IV: Prophecy
Welcome back to the speedrun of the rest of the events of episode 1!
This chapter is Everywhere and I apologize for that. I just really wanted to be done with it and move on. But I hope you enjoy all the same!
xx
The godswood was silent save for the sharp squeals of pain that punctured the still afternoon air like needles through flesh.
Godswood was a loose term bandied about the Red Keep. The Keep boasted only one lone weirwood tree, full of leaves red as fresh blood and bark the color of northern snow. A gnarled face peeked out from the trunk, weeping tears of scarlet sap. The tree was a watcher, the eyes of the old gods, and Viserra felt those eyes upon her as she entered the small, private courtyard and hurried to a scrub of prickly foliage hidden just beyond the ancient tree.
At ten-and-one, her skinny frame was able to duck into the shrubs with ease and minimal scratches. She pushed aside the foliage until her crudely built trap was revealed. A rat struggled with shrill cries of pain and panic. One of its hind legs had been caught between two jaws of poorly shaped metal. With deft fingers, Viserra freed the rat and held its squirming body close to her chest.
"Shh," she shushed gently. She stroked the rat's brown fur. It was a healthy one, well-fed with a sleek coat. "You'll be all right."
She grabbed the rat's head and gave it a sharp wrench. Its neck snapped as easily as if she'd torn a piece of freshly-baked bread. It went limp, and she backed out of the foliage carefully, cradling the warm body to her breast.
"What are you doing?"
Viserra turned quickly at her sister's voice. Rhaenyra stood behind her, dressed in black and suspicion. Queen Aemma had given birth again the night before, and again, the babe had not lasted through the night. Viserra had been told it had been another boy.
He had not lived long enough to even be named.
The funeral that morning had been hushed and private. Aemma and Rhaenyra had both wept, and Viserys and Viserra had both stared as the flames reduced the body to ash. Viserra had then fled the moment the opportunity presented itself. She hadn't expected Rhaenyra to follow her, though.
Viserra tried to hide the rat in her skirts. "Nothing. What are you doing?"
"I was going back to my rooms." Rhaenyra fixed her with red eyes. "But then I saw you coming here."
There was no use denying it when she had already been caught. Instead, Viserra lifted her chin and straightened her back. "I'm not here to worship any false gods if that's what you're getting at." She held up the dangling rat, and Rhaenyra took a step back, startled. "The rats here are the best in the Keep. Not nearly as many fleas as the ones in the kitchens."
"You're still doing those absurd butcheries you call experiments?" Rhaenyra demanded. "And today of all days? Mother just lost another babe! Have you no sympathy, or must you always only think of yourself?"
Viserra's face fell. "I do it for Mother, Nyra." She held the rat's body closer to her chest. "I don't want her to keep losing babes." She cast her eyes down to the gently waving grass. "I don't want to keep losing brothers and sisters."
Rhaenyra sighed. She moved as if to step closer before she remembered the rat, and instead remained at arm's length.
"That's something we can't decide, Serra," she said. "I understand your intentions, but you can't rewrite what has already been written."
"You sound like Septa Gwynweth," Viserra said in distaste.
Rhaenyra grinned faintly before turning her eyes to the weirwood. "Even if you managed to bring back one of your rats, I don't think you can do the same for ashes." She sidestepped one of the tree's many protruding roots, and Viserra followed her as they circled the tree. "And if you could, that would still make a mess of things."
"How so?"
Her sister gave her a look that she recognized all too well. The look that said I'm the elder sister so therefore I know more than you. She hated that look.
"Uncle Daemon is Father's heir," Rhaenyra said. She leaned against the weirwood's trunk, right under the weeping face. Viserra kept her distance. "If you brought back one of our brothers, then you would be making him heir over Daemon."
Viserra squirmed. She was loath to admit that the thought had never once crossed her mind. She just wanted another brother or sister. She wasn't trying to usurp her uncle's rightful claim to the throne. In fact, she had even begun to imagine Daemon sitting the Iron Throne himself in the future – and though she would never admit it aloud, especially to Rhaenyra, she often dreamed of herself standing right beside her uncle, his wife and queen. She hadn't been trying to change that.
"It doesn't have to be one of them I bring back," she said. "If I could find a way to prevent you from dying, and Mother and F—"
Rhaenyra slid down the trunk and sat on the ground, heaving another great sigh. "Do what you want, Viserra. I won't stop you. Go on." She waved a hand. "Just – get that thing out of my sight."
