✦ New Faith ✦ Aegon Targaryen

○ four ○

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I sit down beside my mother in the courtyard, the morning air crisp and fresh, with a light breeze brushing through the garden. The sun is just rising, its rays filtering through the branches of the old oaks, casting golden patches of light across the stone table. Birds flit from tree to tree, their songs mingling with the soft rustle of leaves. "You'll accompany me to King's Landing, yes?" My voice is gentle, almost too soft for the open air, as if I'm hoping for comfort I know won't come.

My mother stares out at the garden, her attention more on the flowers than me. "Yes, Tanda," she replies flatly. "Your father and I will see you off."

I watch her, my heart sinking at the sight of her familiar, expressionless face. Once, this same courtyard was full of her laughter, her bright presence a balm to all who passed. But now, after so many losses, she is distant, her light dimmed. She is a shadow of who she once was, hardened by grief. I know she doesn't want me to leave; I am her only living child. But time has worn away her softness, replaced it with a cool, unyielding reserve.

The servants bring our breakfast-simple bread, cheese, and fruit laid out on silver platters. The sun catches the rim of the cups filled with fresh water, making them glimmer. I break a piece of bread, the scent mingling with the fresh air. "Do you know anything about my betrothed?" I ask, trying to pierce the silence. "I tried to look him up, but the only book we had was older than me." I laugh softly, a sound that feels out of place in the still morning.

My mother, Lady Myra, finally turns to look at me. Her face remains impassive, as though she is not entirely here. "I have not..." she begins, her voice quiet, then it falters. "Heard particularly good things about Prince Aegon Targaryen, but I believe you'll guide him toward the Seven." She reaches out to place her hand on mine, the touch brief but deliberate-one of the few gestures of affection she still allows herself.

I nod, though her words feel distant, like they don't quite reach me. "What exactly have you heard? I'd like to know something more... specific."

Her hand withdraws, her gaze drifting toward the sky as the morning sun grows warmer. "It's said he is fond of wine-Arbor Gold, in particular-and he has a dragon with golden scales. The Maiden must have blessed it." Her words seem rehearsed, as if she's simply repeating what she's heard without thinking much about it. Her gaze lifts to the tops of the trees, a signal that she does not want to continue the conversation.

"Thank you, Mother," I say, following her gaze upward. The sky above is a perfect, cloudless blue. We sit in silence, surrounded by the buzzing of bees and the distant sound of horses from the stables. Though she says little, I still find some small comfort in her presence. Even when she feels distant, I am not entirely alone.

The breakfast drifts to a quiet end, the food barely touched. I rise slowly, smoothing out the folds of my gown. "I'll be in the dormer if you need me." I bow slightly, but her eyes are already elsewhere.

I make my way across the courtyard, the sun now warmer on my skin as it climbs higher into the sky. The servants are busy preparing for my departure, packing my belongings into trunks. But my needle kit remains untouched, left on the small table in my room. I take it with me, grateful for the familiarity of it.

The path to the dormer is quiet, the stone steps worn smooth from years of use. The dormer itself is a small space, tucked away at the top of the keep, but the large window that stretches across one side lets in the morning light, bathing the room in golden warmth. I sit on a pile of blankets and pillows I've arranged in the corner, settling in as the light filters through the room.

I open my needle kit, my fingers tracing the spools of thread, the act as soothing as the soft hum of the bees outside. As I begin to embroider, my mind drifts, and time seems to blur. I stitch without much thought, the needle moving in and out of the fabric in rhythm with the world around me. When I finally stop and look down, I see a large goblet of wine, with rays of sunlight pouring out from its brim.

"Odd," I murmur, a smile tugging at my lips

- time skip tell dinner -