OF BASTARDS & DRAGONS || Aenar Targaryen [1]

91 • SMALLFOLKS

After travelling to the Sept, Queen Alicent moved with quiet solemnity through the grand hall. The holy place was filled with incense, the air was thick with mingling aroma of brown wood, myrrh, frankincense.

The high ceilings, and stained glass window created a serene of reverence, casting colorful patterns of light across the floor. As soon as she neared the altar, she knelt in silence, picking up a brown wood stick, then lit five thick candles, each flame representing her restitution, a silent prayer for the lost souls.

Sighing, and taking a deep breath, she began. "Maekar Targaryen."

"Elissa Targaryen."

"Francesca Tully."

"Viserys Targaryen."

"Alyrie Florent." The Green Queen spoke softly, litting each candle, till the last. The soft glow of the candles created a comforting halo of light amidst the shadows of the ambiance.

The emerald green gown on her body, rich and elegant, adorned and intricate with an embroidery and delicate veils that cascaded down her shoulders. Shutting her eyes, Alicent began to pray.

Moments later, not too long, receding footsteps are heard as Lady Laena comes to join the Queen Alicent. Both shared a gaze, then looked away.

Laena Velaryon, stood out in her sea blue gown. The silk fabric was soft and flowing, a contrast difference from Alicent's green gown. Her black veil cascaded down her shoulders gracefully.

Both their houses colour held a strong statement of their own standing, reflecting their conscience, a reflection of their inner conflict and desire for peace, power and ambition.

Ten centimeters aside, as they knelt to pray, the small flames flickered, casting a warm light over their faces. The silence was profound, each women lost in her own thoughts and prayers. Laena's heart arched for both Francesca, Maekar and Elissa, while Alicent's heart arched for safety of her life and that of her children, most especially the mistakes she had made. Both women whispered prayers, their tongues mingled fervently, the weight of their collective hopes and fears hung heavy in the air.

Meanwhile, outside the Sept, the mood was far from the serene. The smallfolk had grown frantic, their desperation palpable. The gifts of food sent of Aenar, intended as goodwill, had intensified the chaos. All stood outside with whispers of rebellion, tension was simmering like a boiling pot, heating and ready to explode.

The contrast between the tranquil, candle lit prayers in the Sept and the turmoil in the streets was jam-packed with the highlights the fragile state of realm.

"Your Graces... we must leave, now." Ser Criston burst into the dimly Sept, his voice filled with urgent gravity. "We must leave, now." His eyes were wide, scanning the room for immediate danger.

Dowager Alicent's head snapped up at the sound of the guard's expression. Her shifted from reverent calm to alarmed focus. Lady Laena also had a mixture of fear and confusion, as Ser Gwayne came in later, both Knights helped the women up their feet, guilding them out with immediate urgency.

The Hightower and Velaryon's gown, brushed the cold floor in hues of mixed feelings, heart racing as they followed their protectors, with anxiety mounting with each hurried footsteps.

Outside, the Sept of Baelor, the atmosphere was charged with the tension. Lord Commander Criston Cole was villigant, shouting and giving, orders to the knight stood a few feet away, their armour clinking softly as they moved in action. "Get the Queen and the Lady to the wheelhouse!" He bellowed, his voice cutting through the rising chaos.