Faith

𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑖𝑣𝑒 - 𝐻𝑖𝑑𝑑𝑒𝑛

━━━━━━ ✧◦♚◦✧ ━━━━━━

Visenya's bedroom was plunged into semi-darkness, lit only by the flickering glow of candles on a dresser. The air was heavy, saturated with the smell of sheets soaked in grief and silent tears.

Rhaenyra and Visenya sat side by side on the edge of the bed, their hands intertwined in a gesture that was both instinctive and desperate. They had not spoken for a long time. There was nothing to say. Only Visenya's trembling breathing broke the heavy silence, her shoulders shaking slightly with each sniff. Her eyes, still reddened, were fixed on the floor, as if it could offer her some semblance of comfort.

Then a sound from the other side of the door. "Your Grace." Ser Erryk's voice barely echoed in the room, breaking the fragile balance of silence.

The king was there.

The doors opened with a muffled creak, revealing the figure of Viserys in the frame. His face was drawn, his features weighed down by crushing weariness, by a grief he could not bear. The man standing there was no longer the confident ruler who dispensed justice from the Iron Throne. At that moment, he seemed older than ever.

Visenya looked up at him. But she said nothing. Nor did Rhaenyra.

An icy silence fell between them, as cold as the death that had torn their mother from their world.

Viserys opened his mouth... then closed it. His gaze flickered between his daughters' faces and the emptiness of the ground. His fingers stretched out, clenched into a fist, then opened again, betraying an unusual nervousness. He swallowed hard. Several times he seemed about to speak, but no words came.

So he just looked away. Finally, in a voice that lacked warmth, he said :

"You have a brother."

He didn't even look at them as he said it.

The seconds passed in a heavy silence. Rhaenyra and Visenya froze, as if their minds refused to take in the news. There was no immediate reaction, not in their faces, not in their postures. There was nothing.

And that, in a way, relieved Viserys. For in that moment he knew he could not face their pain.

He took a step back, ready to leave the room, already moving away as if to escape the atrocity of this day. But as Visenya sniffed again, holding back her tears from him, a sob stuck in the back of her throat, Rhaenyra suddenly frowned.

She lifted her head and stared at her father without blinking. "Is that all you have to say to us ?"

Her voice cracked in the air, cold and sharp.

Viserys stopped.

He hadn't even told them about their mother's death. He hadn't even bothered to say the words. When he learned that his daughters already knew, part of him felt relieved. It was as if he didn't have to officially tell them what he couldn't bear to admit out loud.

Gently, he turned his head towards them, but his gaze did not linger for long. Just a fleeting moment, charged with a sorrow he didn't know how to express. He took a deep breath, his back still turned.

"His name is Baelon."

And then he was gone.

Ser Erryk closed the door behind him and the silence fell like an axe.

Visenya immediately broke down. She, who had forced herself to swallow her tears in the presence of their father, let go without restraint, her body shaking with painful sobs. She clung to Rhaenyra's arm like a lifeline, searching for comfort she didn't know where to find.

But Rhaenyra didn't move.

She stared at the door through which their father had just disappeared. And for the first time in her life, Rhaenyra felt what Visenya had always felt about their father.

She felt...

abandoned.

Visenya sniffled, her small hands clutching the fabric of her dress as she tried to wipe the tears from her face. Her trembling voice broke the silence, fragile and uncertain.

"I made a blanket for the baby..." she murmured, punctuating her words with muffled sobs. "It... it will be necessary... to give it to him. I gave it to Mother... but now she can't... she can't give it to him. So... so I'll have to do it myself."

Rhaenyra felt her heart tighten. She looked at her little sister who, at the age of fourteen, was desperately trying to make sense of this loss, clinging to this simple gesture that was so full of meaning. For a moment, Rhaenyra didn't know what to say, taken aback by Visenya's raw pain, so great for such a small body.

Then she nodded gently, her voice soft and reassuring. "Yes, we'll give it to him. Don't worry."

Without waiting, she reached out and pulled Visenya to her, hugging her tightly. The youngest girl let go and nestled her face against her sister's shoulder, trembling with emotion. Rhaenyra stroked her hair gently in a gesture of comfort.

