under the reign of a sibling who hated the world around him. And here she was, leaning into the kiss of the prince she had been practically sold to. There were no words to describe the tempest of feelings unleashing in her heart; duty clashing with memory, desire with guilt.
"My lady," Valarr's voice forced her out of her mind, and she turned to look at him. He was wearing that perfect mask, Rosalyn thought: the Young Prince in the flesh, serious and determined. "May I have this dance?" He extended his hand to her, and she stared at it with doe eyes.
The nuptial dance, of course. How could she have forgotten? She had spent entire weeks rehearsing with her instructor back home. Luckily, due to her ability to hyperfocus, Rosalyn had managed to become incredibly efficient. She took his hand, and they both stood, slowly making their way down the dais to the dance floor. All heads turned to look at them, and while Valarr held his head high in response, Rosalyn kept hers lowered.
When they reached the center, a soft melody began playing, one that reminded Rosalyn of the lullabies her mother used to sing to Delena when she was just a babe. Valarr searched for her eyes as he placed their palms together, tentatively setting his other hand on her lower back, waiting for her approval. She gave him a small nod, and his touch tightened slightly.
As their dance began, they moved stiffly, their bodies coordinating but not blending into one. Her twirls were perfect; his double step remained unmatched, but it was a performance. They were both terrified of making a mistake, even more of disappointing the other. Valarr's eyes tried to focus on anything that wasn't her so as not to lose concentration, but he failed every time. Her shy mouth, honey eyes, soft jaw, and beautiful neck were all magnets he was simply unable to resist. He almost tripped twice.
Rosalyn's focus was on her own feet, trying not to step on him and maintain a coordinated pattern of movements that would not result in her becoming the laughingstock of the court, and, by extension, Valarr as well. Occasionally, her eyes rose to meet his, and all focus broke. She could feel the warmth of his hand on her lower back, how he gently but swiftly guided her every movement, and the way his breath brushed her right cheek. She could feel every sensation he stirred in her, and she could not decide whether she liked it or not.
When the dance finished, they both bowed their heads to each other as the crowd cheered and clapped. The newlyweds turned to offer polite, yet tight, smiles to their adoring public, then immediately bowed to the King and Queen, who remained seated at the table. Soon after, they returned to their seats and engaged in some small talk with Valarr's family, including his father, brother, and cousins. Rosalyn met Maekar's children—Aemon, Aegon, and Daella—who offered their congratulations and blessings to the couple. Rosalyn particularly enjoyed her interaction with the young Aemon, who was immensely interested in books and knowledge, recommending some reading to the quiet girl and patiently waiting for her replies.
Valarr observed the interaction from a short distance. Rosalyn seemed awkward, not really skilled at interacting with children, but they were all strangely drawn to her, asking questions and watching her every silence. And he found himself in an equal situation as he watched her too. As the night went on, laughter filled the room, and the realm felt joy, true joy, for the first time in a while. Political instability, internal divisions, and fear had been strong in the past, but nothing a good wedding could not solve, even if only for a few hours. Valarr wondered if it was truly so easy to forget about the world with just one event.
He leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath. It was of no importance; the only thing he wanted was to get himself and Rosalyn out of there as quickly as possible. She seemed overwhelmed, constantly whipping her neck toward loud noises and trying to keep her gaze lowered to avoid curious nobles. They both just sat there, waiting for the event to end.
But a new type of anxiety crept into Valarr's mind as a slight blush showed on his neck and cheeks. What was to come after the banquet? He began twisting his rings, and his feet tapped the floor several times. Fourteen times in one minute, to be exact, according to his count. He had been… told about the activities that were meant to happen in order to produce an heir, but he lacked any practical experience in the matter.
He spared her one quick look. Her shoulders were as tense as her mouth. They barely knew each other, and he could not demand such a thing from her, especially seeing how startled she already was. He bit his lower lip as his gaze lowered to the floor. What if she did not want him? But still, an heir had to come from their union. The Seven Kingdoms would expect a babe in Rosalyn's belly sooner rather than later, and if they did not get one…
He tipped his head back and forced himself to stop twisting his rings. He would have to perform his duty, and he would hope that she had the same mindset. But Rosalyn's lashes shadowed her hazel eyes as she focused them on the cup in front of her.
A boy slightly younger than her sat near the three children she had been speaking to, with sandy hair and lost eyes. She thought he looked odd, as if his mind had absented itself from the banquet. But when they locked eyes, his stare became even more unnerving. He looked at her as if she were a ghost from the past, wide-eyed, with a slight tremor in his right hand.