Viserra ducked out of the courtyard, tears stinging the corners of her eyes. She would make Rhaenyra understand. She would make all of them understand. They wanted a legacy, and she would give them one. An eternal dynasty.
One that she would help rule.
xx
The tunnels were dark, and Viserra was beginning to regret only bringing a single candle with her instead of a torch as she ran into another dead-end.
She stifled her groan of frustration and backtracked, keeping her previous route in mind. The Red Keep's tunnels were treacherous, built to be so under King Maegor's instruction, and she wasn't keen on becoming lost in them, never to be found again.
She only knew of three or so passages; one would lead her to the honored guests' suites, one to the outer wall of the Keep, and one to a random corridor on the seventh floor. All three she had found on her own. Daemon had once promised to show her the useful ones he had found in his youth, but that was before he had been sent to wed Lady Rhea Royce at Runestone and had stopped coming to court as frequently. She wished he was here now. His presence would be a welcome one in the dark, and perhaps he could point the way to the Small Council chambers she was so desperately trying to reach.
A mouse scurried over her foot, and she shook it off with a grunt, pressing a hand to the damp wall to keep her balance and a sense of reality as she descended another depthless staircase. She traced the route in her head again. Between her rooms and the council chamber were five levels, but the secret passages did not give her the luxury of knowing precisely which level she was currently on. There were no windows, no signs depicting her location – only endless flights of stairs and the timeless, tunneling dark. Down was the right direction, but she had no way of telling just how far she had gone. She needed to find an exit and regain her bearings.
Assuming she could find an exit.
She cursed and kept on, the flame of her candle wavering and causing the shadows at her feet to warp and sway. Her regret of undertaking this excursion grew. Simply sitting in on the Small Council like Rhaenyra would have sufficed. There was hardly reason for her to be sneaking about in the first place, except that she did not want to meet that condescending gaze of Otto Hightower's. She'd only ever attended a handful of council meetings, but each one had left her feeling stripped bare and vulnerable before the Hand of the King. She did not wish to feel that way again.
Normally, she could have ignored the Small Council as she usually did, but the last month had made her more determined than ever to eavesdrop on her father's council. Rhaenyra had grimly told her that the lords were subtly beginning to push King Viserys toward the idea of another marriage, and the very notion appalled Viserra. A moon since her mother's passing, and already the crows had begun to circle her family again.
Rhaenyra had lost her stomach to attend such meetings anymore, but Viserra needed to know what Otto Hightower and the other lords were saying, and who they were trying to serve up to her father as a potential wife and new queen. So, she'd taken it upon herself to try and spy.
Although, if she couldn't find her way out of these blasted tunnels, then her efforts would be all for naught.
She paused when a peek of light reached for her silk slippers, different from the candlelight she held. She peered up. The barest hints of daylight could be seen between iron slats above her, only an arm's length above her head. She reached toward it, and her fingers grazed cold metal. It looked like the sort of grate below a fireplace. The slats were just large enough for her fingers to slip through, and if she jumped, she could get a handhold.
She set down her candle and jumped. Her fingers caught the grate. She dangled for a few seconds, her arms already straining, before she swung her body forward with her legs. At the momentum, the grate shifted, scraping against stone. She did it a few more times until it uncovered half of a rectangular opening, just big enough for her to squeeze through.
She let go and her feet hit the ground again. She blew out her candle, and she would have been plunged into darkness if it weren't for the light dimly shining from the opening. She left the extinguished candle in its holder as a marker before hauling herself up through the opening, grunting, cursing, and her legs swinging wildly in empty air. It took several minutes for her to even get her head and arms out, but the going became easier when her elbows hit solid stone and she could push her way out instead of pulling all her weight up.
Indeed, her exit had turned out to be a hole in the bottom of a great fireplace. The grate she'd pushed aside lay a few inches away, and she shoved a log holder out of her way so she could pull the rest of her body out. Fortunately, the fireplace she emerged from was not in use, and neither was the small antechamber she crawled into, dragging dust and grime all over the fine white-and-gold carpets. She coughed as she inhaled the disturbed soot and waved a hand in front of her face.
Looking around, she vaguely recognized the room as one of the Queen's many entertainment parlors. It was clear that it had not been disturbed for some time. The pale blue drapes hung limp and dusty, and the cream furniture was in its own sad state of abandonment. Viserra coughed again, her eyes streaming, though she suspected it was not just from the dust.
