King's Landing, The Red Keep – 118 AC
Jacaerys was no prince, no Velaryon, he was not even a Strong, he was a Waters and did not deserve to train besides my prince. Unlike Prince Aemond, whose natural talent for the sword shined true from the moment I placed a training sword in his hand. Waters is nothing of importance to mention.
I had planned to have Harwin sent away in shame, to goad him into a fight in the middle of the training yard after putting that bastard of his into his place. However, Princess Lucerys chose that moment to appear in the training yard. The training yard is no place for a lady, much less a sweet princess like Lucerys.
I had tried to take her away, but she had been insistent. Princess Lucerys had found a hyacinth that she swore was the same shade as my prince's eyes, and she could not wait to bring it to him. So, my plan had to be rescheduled for another day, as I had to escort both Prince Aemond and Princess Lucerys away from the training yard and back into the Red Keep. However, the fond smile on my prince's lips were more than enough to make up for it.
My serious and devout prince never had it easy making friends. He was a second son, whose older brother was a bully. As treasonous as it was to even think that a trueborn prince of the crown was a bully, even her grace the Queen agreed with me. As much as we tried nothing, we did could bring a smile to Prince Aemond's lips. Not a true one, at least.
Then came Princess Lucerys—a ray of light amidst the darkness that had enveloped my prince's world. With her infectious laughter and boundless energy, she breathed new life into the dreary halls of the Red Keep. She was a whirlwind of color and joy, sweeping my prince and his sister, Princess Helaena, along on adventures they had never dared to dream of. But perhaps most importantly, Princess Lucerys offered them something they had long yearned for: a sense of safety and belonging. In her presence, they were free to be themselves, unbothered by the weight of expectations and protocol that burdened them at court.
Unlike the other ladies of the court who often treated them with disdain or spoke ill of their family, Princess Lucerys accepted them without judgment. Not once did she mock their quirks or oddities, instead embracing them for who they truly were—a gift that my prince and his sister cherished above all else.
If Princess Helaena wanted to play with bugs, Princess Lucerys did not mind, she even helped her look out for some insects she did not have in her collection. If Prince Aemond wanted to share his knowledge about Old Valyria, instead of mocking him and calling him a bore as did Prince Aegon. Princess Lucerys sat there listening to my prince and even asked him questions and to continue telling her more.
I'll never forget the moment Princess Lucerys approached Prince Aemond and expressed genuine interest in his passion for Old Valyria. The look of disbelief on my prince's face was palpable, as if he couldn't quite fathom that someone as bright and radiant as the princess would want to share in his interests.
Every pause in his storytelling seemed to carry the weight of uncertainty, as if he half-expected the princess to mock him or belittle his enthusiasm. But with each question she asked, her curiosity and sincerity shone through, dispelling any doubts that lingered in my prince's mind.
And then, it happened—a smile, so small and delicate, yet so profound in its authenticity, graced my prince's lips. It was as if a ray of sunlight had broken through the clouds, illuminating the darkness that had clouded his heart for so long. In that moment, I found myself at a loss for words, overcome by the sheer beauty of that fleeting smile. It was a smile untainted by pretense or obligation, a testament to the genuine connection that had blossomed between my prince and the princess.
As I watched them interact, it became clear to me that I had never truly seen my prince smile until that moment—truly, openly, and without reservation. And in witnessing the transformation that occurred in his demeanor, I couldn't help but feel a swell of gratitude towards Princess Lucerys for bringing such joy into his life.
My Queen had had to choke down a sob that threatened to leave her throat. She had been there; it was in the early days of my prince and Princess Lucerys' friendship. She might have been a trueborn, unlike her brothers, but she was still a Black and that whore's daughter. We had thought her a deviant like her mother. But it was at that moment that our perception of her changed.
How could a young princess as pure as the maiden come from someone as Rhaenyra Targaryen?
The Queen might say that her desire to betroth her son to Princess Lucerys was because of her heirship to Driftmark, that it would bound the Velaryon House into neutrality and give her son the future he deserves. But I will allow myself the discourtesy to disagree. Heirship or not, I am sure that her grace would have been the strongest advocate of their marriage, because Prince Aemond only smiles like that when Princess Lucerys is around. Because all the Queen has ever wanted is for her children to be safe and happy.
As I escorted Queen Alicent back to her chambers, the echoes of the joyful evening lingered in the air, the memory of Princess Lucerys, Prince Aemond, and Princess Helaena's laughter still fresh in our minds. The warmth of the banquet hall had followed us, wrapping us in a cocoon of contentment as we traversed the corridors of the Red Keep.
The Queen's usual air of reserve had softened, replaced by a gentle smile that spoke volumes of the happiness she had witnessed that night. It was a rare glimpse of vulnerability, a reminder that even the most stoic of figures were not immune to the charms of familial joy.
"It was a good night," Queen Alicent remarked, her voice tinged with satisfaction. Her smile widened as she recounted tucking her second son into bed, the sight of his happiness filling her with a sense of peace. "Less tense than I thought it would have been."
Her words carried a note of relief, a testament to the success of the evening's festivities in easing the burdens that often weighed heavily upon her shoulders. In that moment, as we walked together through the quiet halls of the Red Keep, it felt as though the cares of the world had momentarily lifted.
"I heard Princess Rhaenyra had a fit over the fact that her daughter had to share her celebration with Prince Aemond," I muttered under my breath, though in my head, I could think of a few choice words for her. I knew better than to voice them aloud, especially in a place where I could easily be overheard.