"Excuse me." He quickly stood and walked away, but Rosalyn lost him in the crowd, trying to track him with her eyes. She was left with an uneasy feeling in her heart. Valarr noticed as well, and he wondered why his cousin had begun behaving so differently after his mother's death. Perhaps he was still in mourning, he thought.
Time went on, and when the clock struck midnight, King Daeron II thanked the guests for attending his grandson's wedding. The event had ended, with various lords and ladies laughing hand in hand as they exited the Throne Hall. Even Prince Baelor had stood, going to greet his three brothers before they all retired to their apartments.
Lady Rosalyn stood and allowed the family members to welcome her one last time, especially Queen Myriah, to whom Rosalyn curtsied without hesitation. The older woman stared at her with a warm smile but assessing eyes, clearly analyzing whether the girl in front of her had what it took to one day occupy her place. With Lady Jena long gone, Rosalyn would be the next queen after her, and it would be no easy task.
Myriah placed her fingertips on Rosalyn's chin and lifted it so their eyes could meet. Rosalyn's big eyes shook slightly.
"Welcome, child." Simply that. No more words were spoken by the Queen as she stared at her new granddaughter for a short time. Then she stepped back to take her husband's arm, and they both headed to their own chambers.
Valarr returned to Rosalyn's side and offered her his arm. She had not even noticed him, watching the monarchs leave the space, and his presence sent shivers down her spine.
"I believe the ceremony has come to an end," he whispered. She nodded twice without looking at him. Her breaths were short and rapid, and he began counting them as silence stretched between them. "Shall I escort you back?"
Rosalyn's breath hitched. Oh no, she thought. Her mind had been so occupied with thoughts of her own guilt that she had completely forgotten about what followed the ceremony. She gulped and looked ahead, toward their fathers engaged in conversation. She felt a cold sensation creep up her spine, and what came was not excitement, nor anticipation: it was fear.
Did she want it? Any part of it? She felt exhausted after trying to find answers to the questions that had plagued her since the moment she saw him for the first time. Her head had been spinning nonstop for days now, and the only thing she truly desired was to crawl into the arms of someone who would hold her, even if only for a minute.
"My lady?" Valarr's voice was soft as he angled his face toward her, dipping his head slightly to see her features properly.
"Yes." Her voice was clipped as she answered, choosing to avoid eye contact with her new husband.
Valarr's lips flattened as he took in her seeming detachment, wondering whether it was for the same reason he believed it to be. Still, he nodded and shared one last look with his father, who saw them about to depart for their chambers.
Prince Baelor cut his conversation short with Lord Leo and turned toward the two young people. When he stepped in front of them, all he could see was a boy trying his best to look like a man, and a girl too scared to be a woman. He offered a small smile.
"I do hope you enjoyed the ceremony," Baelor spoke to both of them, even if he knew the answer already. He had been watching them dance, barely speak, and look at the floor for most of it. His son looked at him with a carefully sculpted expression, one that signaled confidence.
"Yes, Father. Thank you for all your efforts." He bowed his head to the Prince and was surprised when Baelor placed his hand on top of it, caressing him. Valarr's eyes widened, still facing the floor. Baelor's gesture was both silent and quick, withdrawing his hand in a matter of seconds. When they made eye contact again, both their hearts did something complicated.
Then Prince Baelor turned to look at his new daughter, who had preferred to study the table cloth rather than him. It almost made him laugh. He placed both hands on her shoulders, startling her as she looked back at him.
"We are happy to welcome you into our family, daughter." His voice was warm and soft, and Rosalyn simply stared at him. How did the man always know what words to use, and how to use them? He was perfect, in every sense of the word. Hearing him call her daughter was strange, she thought, but surprisingly… comforting. The only times another man had called her that, his words had carried a sense of derision instead of warmth.
She smiled genuinely, in a way that reached her eyes. Valarr observed the interaction, and he wished she would smile like that at him as well, but he quickly shook his head and looked at his father once more.
"Good night to both of you." Prince Baelor gave his son one last, quick look that Valarr did not know how to interpret. When he stepped back, the two were left alone again.
Without another word, Rosalyn slowly took Valarr's arm and interlaced her hand with his, taking a deep breath as she waited for him to lead the way.
Valarr hesitated before starting to walk, doubt threatening to paralyze him, but he did not allow it. Very slowly, they made their way out of the Throne Room and walked the almost empty halls of the Red Keep, with only the guards keeping them company. The silence was excruciating and yet eerily comforting, as if they were both sharing a deep understanding of the fears and doubts that plagued their minds, but neither knew that the other felt the same.
