✦ New Faith ✦ Aegon Targaryen

○ fifty three ○

☆

The halls blur around me as I stumble forward, clutching Maiarys so tightly to my chest that her muffled cries barely register. My legs move, but my mind is trapped in the nursery—the golden pillow, the sight of Vearys struggling, his tiny fists flailing helplessly. The guard at the council chamber door steps toward me, his expression shifting from confusion to horror.

“Queen, what has happened?” His voice wavers, but I can’t meet his eyes.

“Blood and Cheese,” I mutter, the words spilling out in a fractured whisper. “Aegon—I need Aegon. Open the doors. Open them now!”

The guard hesitates for only a moment before nodding, pushing the heavy doors open with a groan.

Inside, the council sits in grim deliberation, their voices a low hum of politics and war. At the head of the table, Otto Hightower leans forward, his sharp features etched with focus. Beside him sits Aegon, slouched in his chair, a goblet in hand, his expression weary and distant.

But the moment he sees me collapse to the cold stone floor, his disinterest vanishes, replaced by shock.

“Tanda?” His voice cuts through the air as he rises, the scrape of his chair drowned out by the pounding in my ears. “What—what’s happened?”

He’s at my side in moments, kneeling, his hands gripping my trembling shoulders. “Tanda, speak to me. What is it?”

I lift my face to his, my tears falling freely, soaking into his tunic. “They killed him,” I choke out, the words a ragged wail. “Our baby. My baby. Vearys. They smothered him—like he was nothing. My poor boy is gone.”

For a moment, Aegon stares at me, his mouth slightly open, as if he can’t quite comprehend the meaning of my words. “No,” he murmurs, shaking his head. “No, that’s not true. That can’t be true.”

“It’s true!” I cry, gripping the fabric of his shirt, my knuckles white. “I saw it—I couldn’t stop them. Blood and Cheese—they took him from me. They took my baby!”

The room falls silent, the weight of my words suffocating. Aegon’s disbelief twists into rage. He springs to his feet, his voice thundering through the chamber.

“Who allowed this to happen?!” His words crash like waves against the stone walls. “Where were the guards? Where was the protection for my family?!”

Otto rises slowly, his gaze sharp. “Calm yourself, Your Grace. We need—”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm myself!” Aegon roars, his voice cracking. “I want every corner of this city searched! Blood and Cheese—they will pay for this with their lives!” He turns to the guard at the door. “Mobilize the Kingsguard. Tear the city apart if you have to!”

The guard bows deeply and rushes off, leaving the chamber in tense silence.

Aegon kneels again, his movements frantic, and pulls Maiarys from my grasp. His hands shake as he cradles her, his eyes darting over her face as if to reassure himself that she’s still alive. “I won’t let them take you too,” he whispers, his voice hoarse. Without another word, he rises and walks out, his daughter held protectively in his arms.

I am left on the floor, my body weak and useless. My sobs echo through the chamber, each one raw and jagged, until I feel a frail hand on my shoulder.

“Come, Queen Tanda,” Otto says, his voice low and measured. “I’ll take you to your chambers.”

I follow him blindly, my legs moving on instinct, my mind trapped in an endless loop. Each time I close my eyes, I see Vearys. His tiny body struggling, suffocated beneath the golden pillow. The memory claws at my sanity, pulling me deeper into despair.

Otto leaves me at the threshold of my chambers, his words hollow as he bids me goodnight. He doesn’t know how to deal with grief—his comfort is political, calculated, and it leaves me cold.

Inside, the room feels cavernous, empty despite its rich furnishings. I sink onto the edge of the bed, staring at the bassinets. Only one now.

I press my hands together and pray, my voice trembling. “Mother above, guide his soul. Cradle him in your arms where I could not. Keep him safe.”

But my prayers feel hollow, echoing back at me with no answer. My breaths come faster, panic setting in as the silence stretches.

And then I begin to laugh—a hysterical, broken sound. “Cradle him,” I mutter. “But where were you when he needed you? Where were you when they smothered my boy?”

I grip the edge of the bed until my knuckles whiten, my nails digging into the wood. The Seven had failed me. The gods had failed me.

When Aegon returns, his face is a mask of fury, but his eyes are red, the faint tracks of tears betraying his anger. He slams the door behind him, the sound jolting me from my spiraling thoughts.