━━  ' The Puppeteer, an excerpt from the personal diary of Queen Consort Valyria Targaryen. '
published by Grand Maester Orwyle

chapter two,
training grounds — 127 AC

VALYRIA awoke with a sharp gasp. The early morning light filtered through the heavy curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. It was still and quiet, nothing compared to the harsh thumps of her heart against her ribcage. She felt a familiar cold sweat chill her bones, wrapping around her skin, intent on staying. Her hands trembled as she pushed the covers aside, the room around her feeling comforting yet completely foreign at the same time.

This always happened after a dream.

Her father's voice ran through her head, joined with her mothers. When she saw her, deep within her mind, Lady Rhea had no face. She repeated the words spoken to her, like a broken loop. Kill them, Valyria. Or make them kill one another. This was her father, she could pick his voice from a crowded room if she were told to.

Then her mothers. It was not a sound she could recall, one she only ever heard in her dreams. Sweet, soothing, forgiving. Nothing her father ever showed her. Nothing she could ever remember being shown since taken away. And those memories she did have with Lady Rhea, they were faded— apart of a brain that was not finished growing.

He took you away, my sweet. From your blood. From me.

Valyria swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood, movements deliberate as she made her way over to the vanity. She pushed her books aside, retrieving the brown journal hidden underneath. The thirteen year old had it opened within a few seconds, sitting in her nightgown with her legs crossed as she readied her ink and quill.

Kill them, Valyria.
Or make them kill one another.

These words stayed tucked in the back of her mind for the duration of the day. After getting dressed and finishing her breakfast, Valyria took off towards Rhaenyras room— greeting the princess and (most importantly) making an introduction to her and Ser Laenors newest babe: Joffrey.

She took notice of that fact that much like Rhaenyras other two boys, the baby's hair was as dark as tree bark. This made Valyria curious, it always had. Ser Laenor had silver hair as well as the princess, it simply made no sense for their children to not resemble either of them.

But one day she saw Jacaerys and Lucerys standing by Lord Commander Harwin Strong and it was as if the puzzle in her mind had fallen into place.

She spent some time in the room, sharing a small conversation with Rhaenyra. She always admired her and was grateful for every conversation they shared, seeing as the princess was usually quite busy. Being the heir to the throne and all, that was. Though they never talked of this subject. Their talks were usually about Daemon, of all things.

She saw this as her father's way of haunting her. All the way from the Free Cities where he raised his family. But not her. Never her. At times, she envied her two sisters for this. But the blame ultimately shifted back to Daemon who (in her opinion, relentlessly) stood at the core of it all.

Viserys told her many a times she resembled her father. As did Rhaenyra. Not just in features. But in spirit. They both had ambition— a strong variety of it. Their tongues were weaved of silver and fire ran through their veins. And they were both very easily bored, eager to move onto whatever it was that would be next to grab their attention.

This boredom led Valyria out of Rhaenyras' room, in search of a new interest which happened to be in the training yards. The king himself was outside, sitting higher up on the stairs in a chair that had been brought out— his Hand, Lord Lyonel Strong, standing behind him. She stayed below, watching her cousins train with chipped wooden swords.

Ser Criston Cole and Ser Harwin watched over them, each standing back with their arms crossed and eyes squinted. Though Valyria noticed their stare was more so aimed at one another rather than the boys training before them. She settled on a nearby bench, picking her dress up off the muddy ground as she crossed her legs.

She should probably head on soon. Yesterday she promised Helaena they would read together after breakfast. But she couldn't help herself, it was rather fun to watch them train. She memorized the moves taught to them, analyzing each step they took— watching every swing. Later in the night, she would find herself practicing in the dim lights of her chamber. She believed girls should know how to defend themselves as well.

And without a dragon, without a present father or mother, she had no one to protect her. No one else but herself.

Valyria tucked her knees to her chest, resting her chin there as she continued to watch the boys. Lucerys was small, but almost feral with his attacks against the training dummy. Jacaerys was a little taller, more focused and driven with his swings— the two princes dressed in the colors black and red, watched over by the Lord Commander.

Which was somewhat unusual. Ser Criston was meant to train all four princes, not just the ones born to Viserys. Harwins job overlooked the City Watch, which was her father's old title. So in all actuality, it made no sense for him to be watching over Rhaenyras sons. Or rather his sons; Valyria couldn't help but say in the back of her mind.