She hauled the grate and log holder back into place, wincing when the iron screeched over the stone floor. Hopefully, no one was nearby to hear. She stood up and brushed herself off. Her black gown hid some of the evidence of her escapade, but her hands were dark with grime, and her face and hair were sticky with sweat.
She ducked into the corridor, her annoyance and frustration growing when she realized she had only managed to descend three levels during all that time in the tunnels. She had to have been wandering for hours; it was high noon now, and she had started searching right after breaking her fast. All that time and she had nothing to show for it save ash and dust. She hadn't even managed to get close to the Small Council chambers.
"Viserra!"
Rhaenyra rushed toward her from the opposite end of the corridor. Viserra cringed. On her sister's heel was Alicent Hightower and two Kingsguard, Ser Harrold Westerling, Rhaenyra's own personal guard, and – Viserra's grimace deepened – Ser Lorent. He looked equal parts relieved and aggravated, and Viserra guessed her sudden disappearance had been noted.
"Gods, there you are!" Rhaenyra exclaimed. She took in Viserra's appearance with a frown. "Where were you? Searching the tunnels for more rats?"
Viserra seized on the explanation. "Yes. I, er, was trying to catch one. I followed it. Out of a fireplace."
She pointed to the door she had just come through, and everyone's eyebrows rose. Alicent caught her eye and tried for a nervous smile. Viserra glared at her.
Rhaenyra stared. "You crawled out of a fireplace?"
Viserra sucked on her teeth. "Indeed."
Her sister seemed to struggle for words before finally shaking her head. "At least inform someone of your whereabouts. I thought poor Ser Lorent was about to tear his hair out."
"A bit rich coming from you, Rhaenyra," Alicent teased, ignoring Viserra's look. "You never tell me where you're going; Ser Harrold even less."
Rhaenyra's guard let out a hmph of agreement. He was much older than Lorent, with a full grey beard and bald head, but he still fought like he was a man in his prime. He was kind enough to Rhaenyra, but he had never extended the same warmth to Viserra. Even now, he looked upon her with thinly veiled disapproval.
"No matter," Rhaenyra said, waving off her friend. "My sister is found, so there is no need to inform my father."
"You were going to tell Father?" Viserra said, her tone accusing. Rhaenyra paid it no mind.
"You vanished from your rooms without a trace and were gone for hours," she pointed out. "If you weren't found by nightfall, then I was going to tell him. You're welcome for covering you in the meantime."
She winked, and Viserra sighed. "Who else noted my absence?"
"Only us," Rhaenyra said, indicating the people in the corridor. "You can relax." She wrinkled her nose. "And take a bath before dinner."
"Very well." She gestured for Ser Lorent, and he hurried to her side. She dropped her voice so only Rhaenyra could hear. "Thank you."
Rhaenyra smiled and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, murmuring, "You should comfort Ser Lorent before he thinks of impaling himself on his sword. He was awfully worried."
There was a mischief in Rhaenyra's eyes that made Viserra roll hers. "I'll see you at dinner."
She departed with Ser Lorent shadowing her. As they climbed the stairs back to her rooms, her knees aching in protest the whole time, his guilt and anger pricked at her back like thorns. She heaved a sigh and spoke without turning.
"You don't have to submit your conscience to self-flagellation, Ser," she said. "Besides, you should know better than to worry after my whereabouts. I've disappeared like this before, and I always come back."
"And you should know that does not assuage my fear, Princess," he grumbled. "You are my charge. I have devoted my service and my protection to you. You may always come back, but that does not comfort me. I am afraid for the time when you do not come back."
Viserra stopped and faced him. She stood a stair above him, but it only brought them to eye level. His green eyes were dark beneath furrowed brows, and she wanted to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration.
"If I cannot remove your fear," she said, "then I can always remove you from my service. Then you would not have to worry at all."
His jaw tightened. "You would dismiss me, Princess?"
"You are my guard, not my wetnurse," she said. "Though I have lost a mother, I do not need another. Understand that, and it need not come to this again."
He stood tall under her gaze. "Dismiss me, then."
"Are you challenging me now?"
"Dismiss me if I bother you so," he said with a light shrug. "I am not here to mother you, but if you think I would shirk my duties, then perhaps you would be better off with another guard, Princess."
"Perhaps so." They stood nearly nose-to-nose. He'd irritated her every day for the last two years, and here was her chance to finally be rid of him. She would never have to look upon his smiling face ever again, nor hear him ask her how she slept every morning, nor think of how he was one of the only people in the Red Keep who didn't look at her like she was some sort of wretched oddity. She could have a guard who didn't give a shit about what she was doing or how she was feeling and could look the other way instead of looking directly at her and not shying away.
