Whispered Serenade

Echoes of Legacy

130 AC

"It's smaller than I remember," Alyssa heard a distant voice remarking, a tinge of nostalgia woven into the syllables.

"It looks exactly the same," another came in response, a hint of defiance in his tone.

Alyssa lowered her gaze, her eyes spotting her nephews as they bounded into the training yard, a familiar space steeped in echoes of their childhood. This was the same yard where her twin brother, Aemond, was currently engaged in a fierce sparring session with Criston Cole. The anticipation bubbled within her; she could hardly wait for Aemond to register their presence.

Jacaerys, with his tousled brown hair and emerging sculpted jawline, had transformed into quite the handsome young man, surely turning heads amongst the ladies of the keep. Beside him, Lucerys, not quite a child but still holding onto certain aspects of youth, was moving with that unmistakable air of earnestness. The two boys descended the stone steps from the other side of the yard, oblivious to her presence, or Aemond's for that matter, who was fully immersed in the rhythm of combat.

"Oh, Luke, come on!" Jace's voice rang out, a spirited urgency propelling him forward down the stairs.

The onlookers regarded the boys with curious eyes, some perhaps unaware of their lineage. Alyssa noted the whispers and glances that fluttered about, like leaves caught in a breeze; word, it seemed, traveled fast. While Jace seemingly reveled in the attention, Luke's gaze remained fixed on the cobblestones below, as if seeking out a hidden treasure among the cracks.

In an instant, their wooden swords clashed together, ushering forth memories of carefree summers long past. Yet, the scrutiny of the crowd weighed heavily, palpable even from a distance. She turned her head just as the sound of metal clashing drew her eyes back to the sparring match. Aemond and Criston had escalated their efforts, their movements fluid and precise as they danced like predators in a deadly ballet. Aemond's prowess was undeniable; the years spent honing his skills had carved him into an exceptional warrior. Alyssa marveled at his agility—the way he weaved between attacks and expertly blocked Criston's strikes drew appreciative nods from the Gold Cloaks and King's Guards surrounding the training yard. The unease written on Jace and Luke's faces mirrored her own astonishment.

When Aemond finally gained the upper hand, the ensuing applause rang in the air, a testament to his skill. Criston, panting yet proud, clapped him on the back. "Well done, my Prince. You'll win tourneys in no time."

"I don't give a shit about tourneys," Aemond retorted with disinterest, his focus shifting to his nephews. "Nephews?" His voice cut through the din. "Have you come to train?"

Before they could respond, however, a dramatic figure broke through the crowd: Vaemond Velaryon, stepping into the spotlight with all the flair of a seasoned actor.

Minutes later, they found themselves gathered in the throne room, the air thick with tension. The Queen and her children stood resolutely to the left, while Otto Hightower positioned himself before the Iron Throne, a self-appointed arbiter of fate.

"Though it is the great hope of this court that Corlys Velaryon survives his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of addressing the succession of Driftmark," Otto intoned, his voice reverberating throughout the chamber. "As Hand, I speak with the King's voice on this and all other matters," he filled the throne with an air of authority, as if claiming it for himself.

Vaemond stepped forward, visibly bristling as he cast a disparaging glance at his 'nephews.' "My Queen," he began, addressing Alicent, "My lord Hand. The history of our noble houses extands before the Seven Kingdoms, to the great days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas," he stood tall, passion in his voice. "When the Doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our ancestors came to this land, knowing that were they to fail would mean the end of their bloodlines and their name."