THE SOUL'S EXCHANGE

moments of peace

The morning sun filtered through the high windows of the Red Keep, casting a golden glow over the bustling halls as the servants and knights prepared for the tourney. The air was thick with anticipation. The birth of Prince Aegon's dragon, Sunfyre, had turned the already grand occasion into an even more jubilant event. However, amid the excitement, there was an undercurrent of quiet sadness, especially for Queen Alicent. Prince Sirion’s dragon egg had not hatched, a reminder of the uncertainty that often surrounded the royal family’s fortunes.

Inside the queen’s chambers, there was a calmness that contrasted with the flurry outside. Queen Alicent had requested solitude with her friend Hermione, wanting a peaceful morning before the celebrations. The castle may have been preparing for the noise and chaos of the day, but here, in this small space, it was a moment of stillness—a place for secrets and laughter, away from the prying eyes of courtiers.

As the light streamed in, Hermione sat at the vanity, halfway through braiding her hair when a small cry pierced the quiet of the room. Teddy, resting in Aegon’s crib, stirred awake, his tiny fists flailing in the air as he squirmed. Hermione immediately abandoned her hair, her half-done braid slipping loose as she rushed to the crib. Her comical appearance—a head of messy curls and an elegant gown—might have made Alicent laugh, but her attention was drawn to something else entirely.

Alicent watched, confusion etched across her face, as Hermione lifted the infant to her breast. "How are you feeding him?" Alicent asked, her voice soft but tinged with surprise. She knew Hermione hadn’t given birth, yet here she was, nourishing the child as if she were his mother.

Hermione smiled at her, adjusting Teddy in her arms before answering. "I’ve been taking the same potions you were using to feed him."

"Potions?" Alicent tilted her head. "How?"

There was a momentary gleam in Hermione’s eyes, a familiar mischief that Alicent recognized well. With a knowing smile, Hermione reached into her robes and pulled out a familiar object: a beaded bag, seemingly ordinary but holding countless wonders within. Alicent gasped.

“The beaded bag!" she exclaimed, her face lighting up with both recognition and astonishment. "You still have it!”

Hermione nodded, her smile widening. “It’s been with me all this time. Everything we stored before the war is still in here—potions, books, even the wands of the Black ancestors. And more recently,” she added, “Death decided to add a few things of his own.”

Alicent, who had been leaning in with rapt attention, widened her eyes. "Thanatos added something?"

Hermione chuckled. "Yes. He even slipped in some books about different magics and a few things we might find useful in this world."

Alicent’s heart swelled with gratitude, her thoughts immediately turning toward Lord Death. She murmured softly, "Thank you, Thanatos. Truly."

Hermione continued rummaging in the bag, her fingers brushing against various magical objects. As she spoke, her voice took on a thoughtful tone. "Before I came here, I realized Death had also gathered the wealth from both the Potter and Black families—including heirlooms and magical artifacts—and placed them all in here. This bag is our key to everything we left behind."

Alicent’s eyes sparkled with joy, and she found herself jumping in her seat. "Everything?" she asked, her voice rising in excitement. "The wands? The gold?"

With a playful grin, Hermione pulled out another small pouch and, to Alicent's amazement, began spilling coins onto the table. The gold galleons had taken on a new form, transformed into the currency of Westeros: dragons. They glittered in the morning light, a tangible reminder of the world they had left behind but still carried within them.

Alicent could hardly contain her excitement. Her fingers itched to dive into the bag, and without waiting for permission, she thrust her hand into the enchanted fabric, her magic instinctively guiding her to something familiar. Moments later, she pulled out not one, but two wands.

Her breath caught in her throat. She recognized them instantly. One was the Elder Wand, the ancient, powerful artifact that had bonded with her during the war. The other belonged to Voldemort—the creepy white, twisted wood with a bone-like handle still radiating with residual power. Alicent’s fingers tightened around the Elder Wand, her heart pounding. She hadn’t felt its magic in so long, and now it pulsed through her again like an old friend.

In the crib, baby Sirion stirred, as if sensing something. His tiny body squirmed, and his eyes, bright and intelligent for one so young, locked onto the wands. His little hand reached out instinctively, his baby fingers curling in the air.

Sirion’s fingers brushed against the wand, and for a moment, a spark of recognition passed between them. His smile was radiant, a baby’s joy but with the weight of something far older behind it. It was as if a part of his soul had found its other half.

Alicent blinked away tears as she murmured her thanks to Death again. "I owe him everything," she whispered, cradling Sirion’s hand in hers.

The tender moment was interrupted by a soft knock on the door. "My lady? My queen?" came a quiet voice from the other side. "It’s Emily. May I enter?"

Hermione and Alicent quickly stowed the magical objects back into the beaded bag, tucking it safely out of sight beneath the covers.

Alicent called out, "Come in, Emily." As the door opened, she glanced at Hermione, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "I have someone I’d like you to meet."

Emily Tyrell, one of Alicent’s new ladies-in-waiting, stepped into the room, offering a deep, graceful courtesy. Hermione’s eyes lingered on her for a moment, taking in the young woman's delicate beauty—her dark curls framing a face that seemed almost too innocent for the intrigues of the Red Keep. But Hermione, with years of war behind her and the perceptive mind she had honed alongside Sitara, noticed the subtle sharpness in Emily’s gaze. This girl wasn’t as naive as she appeared.

"Emily," Alicent began warmly, placing a hand on her lady-in-waiting’s shoulder, "this is Lady Hermione Royce, heiress to Runestone and the Vale. Hermione, this is Lady Emily Tyrell."

Emily curtsied again, her voice soft but respectful. "Well met, Lady Hermione."

"Well met, Lady Emily," Hermione replied, her tone just as courteous. As she returned the courtesy, her braid slipping further undone, she couldn’t help but smile. She liked this girl already, edge and all.

Alicent playfully nudged Hermione. "You’re the heir to Runestone, Hermione. You don’t need to courtesy to everyone."

Hermione chuckled. "Force of habit."

Emily beamed, clearly pleased by the warm reception. "Thank you for allowing me to join you this morning, my queen. I was delighted when I received your letter."

Alicent wrapped an arm around Emily’s shoulders, drawing her close. "Of course, Emily. You’re one of us now, and I wanted us to spend time together. Besides," she added with a smile, "you’ll be seeing a lot of Hermione from now on. The three of us should bond."

As the three women shared smiles, a sense of camaraderie bloomed in the quiet of the chamber. Outside, the sounds of the tourney preparations continued—the clinking of armor, the shouts of excitement, and the thunderous steps of horses—but inside, the bond of friendship and shared secrets was being woven stronger with every passing moment.

The day awaited them, but for now, in the warmth of the morning, they basked in the joy of each other’s company.