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NINE;
『 THE REALM'S FORMER DELIGHT 』

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ㅤ     THE PRINCE AND THE PRINCESS STAY IN THE COURTYARD AS THE SOLDIERS AND THE QUEEN TEAR APART THE KEEP. No sign of the King, Larys, Helaena, or her daughter Jaehaera have been found. Though, the dowager Queen Alicent has been spotted and captured by the gold cloaks. Her own soldiers turned against her. She was found trying to flee along with her father, Otto Hightower, through a back gate in the keep. They were both caught and handed to the Queen, who has not yet declared her decisions of what she will make of them. They are to stay locked in a cell in the dungeon until the matters of their fate are decided.

      By the time the sun reaches its highest point, the keep has been taken over completely. Everyone who had once been loyal to Aegon and Alicent are now dead, or vanished. The Queen, followed closely by Prince Daemon and a number of gold cloaks, walk down the path into the courtyard. Daemon's sword is dripping with blood, and most of the gold cloaks' armor has been splattered with the crimson liquid. Rhaenyra is completely clean of blood, except from a spot on the palm of her hand where it seems she deflected a blade with her skin.

      "King's Landing is ours, now," the Queen announces to her son and Cerilla. "The servants are clearing the rooms of the old sheets. When you find a room suitable for your desires, tell me so that I may have a servant bring in fresh sheets." She says, immediately diverting the conversation to business.

      She has won, she has driven out the opposing forces or killed them. Nothing can stand between her and the throne now. Though she is aware of the victory, Rhaenyra can't help but feel as though the victory was a little to easy. They did not have to fight nearly as much as she bargained for, nor did she cause any major destructions. She expected the keep to take much more than a single day to fall, and yet that seems to be what happened.

      "The ships that were attempting to leave the harbor have been burned, Your Grace." Jacaerys says from beside Cerilla. The Queen nods and a ghostly smile appears on her face. She has not quite grown used to her son calling her such a noble title.

     "Very well," she says. "There will be a hearing tonight, with all of the remaining lords. They will pledge their oaths once more as I take my rightful place on the Iron Throne." She announces. The Prince Daemon looks over at her with a smirk on his face, seemingly proud of her actions. He spins his sword around on the ground, creating a small blood splatter in his wake.

      "Of course." The prince nods. Queen Rhaenyra offers one more nod before turning and embarking back up the hill, followed by her posse of soldiers. The young prince and princess watch as she disappears up the terrain, walking like a true Queen, wearing a true crown. She has been waiting for this moment her entire life.

      Cerilla walks over to her trusty dragon, Grey Ghost, and strokes his neck with her hand. He seems to enjoy her touch. His eyes blink slowly as her fingers run across the scales of his neck.

      Jacaerys comes up behind her. "You rode well today." His voice mumbles into her ear. She grins at his words.

      "We must go and find rooms to occupy, so that we may get ready for the Queen's upcoming hearing in the throne room." The princess suggests. Jacaerys nods and begins walking alongside her. The two dragons, Grey Ghost and Vermax, ascend into the sky following their departing. The dragons fly around the Red Keep, as if to take it all in.

      The prince and princess walk up the hill in a content silence. Cerilla keeps her eyes ahead, on the dragons circling the keep, and Jacaerys keeps his eyes down, to his feet. He is feeling unsure, uncertain if he had comforted the princess exactly right. She was distraught after the burning of the ships, understandably, and he had tried to comfort her, but now he wonders if he had done it correctly. Perhaps he isn't the most experienced at mending one's emotions.

      They make it to the gates of the keep, already heavily guarded by the Queen's soldiers. The hallways inside are even more congested, with servants running every direction and poorly directed knights running every which way. Cerilla takes in the marvel that is the capital's keep. She has longed dream about seeing it, though perhaps on better terms. She always expected to come here for a brief period of time, and not to spend countless days under the word of the Queen.

      The pair climb a set of stairs in the western hallway, which leads to a hall of chambers, unclaimed. The doors are all parted halfway open. As they pass the doors, the princess sneaks glances inside of the rooms. Every bed that she sees has been stripped. All wardrobes are opened though the clothing is missing. It is truly like walking into the home of a ghost.

