— ♛ —
Valarr had not seen Aemond since the day he was born.
Well, Queen Alicent had not allowed him to see Aemond, and now nearly six moons had passed. He knew because next week was the start of the fifth moon of the year, and with it followed his nameday.
Ordinarily, it would not bother him so much, but the whispers were insistent. Valarr was unsure why; Aemond was just his cousin, the same as Rhaenyra, Aegon and Helaena. The whispers never explicitly told him to spend time with them, but he could guess. All he knew was that they liked The Harbinger.
Valarr disliked the title. Aemond was a babe; he was not anything. Even if that were true, the whispers offered no explanation, only a persistent nudging. Valarr harboured no resentment toward Aemond for it. He was blameless.
And then there was the subject of his sixth nameday.
All the nameday celebrations for the royal family were grand and joyous affairs. Rhaenyra's four and tenth nameday was no different, commenced by a three-day tourney. The King stopped at no expense, inviting half the realm and expecting the other half to enjoy the day regardless. Valarr remembered seeing Ser Cristion prepare for the melee, asking for Rhaenyra's favour. Sadly, he did not see who his chosen opponent was since Aegon and Gunthor Darklyn pulled him away to play Ghost in the Graveyard.
Valarr liked the idea of his nameday; he did not like how the King wanted to celebrate it. The grandeur, Valarr often found, was too loud for his tastes. Then, there were some who found Valarr unworthy of the celebrations he was given. Thankfully, Aegon was usually there to steal the spotlight, happily laughing with the lords and their children and laughing off the more critical ones. It let him recede into the crowd of people, unrecognizable as a Targaryen until they looked at his eyes.
The lords were still kind enough to bring gifts, so many that he could not keep track of them. Valarr's favourites were the ones given by House Blackwood. The heir to the house, Samwell, was a good four years older than him, but he was one of the few who disregarded his birth status. He heard that Samwell petitioned as a potential suitor for Rhaenyra, and according to her, he entered a duel issued by the heir to House Bracken. His cousin spoke of the incident with ridicule, telling him how both boys acted like arrogant fools.
However, he knew that Samwell Blackwood was not arrogant. The Bracken boy, on the other hand, was. Apparently, most Brackens were, and Samwell was on the receiving end of their ire for many years. He would hear about it whenever the Blackwoods came down to Kingslanding. Valarr was just happy that his friend finally stood up for himself.
However, now that Valarr was almost six namedays, he could ask the King if he could start learning how to wield a sword. Since the very moment Ser Criston caught him in the training yard, the urge gradually grew.
Perhaps he could one day be Kingsgaurd?
There was honour in that. After all, Ser Gideon was a member of the Kingsgaurd, and Ser Harrold his Lord Commander. They were honourable people, knights who earned their place within their ranks and fought to defend what was right. Besides, if Valarr were to become a knight, he could gain a new title that would replace the one he was born with. He could be like Ser Addison Hill, Aegon the Conquerer's second Lord Commander, who went from the Bastard of Cornfield to the Swyft-Steel Knight. Ser Addison was remembered as a valiant and loyal knight — as a credit to his house.
Valarr wanted to be remembered by more than just the Blackwater.
The thought had occurred to him earlier today, which led to his current path down to the skull of Balerion. He never got to burn the parchments from his lesson a few weeks ago, and since he could not find anything to fill his time, now was better than never. Not to mention, Valarr knew it would distract him from thinking of things like titles and namedays.
"Look who we have here," sneered a voice, causing Valarr's form to tighten, recognizing the haughty tone of Orryn Wylde, one of twenty-five of Lord Wylde's children.
A second voice piped up beside Orryn, and Valarr immediately knew it was his younger brother, Garon. "Nothing to say, Bastard?"
Valarr felt a knot tighten in his stomach as he quickened his pace, continuing on his way in an attempt to ignore the brothers. He forgot they returned to Kings Landing a few days ago. For the last two months, they stayed at the seat of House Wylde in the Stormlands with their mother. It was the best two months of Valarr's life.
Both Wylde's were older than him, though Garon was only born a year before himself, and both were stronger. They had already spent time in the training yard, and Orryn was recently taken as a page to Ser Willis Fell.