"I'm here, Visenya," she whispered. "You are not alone."

And in the silence, only Visenya's ragged breathing could be heard, punctuated by the steady beating of her sister's heart against her ear.

✸

Rhaenyra was no longer there. She had said she wanted to change. After all, wearing a red dress in a time of mourning seemed out of place.

But the reality was different. She didn't care what she wore. And she didn't care what people might think. She just needed to get some fresh air. To be alone. To collapse like Visenya had done. But she couldn't do that while she was in the presence of her sister.

So she had sought refuge in her quarters, hoping to find her best friend, Alicent.

Visenya was alone in her bedchamber now.

Her brain was racing. Or maybe it was the other way round. Maybe it wasn't working at all.

A thousand thoughts went through her head. Or rather none at all.

Time stretched on.

Darkness enveloped her.

Darkness... Funny when you think about it. Even this morning the sun was shining. The sky was clear and bright. Then, as the hours passed, the clouds began to gather, plunging the kingdom into greyness, as if it too were mourning the death of Queen Aemma.

Or perhaps... perhaps the sun was just setting.

Perhaps she just saw signs where there were none.

After a long moment, frozen in the shadows, Visenya got up. She went to her bedroom door and opened it.

No one was there.

Ser Erryk was no longer at his post.

And he still was.

If he had left, it was because her father had asked him to.

So that was it. One death and all the usual organisation was shattered.

Mechanically, she made her way to her mother's chambers. Her steps were slow, hesitant. As she approached, a servant passed by carrying the last of the bloodstained linen.

The sight of the soiled cloth lifted her heart.

She felt nauseous. Her throat tightened and she staggered almost to the entrance of the room. And there, within the walls that had seen her mother die, Visenya leaned against the nearest wall.

She took a deep breath. Her eyes swept around the room. Her father was there. Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk too. And the Silent Sisters. Around a table.

On that table, under an immaculate shroud, lay Aemma Arryn, and the Silent Sisters were busy preparing her for her final journey.

Visenya laid a hand on the cold stone. She approached slowly, almost wavering, then leaned a little further against the wall, her right flank pressed against the rough surface. Then, slowly, she lowered her head, letting her forehead rest on the stone, her face turned towards the walls, whose bricks were the same colour as the stained sheets she had seen a few minutes before.

She began to breathe more slowly.

On one side of the wall she could see nothing.

On the other, she could see everything.

She stayed like that, her nose pressed against the edge of the wall, half her face hidden, protected, while the other half remained exposed to the harsh light of reality.

As if to hide herself.

As if to protect herself.

As she had done before.

104 AC

Screams tore through the air, ricocheting off the stone walls and filling the royal chamber with a dull agony. Maesters and midwives bustled around the bed, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of hurried orders. The metallic smell of blood wafted through the air, mingling with the scent of burning medicinal herbs.

Six-year-old Visenya lurked in the shadows of the doorway, half hidden behind the cold stone. Her small fingers gripped the wall, her face pressed against the rough surface as she tried to observe without being seen.

She was curious. She wanted to understand how children were born.

But what she saw was terrifying.

Her mother was screaming. A wail of pain and despair that made her want to flee, cover her ears and forget the moment. But she froze. Too worried. Too fascinated.

The adults, too engrossed in the queen, didn't notice the small figure hidden in the shadows. Until a voice suddenly snapped her out of her reverie.

"Princess Visenya, there you are !"

She turned with a start to see Elen, her regular maid, panting and clearly distraught. "You can't just disappear ! And you can't stay here. Come, we have to go."

But a whisper, faint, trembling, came from across the room. "Visenya..."

The little girl turned her head. Her mother was looking at her. Her face was drenched in sweat, her features contorted with pain. Yet despite the obvious suffering, there was an ineffable gentleness in her eyes, a maternal glow that tried to reassure her.

Visenya took a tentative step forward. "Mummy..."

Her small word was a plea, a need for reassurance.

