¹ 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒 ━━ 𝐝. 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

iii. frayed bonds

✧˖° 🌑 ೄྀ࿐
━ [ SONG OF SORROWS ] ༉‧₊˚✧
x. act one... the dragon's daughter
frayed bonds ━ ✩・*。

— 112 A.C
KING'S LANDING

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THE halls of the Red Keep were as quiet as a crypt. Nary a mouse nor voice could be heard through the blistering silence, thick and impenetrable as ice. Haunting the dimly-lit corridors was the Crown Princess, Valerys, her darkened attire melting her into the background, encasing her within the very ombre cloud she so feared. The dark was a promise of unseen misfortune, an omen carrying on stormy winds.

    Still, the scarce serenity was a welcome one, her only company the harsh beat of her heeled feet against the marble flooring. After being left with the cryptic words of Keres, Valerys had much time to mull the ideology about her constricting mind. As a strong advocate against violence, Valerys took a immediate dislike to the idea of bending her subjects' knees by force; yet, she saw no alternative solution at the present. Not that she entirely needed one, Aemma may yet present a son, and even still, Viserys was decades away from greeting the Stranger.

    Though, she could not help the bubble of trepidation that deflated her lungs with each passing thought.

    As her being came into the generous light of the main corridor, the distinctive clink of metal rang out around her, piercing the veil of silence like a sharpened sword. Turning her head towards where the sound came from, Valerys was greeted with the sight of her sworn shield, Ser Loren Banefort. He was a lean, strapping man, with a dust of facial hair that lead into a crown of curly, brown hair. It was not an overstatement to say he was attractive, but the princess had long buried her illicit desires for him.

    Valerys raised an expectant eyebrow at her protector, who looked beside himself with exhaustion. "Apologies, Your Grace," he heaved, doubling over, hands on his knees, "I've been all over the Red Keep searching for you."

    His comment only made Valerys' confusion increase tenfold. "Pray tell, why?"

     "Your uncle. He had requested your presence at the Godswood," he said through breaths, finally composing himself enough to straighten to his full height.

     At his words, Valerys stiffened, slimy, frigid fear crawling up her spine, which had erected at the mention of her slightly deranged uncle. Ever since she was a small child, barely large enough to carry her weight on her own two feet, there had been a unexplainable feeling of trepidation when she were in the presence of her father's brother. He was her kin, his blood ran thick through her veins, the invisible tether of kinship strung delicately between them; yet, that knowledge did little to soothe the overwhelming uneasiness she felt when he was nearby.

    Now, he had never been cruel to her — even when she knew him to be. Whispers engulfed the Red Keep, lips quivering with envious anticipation at the Rouge Prince's next pursuit. Gods knew that he was not a pious man; far be it for her lusting uncle to adhere to celibacy. With his lawful wife hung out to dry like a forgotten linen, the man was free do as he pleased. While Valerys was far too young to recall, there was a time the Red Keep was alight with jovial gossip, the life blood of the court, one that told tales of her ever-loving uncle stealing the maidenhead of a bride-to-be the night before her wedding.