The walk to their shared chambers was one hundred and seventy steps away from the banquet hall, as Valarr had counted. The Kingsguards opened the doors to reveal a big, yet warm space, with a similar decoration to the other rooms Valarr knew. He had specifically had it built and decorated following the standard design for guest rooms, such as the one Rosalyn had occupied when she first arrived at King's Landing. He did not want her to feel as if the space belonged to someone else, but rather a place she could make her own if she wished. He watched her reaction like a hawk, trying to gauge whether his instinct had been correct.
But Rosalyn remained quiet, her face still as her eyes roamed through the chambers. There were multiple bookcases, with several reading spaces and chairs placed around the room, and the bed was big enough for both of them and perhaps four others, she thought. The fireplace had been lit, keeping the space both illuminated and warm for their arrival. But the cold she felt came from inside her, an obvious byproduct of the chills that had been traveling up and down her spine for the last thirty minutes. They both remained still as she took everything in, and he allowed her to.
"Is everything to your liking?" he finally spoke, unable to handle the unknown for one more second. Rosalyn's mouth did something strange, as if she had attempted to speak but had pressed her lips together instead.
She took one more look around.
"It is warm," she conceded, but that was not enough for the nearly nerve-wracked Valarr.
"Is that… good?" he asked, not knowing how to interpret her lack of words. She nodded twice, and Valarr realized that the dim light emitted by the fireplace still allowed him to count her freckles. Thirty-two.
The couple remained silent for a while, but neither of them moved, lingering by the door. She was frozen with uncertainty; he was holding back for both their sakes.
Rosalyn took a step forward, her hands clenched tight as she tried to steady the tremors that shook her, and Valarr watched. She hesitated before turning to look at him, and her eyes shone with something he could not quite describe, but recognized in himself.
Rosalyn did not speak, simply because her voice had failed her again. She did not want to do it, but she also did not want to not do it. Two worlds collided in her mind as she tried to pull herself back into one piece, and Valarr waited for her to be ready.
"Lady Rosalyn—"
"Rosalyn. Just that." She interrupted with a shaky voice.
"Rosalyn," he corrected, and he very much liked the sound of her name on his tongue. "I will not force you to do something you do not want to participate in." He whispered softly, not knowing whether it was the right decision for the kingdom, but it was the right decision for his wife.
Her gaze remained locked on the floor, but his words eased all the tension that had eaten at her since they began walking toward the chamber. Did he not expect it from her now?
"But it is my duty as your wife—"
"Stop."
Rosalyn looked up at him immediately, finding Valarr with his eyes closed and his hand raised to his temple, a pained expression on his face.
"Are you in pain, my Prince?" she asked softly, her gaze flickering between his temple and his closed eyes.
"Valarr. Just that." He mimicked her previous words, and a soft smile played on her lips.
"But you are the Prince," she countered, and he released an amused sigh.
"I am also Valarr."
He surprised himself with his own words, because it was not often he saw himself as just that. But perhaps he wanted her to see him as just Valarr. He opened his eyes and found her already staring, that soft smile eliciting one of his own, a small dimple appearing. It immediately caught Rosalyn's eyes.
Valarr's headaches had already begun to flare up, but he would not share that just yet. She had enough worries of her own. They shared a quiet, gentle moment before Valarr walked to the bed and simply sat on the edge, releasing an exhausted breath that had haunted him for hours. Rosalyn hesitated, looking around and biting her lip before, very slowly, joining him.
"I am sorry, Rosalyn," Valarr began quietly, his eyes slightly unfocused as he stared at the stone wall. "I can tell you did not wish for this." A sad, quiet laugh escaped him.
Rosalyn looked at him, really looked. He was just a boy, truly, an exhausted and perfectly human boy. He was not like his father, but he had pretended to be since she had met him days ago. And yet, this was the first time she saw him hunched over slightly, his head pressed against his hand as he rested his elbow on his knee. He looked so tired she almost wanted to put her arms around him, but she did not. Instead, she sat still and looked at her feet.
"I miss my mother." Her voice was barely a whisper, and tears began welling up in her eyes. She had not meant to say that, but it was the only thing she could say. The only thing that had occupied her mind every single second of every single day since she had left her behind.