Elen, who had stooped to the princess's level, stood up immediately. She grabbed the princess by the shoulders, preventing her from taking another step, and pulled her backwards against her.

"Your Grace, I'm sorry, she shouldn't be here."

But before she could say anything else, Aemma was struck by another attack of pain. Her scream filled the room and she rolled onto her side, her hands clutching the sweat-soaked sheets. "Get her out of here !" she cried, her voice cracking. "She can't see this !"

The order was final.

Elen immediately grabbed Visenya's hand and dragged her out of the room, closing the door behind them as the queen's screams began to fade.

"Elen... Why is Mummy screaming ?" Visenya asked in a whisper. "Is she going to die ?"

The maiden stopped dead in her tracks.

Visenya looked up at her with childlike concern, too young to really understand, but not naive enough not to know that something was wrong.

Elen crouched in front of her and placed her hands on her frail shoulders, squeezing them lightly as if to convey a reassuring certainty. "No, Princess. You mustn't say that. Did you see how she's surrounded ? Your mother is strong, everything will be fine."

But Visenya frowned. "Where is father ?"

Elen hesitated for a split second. "Men... and even less kings... don't attend births. It can take a long time. They only come at the end, or after the delivery."

The answer seemed to upset her. "Why ?"

"Let's just say they can't do anything. They'd be more trouble than anything else."

Visenya narrowed her eyes. She didn't like that answer - especially as it was a lie, made up by the servant to protect the princess a little longer from a reality she couldn't yet comprehend. She didn't like the idea of her father not being there while her mother suffered.

''Tis better they're not here, anyway,'" Elen added with a sigh.

"Why ?"

Elen opened her mouth to answer... but stopped abruptly. Her gaze had just caught a figure that had just passed in the corridor.

King Viserys.

The king was hurrying towards the queen's chambers, his face tense and closed. Elen froze. She hadn't had time to finish her sentence. But she knew what she wanted to say.

"They only come when there's a problem."

And if the king was there... That meant there was a problem.

Again.

Elen swallowed her fear and took Visenya's hand again. "Come, let's go back to your chambers."

But Visenya was dragging her feet, her thoughts already elsewhere. As they crossed an inner courtyard of the Red Keep, voices caught her attention. Two ladies from the courtyard were talking in hushed tones, but the echo carried their words to her. She slowed her pace.

"I hear the birth is going badly... again."

"Is that really surprising ?"

The other lady sighed in exasperation.

"What a pity. When the Queen got pregnant so soon after Princess Rhaenyra's birth, everyone thought she'd be just like her grandmother. But it's clear she won't bring the king as many children as Queen Alysanne gave Jaehaerys."

"Anything is still possible. The Queen has proved very fertile in recent years."

"Yes, but look how that turned out. We would be naive to believe in a male heir."

(After Grand Maester Allar told the king shortly after Visenya's birth that another pregnancy might endanger the queen's life, Queen Aemma did not bear another child for three years. Until 101, when Prince Viserys decided to take Aemma to bed again after the death of his father, Prince Baelon.

The queen miscarried. Another bereavement for the family.

Not wanting to disappoint her husband and the expectations of the realm, Aemma agreed to share her husband's bed again less than two moons after the loss of the child. Especially since Viserys had become a potential heir to the crown after his father's death, and a male heir would have strengthened his claim to the crown.

In the same year, Queen Aemma became pregnant again. This time the pregnancy was carried to term, bringing new hope. After all, many women had seen their pregnancies end well before term, and their subsequent pregnancies had resulted in healthy babies.

The birth was difficult. But a boy was born. The whole kingdom rejoiced.

The child did not live to see the first moon.

He lived only a few weeks.

After that, Princess Aemma had only two years' respite. In 103 AC, King Jaehaerys died, Viserys became king, and Aemma became his queen consort. The pressure to produce an heir had increased, and Aemma wanted more than anything to give her husband the son he wanted.

The new pregnancy also came to term. But this time there was no time for deception : the child was stillborn.

It was a boy.

Aemma Arryn had lost three children in three years.)

Elen stopped when she realised that Visenya was listening. But before she could pull the princess away, the conversation continued.