She dropped her gaze. Gods, she was soft. How disappointed Daemon would be if he knew how weak she really was, how easily swayed her heart could be when it was shown just a sliver of compassion. She wanted to rip it out of her chest and have Abraxas burn it to nothing.
"Come," she said quietly, not meeting Ser Lorent's eyes. "I have to bathe and change. I need a guard posted outside my door."
She started up the stairs again, and Ser Lorent followed wordlessly. Without Daemon, without her mother, she was back to nothing more than that weeping girl in her father's arms only wanting love. Perhaps she was no dragon at all. Perhaps she did not deserve to be one.
But as she bathed, scrubbing off the dust and soot that stuck to her skin, her silver hair floating in soft tendrils atop the lavender-and-rose-scented water, she sank once more into that vision she'd had as a child, of Daemon on the Iron Throne, wearing her father's crown, and she beside him as Queen.
She leaned back in the tub and closed her eyes. The vision shifted, rippling like the water she disturbed when she moved, and then she was the one on the Iron Throne, crowned with Aegon the Conqueror's crown as the entire Seven Kingdoms bowed to her and her only. Daemon was still there, but he stood beside the throne, his eyes filled with love and adoration as he stooped to kiss her hand.
She shivered despite the hot water coating her skin. It was a thought that had nudged at her before, begging to be heard, but she had always cast it aside in favor of the vision of Daemon as King. But that was before Daemon had been exiled and disinherited. Before the future she thought she'd known had been uprooted and dashed.
Her fingers stroked her skin lazily as she conjured the image back of her wearing the Conqueror's crown atop the throne. Beautiful, powerful, beloved. A true Queen in her own right.
Her head sank beneath the water as her fingers sank into her flesh, and she smiled inwardly when the roar of the blood in her ears began to sound like the roar of the kingdoms calling her name.
xx
Viserra found herself in the tunnels again the next night. Rhaenyra had spoken of a closed-door council meeting at dinner, a meeting that she had expressed immense annoyance over as she had not been invited, and Viserra had resolved to find the secret passage to the Small Council chambers even if it led to her own death.
She had a feeling Otto Hightower was conspiring, a molten dread that sat heavy in her gut as she descended into the depths of the tunnels. He had already done away with Daemon, his biggest obstacle – what else was he scheming behind those closed doors? What other lies would he fill her father's head with? The council wouldn't listen to her objections. But if she found out what Otto was planning and could then confront her father alone, she had confidence that she could talk him out of making another mistake. Their moment in the throne room had to have meant something. She could make him listen to her over the Hand.
Viserra followed the path she had etched into her mind the day before with minimal backpedaling this time. She came upon the candleholder she had left behind and felt a flare of triumph. Only two more levels.
But Maegor's tunnels still evaded her, and soon, she had lost sense of all time and direction again. They had purposefully been built to hinder any who did not know their ways, and she thought she could hear her ancestor laughing at her as she collided with another dead-end.
I don't have time for this, she thought, hefting her skirts as she clattered down more steep steps. The meeting would be over by the time she managed to find it. If she found it at all.
The tunnels were drafty and cold, and gooseflesh prickled her arms under her sleeves. Despite her brisk pace, the darkness was never-ending, and she wondered if she had somehow descended into the black cells themselves. There was no light save for her candle. Her chest tightened, but she continued down into the depthless dark.
Hours passed, or it could have been mere minutes until she heard a soft rushing of wind ahead of her. The air tasted fresher, but it still held a stale taint that reminded her of underground places. She swore under her breath. She'd overshot the council chambers, after all.
She rounded a corner and had her suspicions confirmed when she came face-to-face with a massive dragon skull.
Viserra wanted to scream. All her secrecy, all her plans, all for naught. Balerion's skull seemed to grin out at her, the candle flames lining the base of its pedestal waving and fluttering as if laughing along. It didn't register immediately why the candles were lit in the first place until she heard footsteps behind her, descending the cellar stairs.
She wavered. It wouldn't be odd for her to be found here, but the hour had grown late, and that might raise questions she didn't want to answer. She backed away from the main staircase, depositing her candle with the others before she retreated into the shadows behind Balerion's skull. She shifted until she could gaze straight through his teeth to the other side. Her breath caught when she recognized her father, but she stayed rooted to the spot when more footsteps echoed down the stairs.