Her attention shifted to Aegon and Aemond, who trained on opposite sides of the Velayron boys.

"Keep your feet light and hands heavy," She heard Criston say to Aemond— the words lingering in her head. Feet light, hands heavy.

Valyria watched Aegon, who was taking a few swings at a defenseless dummy, though he abruptly stopped— eyes settling upon two servant girls walking across the yard. A smile curled around his lips, and the princess couldn't help but frown in disgust.

This is who she was to marry?

"Aegon," Ser Criston called out, causing the prince to turn in his direction.

Aegon met his eyes, "I've won my first bout, Ser Criston. My opponent sues for mercy."

Yes, Valyria thought. The training dummy was begging for a bout of peace, for sure.

Criston only smirked at him. "Well, you'll have a new opponent then, My Lord of the Straw." He took a small step back, "Let's see if you can touch me. You and your brother."

The princess felt her brows furrow, back pressed against the bricked wall behind her. Only Aegon and Aemond. It was painfully obvious that he was excluding Rhaenyras sons. She watched as Cristons eyes raised to the King, and she could feel her stomach twisting nervously. Something would happen here.

But she stayed quiet. Waiting for it to unfold in front of her. Valyria untucked her knees, scooting forward on the bench. Aemond and Aegon readied their swords together, launching attack after attack on Criston, only for the knight to avoid them— slapping them with the wooden sword with each failed attempt.

Neither of them succeeded.

"Aye." Her head turned, spotting Ser Harwin, who aimed his words towards Lucerys and Jacaerys. "Weapons up, boys. Give your enemies no quarter." He advised, fixing the straps of his gloves that sat atop his calloused hands.

Valyria turned her attention to Criston, his eyes now aimed on the Commander. There was... intent engraved within his features. But for what, she could not say.

Harwin looked to him, "It seems the younger boys could do better with a bit of your attention, Ser Criston."

"You question my method of instruction, Ser?" Criston was quick to retort, as if he had planned this all along. Perhaps he did.

The Commander simply shrugged his shoulders. "Oh, I merely suggest that method be applied to all your pupils."

"Very well." Criston quipped, "Jacaerys... come here." He instructed, grabbing the young boy by his armor— jerking him forward. "You spar with Aegon." He said, causing both Aemond and Aegon to laugh with a knowing smile. "Eldest son against eldest son." The knight added.

Aegon, who was twice his size.

Ser Criston was setting Jacaerys up for failure.

"It's hardly a fair match." Harwin voiced Valyria's thoughts as if he could read them, brown eyes settled upon the boys.

"I know you've never seen true battle, Ser, but when steel is drawn, a fair match isn't something anyone should expect." Criston spoke his reply like he had prepared for it, clasping his hands together. "Blades up." He instructed.

Aegon raised his blade, as did Jacaerys, their attention zeroed in on one another.

"Engage."

Aegon swung first, his blade easily deflected by the younger boy. But he kept pushing, further and further until they were only a few feet away from Valyria on the bench. She scooted back subconsciously, her legs crossing, watching attentively as Aegon harshly shoved Jacaerys to the ground.

He smiled. And turned away, satisfied and proud. But this fight was not yet over.

The wooden sword in Jacaerys grasp slipped from his hands, falling right in front of Valyria's feet. For a moment, she wanted to pick it up herself and defend her cousin. But, with one swift kick, she sent it spinning back to the boy, his eyes raising to meet hers. She motioned towards Aegon.

Within a second, he returned his blade to his hand, raising from the ground and charging after Aegon with a loud yell.

She would've suggested a more silent approach.

The prince heard this yell, hastily turning on his feet to deflect the several swings launched his way by Jacaerys. They led one another backwards, Aegon dipping behind a training dummy only to use it to his advantage— shoving it into Jacaerys who nearly fell victim to the ground again.

"Foul play." Ser Harwin was quick to call, stepping to stand in front of his son.

"I'll deal with him." Criston spoke, approaching Aegon. Valyria could hardly hear them from the distance, but his whispered words managed to each her ears. "Plant your feet. You have a height advantage. Use it. Advance on him."