"We need a miracle."

"Yes... But it's definitely a miracle the Crown would need."

Then came the phrase that changed everything.

"It's a shame... Everything was looking good for a great royal family."

"Yes... until the birth of Princess Visenya spoiled everything."

Elen felt Visenya tense up next to her.

"Don't say that. You could get into trouble."

"I'm just telling the truth. Everyone knows that if this birth hadn't been so difficult, the queen would have had other children. And for what ? For a daughter ? It is the birth of the Princess that prevents the Queen from having other children, that's obvious."

The other lady sank into silence, agreeing with the opinion but finding the words too much, especially in a public place. Elen, in such a state of shock at overhearing such a conversation, did not react immediately.

"Having two children isn't such a tragedy."

"Yes, it would have been more than appropriate if at least the last one had been a boy."

But this latency was short-lived.

"Excuse me ?!"

Elen's indignant voice boomed across the courtyard, drawing the attention of the two ladies. They turned pale as they saw Visenya staring at them, her small fists clenched.

"Princess..." they stammered, bowing hastily.

Another servant, who had also been searching for the princess with Elen, arrived, out of breath. "Thanks to the Seven, you've found her !"

Elen did not take her angry eyes off the ladies of the court.

"Take the princess, I beg you, and escort her to her chambers."

The servant didn't quite understand what was going on, but she obeyed. She grabbed Visenya's hand and pulled her away, but the little girl continued to stare over her shoulder at the ladies as they hurried away when she heard Elen scream.

"How dare you say such a thing ? The king and queen will hear of this ! Members of their own court."

Even if she was right, Elen could not speak like that to the ladies of the court, but they were in no position to complain.

But the harm had been done.

And that was the day Visenya got it. She didn't immediately understand what those words meant. But they stayed with her. Till she understood what they meant.

(Visenya would hope with every pregnancy that her mother would prove them all wrong. But in 104 AC, Queen Aemma did indeed lose the child. A stillborn.

Thinking that all these losses had exhausted the queen's body, Viserys didn't try to have any more children for four years.

In 108 AC, the queen became pregnant for the sixth time.

Another miscarriage.

Four years later, in 112 AC, she became pregnant for the seventh and last time, giving birth to Prince Baelon, the heir for a day.

In all, Queen Aemma had 8 pregnancies, two daughters, two ended well before their term, two who died in the cradle and two who were stillborn).

Visenya sobbed silently, her eyes fixed on her mother's now shrouded body. A pall of pain weighed on her frail shoulders, crushing her under a weight she was far too young to bear. A dull thought crept into her mind, nagging, inescapable.

It was her fault.

Across the room, Ser Erryk, stationed at the king's side, watched the scene discreetly. His gaze fell on the princess, frozen near the entrance, a gleam of childlike distress in her eyes. Turning slightly towards Viserys, he whispered in a measured tone, "My King."

With a simple shake of his head, he pointed to Visenya's frail form.

Viserys followed his gaze, then looked away, his face impassive. His grief, his fatigue, his sorrow too great to name, weighed on every feature. He took a deep breath before he said wearily, "Take her back to her chambers."

Ser Erryk bowed his head in obedience and approached the child. (Because at that moment, that was what she was. A child.) She had not moved an inch, as if frozen in the moment, a prisoner of the moment when everything had collapsed.

With a cautious gesture, he placed a hand on her back. "Let's go back, Princess."

Visenya blinked, as if waking from a dream, then nodded gently.

"I have to... I have to get something first."

But her legs refused to move. The distance between her and the bed where her mother lay seemed insurmountable. The very thought of passing close to her mother's body made her stomach turn. Her pale fingers gripped the wall a little tighter, as if holding on to it would keep her upright.

Ser Erryk waited a moment before murmuring, with the patience of a man who has seen too many children broken too soon : "Tell me what this is about."

Visenya swallowed hard, tears threatening to well up again. "The blanket... for the prince..."

Her voice was barely a whisper. She fought the emotion, fought the suffocating feeling that gripped her chest.

