Lord of Runestone || Rhaenyra Targaryen

Chapter Six

Prince Baelon Targaryen sat at his desk, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across the parchment before him. His quill hovered above the paper as he contemplated the words he would write to his mother, Lady Rhea Royce. The room was silent, save for the occasional crackling of the fire in the hearth. Baelon's thoughts were a whirlwind of secrets and concerns, and he wondered how much he could safely confide in his beloved mother.

As he dipped the quill into the inkwell, his friend Yrsa Stone reclined on a nearby chaise lounge. Her brown hair cascaded over her shoulder as she lazily turned the pages of a dusty tome.

"Baelon," Yrsa began, breaking the silence, "Don't you think the Red Keep has been awfully dull since the passing of the queen?"

Baelon sighed. "Indeed, Yrsa. Her grace brought life and vibrancy to this place. Now it feels like a mausoleum, cold and empty."

Yrsa nodded in agreement. "She had a nice laugh, and her presence made the Red Keep feel like a home rather than just a castle."

Baelon couldn't help but smile faintly at the memories of Queen Aemma's infectious laughter and warmth. Yet, a heavy burden weighed on him. He needed to protect his mother from the brewing storm in the Targaryen court.

Turning his attention back to the letter, he began to write with purpose:

"Dearest Mother,

I trust this letter finds you in good health and spirits, and I hope you are well in the Vale. I wish to convey to you the recent happenings at the Red Keep, as you requested. However, I must admit that the absence of Queen Aemma has left a void that not even the grandest feasts and festivities can fill. Her grace's charm and grace are sorely missed by all.

There have been matters of court and intrigue, but I shall refrain from burdening you with the details. Rest assured that I remain vigilant in our family's interests, as you have always taught me.

Please convey my deepest regards to our kin in the Vale. I eagerly await to return, as I find myself in need of your guidance and wisdom in these uncertain times.

With all my love,
Baelon"

Baelon carefully sealed the letter with the Targaryen sigil and handed it to a trusted servant for delivery. He spared a glance at Yrsa, whose gaze was fixed on the dancing flames in the hearth. She may have sensed his reservations, but in that moment, he knew he had made the right choice. Protecting his mother from the brewing storm was his duty, even if it meant keeping secrets.

As the candle burned low and the room grew darker, Baelon and Yrsa settled into an uneasy silence, both acutely aware of the shadows that loomed over the Red Keep and the Targaryen family.

Yrsa's thoughtful words hung in the air, her eyes still fixed on the flickering flames. After a moment, she turned her gaze toward Baelon, her expression a mix of concern and curiosity.

"Are you truly certain, Baelon?" she asked softly. "If King Viserys were to ask you to be his heir, would you decline?"

Baelon sighed, his shoulders heavy with the weight of the decision he had already made but not yet revealed. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples as if hoping to find clarity in the dimly lit room.

"I am sure, Yrsa," he replied with conviction. "My place is in the Vale, with my mother and my people. I have a duty to them that I cannot abandon."

Yrsa nodded in understanding but continued, her voice gentle. "It's just... being on the throne, it's in your blood, Baelon. You have the Targaryen lineage, the legacy of kings and queens. Have you ever considered what it might mean for you, for your family, to hold that power?"