My words seemed to strike a nerve with Queen Alicent, her posture stiffening noticeably as she began to fidget with her fingernails. It was clear that the mention of her rival's actions didn't sit well with her. "However, Princess Lucerys told them that she was very excited to share her celebration with her uncle and that stopped any further conversation."
"She's oblivious to the world around her," Queen Alicent muttered, her tone dripping with disdain. "She knows nothing of sacrifice or duty, yet she's handed everything on a silver platter, while my own children are left to suffer."
"Prince Aemond finally got recognized, soon your other children will as well," I offered what reassurance I could, assuring her that Prince Aemond's recognition was a step in the right direction. But the Queen's expression remained unimpressed, a hint of resignation in her eyes.
"If only it were that simple," she sighed, shaking her head with a weary expression. "For now, I'll settle for their safety above all else."
Before I could even think of a reply, we had already reached the Queen's chambers. I bowed with respect and left her security to the Kingsguard in rotation. I then marched back towards the White Sword Tower, as I needed to rest before having to wake up early tomorrow for my sword lesson with Prince Aemond and Prince Aegon. Though, everyone knew that I would only be teaching Prince Aemond, as there is no way you will ever catch Prince Aegon in the training yard.
But just as I was about to move forward, a piercing scream pierced the air, jolting me into action. Gripping my sword tightly, I sprinted towards the source of the commotion, followed closely by a swarm of guards and gold cloaks who had been tasked with maintaining order at the banquet.
As we reached the staircase, a group of maids huddled together, their faces drained of color, their hands clasped over their mouths in shock. Their wide-eyed stares bore witness to the horror that lay at the foot of the stairs.
Ignoring the guards' inquiries about the maids' well-being, I pushed my way to the front of the crowd, my heart pounding in my chest. And then, I saw it—what had elicited such a blood-curdling scream. Lord Larys Strong lay motionless at the base of the staircase, a sight that filled me with a mixture of anguish and fury. Closing my eyes briefly, I muttered a curse under my breath, dreading the implications of this grim discovery.
His twisted clubfoot leg jutted out at an unnatural angle, clearly shattered, with a bone protruding through the torn flesh—a gruesome sight that turned my stomach. His neck was bent at an impossible angle, a clear indication of a fatal injury, and a pool of crimson pooled beneath him, staining the floor with a macabre reminder of his final moments.
But it was his eyes that sent a shiver down my spine—glassy and vacant, devoid of life, yet frozen in a haunting expression of shock and disbelief. It was as if his soul had been ripped from his body, leaving behind only an empty shell.
We didn't need a maester to confirm what had transpired. As I cast my gaze upon the sleek black cat purring contentedly beside the lifeless form, I knew without a doubt who the perpetrator was. The feline had inadvertently caused the Queen's ally's downfall, his untimely demise a result of a simple trip and fall.
The Small Council meeting that followed that night was nothing short of grim. We hadn't even had a chance to rest after the banquet when tragedy struck. The air was heavy with sorrow as we gathered, still dressed in our finest attire from the festivities just hours before. The loss of our Master of Whispers, Larys Strong, weighed heavily on everyone's minds, none more so than Lyonel Strong, the Hand of the King, who bore the anguish of a father who had just lost his son.
Beside me sat Grand Maester Mellos and Lord Jasper Wylde, their expressions solemn as they pored over the matter at hand. Across the table, Harwin Strong, whose eyes looked red from mourning his little brother's decease, and Corlys Velaryon engaged in quiet conversation, heads bowed together in whispered discussion.
Our king, Viserys, looked weary and frustrated, his usually composed demeanor marred by the burden of grief and tiredness. The weariness etched in his features spoke volumes of his decaying health. He's been suffering lately and nothing Grand Maetser Mellos does seems to work. Staying the whole night up and now this, was not good for his health.
As the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, my role was to observe and protect a silent sentinel amidst the turmoil. I scanned the room, noting the myriad emotions that played out on the faces of my comrades—grief, concern, and determination mingling in equal measure. In times like these, it was my duty to remain ever-vigilant, prepared to act at a moment's notice to safeguard the realm. My Queen would also be very interested in knowing what was discussed in the meeting now that she had lost her most trusted informant.
In the dimly lit chamber of the Small Council, Viserys's voice cut through the heavy atmosphere like a knife. "How did Larys Strong die? I want answers!"
Grand Maester Mellos, his brow furrowed with sorrow, stepped forward to address the king's inquiry. "It's a tragedy, Your Grace," he began, his voice heavy with regret. "As Ser Criston Cole had deduced, it appears Larys was tripped by a stray cat and fell down the stairs, breaking his neck."
A hiss of disbelief escaped Harwin's lips, his eyes flashing with anguish at the mention of his brother's untimely demise. Lyonel, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, trembled with raw emotion. "I can't believe this... My son... gone because of a damned cat..." His voice trailed off, choked with sorrow.
Corlys, ever the pragmatic voice among them, spoke up next. "If there's no foul play involved," he reasoned, his tone grave, "then there's nothing we can do. We should focus on preparing his funeral."
Viserys, his weariness etched deeply into the lines of his face, nodded solemnly, his gaze shifting to Lyonel with empathy. "Lyonel, take whatever time you need," he said softly, offering a gesture of compassion. "We'll handle matters here. Take a fortnight to mourn and arrange the funeral."
Lyonel, his eyes brimming with tears, nodded in acknowledgment, his gratitude evident despite the pain etched on his face. "Thank you, Your Grace," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... I need some time to come to terms with this."
And just like that, when the first rays of the sun broke the following morning, on the twelfth moon of the year 118 After the Conquest, Lord Larys Strong, Master of Whispers, was announced dead.