The knight nodded and spoke to a servant, who disappeared for a moment before returning with the blanket, carefully folded in his arms. When he handed it to her, Visenya grabbed it with almost desperate fervour, clutching the fabric to her like a fragile treasure.

Then they could leave the room.

In the corridor, Visenya clung to the blanket like a lifeline. Every footstep sounded too loud in the heavy silence of the castle, every breath seemed too big, too painful.

As she walked beside Ser Erryk, an image came back to her.

The look in her mother's eyes when she had given her the blanket.

Aemma had taken it between her delicate fingers, running it under her palms as if caressing every stitch. Then her face lit up with a sincere, tender smile, filled with the warmth that only a mother could give.

Visenya closed her eyes for a moment, clinging to the memory like a last ray of light in the darkness.

When they finally reached his chambers, Ser Erryk opened the door and stepped aside to let her in. Visenya took a few steps inside, then stopped dead in the middle of the room.

It all seemed too big, too empty.

She clutched the blanket a little tighter to her chest, tears streaming down her face, tears she couldn't hold back. Her breathing became erratic and jerky, and after a few moments her legs gave way.

She fell to her knees, trembling, the blanket still pressed against her.

And then, in the silence of her room, where there was no echo of her mother's comforting presence, Visenya realised that she was truly alone.

✸✸

The night before, Rhaenyra had returned to her sister's quarters. The two princesses had both slept in the younger's bed. Slept, at least... Face to face, they had talked until tears had overwhelmed them both, pouring out their grief until sleep took them, even if it was very short.

The sun was approaching its zenith, and Rhaenyra was no longer there. She had left the room to change for the funeral, but had left her sister in the care of her ladies-in-waiting, who were to look after Visenya until Rhaenyra returned.

Visenya was being treated like a child. Normally that would have annoyed her, but for the moment that was what she was. A child, lost and motherless.

Visenya sat on the edge of her bed, her eyes riveted to the funeral dress lying on a chair opposite her. Deep black, like a shadow. Like an abyss.

The ladies-in-waiting stood at a distance, in a row, frozen in silent expectation. They exchanged puzzled glances, not knowing what to do or say.

As Rhaenyra entered, she was immediately aware of this strange tension. Her eyes swept the room before settling on her sister. "Visenya... Aren't you dressed yet ?" Her tone was a mixture of annoyance and concern. "You're going to be late."

Visenya didn't move. Her eyes never left the dress. "They'll wait."

Her voice was low, almost absent. She stood, walked slowly, making an awkward circle around the room, like a caged lion. "I wanted to look at the dress first."

Rhaenyra frowned. "This isn't an event to be noticed, it's a funeral. It doesn't matter what the dress is, as long as it's black."

Visenya paused, her fingers clenched in her palms. Her voice trembled slightly as she replied, "It's the Queen's funeral. Our mother's. The final farewell." She swallowed hard, barely holding back the tears that threatened to fall. "I must be perfect."

Rhaenyra lost patience. "Do you really want to make this about you ? Put that dress on, now."

Then suddenly Visenya blurted out, "I can't !"

The room fell silent. Visenya inhaled sharply, her chest heaving with the effort to contain the hurricane of emotions that threatened to explode. "Because if I put it on... it'll make it all real." She closed her eyes, her voice cracking with pain. "It will mean that Mother is really gone."

A weight fell in Rhaenyra's stomach. She softened. "But she's really gone, Visenya..." she murmured. "That's the reality, as hard as it is."

A heavy silence fell between them. Then the door opened.

Ser Erryk entered the room, stopping abruptly when he saw Visenya still in her undergown chemise. His gaze immediately wandered, finding refuge in an empty spot on the wall. "Sorry to interrupt, princesses."

Rhaenyra, still feeling the tension of the moment, immediately assumed that he had come to hasten their departure. "Yes, I know, Ser Erryk, it's already noon, but we won't be late, will we, Visenya ?"

Visenya did not answer.

Ser Erryk hesitated. He glanced at the ladies-in-waiting before continuing : "No, actually, Princess..." He paused.