"That seems more likely," Orryn agreed. "I heard that the maesters gave up trying to teach him anything. He has to have lessons with Maester Runciter now."
Valarr's throat bobbed, rising and falling with anger and hurt. His hands, which clutched parchment, tightened, and he felt the urge to throw them down and lunge wildly. The Flames' goading was not helping either. They hissed in his ears, saying this and that, though all were equally displeased. They always were, and it always drove him to avoid the Wyldes whenever they tried to harass him during the past year. Vhagar was usually angry with him — for not doing anything — and called him pitiful, but Valarr did not think he could do anything. There were two of them, and they were legitimate! They would call him a liar, and everyone would believe them based on that alone.
"Can you imagine having to learn from that old fool? No wonder he never says anything. He is probably too dumb to understand," Garon laughed.
Orryn inched closer to Valarr. "Maybe his silence is a blessing. Imagine having to listen to that voice all day."
As Valarr tried to slip away, he heard their rapid footsteps trying to match his pace. Then, a sharp tug on his shoulder ripped him backwards, causing him to nearly trip. Turning to glare at Orryn, Valarr tried to push past him but was blocked by Garon, who smirked at him.
"And where are you going?" Garon's said mockingly. He shoved Valarr back towards his brother.
Behind him, Orryn's laugh was cruel. "Back to his mother, I bet. Are you going to swim to her, Bastard? Are you finally going to brave the Blackwater?"
Valarr felt his eye twitch.
"I wonder," Orryn continued, "if you will sink like her or float like the filth you are— AH!"
In an instant, Valarr's fist connected with Orryn's jaw, the impact silencing the cruel words and sending him to the floor. Garon looked at him, eyes blown wide, not expecting the young Targaryen to lash out like he did. No one ever fought back — not against Orryn.
Vhagar roared, as did Arrax. Their approval made Valarr turn to Garon, fury in his eyes. He watched as the younger Wylde glanced at his brother, who cradled his face on the floor. Before Valarr could do anything else, Orryn pushed himself up, staggering as he did. Orryn pushed his brother away and lunged at Valarr, his fist raised. He almost managed to hit him before a loud shout broke all of their focus.
"BOYS!"
Three heads whirled around to see a tall lady standing at the end of the corridor, fists clenched tightly on her hips. Her face was twisted in a stoic displeasure, the frown lines deepening her scowl. It reminded Valarr of Rhaenyra's septa.
"What do you think you are doing, Orryn?" the lady questioned, marching closer.
Orryn stepped away from him, lowering his fist slowly. "Nothing, Lady Beesbury."
The Wasp of Honeyholt raised a blonde eyebrow. "Then I do not need to remind you that striking a member of the royal family is treason?"
"No, my Lady," Orryn replied, chastened.
"Good," Lady Beesbury said with finality. "Now, take your brother and leave. You have caused enough trouble already. Do not give me a reason to inform the King of your behaviour."
Orryn shot one last heated glare in Valarr's direction before grabbing Garon's arm and leading him away. When they were gone, he bent down and began picking up his scattered parchments, the urge to burn them much stronger now. If he did not, Valarr was not sure what he would do. When he straightened out the pile, he noticed he was missing one. He scanned the surrounding floor until a parchment was held in front of his eyes. Lady Beesbury held the last page.
Lady Beesbury's stern expression softened as she looked at him. "Are you alright, my Lord?" she asked.
Valarr stood, cautiously taking the parchment from her. He nodded, though he still did not look at her.
Acknowledging his silent reply, Lady Beesbury hummed. Instead of letting the matter rest, she gestured for Valarr to follow her. The sternness that had marked her earlier command softened into a more understanding expression. As they left the corridor behind, Valarr trailed after her with a sense of caution.
She led him to a room that was spacious but rather empty. Along one of the walls were instruments Valarr had seen a few court bards play during feasts. There were chairs set about, with one next to a podium, which supported a hefty book. Grabbing it, Lady Beesbury gently took a seat and, without acknowledging him, began to flip through the pages. Not knowing what to do, Valarr hesitantly sat down next to her.
They sat in a blanketed silence for what seemed like ages before Lady Beesbury, still focused on the hefty book in her hands, broke the silence with a calm question. "Do you often make a habit of punching your problems?"
Valarr's head snapped up, his surprise evident. His lips parted, but he held his silence. The answer was no, he did not. In fact, that was the first time he ever did something like that.
When she glanced up from the book, Lady Beesbury was unperturbed by his lack of verbal response. "Men," she said, shaking her head. "Even so young, I swear, violence is the only language they understand. Does the King know?"
Valarr's eyes met Lady Beesbury's gaze, and he shook his head in response. It would be disastrous if he did know. Lord Wylde had been on the Small Council since before he was born, and... Oh no, Valarr thought. Lord Wylde must already know by now! What was he going to do? Viserys did not need to deal with Orryn and Garon; that was his problem. It was then that Valarr felt a twinge of regret for his impulsive actions, not because he regretted punching Orryn, mind you, but because he did not think of the consequences first.
The Wasp of Honeyholt closed the hefty book and set it aside. "You may not speak, my Lord, but your actions do it for you." She paused, looking at Valarr with a measured gaze. "I will not report this incident to the King unless it becomes necessary, and I suppose, for now, we can just say that you were here with me instead."
Here? With her?
Valarr looked at her with a quizzical expression. Could she do that? He could not deny the relief that washed over him. However, the gesture puzzled him. He did not know Lady Beesbury well or at all before today, but she did not seem the type to be nice.
Lady Beesbury rolled her eyes at the look on his face, leaning back in her chair. "Oh, spare me the look, my Lord. You are not the first nor the last boy to let tempers flare. I have sons of my own, you know. They too tried to punch their problems." She slid the book over to him, flipping to the first page, tapping it. "Besides, do not think you shall get out of this by doing nothing. Do you know what these lines are?"
Valarr gingerly took the hefty book, glossing over the pages. It was not like any of the books he stole from the library. It was a songbook. He only knew because there were sentences he recognized from listening to Queen Alicent sing to Helaena. Looking back to the Lady Beesbury, he nodded.
"Good," she intoned, "because I intend for you to memorize the first page by tomorrow." Seeing Valarr's jaw drop open, she continued, "My Lord, I am about to commit treason by lying to the King. The very least you could do is help me memorize the latest of the court's favourite songs."
Valarr stared at her whilst the whispers laughed. Silently and with dwindling hope, he prayed to Arrax to make Lady Beesbury change her mind. Unsurprisingly, the Flame only laughed harder, advising him to pray to Tessarion instead, who told him to make an offering to Vermax first.
He did not like to speak! Why did everyone try to force him? He hated how it felt, and he hated how he sounded. Whenever he tried, his throat would go dry and start to burn. It was only made worse by the maesters. Every few days, they gave him a type of yellow medicine, a tincture that tasted bitter and vile, purportedly aimed at healing whatever was causing disability.
It did not.
Or maybe it did? He certainly did not speak enough to find out, but when he did, his voice sounded the same every time, and the pain was still there. The closest he could get to speaking without pain was humming, which he did often enough.
That was not so different from singing, Valarr supposed.
And then he remembered his night spent in King's Landing and that lordly singer from the street who looked so happy to be surrounded by songs. The people were captivated by him. They listened to him with rapt attention and felt joy with him. People loved his songs. They loved him. Though most importantly, he was free. The singer looked as if he had not a care in the world like the song had vanished all his problems into nothing. Even just by listening to him, Valarr forgot about his own troubles.
To the surprise of the Flames, Valarr accepted the challenge, causing them to settle. He would prove them wrong.
(The singing would prove more than useful, especially when he stared into the eyes of a molten-eyed beast.)
— ♛ —
TALK SHIT GET HIT.
And finally we meet Lady Elyse!
What did you think of the chapter?
FLAMES MENTIONED:
Vhagar:
God of war, violence, and courage
Arrax:
Ruler of Gods, law and order
Tessarion:
Goddess of music, arts, and prophecy
Vermax:
God of travel, trade and language
Happy reading,
~Hircines