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IT had been ten days. Ten days since the Targaryen-Velaryon line had been informed of young Lucerys' death. Ten days the Queen had been searching for any evidence of the boys demise.
Ten days since the crown princess Vasarez had left her brother's room. Upon hearing about her brother's death, she had slumped down by the shoreline, her screams of anguish being hidden by the harsh crashes of the sea. Her dragon, which had since been properly named to Nafleer instead of the cruel nickname thrusted upon him by the dragon keepers, had vanished. Last heard crying in a similar tone to his rider before vanishing beyond stormy clouds.
Vasarez was lying upon Lucerys' bed, her eyes facing the side of the bed her dear brother once slept on. She had hardly moved from that position, besides her random strolls around the bedroom to look at his things.
"I shouldn't have let you go," she murmured, her voice hoarse from endless hours of crying. Her hand, which seemed permanently shaky now, came to rest on his pillow, feeling the slight dip for years of being worn in. A pained hum left her, the girls thumb tracing over the soft fabric, "you should have stayed, with Momma," Vasarez choked out, her legs curling in on herself. The grief felt the same as when she lost her sweet Laenyra just weeks ago, she couldn't quite remember what it felt like losing her father, Laenor, but she could imagine it was similar to this.
"I'm so sorry," Vasarez whispered, pressing a tender kiss to her brothers pillow. Her hand flattened over it, hesitant to misshapen it in fear of removing any evidence that he existed in the first place. After sitting up, Vasarez looked around the room briefly, seeing a cloth on the bedside table. Standing, she gently clasped it in her hands, her thumbs rubbing over the stitched patterns.
Her expression softened, tears welling up in already red-stained eyes. He had attempted to stitch a floral pattern once, for Vasarez, he had horribly disguised his plans by very directly asking her of her favourite flowers - and indeed how to stitch into fabric. He had never finished it, though Vasarez had promised to help him once all was well with their mother's throne.
But, now it would forever be unfinished.
A screech was heard outside, somewhat angelic and somewhat mournful. But she knew that cry, her mother's dragon. Which meant there was word of her brother. Vasarez quickly put the cloth in her pocket and left the chambers, her hair tatted and a mess, her clothes multiple days old, but was briefly stopped by Aris - who had been standing outside the chambers, guarding the grieving woman while also grieving himself. He had returned form the North before Jacaerys once it was clear the North would swear alliance to them.
"Are you alright?" he asked, voice quiet incase she didn't want attention drawn to her. Vasarez merely nodded, looking down to him with a slightly wobbly lip.
"My mother has returned," she whispered, voice catching on itself only briefly as she fought with every ounce of herself to stay calm. Aris understood, Queen Rhaenyra came with clarification of the young Prince's death, and Vasarez needed that. So, he let go of the Princess' arm and followed after her, two paces behind.