      As they walk, the princess ponders about those who have resided in all these rooms. The Keep has been standing since the old days, many moons ago, and since then many people have passed through here. The prince stops suddenly, near the end of the hallway, and pushes open a chamber door. He steps inside, taking in the vibrant room, followed closely by the princess.

      "I suggest we have rooms neighboring one another," the prince says, facing the grand window taking up almost an entire wall. "Perhaps you might find that suitable? To calm your nerves?" He continues, turning to face Cerilla. She remarks mentally at how light his hair seems under the harsh light of the day. The dark brown strands turn into a sort of golden color. Beautiful indeed.

      "I do suppose that could work," the princess nods. "Though, personally, I would feel the most comfortable if perhaps we shared a chamber." She said with a deviant smirk. Cerilla is completely aware of the fact that you must be wed in order to share a chamber, but teasing a prince has never harmed anyone.

      Jacaerys shuts his eyes for a brief moment and takes a deep inhale. "I do hope you know that cannot happen quite yet, my betrothed." He raises an eyebrow. Cerilla chuckles and claps her hands in front of her, surveying the room.

     Even for a guest chamber, it is grand. There are tall windows overlooking the city and even a balcony made of stone beyond that. The room itself is rather airy, not too congested with furniture. The bed has a lovely canopy on it, of white silks. The sofas as plush and the bookshelves are stacked with what appears to be old novels. It is a fine room indeed.

      "I will take the one across the hall," the prince announces. "We may want to dress quickly and make our way to the throne room." He suggests, walking out of the room to the chamber door on the other side of the hall. He pushes it open and steps inside.

      Cerilla takes to the hall a moment later and seeks out a servant. She requests her to find an orange gown and the servant leaves at once to fetch what the princess seeks. As she searches for the request gown, Cerilla looks through the books on the shelf. Many cobwebs have lined the wood and much dust has collected on the covers. As she takes one from the shelf, the servant enters the room and lays a fine orange dress on the edge of the sheetless bed.

     "Marvelous," the princess remarks, holding up the dress in the air. "Please do line this bed with sheets, whenever the chance is provided." Taking note of the dismissal, the servant tips her head and leaves, shutting the door behind her.

      Cerilla slips off her riding gear and pulls the gown over her body. It must have been made in Dorne, because the material and the design is so different than the fashion seen at the capital. The shoulder straps are thin, and the back of the dress is entirely open. The chest is flowy as well, but it still provides enough coverage for something to wear while seeing the Queen. It seems to have been forever since she wore something from her own homeland. As of recent she has been draped in foreign fabrics.

      The princess examines herself in the mirror on the vanity and touches the braid in her hair. She closes her eyes and remember how Jacaerys had braided it for her, so carefully, so perfectly. She also recalls the conversation that took place as he did so.

      "I am not a Targaryen," she had said. "No, but you will be married to one." He said. Even now, hours after he had said that to her, she shudders at his words, at how his eyes pierced hers through the mirror they stared at one another through. Cerilla inhales a breath and makes her way back over to the bookshelf. She grabs a heavy one, from the bottom shelf, and places it on the desk with a thud.

After blowing the dust from the cover, she realizes what the title says. The Basics of High Valyrian. This chamber must have belonged to someone of Valyrian blood, otherwise they would not have such a book. When she opens the pages, they seem to groan at the movement, separating slowly after having stuck together for so long. She runs her hand over one of the pages, pushing the dust from the paper.

      Just as the princess is about to begin scanning through the pages, her door swings open. She slams the book closed and faces the door. Jacaerys steps inside, his eyes glance from the book to the princess. He stands in the middle of the room, with his hands behind his back, and an eyebrow raised.

      "Study up on your High Valyrian, hm?" He says with a smirk. Cerilla picks up the heavy book and shoves it back onto the bookshelf. She stands idly with her arms crossed.

     "You should never enter someone chambers without knocking," she clears her throat. "I could have been dressing." She says. Jace shakes his head and takes a step in her direction.

      "Come here, so I can see your dress in the light." He asks of her. Obediently, the princess steps out of the dark corner of the room into the light, where sunshine spills through the windows.