Then she looked to Harwin. He stood before Jacaerys, cupping his chin in his hands— offering words of advice, a small smile curling around the boys lips as he shook his head knowingly. Such a drastic difference, she thought. Criston's goal was for Aegon to win. No matter what. Yet the Commander, he spoke only soft words of assurance.

Valyria could physically feel her heart twist at the sight. It was all she ever wanted.

It didn't take long for the fight to ensue once more. Aegon charged after Jacaerys with a sharp, "You!" swing after swing, each relentless as the next.

"Close with him!" Criston yelled, stepping forward, following the fight as the two princes pushed each other back— yet again growing closer to Valyria.

"Press him backward! Stay on the attack!" The knights voice tore through the training yard, reminding the young princess of her father. How he yelled. How he treated the weak. "Use your feet!" Ser Criston demanded sharply.

With one harsh kick, Aegon sent the smaller prince to his back— meeting the cold, hard ground like before. His sword clattered out of his grasp once more, right back to Valyria's feet as if it was where it belonged.

She had no thought to pick it up. At least not until Criston commanded, "Don't let him get up." Jacaerys was already down. Left defenseless. No weapon to dodge the attacks. Though it was just a wooden sword, it still left welts and bruises when hit. Valyria could not simply watch it happen.

"Stay on the attack!"

Her body moved on its own accord after that.

Before she knew it, the training sword was secured tightly within her grasp— feet light, hands heavy. As Aegon raised his to strike Jacaerys, who shielded himself with nothing but his hands, the prince was suddenly driven back by a harsh whack! to his ribs. He gasped, staggering back with wide eyes.

Valyria stood before him now, dressed in a deep red dress, violet eyes lying upon him in a testing manner. Aegons cheeks flushed red with both embarrassment and anger. He was just bested by a girl. A girl he knew. A princess in a dress, while he was wearing armor and a tunic. By the Gods, he thought, she was betrothed to him!

So, he attacked.

With a loud yell, he stormed forward— his sword raised, ready to swing down upon Valyria.

Only to be stopped.

"Enough!" The Lord Commander yelled sharply, jerking Aegon back by the weapon, shoving him to the ground.

The prince was quick to return to his feet, "You dare put hands on me?" Aegon yelled— eyes of fire centered upon Harwin Strong.

"Aegon!" Valyria could hear the Kings lousy attempt of a reprimand, the training sword falling out of her grasp as she turned on her feet to Jacaerys. She held out a hand, the boy latching on and hoisting himself up to his feet with a thankful look. The princess only nodded in return.

"You forget yourself, Strong." Cole spoke, "That is the Prince."

Harwin scoffed, meeting his stare, "And he was ready to attack the Princess. This is what you teach, Cole? Cruelty to the weaker opponent?" He questioned, picking up the wooden swords to return them to the stands. Valyria watched quietly, standing alongside Jacaerys, his little brother scurrying over to join them.

"Your interest in the princelings training is quite unusual, Commander." Criston retorted, "Most men would only have that kind of devotion toward a cousin. Or a brother." He continued, moving to stand behind the man. "Or a son."

In the blink of an eye, Ser Harwin Strong spun on his feet, hurling a nasty punch right into the knights jaw. Valyria's eyes widened, taking a sharp step back to avoid Criston's body as he staggered to the cold dirt. The Commander did not stop there. Her eyes were glued to the sight, watching as he settled atop Cole— throwing one punch after the next.

Blood gushed from the Criston's nose and mouth, Valyria's heart beating wildly in her chest as four knights rushed over to cease the fight. It took all of them to pull Harwin off, the Commander yelling in an enraged manner. "Say it again!" He challenged, resisting against the men that held him back.

Cole laughed. Crimson spewing from his busted lips, turning over to spit the blood into the dirt. "Thought as much," Valyria heard him mutter— her attention zeroed in on the wounds he now wore. She looked up to the King, and she now knew this had been planned all along. It wasn't just a coincidence or some kind of odd timing.

Criston wanted Viserys to see that his grandsons were bastards. Now— now, his daughter, his heirs infidelity was nothing but laid out plainly before him to see.

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i haven't edited this so if a name is typed wrong
please ignore it 😔😔😔 i am cursed to write
targaryen names in an incorrect manner