Viserra went rigid when Rhaenyra appeared. In the candlelight, her sister and father's hair blazed like twin suns. Viserra crouched lower, but there was no way for her to be seen unless they rounded the skull themselves.
"You wished to see me, Father?" Rhaenyra said. Her voice was cool and indifferent, but Viserra could see the tension in her shoulders and back.
Viserys did not answer at once. He studied Balerion, and Viserra ducked her head.
"When you look at the dragons," he said, "what do you see?"
Rhaenyra's expression mirrored Viserra's own confusion. "What?" She shook her head. "You've hardly said a word to me after Mother's funeral, and you summon me here to ask that? Viserra and I have been dining alone for weeks, we never see you, and—"
"Answer me." His voice held a desperate edge. It was almost a plea. "It's important. What do you see?"
"I...suppose I see us." Rhaenyra elaborated when he said nothing. "Everyone says that Targaryens are closer to gods than men, but they say that because of our dragons. Without them, we're just like everyone else."
Viserra frowned, but Viserys nodded thoughtfully.
"The idea that we control the dragons is an illusion," he said. "They are a power man should never have trifled with. One that brought Valyria its doom. If we don't mind our own histories, it will do the same to us." He walked until he was in front of Rhaenyra, and Viserra strained to hear. "A Targaryen must understand this if they are to be King. Or Queen."
The implication struck Viserra and Rhaenyra at the same moment. Rhaenyra inhaled sharply, and Viserra's teeth ground together in an effort to keep from yelling out to them. She listened, trembling, as their father continued.
"I'm sorry, Rhaenyra," he said. "I have wasted the years since you were born wanting for a son. All along, I had an heir."
"Daemon is your heir," she said, breathless.
"Daemon was not made to wear a crown." He shook his head. "But I believe now that you were."
"You can't be serious," she said.
"This is no trivial gesture. A dragon's saddle is one thing, but the Iron Throne is the most dangerous seat in the realm."
"I'm aware," said Rhaenyra faintly, but her jest was lost to the tension in the air. Viserra's hands clenched as her father paced in front of Balerion, dappling Viserra's watching eyes with shadow and light.
"If you are to become Queen, there is something else you should know," he said. "It might be difficult for you to understand, but you must hear it. And you must tell no one."
"No one," Rhaenyra repeated, but it came out like a question.
"No one," he said. "Not your lady-in-waiting, not your sister – no one."
Viserra's heart dropped. This conversation was not for her ears, but she did not move from her hiding place. She held her breath and listened.
"Our histories tell us that Aegon looked across the Blackwater from Dragonstone, and saw a rich land ripe for capture. But ambition alone is not what drove him to conquest. It was a dream. And just as Daenys foresaw the end of Valyria, Aegon foresaw the end of the world of men."
Viserra had leaned so far forward she was practically within Balerion's mouth. She dared not move as Viserys continued.
"'Tis to begin with a terrible winter gusting out of the distant north. Aegon saw absolute darkness riding on those winds, and whatever dwells within will destroy the world of the living." He touched a hand to the Valyrian-steel dagger he always wore at his hip, and Viserra's eyes were drawn to it as a heavy weight threatened to crush her shoulders. "When this Great Winter comes, all of Westeros must stand against it. And if the world is to survive, a Targaryen must be seated on the Iron Throne – a king or queen strong enough to unite the realm against the cold and the dark."
He gripped Rhaenyra's shoulders, his eyes beseeching her pale face.
"Aegon called his dream the Song of Ice and Fire," he said softly, gravely. "This secret has been passed from heir to king since Aegon's time. Now you must promise to carry it and protect it, Rhaenyra. Promise me."
Rhaenyra clutched his hands. "I...I promise."
Viserra crouched in the shadow of Balerion's skull, her heart pounding against her ribs and her mind spinning. Aegon the Conqueror's dream. The Song of Ice and Fire.
She'd cursed her fate for bringing her here instead of the council chambers, but what if this had been her fate all along? To hear her father's words, to learn of the Conqueror's prophecy?
What was fate if not prophecy?
When her father and sister left, she sat in the dark, muttering to herself.
"The Song of Ice and Fire...Aegon's Dream...Great Winter..."
A rat scurried across her path, and on instinct, she grabbed for it. It writhed and shrieked in her hand, but one twist of her hand and it was dead. She cradled its still body and whispered to it.