      Jacaerys' jaw hangs open as she stands before him. Slowly, she turns, moving the braid from her back to over her shoulder. The fabric covers only everything past her hips. Her back is completely visible to the eye. Her skin glistens like honey in the sunshine. He curls his fingers tight enough to draw blood to keep himself from touching her bare back, as much as he would like to. He rakes his eyes away, after much difficulty, and the princess turns back around. She can tell by his lack of eye contact what effect this dress must have on him. Perhaps she might request more of the same look just to send his mind for a spin.

      He extends his arm and she takes it. The two of them walk down the hall, staying out of the way of the servants and the knights. The halls are spilling with people. They make their way to the throne room, which is visibly spilling with people. Jacaerys leads Cerilla through the mob to the head of the room, just feet away from the stairs leading up to the throne. Cerilla remarks mentally at the number of swords spilling out from around the chair.

      The famous iron throne sits just before her, in all of its glory. The afternoon light casts a sort of glow onto the side of the chair. The swords that poke up around the chair are mostly dull, having been planted here many years ago. Cerilla's eyes travel across the room, where she feels eyes sinking into her.

      There is a family of three, each with white hair and dark skin. One of the girls, young, perhaps her own age, stare fiercely at the princess. Cerilla leans to Jace, who stands beside her, and whispers into his ear, keeping her eyes on the individual whom of which is staring at her.

     "I'm afraid that girl that has decided to stare at me for a prolonged period of time," Cerilla remarks. "Do you know who it is?" Jacaerys' eyes meet with Baela's. She keeps a sort of aggravated look on her face. Jace clenches his jaw and nods, looking back down at Cerilla.

      "That is Baela Velaryon." And that is all her needs to say. Cerilla's eyes widen, briefly, before she looks away back into the crowd, picking out the people roaming about. She has not been around quite long enough to know their names, but judging by any sigils they wear, she can tell which house they belong to.

     Any lord of lady in this room has not tried to run nor have they been slaughtered, therefore the princess can only assume that those in this room are trusted. At least, she hopes. She has not brought a weapon to defend herself. Suddenly, all the chatter in the room comes to an abrupt halt. The people standing around all back to the walls, leaving a clear path from the doors to the entrance all the way to the throne. The Queen is coming.

     As if on cue, a stream of white hair dressed in red and black comes into sight, accompanied by Prince Daemon, as well as a trio of gold cloaks. The Queen's crown seems to glow in the afternoon sun. She walks down the path. The men standing aside gawk at her. Their ambitious eyes do not leave her. She walks strongly, proudly, with poised shoulders and a hard jaw. She keeps her eyes on the throne, unmoving. She climbs the steps, leaving Prince Daemon and the band of gold cloaks at the base of the steps.

      Every pair of eyes stares at the Queen as she stands before the iron throne. Every man, every woman, watches breathlessly. She lowers her body, slowly, and takes her seat on the throne. The room seems to go cold.

      "Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm." Prince Daemon's voice fills the room. Rhaenyra has never appeared stronger.

     Every man in this room would be right to fear her. She has stormed the capital in a day and taken it with minimal forces. She has slaughtered those against her and given life to those who bow to her. She has taken back what was rightfully hers, what was stolen for her by Aegon.

      "Every man in this room has sworn their allegiance to me, or their fathers have. Nonetheless, each house that stands in this room is at my mercy," her words are nothing short of power. "Every single one of you in here fight for me, for the truth. If it comes to each, each of you will die for me, for the truth. I have taken back what is mine, the Seven Kingdoms. Many of you have doubted me before, but I will forget about that. I was a princess then, I am a queen now. If you doubted me then, so be it. If you doubt me now, the consequences will not be as gentle." Her words burn into the mind of every person in the room. The scarceness and hostility of her words will not be lost in translation.

      She stands up from the throne and nods to someone down below. A man runs up, holding a pillow in his hands. He kneels on the first step, offering up whatever is on the pillow to the queen. Queen Rhaenyra stands up and marches down the steps. She collects the item from the pillow. The man runs off back into the crowd. She examines the item for a moment, the pin. It is a mark for The Hand. Whomever is sworn to the Queen or the King as their hand wears this pin.

     "Lord Corlys," every head turns to the man named Corlys. "Yourself and your late wife Rhaenys gave everything possible for me to be standing here today. Without you, I would not be standing here, in front of these men. Your tactics of battle and agreeable wisdom has supplied me for many moons now. If you wish to take the opportunity that is Hand of the Queen, I would be more than delighted to have you join me." She remarks.