Valarr turned to look at her, and his heart twisted when he finally got confirmation that she had been forced into a situation she clearly did not want. The muscles in his jaw tensed, and he shook his head, closing his eyes for a second. He did not know what to say, nor what to do. He could grant her an annulment, of course, but what would that mean for House Targaryen? Or House Tyrell? Or anyone else, for that matter? Instead, he said something else.
"So do I."
Rosalyn did not look at him, but she understood. She had studied his family back in Highgarden, and so she knew Prince Baelor's wife had passed years ago in childbirth. They both sat there, quiet and tired from trying day after day.
"The realm needs an heir," Valarr's voice held a certain edge to it, one that cut him deep. He knew this. Rosalyn tensed up next to him, a warm tear falling down her cheek, but Valarr turned and looked at her with a soft gaze and a small, tired smile. "But not tonight. Not until you want one as well."
Rosalyn's gaze left his face and turned to the fireplace on the other side of the room. The fire crackled slowly, the sound bringing her comfort. Her voice was thick with emotion as she spoke next.
"And if I never do?" A question, but also a confession.
Valarr sighed with a heavy heart and an even heavier mind. He needed an heir; it was not debatable. He was the continuation of House Targaryen, and the line had to live on. The realm needed more stability, the kind that only a royal baby could bring. He would be seen as weak, and the court would look at Rosalyn as if she had failed. And yet… He was not that kind of man, and he would never be. Valarr would never dream of hurting any woman, especially not his own wife. He closed his eyes as the storm raged inside him, and Rosalyn could not bring herself to look at him.
"Tonight, we shall still share this chamber, so as not to arouse suspicions that…" He trailed off.
"The marriage has not been consummated," Rosalyn finished for him, and they both sighed.
"Indeed."
They both decided to give the other privacy to change into more comfortable clothes, Rosalyn hiding behind the screen that hid the bathing tub from the rest of the chamber. Valarr did not turn his head to look, not even once, no matter how much he wished to. She stepped back into his sight wearing a white nightgown, with unruly curls floating around her. He was wearing white breeches and a soft tunic, but he stepped away from the bed and walked toward one of the large sofas.
Rosalyn stared in confusion as he simply lay there, struggling to fit his body onto it.
"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice both curious and bewildered.
Valarr looked back at her with furrowed eyebrows.
"I will be taking the sofa, of course." He gestured toward the bed. "The bed is yours."
"But you are the Prince. I shall sleep on the sofa," she countered, walking toward him. He stood and shook his head.
"That is nonsense. You are my wife." He felt strange pronouncing her new title, and she blushed. That pleased him. "What kind of husband would I be if I allowed you to take the sofa while I took the bed?"
Rosalyn pondered the question for a minute.
"A smart one?"
Valarr laughed loudly, and that startled her. He shook his head as the headache left him completely. She smiled, enjoying the sound of his laugh.
"I would rather be a stupid one, then."
Her smile widened slightly, and she looked between him and the bed.
"I…" She did not know how to choose her words. "I would feel terrible."
Valarr's eyes softened, and he tilted his head to the left, looking at his wife.
"I would feel even worse, then, were you to sleep here instead of me." He smiled at her, and he loved how her brow furrowed when she was concentrating.
"Could we not…" Her tongue betrayed her as it felt heavier than before, clearly not wanting to speak. Valarr's eyebrows rose as he waited for her to continue.
"Yes?"
Rosalyn's neck was now a bright shade of red, and the pink in her cheeks would soon match it as well.
"Well… i-is the bed not big enough?" Her voice was high-pitched, more than she had ever heard herself sound, and that embarrassed her even further. As she struggled to find the right words, he felt a certain warmth of his own creep up his cheeks.
She was a genuinely sweet girl, he thought. Too sweet, perhaps. Like Matarys, who did not know how to set boundaries with others. Valarr stepped forward, their bodies close as he looked down at her face. Rosalyn matched his movement, and when they locked eyes, she could see him smiling.
"I shall not take up any more of your space tonight. You deserve to be at complete ease." He was gentle and careful, picking his words with expertise. Rosalyn's heart warmed as she was disarmed by his kindness.
"Bu—"
"And that is all I will hear of this matter anymore." He turned around and lay down on the sofa again, ignoring his wife. She was left standing awkwardly, not knowing where to look nor what to do. "Rest well, Rosalyn."
She pressed her lips together, trying to repress the smile behind them. She walked back to the giant bed and lay down on the corner, close to the edge. She placed some of the pillows behind her back, caging herself into a smaller space, but making herself feel more comfortable.
