¹ 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒 ━━ 𝐝. 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

iv. the cruelty of men

✧˖° 🌑 ೄྀ࿐
━ [   SONG OF SORROWS   ] ༉‧₊˚✧
x. act one... the dragon's daughter
the cruelty of men ━ ✩・*。

— 112 A.C
KING'S LANDING

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     VALERYS TARGARYEN, could, with every ounce of certainty, say she'd never seen her mother look frailer in her life. To Valerys, Aemma was the grandest beauty she'd ever looked upon. With tresses of white hair that hung like hand-spun silver, eyes that welcomed even the weariest travelers, and such a gentle disposition that Valerys could only hope to reflect, her mother had always seemed like the grandest beauty. And so, when she witnessed her mother's shining beacon dwindle to a flicker in the dark, it made her heart weep.

She was not unaware of the hardships her mother endured with each pregnancy. So many children lost in her womb, or days after leaving; so many children that Valerys could've witnessed grow up, siblings she would never have. It was a sad reminder of a life she could've had, a path she'd never be able to walk, but her heart ached more for her mother than for a future she'd never see.

"Don't look so worried," chastised Aemma, splayed out on a chair, hands resting on her swollen belly. "It's bad for the baby."

While her chest still hurt upon seeing her mother so exhausted, Valerys still smiled. "Apologies, mother," she said, coming to sit on the floor beside her mother's chair.

When she looked up at Aemma, her eyes so full of fondness, Valerys could almost imagine she was a little girl again, unaware of the horrors the outer world boasted, the adversity she'd come to experience as a woman surrounded by dogmatic men. She almost wanted to weep for the loss of her childhood, being ripped from her hands, thrust into an unfamiliar, unforgiving environment. As often as she tried to play the part of the strong woman, inside, she was nothing more than a child, mourning the death of her innocence.

There was a shift in Aemma's face, and worry came to rest upon her strained features. "Tell me, what has your mind so occupied, my heart?"

"It's of little importance," sighed Valerys, worrying her fingers against the soft fabric of her Myrish dress. Sweat began to accumulate at her palms, and she wiped it off hastily. "Besides, you yourself said worry is bad for the baby."

Aemma's fingers carded through Valerys' hair, twirling the pin-straight strands. Always the defier, Valerys refused to meddle with her hair, electing to leave it unbound and untouched by braided styles, so unlike Rhaenyra. In many ways they were different; Rhaenyra was a small, petulant thing, though soft around the edges and imbued with benign innocence. Valerys desperately wished she had the optimistic out view on life her younger sister did, but after all the world had dumped on her, she simply could not.

"It's bad for both of them," murmured Aemma. "With the level of maturity you attempt to portray, you seem to forget that. You are my baby, Valerys. You always will be."

It would be a lie to say Valerys' chest didn't constrict when her mother spoke those words, using a hand to cradle her daughter's face with only the love a mother could. All of her walls came tumbling down into ash, rumbling her chest with a quiet, tearless sob; when the dust cleared, all that was left was the remnants of a girl she used to be, the girl before all the cruel politics, before the rough hands of fate came to shove her into the mold of an heir. Around Aemma, her mom, she became the small, bright-eyed girl she once was. The girl who trembled at the prospect of mounting a dragon. The girl who yearned to be seen as an equal of men; a silly concept to her now, but a testament to the changed person she'd become.