CHAPTER SEVEN
❛lines drawn.❜

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

EARLY 130 AC ⸻ Kings Landing ⸻

IN THE SERENE royal gardens, Ser Leon Payne and Lady Basalia found a quiet path for a morning walk, aimed at giving Basalia a gentle break from the distress of the previous night's events.

They walked side by side in silence, each step on the gravel path marked by the soft crunch underfoot. The air carried the scent of early blooms, a reminder of the garden's persistent beauty despite the darker hints of life at court.

Ser Leon was the first to break the silence. "I should have been there," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "To think that you endured such horror..."

Basalia shook her head slightly, stopping to face him. The garden around them seemed to hold its breath as she spoke. "Leon, you couldn't have known. I snuck out with Lyria—no one was supposed to know. The blame is not yours to bear."

Her reassurance was meant to ease his burden, but Leon's gaze remained troubled as he looked at her. "It is my duty to anticipate threats, to protect you from precisely such dangers," he insisted.

Basalia's eyes softened, seeing the genuine distress in his expression. "What happened... it has left scars, yes. But I am here, now, safe. Your support now is more valuable than you know."

They resumed walking, the silence between them now filled with a shared understanding. After a moment, Basalia continued, "Last night's events... they have changed something within me, Leon. I feel as though I am waking from a long, oblivious slumber. The world seems sharper, more perilous."

Leon listened intently, his protective instincts mingling with a deepening respect for her resilience. "And yet, you face it with such grace," he observed, watching her navigate the path's gentle turns.

Basalia laughed softly. "Grace? Hardly. It's survival, Leon. One learns to adapt, to find strength in places they never knew existed."

As they passed by a blossoming tree, a moment of silence fell over them. Leon looked down into Basalia's eyes, and something in his gaze shifted subtly. He stepped slightly closer, driven by a mix of protective instinct and something deeper, more personal. His gaze dropped to her lips, and for a split second, he seemed about to step forward, perhaps to close the distance between them.

However, just as the air between them charged, a guard's voice shattered the moment. "Lady Basalia," he called out, his tone urgent as he approached. "Queen Alicent wishes to see you immediately."

The abrupt interruption made them both step back, a flush of awareness colouring their cheeks. Basalia, regaining her composure, nodded in acknowledgment. "Thank you, I will come at once," she said, turning to Leon with a brief, apologetic smile. "Duty calls."

Leon nodded, though his instinct was to ask to accompany her. "Should I come with you?" he offered, ready to stand by her side.

The guard interjected before Basalia could respond. "Her Grace requested Lady Basalia alone."

Leon stepped back, though his concern was palpable. "Be careful," he said quietly.

Basalia touched his arm lightly, a gesture of reassurance. "I'll be fine, Leon. Thank you, for this walk... for everything."

With that, she turned and followed the guard, leaving Leon watching her departure.

⸻

Alicent could be found at the front of the Sept, kneeling before the statues of the Seven, lost in her prayers. The guard approached discreetly, bowing slightly before whispering, "Your Grace, Lady Basalia has arrived."

Alicent paused in her prayers, her hands clasped tightly together before slowly rising to her feet.

She turned to regard Basalia with a look that managed to be both stern and inviting. "Come, pray with me," she said, her voice soft yet carrying the weight of command. "I find it best to pray with another in times such as these."

Basalia hesitated for a moment, the echoes of the night's terror still fresh in her mind, before nodding and approaching the altar. She knelt beside Alicent, arranging her skirts quietly, feeling the solemnity of the Sept seep into her bones.

"And what times are those, Your Grace?" Basalia asked quietly once settled, her voice echoing slightly in the vast space.

Alicent sighed, her gaze fixed on the flickering candles that cast gentle light on the statues of the divinities. "Times of uncertainty and danger," she began, her tone reflective. "Last night's events have shaken us all. How are you holding up, my dear?"

Basalia's fingers tightened on her skirts, her voice barely a whisper. "I am... managing, Your Grace. It's a lot to process."

Alicent nodded, her expression softening as she turned to face Basalia more directly. "It is indeed. And you are brave to handle it with such composure. I want you to know you have my support."

The conversation paused as they both turned back to their prayers, seeking comfort in the silent presence of the divine. After a moment, Alicent resumed, her voice carrying a note of deeper concern. "We also face other troubling times. The King is growing weaker by the day. His health... it worries me greatly."

Basalia looked at Alicent, sensing the genuine fear in her voice. "I am sorry to hear that, Your Grace."

Alicent's eyes met Basalia's, a flicker of strategic resolve passing through them. "Which is why I wanted to speak with you. I wish for him to see Aemond married, to know his line is secured. It would give him peace."

The mention of the wedding in such stark terms—less a celebration of union than a strategic necessity—caused Basalia to draw a slow, deep breath. "I understand, Your Grace. And I am committed to doing my part for the family."

Alicent reached out, placing a gentle hand on Basalia's arm. "Thank you, Basalia. Your cooperation in these times is more valuable than you know."

⸻

The library of the Red Keep was dimly lit in the evening, the vast shelves casting long shadows across the ornate rugs.

Aemond was nestled in one of the alcoves, surrounded by volumes of history and trade, his initial intent being to find anything that could assist him in his dealings with the Blackwoods.

However, as the evening wore on, his focus shifted unexpectedly.

Turning the pages of an old ledger on trade between the Stormlands and the Riverlands, Aemond stumbled upon a mention of a house he had never heard of before—House Valen.

The name was unfamiliar, a rarity given his extensive education in the politics and families of the Seven Kingdoms.

Curiosity piqued, he rose from his seat. He moved through the library with purpose, his boots echoing softly as he searched for a history book specifically about the Stormlands. After several minutes, he found what he was looking for. The thick tome was dusty, indicating it hadn't been disturbed for some time.

Back at his desk, as he flipped through the pages, Aemond found the section on House Valen. The text detailed their rise and the trade successes that had notably enhanced their wealth and influence.

But, it was also mentioned that jealousy and fear from neighbouring houses had led to a brutal attack, resulting in the family's tragic end only eleven years ago.

The portrait on the next page was striking—a vivid depiction of the Lord and his Lady, flanked by their three children. The Lord stood with a dignified air, his wife by his side. To their right stood the eldest son, and beside him was the middle daughter, her expression serene yet confident. But it was the youngest daughter on the far left who captured Aemond's immediate attention.

Her features were hauntingly familiar; the tilt of her head, the gentle curve of her smile, even the spark of liveliness in her eyes reminded Aemond of someone he knew too well.

With a sharp intake of breath, Aemond stepped back. How could this girl, seemingly a part of a noble family long destroyed, look so like someone he encountered only last night?

Aemond resolved to keep this discovery to himself for the moment. He knew that this discovery could change everything—not just for him, but potentially for the entire balance of power within the Seven Kingdoms. The echoes of House Valen, murmuring through the dusty pages of history, had now come to light.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

𝘴𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘻𝘴𝘭𝘷𝘵 & 𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘦 © 2024