Living the Dance | aegon ii targaryen

two

In the Throne Room, the grandeur and weight of Westerosi history surrounded me, pressing in with an intensity that was almost tangible. High ceilings soared above, and the Iron Throne loomed menacingly at the room's end, its twisted metal a stark reminder of the power and peril that governed this land.

Otto Hightower, having led the procession, turned to face me, his expression inscrutable. "Your Grace," he announced, addressing King Viserys, who sat upon the Iron Throne, his visage weary yet commanding. "This... girl could be a threat, just look at her in such foreign attire"

All eyes in the room turned to me, their gazes ranging from curious to suspicious. Among the onlookers, the most notable was Daemon Targaryen, his interest plainly evident. The king leaned forward, his gaze fixed on the necklace that seemed to have caught everyone's attention.

"Approach," King Viserys commanded, his voice echoing in the vast chamber.

As I stepped forward, I felt the weight of countless eyes upon me. The closer I got to the Iron Throne, the more palpable the tension became. I was acutely aware of my out-of-place appearance, my modern clothes now dry but still entirely alien in this world.

"Tell us," the king began, his tone more curious than accusatory, "how came you to be in the waters of Driftmark? And from whence do you hail?"

His eyes, though tired, were sharp, missing nothing. I knew that any lie would be detected, any truth potentially dangerous. Yet, the truth was so unbelievable, I feared it would seal my fate as a madwoman.

"I... I'm not sure how I ended up in the waters, Your Grace," I started, deciding on a partial truth. "I come from... far away. A place very different from here." I paused, unsure how to continue without sounding insane.

The king's focus narrowed on the necklace adorning my neck,—a symbol unmistakably Targaryen. "Explain this," he demanded, a cold edge to his voice that left no room for evasion. "How does someone of your... unusual appearance come to possess a Targaryen relic? Speak truthfully."

Feeling cornered, I faltered for a moment before responding. "It was a gift," I began, my voice steadier than I felt. "From my family. It's all I have left of them."

"A gift?" King Viserys scoffed, his skepticism evident. "Or perhaps a trinket you stole, hoping its value might buy you a new life?"

The accusation stung, and my temper flared. "I am no thief," I retorted, my voice rising in defiance.

It was Daemon Targaryen who spoke up then, his tone laced with amusement. "Perhaps she is a cunning little thief, or maybe she's telling the truth. It's not unheard of for lost treasures to find their way into unlikely hands."

His interjection, though mocking, momentarily shifted the king's accusatory gaze from me. The room's atmosphere, charged with suspicion and intrigue, seemed to hang on a knife's edge. In a moment of reckless courage—or perhaps folly—I laughed at Daemon. The sound of my laughter echoed through the Driftmark Throne Room, a stark contrast to the heavy silence that had enveloped us all. The entire room fell into an even deeper silence, a collective intake of breath at my audacity. Everyone in Westeros knew not to provoke the rogue prince, yet here I was, unable to contain my disbelief at the absurdity of the situation.

Princess Rhaenyra and Queen Alicent shared a glance, a silent exchange fraught with concern. It was as if they were mentally preparing themselves to intervene, to protect their children from the fallout of Daemon's potential wrath. The tension in the room was a palpable force, a storm ready to break.

Driven by a mix of fear and indignation, I found words pouring from me with a vehemence I hadn't known I possessed. "I'm not the one who stole a dragon egg after a child's funeral to gift to a whore, all because you were denied of being king," I spat, my voice laced with scorn. The room seemed to freeze, time itself pausing at the audacity of my accusation.