Rhaenyra squinted, then Visenya finally spoke. "Speak without fear, Ser Erryk. I have nothing to hide from my ladies."

The man took a deep breath before announcing, "The funeral has been postponed."

Rhaenyra and Visenya exchanged looks of surprise. "Postponed ? When ?" Visenya asked.

"At the end of the day."

"Why ?" Rhaenyra added suspiciously.

Ser Erryk hesitated. He'd never thought he'd find himself in this situation. He didn't even understand why he had to announce it. Finally he spoke.

"Prince Baelon's night was... complicated. And..." He paused.

Rhaenyra understood immediately what he meant. His tone had become bitter, almost cynical. "And what ? They're postponing the funeral in case the prince doesn't survive ?"

She knew it was a cruel thought, but the pain blinded her, made her sour.

Ser Erryk clenched his jaw, obviously uncomfortable. "Princess... Your brother... Prince Baelon..." He took a deep breath. "I regret to inform you that he died a short time ago."

Silence fell like a chopper. The air seemed to be sucked out of the room. Then a strange sound escaped Visenya's throat. A giggle.

She put a hand to her mouth. "Sorry... It's just..."

Another laugh. A nervous, uncontrollable laugh.

Rhaenyra stared at her, her face frozen in incomprehension. Then, without a word, she turned and left the room abruptly, as if it were too much, as if her body refused to take any more pain.

Visenya, for her part, exploded. A laugh, then a sob. Another laugh. A second sob. She alternated between the two, a disturbing mixture of hilarity and raw pain. And then she collapsed.

Her knees buckled, her body rolled forward.

"Princess !" cried Annalys, reaching out for her.

But Visenya sat up suddenly and gestured sharply. "Out."

The room froze.

"Out !" she shouted. "All of you, every one of you, out, out, out !" She kept shouting until they all left the room one by one, hastily, with a hint of hesitation.

Even Ser Erryk. Though he had waited for the princess to shout under his nose to get out. So, after a final moment of hesitation, he finally stepped back and closed the door behind him. But he remained standing in front of it, alert.

Inside, Visenya was alone. A cry of rage escaped her as she violently overturned everything on the table. She grabbed the black dress and threw it to the floor, her breath coming in ragged gasps. With an angry gesture, she crushed the fabric under her foot and pulled at it with all her strength, tearing it in a fit of pure rage.

Then her gaze fell on an object. The hairnet Daemon had offered. She grabbed it and threw it to the ground. A small crack. It had split.

She stopped and stood panting, her eyes fixed on the fragments of the jewel. A whisper escaped her lips. "No."

She dropped to her knees, picked up the hairnet with infinite care and laid it on the table, as if it had suddenly become fragile. Then she noticed a small loose stone on the floor.

She tried to pick it up, but as she reached for it, she cut her finger slightly. Startled, she let the stone slip from her grasp, then picked it up again with her fingertips. She closed her hand around it, squeezing so hard that her knuckles turned white.

Then, slowly, her body gave way. She lay on the floor, her knees bent, her face pressed against the cold stone.

And there she lay, motionless. Alone with her grief.

Ser Erryk had stood motionless outside the door, listening to the commotion on the other side without interfering. He had heard the shouting, the thud of objects being knocked over, and then that scream... A scream of rage, of pain, that had broken into an oppressive silence. He clenched his jaw but didn't move. He knew pain in all its forms. He knew that sometimes you had to let people fall apart to get them back up again.

So he waited. He waited a long time. Too long.

Visenya's ladies-in-waiting had left the corridor after one last anxious glance at the closed door. They had taken refuge in the Rhaenys Room, not knowing what to do, too uncertain to attempt to return.

As the silence in the room stretched beyond reason, Ser Erryk decided he could wait no longer. He opened the door carefully, just enough to peer inside. At first he did not see the princess. He glanced around the room, frowning slightly. It was a mess - an overturned table, a dress on the floor, torn cloth... And then, at last, he saw her.

She was lying on her side on the floor, motionless.

He rushed into the room with a bound.

"Princess, are you all right ?" he called out, his voice full of genuine concern.

