The Mummer

The Green Queen

"You are a bright girl, I do not understand why you choose to be miserable." The septa's words brought Vaelora's frown deeper as she tried to avoid rolling her eyes. Rolling her eyes meant getting scolded. Getting scolded meant that Septa Marlow would continue speaking. And truly, Vaelora did not want that. 

"My mother is dead, am I to be of blame for exhibiting natural, human, emotions in response to that?" Vaelora pushed at the book on the table in front of her, flipping the pages around out of boredom. Vaelora hated learning. It was droll and made the days long. It did not help that it all seemed to come naturally and stayed permanently stored in her head. At the very least, it could be difficult and make it a challenge for her. But no, she absorbed it and kept it, the words knocking at her skull constantly, floating around and screaming themselves out.

"You have always been a miserable thing. Far before Queen Aemma's death. You came into this world sorrowful and dejected. Refused to even cry upon your birth, gave your parents a near fright that you were born dead. And then when you finally did cry, you never did it again. Confused poor Grand Maester Mellos what was wrong with you. He thought you ill of some cursed ailment the Citadel had never seen." If possible, Vaelora's frown deepened at that as she watched Septa Marlow walk aimlessly around the room.

"But your ailment, it is not of the body. It is of the mind, child." Marlow's eyes stopped on Vaelora, causing the girl to freeze. Vaelora knew something was wrong with her. Everyone knew something was wrong with her. But none had thought so bold to say it out loud and directly to her. No one had ever dared to suggest that the young princess may be afflicted of some sort of mental... illness.

"I do not know what you mean." Vaelora mumbled out, turning her head down to look back at the book. The pages had settled upon one from the early days of the conquest. Painted upon the worn paper was Aegon, Blackfyre in hand, with Balerion the Dread etched behind him in all his glory. The black beast stood behind his rider, a fearsomeness echoing in their eyes. Vaelora longed for that. For that companionship, for that connection.

"You know precisely what I mean. Why else would you have those blasted dreams?" It was an uncomfortable source of conversation. Vaelora did not talk about her dreams. But it was very known. Even though most nights she would not even stir from them, there were still the occasions where she would wake up screaming, drenched in sweat, clutching her chest. Those nights had been happening more frequently. For her dreams seemed to never stay the same as they had been. Constantly twisting. She wondered if they were truly prophecies, like Daenys the Dreamer. That she was seeing some other Doom for her family, far, far away from their homeland of Valyria, which now laid in ruins. Perhaps they were telling her to flee too, that soon, Westeros would be ablaze as well and all its people would turn to ash. And the constant changes were all the different paths that may happen.

But her dreams never ended in fire. They ended in blood. 

"Dreams mean nothing. Nightmares even less so." Vaelora stared at Aegon upon the page. Did he have nightmares too? Did he dream of himself touching the Iron Throne like she did, before he had even built it? Had he seen the chair in a dream and brought it to life? She would never know, the world would never know. For Aegon was long dead, and Balerion beside him. And Blackfyre lay forgotten about in some vault, last worn by Jaehaerys. Her father handled it at times, but only when he wanted to assert his position. But for the most part, it was abandoned. Even Aegon's crown was collecting dust... all signs of his greatness, his glory, thrown into the shadows. Were they even the blood of the dragon at this point? Or had it become so muddled? 

"You should know better than anyone that dreams mean everything. They are our fears, our hopes. They are our ruins, and our glories. They are our worst, and our best." Vaelora groaned, looking up at the septa.