Silver-gold hair fell freely along her shoulders.
Sweat clung to her skin, tracing the lines of her slender back. A single drop trickled down her neck, disappearing into the valley between her breasts.
Maegelle glanced up, catching Aegon's pause. His eyes were moving over her.
She blushed. "It's nothing you haven't seen before."
"Um… yes." Aegon took a deep breath and stepped forward.
"I need to inspect the area first," he said. "To see how the infection has changed since the last treatment."
Maegelle nodded, avoiding looking at him.
Her arm slowly lowered.
Uncovered.
Aegon's gaze moved across her chest. Her torso.
The greyscale marked her left side in patches… the breast, the ribs, trailing down toward her waist.
But something was different. The edges looked softer. There was even less pus than before.
He reached out and touched her chest. Just above the affected area.
Gentle.
Careful.
Maegelle bit her lip. Her breath caught, then steadied.
His fingers moved lower, tracing the edge of the grey patches.
"When will Father and Mother return?" Maegelle's voice was tight, aimed at the window, at the wall, anywhere but at him.
Aegon glanced at her face for an instant.
Their eyes met. Her heart seemed to stop.
He looked back down at her chest.
Continued his examination.
"Probably evening," he said. "Heard a large crowd gathered outside the Starry Sept. They came to offer wishes. Prayers." His tone shifted, a hint of teasing. "For their precious Septa Maegelle to be cured."
Maegelle's lips twitched. "Pfft."
A small smile formed on her mouth.
Aegon smiled too. "It is a good way, anyway. The people's wishes cured the princess. A much better reason than sorcery."
"Hm-mm," she agreed.
She glanced up and watched him work. His face was serious, focused, his brow slightly furrowed.
He looked handsome.
The way he poured himself into the task.
He had saved her.
The thought came unbidden, and with it a strange warmth.
Weird. But good.
He was younger than her. Much younger. She had taken vows. She had dedicated her life to the Faith. But sitting here, watching him, feeling his hands on her skin with such careful gentleness…
Her thoughts tangled.
Then his hands lifted.
Left her body.
She blinked, coming back to herself. He was looking at her.
Maegelle coughed, cleared her throat, tried to make her voice steady. "Done?"
Aegon met her eyes and nodded.
"Do I need to be unconscious again?" she asked.
"Yes." His voice was gentle but firm. "The process will be very painful. Otherwise impossible to complete."
Maegelle nodded and slowly lowered herself onto the pillows. Her head sank into the softness, her hair spreading around her. She stared up at the ceiling, at the stone, at the light.
Aegon moved closer.
Raised his hand, ready to cast the spell.
Maegelle's hand shot out and caught his wrist.
He stopped.
Looked at her.
Her eyes were clear, looking into his.
"I just want you to know," she said with a firm voice, "I don't feel badly about the blood magic."
Aegon said nothing.
Waited.
"Yes, I was flustered when Fryda and Mother told me." A small, wry smile. "Very flustered. But not anymore." She squeezed his wrist. "You saved me. That's what matters. It depends on the holder of the blade… whether he uses it to harm or protect." She held his gaze. "You used it to protect."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Maegelle released his wrist, closed her eyes, and settled deeper into the pillows.
Aegon smiled.
Exhaled once.
He raised his hand again.
[Forced Sleep]
King's Landing, Red Keep, Tower of the Hand
Barth sat alone in his chamber.
The candles had burned low. Wax had spilled down their sides in pale, hardened streams. Papers lay open across the table before him, some stacked neatly, others pushed aside when his eyes had grown too tired to keep reading. His back ached. His neck ached. At his age, even sitting too long could feel like labor.
He had just leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes for a moment when a light knock touched the door.
So soft he nearly thought he had imagined it.
Barth opened his eyes.
"Who is it?" he called, his old voice rough with weariness.
A small voice came from the other side.
"It's me."
Barth's brow rose. A faint smile tugged at his mouth.
"Me who?"
The door opened slowly. Just a little. A small head with red hair peeked through the gap, bright-eyed and cautious.
"Me Alicent," said little Alicent.
Barth let out a warm chuckle.
"Oh. It is little Alicent." He lifted a hand toward her. "Come inside, then."
The door opened wider, and Alicent stepped in with a pleased little smile. She wore an adorable gown that made her look even smaller in the dim chamber. Her soft slippers whispered against the floor as she came toward him.
"Grandpa Barth," she said.
The title, innocent and badly misplaced, drew a fuller laugh from him this time.
When she reached him, she held out her small fist, still closed tight. Then she opened it proudly.
A handful of seeds and nuts rested on her palm.
"I brought you tasty seeds and nuts."
Barth looked down at them, then up at her hopeful face. For a moment the tiredness in him eased.
"Did you now?" he said gently.
He pinched a few from her palm and placed them in his mouth with seriousness. He chewed, nodded once, then twice.
"Very good. You may have saved an old man from starving."
Alicent giggled.
Behind her, the door opened again.
Otto stepped inside, his movements quiet and measured as ever. The patch over one eye gave him his usual severe look, though tonight his expression was mild enough.
"Lord Barth," he said with a small bow of his head.
Barth smiled and gestured toward the chair across from him.
"Otto. Come, sit."