Neither of them could fall asleep at first, staring at the wall, the ceiling, whatever was in their range. She wanted her heart to stop racing, and he wanted nothing more than to get up again. When sleep finally found them, hours had already passed, and Valarr did not doze off completely, waking up several times throughout the night.
When light peeked through the curtains the next morning, Rosalyn opened her eyes slowly, turning toward the light as she gently stretched her arms. She brought her hand up to her mouth as she yawned, blinking twice as her eyes adjusted to the brightness of day. But when she realized where she was—and with whom—she shot upward with disheveled hair and drowsy eyes. Her gaze roamed through the entire chamber, stopping at the empty sofa. Valarr was gone.
As she stood slowly, her bare feet touching the cold stone, she walked toward it and found a small note on the table next to the sofa.
V.
I shall see you at noon.
I hope sleep found you quickly.
A smile danced on her lips as she held the paper, happy that he had not simply left without any word. While she was glad she did not have to face him so early, she was also slightly disappointed that he had left. A confusing sensation, really.
Two knocks came at the door, and she turned toward them.
"My lady, may we come in?" She recognized the voices—the three women who had helped her prepare for supper on her first night. "You must break fast before attending your lessons with the septas."
The day had just begun.
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Hope you guys liked it. I am now saying this as a note for future chapters: I am not a smut writer. There will probably be some scenes, but don't expect anything crazy. I expect their relationship to be a slow burn with a lot of angst, tension, and just two kids growing together.
when robb stark scoured the land for the realm's greatest beauties, all who advised him pointed to the lady ilaria dayne. slender and tall with shining raven tresses and blessed with the deepest of violet eyes, the dazzling lady ilaria was more than happy to wed the charming and sophisticated prince lyonel, the king's wayward son. but kings landing is not starfall, and not every handsome prince is as he seems. poor lady ilaria quickly grew resentful of her husband, who much preferred the bed of her brother, the dashing ser elyas, than her own.
TW for mentions of grooming and implied sexual assault.
LADY HELOIYS SERRETT. The Pearl of Silverhill. The King's Sapphire Heart. Little Mouse. Lady Squeak.
Lady Heloiys Serrett was born in 280 AC to Ser Cedric Serrett—nephew to Lord Serrett—and Lady Shierle Lydden—widow of a Brax—at her mother's childhood home of Deep Den.
A certain mislike did her paternal great-uncle bear for her father, having ousted him from Silverhill on the eve of her elder sister's birth five years before. Nearly did it bring an end to her mother, when she was then forced to birth the girl in a wheelhouse on a roadside, with naught but one sole blind and wrinkled septa to oversee the labor.
When her mother ultimately died in 285 AC, she had not gone from childbirth, but another ailment—a weakening of the body that had allowed Greyscale to rot away at her flesh. Ser Cedric tore his weeping children and step-children from their mother, and barred her in her chambers until the sounds of her madness ceased. Only then did he unlock his wife's chamber, to find her half-statue, half-corpse.
Heloiys had been peeking from behind him. She was not meant to be there, but she was a quiet and careful child. Quieter still was her youngest sister Myrielle, who followed her around without much conscience, for both were so little.
The girls caught a glimpse of their mother, and let out the smallest of squeaks. Their father heard the pair, and turned upon them. "If you do not abide the Gods, so will become of you. All that is beautiful, will be spoiled." He told them, before bidding them to pray for their mother's soul with their elder siblings.
Father was not cruel, he loved her well. His "Little mouse" he called her. His only wish was to guide her, and ensure her happiness. A path, he would set for her, and that path she would follow.
Following her mother's demise, her great-uncle, in his pity, would invite her father and her full-blooded siblings to return to Silverhill, but only if he left behind her step-siblings. They were old enough to be on their own now and they were not her father's blood. What use did he have for them?
Before her great-uncle, she and her siblings were presented. All six of them, with her the second-to-last in line, and the second of the daughters. Lord Serrett was most pleased with her, it seemed. As upon her other sisters he did naught but glance, but as he saw her, he pinched her cheek and laughed, "With that smile, you may be mistaken for a little pearl!"
Fond of crocus flowers and larkspur, her great-uncle would walk her through the gardens of Silverhill and insist they were weeds, and that she needed to pluck each-and-every one for luck. Her chambers grew to overflowing in their perfume, so much so that her great-uncle would dedicate a gallery to the collection to give her little nose a reprieve.