He knelt down beside her and carefully placed a hand on her arm to turn her slightly onto her back, trying to get a better look at her face. Her eyes were open. Wide open. But empty. They were barely blinking, fixed, reddened with tears. She wasn't asleep, she wasn't unconscious. But she seemed somewhere else, absent.

Ser Erryk felt some of the tension ease from his shoulders - she was breathing, she was conscious. But something in her expression gave him a pang of sadness.

"Princess... let me help you up. I'll carry you to your bed."

He reached out to put his hand under her back, but Visenya barely moved, lifting an arm to push him away in a slow, almost fragile gesture. "No," her voice was weak, barely a whisper.

"But, Princess, you'd better..."

"No," she repeated, even softer. She inhaled slowly, searching for her words. "Leave me here, Ser Erryk... I'm fine. I just want..."

She did not finish the sentence. Instead, she turned and resumed her original position, her back to the knight, her cheek again resting against the cold stone of the floor.

Ser Erryk hesitated. Part of him wanted to insist, to remind her that she couldn't stay like this, that she had to get up and face this day, this grief. But another part of him understood that she could not, for the moment.

Ser Erryk crouched for a moment, watching her with silent concern. He had seen pain in many forms - in the cries of rage, in the choked tears, in the heavy silence of men returning from battle - but what he saw there, lying on the cold ground, tugged at his heart in a way he could not explain.

He hesitated for a moment, then sighed softly, lowering his head before slowly rising to his feet. He couldn't force her, and he knew that the pain of grief could not be soothed in a moment, nor by empty words.

He straightened and took a step back. "As you wish, Princess," he said in a low voice, almost a whisper, respecting her wish.

But he did not leave immediately. He turned to the overturned table, to the wreckage of the broken hairnet and the gutted dress lying on the floor. His eyes hardened slightly, not in anger, but in silent frustration at the tragedy. He was only a knight, a simple protector, powerless against the storms that ravaged this royal family.

A silence stretched out. He moved towards the door, but hesitated before stepping through. Then, with a measured gesture, he closed the door but didn't go through. He remained in the room. He turned, now with his back to the door, and then stood in his armour, his back straight. His eyes were fixed on the princess.

He would say nothing more. He would not move. He would remain there, a silent but unwavering presence. If the princess wanted to remain collapsed on the floor, he would let her. But she would not be alone.

After a while there was a knock at the door. Ser Erryk turned to open the door. When he saw that it was only Lenna Blackwood, one of Princess Visenya's ladies-in-waiting, he opened the door wide to let her see what was going on.

It only took one look inside for her to grasp the situation. Surprise showed on her face, but was quickly replaced by unwavering seriousness. She left and returned a short time later with the princess's other three ladies-in-waiting.

They tidied the room and brought a new dress for the funeral before trying to talk to her. But one at a time. They didn't want to rush her.

Annalys, always the most positive, a ray of sunshine who always knew how to look on the bright side and bring a smile to the most stoic of people even in the worst of situations, tried first.

She sat down across from Visenya and started talking to her.

She got nothing.

Not even a smile. Or a blink of an eye. Visenya just laid there, motionless, silent.

Marybel and Marleina's attempts to get the princess to react were as unsuccessful as Annalys'. After a long time, the three girls finally left the room.

Now it was Lenna, who had been lying opposite Visenya in the same position for some time, who tried to talk to her.

She let out a long sigh before standing up and looking at Ser Erryk, shaking her head negatively.

They would get nothing from her.

But the sun would soon be setting. The funeral was approaching, and Visenya was far from ready, far from determined to move, and in this state... She couldn't go anywhere.

So Lenna went to find the one person she thought might be able to make the princess respond.

The bedroom door opened again, slowly and quietly. Visenya didn't have to look up to guess who had just entered. She heard light footsteps, the rustle of a dress, then nothing.

A few seconds later, Rhaenyra's face appeared in her vision - upside down. She was facing her, but in the opposite direction, their faces only inches apart, reflecting a strange, silent closeness.