"If I cannot save the ones lost," she said, "can I save the ones to come?"
But the rat had no answers for prophecy, and the dark was just as silent.
xx
The message arrived at Viserra's chambers the following day: She was to meet Rhaenyra in the godswood without delay.
Viserra's handmaidens said nothing to her as they helped her dress and brushed out her long hair, but that was just as well, for her thoughts were too occupied with how she might lie to her sister to pay much attention to conversation.
She debated telling Rhaenyra that she had overheard everything the night before, but the debate was short-lived. Admitting that she had eavesdropped was asking for trouble, and she was still of the mind that she had been led there to listen in the first place, but that was something she would keep to herself. Rhaenyra had never been one to take stock in portents or prophecies, but Viserra held that sense of providence close to her heart.
Ser Lorent escorted her to the courtyard where the weirwood tree roosted. He was unusually quiet, walking a few strides behind her with his helm on and his hand resting on his sword pommel. He had called yet another of her bluffs the day before, and though she was still displeased with him, she had bigger things to worry about at that moment.
The weirwood's leaves gleamed like rubies in the sun, and fresh sap ran in rivulets down its ancient face as Rhaenyra paced before it. After instructing Ser Lorent to wait outside the courtyard with Ser Harrold, Viserra picked her way across the grass and roots to her sister.
"You wished to see me?" Viserra said. She gave the weirwood a disgruntled glance. "It's been some time since I've been back here."
Rhaenyra had taken to seeking refuge in the courtyard with Alicent Hightower as of late, and Viserra had stopped coming altogether just to avoid them.
"I have something to tell you," Rhaenyra said without preamble. "And you have to promise not to have one of your tantrums when I do."
Viserra blinked. "I don't have tantrums." She thought of her carriage ride with Ser Lorent the day of the tourney and was glad the Kingsguard was not there. He might have laughed. She smoothed down her skirts and feigned a concerned sort of neutrality. "Has something happened, Rhaenyra?"
Her sister bit down on her lip, and Viserra noticed a chapped spot where she had been worrying at it. A part of her was glad to see Rhaenyra squirm. Another part of her felt guilty for it.
"Father named me heir," she blurted out. "Last night. I'm to replace Daemon."
Viserra put her hands behind her back to hide her fists. "Oh?"
Rhaenyra frowned. "You don't look surprised at all."
"I am," she said quickly. "I mean, I-I must be in shock."
She began toying with Daemon's ring as Rhaenyra started pacing again.
"The whole city will know by nightfall," she said. "I wanted to tell you first. Alone."
"Afraid I would have one of my tantrums otherwise?" Viserra's voice dripped with sarcasm.
"You're protective of Daemon," Rhaenyra explained. "I understand. And it's not as if this was my choice, Serra. Father—"
"Named you, yes. I got that part."
Rhaenyra whirled on her. "I didn't ask for it."
"Yet you did not deny it," Viserra said, more accusing than she'd intended, but Rhaenyra did not seem to notice.
"If the King wishes it," she said, drawing her shoulders back, "then I will be his heir. But I can't do it if I don't have you by my side, Viserra."
That caught her off-guard. "What?"
"You are my sister." Rhaenyra's violet gaze burned, and for a moment, Viserra was reminded of their mother, fierce and formidable. "I need you. Now more than ever, especially after Mother." She drew a deep breath. "I know we have not been as close as we could have been, but I want that to change. But that can't happen until I know that you will not be angry with me or Father."
Viserra's hands tightened behind her back. "I still think Father is mistaken about Daemon."
Rhaenyra glanced away. "As do I."
"Then why accept?"
"Is it so bad," she said quietly, "to want the throne?"
Viserra said nothing, and Rhaenyra sighed. "I'm going to be heir with or without your support, Serra. But I'd rather have you at my shoulder than my throat."
When she stayed silent, Rhaenyra simply cast her a hurt look and strode out of the courtyard. Viserra finally loosened her hands when she was gone but started when her palms stuck together.
She held her hands up and realized they were covered in blood. The spike of her ring was out, and it had dug into her hand so deeply that it had bled all over her fingers and other hand. She hadn't even registered that the ring hadn't been properly latched and had felt no pain at all until that very moment.
She looked up and met the empty stare of the weirwood. It was only a tree, but a tendril of unease crept down her spine all the same, and she suddenly had the distinct feeling of being watched.
The old gods are not here, she reminded herself.
But under the weeping eyes of the weirwood, she was not so sure.
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