𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒, 𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐲𝐫𝐚 & 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭

Chapter 23. We are all museums of fear

130 A.C.

TW: bullying, trauma associated
with the loss of a child

Nothing tired Cerys more than "strategic meetings" with royal advisors and commanders. Her father no longer appeared in this room, Alicent took his place, but even she was already sitting and frowning. There was no end to the advisers' chatter.

They argued about whether to form an alliance with Dorne by betrothing one of the royal children to the Martells. About the treasury, or rather its emptiness, which even Cerys's savings did not cover. They argued about every line of every estimate, starting with the amount of ammunition and ending with the question of what the troops would have for breakfast. It was extremely rare that they were able to come to a common opinion or do anything useful.

"We have continued to enjoy improved customs duties since the settling of the Stepstones." A man was reading the report. Cerys sighed. He read slowly and hesitantly, making her want to snatch the papers from his shaking hands and read the text herself. "And the extent to which we exploit those is contingent on the harbor master's receipts. Of which septons have requested half that again for a bronze bust they wish to commission for the Festival of the Mother."

Perhaps she imagined it, but his words began to flow more slowly, making her eyelids heavy. Cerys closed her eyes tightly, driving away the drowsiness.

"Which I would not recommend."

"Thank you for that exhaustive accounting, Lord Beesbury.." Alicent could not stand it and decided to interrupt the man. "I remind you..."

The doors opened and a young blond boy ran into the room. He ran up to Cerys and whispered something excitedly in her ear. The woman's face turned to the servant in fear, her gaze sweeping the room. He handed her the letter under the gaze of the lords.

"I have orders to deliver this personally into the hands of the princess." The servant explained. They didn't need to voice their questions for their weight to weigh on him.

"What is this?" Otto asked, but Cerys didn't even raise an eyebrow, tearing off the seal with the seahorse.

Her eyes skimmed over the text.

"This is a letter," There was bitterness in her voice. "From Vaemond Velaryon."

"Princess, it is with pain in our hearts that we inform you that the crew of Lord Corlys of House Velaryon was ambushed on a ship that looked abandoned at first glance. He fought bravely, but the vile enemy slashed him in the throat with a knife, as a result of which he fell overboard into the sea. He was struck down by a fever. The ship's maester reports that he is burning all over."

Cerys's gaze caught on the following lines.

"And therefore we consider it necessary to begin consideration of the case regarding the inheritance of the Driftwood throne by his true heir as soon as possible.
Vaemond Velaryon."

Cerys should have gotten used to grief by now. After all, it was an old friend of hers. Even if she would prefer not to know it at all.

"If you forgive me," She stood up from the table without saying another word.