Visenya's gaze met her sister's. Rhaenyra did not speak at once. Unlike the previous attempts to get her to respond, she didn't force the conversation, didn't try to break the heavy silence. She just stood there.

It was only after many long minutes that she finally whispered : "Do you think he hates me ?"

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow in surprise. She had expected many things, but not this.

"Ser Erryk ? I'm sure he'll get over you yelling at him."

Visenya shook her head gently. "No, not Ser Erryk... Father."

"Father ?" Rhaenyra straightened slightly, frowning. "No, of course not, why would you say that ? You're his daughter, Father could never hate you."

"Because it's my fault."

A shiver ran down Rhaenyra's spine. "What are you talking about ?"

"Mother's death."

Rhaenyra opened her mouth, then closed it, searching for the right words. "Visenya... Mother... It's not your fault. It's nobody's fault. If she died, it was because of the birth-"

"Which went badly, yes I know." Visenya cut in with a flat voice. "But even if you don't care about the murmurs of the court, you know what they all say. That all my mother's pregnancies failed after I was born. Because of me. That if she died, it would be because she could never bear another child without risking her life... because of me."

Rhaenyra shook her head, her eyes filled with anger. "It's just absurd gossip. You can't help it if your birth was difficult. These things happen, Visenya. It's nobody's fault."

"Everyone needs someone to blame when tragedy strikes. It makes it easier to bear."

Rhaenyra watched him in silence, then snapped, "And you blame yourself ? Does that make it any easier ?"

Visenya didn't answer.

"I think it's the opposite," Rhaenyra added after a moment. Then, softer : "Visenya, I don't blame you."

There was silence. Visenya lowered her eyes, as if refusing to believe her words. Then she continued, her voice lower, almost broken : "You know... Part of me found some comfort in Baelon's birth. I told myself that if Father finally got the son he wanted so much, it would make up for the loss of Mother. And he would hate me less."

She gritted her teeth, ashamed of her own reasoning. "But now he has lost another son. He's lost the woman he loved. Because of me. He must hate me."

Rhaenyra felt a pang of pain in her chest. "Don't say that. Father could never hate you."

"Well, I do," Visenya said hoarsely. Rhaenyra stared at her, speechless. "Because at least with Baelon, Mother's death made sense. But now... it's like she died for nothing."

There was silence between them again, heavy and overwhelming. Then Rhaenyra drew a deep breath. "Father has only us left. He can't afford to hate any of us." But Visenya froze, her eyes still blank. "Very well. You want to blame someone ? Then let's do it. But find someone other than yourself."

Visenya blinked slowly, as if unsettled by the idea. "Who then ?"

"I don't know... Father ? For getting Mother pregnant despite the maesters' warnings ? Baelon ? For not resisting after our mother gave her life for him ? The maesters and the midwives, for not saving either of them ? The Maiden, for not looking after mother ? The Stranger, for coming to fetch her too soon? The Mother, for taking Baelon back ?"

Visenya said nothing for several seconds. Then a breath escaped her, almost a laugh, weak and bitter. "What if I blame them all ?"

Rhaenyra nodded slowly. "Blame them all. Let's blame them all. But we... We must honour Mother. And for that, you must rise."

She held out her hand to her sister. "Stand up, Visenya. Get dressed. I'll help you."

This time Visenya did not refuse. Rhaenyra straightened and helped her to her feet. Then, with unexpected gentleness, she took on the task of dressing her herself, dismissing Lenna with a simple glance.

"I'm sorry I slapped you yesterday," Visenya finally said as her sister finished helping her get dressed.

"It's all right. And I'm sorry for the way... you know... what I might have said and the way I said it."

Visenya nodded, but said nothing in response to her sister's apology. She couldn't forgive her for everything. Her head was too jumbled with memories and emotions to know if she could forgive her for all the times Rhaenyra had hurt her, intentionally or not.

Rhaenyra led her to the mirror and stood behind her. She rested her head on her shoulder before taking her hands in hers. "Look at you, you're perfect."

They were alone now. Two sisters united in grief. But for the first time since Aemma Arryn's death, Visenya felt a little less alone.