Lemons became her second-great-love, although she loathed their sourness, she adored in equal measure when they were baked into something sweet. Her and Myrielle used to sneak lemon cakes into her bedchambers and nibble on them as they gossiped about their elder sibling's misadventures.
Learned would she be made in music, arithmetic, the histories, and writing. Though dance would be chief among them all, as she would flee from her septas, from their borish lessons regarding how to spell thee King's name, forfeiting them for her dance-master's easy charm and step. When Lord Silverhill discovered the breach, he had the dance master whipped and sent away. Heloiys could not understand why, he had only ever kissed her cheek.
Father—oh father was furious. Though he believed of her that she had not sullied herself, he would not risk his prized girl's good name any longer. In 294 AC, a vacancy would open in the Queen's household and she would be placed in the role of a lady's companion to Queen Cersei.
Her family would follow her to King's Landing, taking up apartments in the Red Keep as her father vied for the King's favor.
As the youngest of the Queen's ladies, Heloiys found herself less of a companion to the queen and more of a playmate to the young Princess Myrcella, who clung to her as sweet Myrielle once had. The two enjoyed games of come-into-my-castle and monsters-and-maidens and trading each other's dolls.
As she grew at the side of the Queen, she also grew to draw the eyes of the King. Her father insisted that if he gave her a gift, she must take it, for it was cruel to deny a king, who was like to the Gods she knelt to each night at her bedside. Whenever at feasts or dances, her father thrust her forth to entertain the King and though the Queen grew weary, what was Heloiys but a mere slip of a girl who was her poor imitation?
She began to be told by her father that yellow best complimented her rosy complexion and sunny hair. It was the King's color and it did her proud, to her father, it was a sign. Heloiys was meant to be a Baratheon queen and not to that fool of a boy Joffrey, but the drunkard Robert's queen.
Galloping beside the king on hunts in the Kingswood became her pastime, triumphing over dolls and play. Renly would accompany them, and it was Renly who danced with her when the King could not dance, Renly who took her favor at tourneys the King could not battle in, and allowed her on his arm when he visited the shop of an armorer—that was when she learned to always keep coin on her—Renly who told her she deserved better than his fat, grotesque brother.
Better, was something she had never thought herself for. Was the King not the best to be seen for her? In any case, she had given her maidenhead to him, shut her eyes and endured, and once the Queen died—father declared she would soon enough and father was always right—Heloiys would be Robert's queen, and that wicked Joffrey would get himself killed before his time, surely. Tommen could be made heir and her son by the king, a spare.
It had to be so, because father said it would be and the Gods told her it would be in her dreams. If not, what had any of her wretchedness been for?
The Queen took to calling her names. "Lady Squeak" became a favorite, as she squealed whenever the Queen called for her attention. Cersei could not rid herself of the girl without Robert's rage, she had learned that well after accusing the girl of stealing a sapphire necklace. To which, on discovery of the alleged thievery, Robert gave Heloiys the necklace, and a set of earrings and bracelets to match.
When the King was injured by a boar while hunting, as always, Heloiys had been at his side with the rest of the King's party. On return to the Red Keep, Cersei would implore the girl come to her chambers. She informed her that Robert would die and when he did, Heloiys would be ruined. Thus, she presented her with a choice.
Either Ser Meryn could beat her, and perhaps she would survive long enough to warrant the Queen's pity, but she would survive the court's disgust, or she could take a goblet of milk laced with what was supposed to be a lethal dose of sweetsleep, and she could wake from her dreams of daring to usurp the queen.
She chose the goblet, and indeed she woke. Not in the Seven Hells or Heavens, but half-broken and sluggish in the mud outside the Red Keep's walls. The world around her felt thick and dreary at her fingertips, though she stalked and stumbled her way through the streets. "Renly's fled!" She heard someone say, and that she knew was a foretelling of misery.
With luck, she still kept a small satchel of coins hidden in the pocket of her torn skirts. Heloiys could get to Renly, if she found someone to take her. While wandering, she fell into a boy, tall and strong and handsome in the way smoke curls above fire. Somewhere in the haziness of her mind, she recognized him. He was in a group of boys set out for the Night's Watch—one was scrawnier than the others and could not have been older than ten or eleven—he too, seemed familiar.
Tall and strong, he could protect her on the journey ahead. Heloiys pushed herself out of the boy's arms and instead thrust out her tiny bag of coins, "Help me." she plead as she tried to recollect—who was Renly marrying again, Margaery Tyrell?
If she could get to Highgarden, to Renly's side, she would be safe.
This boy, she would have to trust to keep her safe until then.
