✦ New Faith ✦ Aegon Targaryen

○ twenty two ○

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As I returned to my chambers, I saw most of my belongings had already been moved to the new shared room with Aegon. I glanced around the small, dim space that had been mine. Only one tiny window brought in a sliver of light, making the room feel tight and stifling. I wouldn’t miss it.

I gathered up a few remaining things—some needlework and two books—and left, eager to see the new space. As I walked through the winding halls and climbed stair after stair, I found myself hoping our room would have a large window and a bed big enough to feel restful.

By the time I reached it, my legs ached. But as I opened the heavy wooden doors, I felt a flicker of satisfaction. The chamber was spacious, with a tall, carved wooden bed adorned by dragon-shaped posts. A large window covered by a rich red curtain spilled warm light into the room. There, in the corner, was my vanity from home, carefully set up with my prayer books and a small carving of the seven-pointed star.

I walked over to it, sat, and closed my eyes, offering a long prayer, my voice a soft murmur as I sought peace and guidance.

Hours passed in quiet solitude as I began a new piece of needlework, the needle gliding in and out of fabric while my mind wandered. Eventually, a deep grumble in my stomach broke my focus, reminding me that I had missed breakfast—and lunch.

Just as I was about to send for something to eat, a maid arrived with a message: King Viserys had invited me to join him for lunch. My pulse quickened; dining with the King himself felt like a rare honor. I quickly smoothed down my dress, touched my prayer pendant, and followed her down to his chambers.

The King’s room was dimly lit, the curtains half-drawn. Viserys sat in his heavy chair, leaning against its back, his skin pale and drawn tight over his bones. A thick cough racked him as I approached, and though he tried to hide it, it was clear he was suffering. I bowed deeply.

“Your Grace,” I said softly, taking the seat his servants offered me. He gave a weary smile, motioning for the meal to be served.

“Ah, my good daughter,” he murmured, his voice a strained rasp, yet full of warmth. “It’s a relief to have your for the first time company.”

The servants laid a modest spread before us, simple dishes that were easy on his weakened state. I noticed the slight trembling of his hands as he lifted his goblet, but his gaze held the fierce clarity of his intent.

After a few quiet bites, he set his food aside, his gaze turning thoughtful. “Tell me, Tanda… what do you think of my Rhaenyra?”

“She is a true princess, Your Grace,” I answered, choosing my words with care. “Strong, clever, and worthy of all the respect the realm could offer.”

Viserys nodded, and for a moment, I saw the shadow of sadness in his eyes. “Rhaenyra is to be my heir. A decision I made long ago… though it has not always brought peace.”

He looked at me, seeking something, perhaps reassurance. “She is the realm’s hope, its future,” he whispered, as if saying it aloud gave him strength. “I know there are those who do not wish for her to sit the Iron Throne. But the gods guide us, Tanda… and they would not steer me wrong.”

His words touched something deep within me. “The gods have given you wisdom, Your Grace. They will guard your choice, as they guard your family.”

A faint smile played at his lips, and he seemed comforted, if only for a moment. But his strength soon waned, and as I watched him struggle to keep his eyes open, I realized just how close he was to slipping from this world. There was a frailness about him, a looming sense of finality, and it was clear he knew it too.

When our meal ended, he reached out, his hand cold as it clasped mine. “Stay true to our family, Tanda,” he said softly. “For Rhaenyra… and for the realm.”

I gave his hand a gentle squeeze.