      Lord Corlys steps from his place, a step toward the queen. "It would be my honor." He says. Slowly, he climbs the steps. The pin is looped through his attire. The Queen straightens it then Corlys turns to face the audience. A series of mumbles followed by a series of claps rain through the room.

      After a few more words of wisdom, or perhaps hidden threats, the Queen, her Hand, and the Prince Daemon, followed of course by the gold cloaks, disembark from the room. Upon their departure, the lords in the room take to their own ways. Baela and Rhaena also depart in this crowd, followed by Cerilla and Jacaerys, who make their way to the Queen's chambers, as requested at the end of the ceremony by Rhaenyra of herself.

     The prince and the princess walk in silence, seemingly still understanding everything that the Queen had just said at the hearing. The doors to her chamber are pushed open and the two of them step inside. The chamber is nearly triple the size of hers back in a Dragonstone. The furniture is much more lavish and the view of the city is grand. She stands facing the windows, but turns upon hearing her door open. Her eyes examine the two.

      "The dragon seeds back at Dragonstone, as well as your brothers will be joining us shortly here at the capital," she says with a warm tone. "Aegon, Ser Criston Cole, as well as Helaena and Jaehaera have not been spotted since our arrival. Alicent and Otto Hightower have been captured and sent to the cells. I wanted to let the both of you know that I am going to speak with them now, to discuss their fates." She explains. Jacaerys and Cerilla nod. The Queen states with a hard gaze, dreading the upcoming conversation that she is to have.

      "I wanted to let you know, that whatever I do will be fair. I will not act rashly." The Queen says. Cerilla notices her by tone that Alicent must be deeply rooted to their family, perhaps for worse and not for better. The prince and princess nod solemnly as she exits the room and makes her way down to the dungeon.

      The Queen commands the gold cloaks that have been following her around like mice all day to stay at the entrance, and to heir surprise, they do, without suggesting she needs to stay protected. She grabs a torch and walks past the empty cells to the opposite wall. She plants the torch to the holder on the wall and stands at the cell of Otto Hightower, who sits on the ground with his arms crossed.

      "Plead your case." She says dully. Otto, formerly the Hand of the King, states at her for just a moment before tearing his eyes away.

      "There is nothing to plead. Kill me and get on with it." That is his plea. That is all he has to say. The Queen scoffs. She hadn't been expecting anything less of him, but still his pure act of arrogance annoys her. She turns to the cell across from his, where Alicent sits on a rickety stool, hands folded on her lap. Her face is slightly distraught and her hair is all matted.

      The Queen looks at Alicent, the woman who was once her best friend. The two shared many laughed together, many days under the sun, many theories about this and that. But, Alicent betrayed her. Rhaenyra has wished for so long to punish Alicent for her crimes, but now, even as she sits before her, chained to the wall in a cell, Rhaenyra can't help but feel guilty for her old friend.

      "Perhaps the Seven Kingdoms could be divided. Aegon could rule the Reach, the stormlands and the westerlands and you could have everything else." Alicent makes her plea. Their eyes bore into one another's, seeing only the ghost of the friendship that they used to share.

"I'm already Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," Rhaenyra says. "You betrayed me. You betrayed my father, your husband, on his deathbed. You gave the crown and the rule to your son. Why did you do it?" A simple question.

Alicent's eyes grow sorrowful. "The people will never truly trust a woman as their ruler. They will betray you." Her words strike the Queen right in the heart. Perhaps she is being truthful, perhaps it is just another one of her lies.

The Queen shouts down the hallway. "Take Lord Hightower from his cell," she calls. "Tonight his head will become a picture of what happens to those who betray me." She says, casting a look at Alicent. She could not bare to betray her own friend, despite that fact that she has betrayed her. The Queen cannot watch as her once best friend is murdered.

A gold cloak appears beside her and opens the cell door, grabbing Otto from inside. He is drug through the tunnel. He goes quietly. Rhaenyra grabs the torch from the wall and glances one last time at Alicent through the iron rods between them.

"I loved you once, now I'm afraid that because of that, I cannot kill you, despite your atrocious crimes." She says bluntly. The Queen walks down the hall, solemnly. Her head is tipped and her emotions are all a blur.

"I loved you, too." Alicent says once Rhaenyra falls out of range.