Otto crossed the room and took the offered seat. Alicent had already climbed onto a nearby chair of her own and was busy munching from the little store still in her hand, her feet swinging well above the floor.
Barth looked from child to father and smiled faintly.
"So," he said, "what brings you here?"
Otto returned the smile politely.
"Alicent missed you, so I thought I would bring her here."
Barth gave a soft hum.
"A kindness," he said.
Then Otto's gaze lingered on Barth's face.
"It seems all burdens fall on the Hand during the absence of the king."
Barth leaned back a little in his chair. The wood creaked.
"So they do." His tone was light, but only just.
For a moment the only sound in the room was the faint crackle of candle flame and the small crunch of seeds between Alicent's teeth.
Barth glanced toward Otto again.
"So. Did your brother send any letters?"
Otto nodded.
"Yes. He says Princess Maegelle's situation is not optimistic. The king and queen are both grieving."
The chamber grew still.
Barth's smile faded. He lowered his eyes to the papers before him. Exhaled once.
"That is bitter news," he said quietly. "But it was not unexpected."
Otto said nothing.
Alicent looked between the two men, chewing more slowly now, sensing the shift without understanding it.
A long moment passed.
Then Otto looked at Barth with his intact eye. Watching.
Barth caught it. He turned his head and looked toward little Alicent, who was now working stubbornly at a seed shell with both hands.
A fond smile returned to his face, though it sat more tiredly there than before.
"Well," he said, "it is always a pleasure talking with little Alicent."
The girl looked up at once, pleased to hear her name, and smiled with her cheeks full.
Barth's eyes went back to Otto.
"But this old man hopes to rest now." His voice stayed gentle. "Was there something you wished to discuss?"
Otto hesitated.
Only a little. But Barth saw it.
He had spent too many years at court to mistake a sweet visit for a purposeless one.
"Out with it, Otto."
Otto gave a small smile. Embarrassed.
"It is just that…" He paused, then folded his hands loosely in his lap. "I have been feeling somewhat idle lately. I wish there were more I could do. More I could contribute to the realm."
Barth raised a brow.
"Oh?"
Otto inclined his head.
"With the king away, and so much passing through your hands, I thought perhaps there might be some small burden I could ease for you. Something to learn from. Something useful."
He paused again.
"I have no wish to overstep. But I would be glad to serve where I can, if you would have me."
Barth studied him.
Otto held the look with humility.
Then, after a beat, he added, more carefully still, "And if such service proved of value… perhaps I might one day earn a more formal place in the realm's governance."
Another pause.
"Perhaps even a seat at the small council."
Midnight — High Tower Kitchen
Clank.
"Fuck."
The maid muttered as she dropped another stack of plates into the stone sink. Cold water splashed up, soaking the front of her apron. She shoved her hands in and started scrubbing, the grease thick and stubborn against her fingers.
"More plates?"
The voice came from behind her. She glanced over her shoulder.
A woman stood near the long wooden table, rubbing at a dark stain with a rag. Young. Brown hair. The kind of face that blended into walls.
The maid grunted. "Aye. These nobles can eat. Or maybe just waste food."
"Did you save any?" the woman asked.
The maid scoffed. "The others already emptied the leavings before the plates even reached us." She licked her lips without thinking. "Heard there was a whole roasted chicken this time. Only a leg missing."
"Too bad we didn't get any."
The maid hummed in annoyed agreement. She studied the woman for a moment, her eyes narrowing. "Haven't seen you before. New in the kitchen?"
"Oh. Yes." The woman nodded, still scrubbing. "I'm Agnes. Used to work in the stables."
The maid grunted. "Lucky you. Kitchen's warm, at least." She turned back to the sink, working a stiff brush across a plate crusted with dried sauce. "Did you go to the sept today? Heard the King and Queen donated a great deal."
"I heard the talk." The woman's voice was casual. "Think it will work?"
"What?"
"The prayers. The offerings. For the princess."
The maid snorted. She scraped at a bit of food stuck to the plate. "It's greyscale. Everyone knows the truth. That's the Gods' judgment. Can't buy your way out of that with a few coins."
The woman paused in her scrubbing. "Is she still alive? The princess?"
"Couldn't say. They've forbidden everyone from going near her chamber. Family only." The maid shrugged. "She might be dead already. Might be turning to stone."
"Right." The woman's voice was quiet. "Who knows what is happening in there."
The maid plunged her hands back into the water. "It's better either way. No one will donate for us if we catch it." She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "We'll just rot."
The woman went still for a moment. Then she continued cleaning.
The maid finished the last plate, shook her hands dry against her apron, and turned. The kitchen was empty except for the two of them. The fire in the hearth had burned down to glowing embers.
"More plates coming?" the woman asked.
The maid shook her head. "That's it for tonight. Whole tower's probably asleep by now."
The woman nodded. "Yes."
The maid studied her for a moment. The woman was on her knees now, scrubbing the stone floor. Odd, to be so thorough this late.
"I'm off to bed," the maid said.
The woman looked up. "I'll finish the kitchen. Then go."
The maid shrugged and headed for the door. Her footsteps faded down the corridor.
The woman waited. Listened.
When the footsteps were gone, when the silence settled thick around her, she stopped scrubbing.
Corridor — Outside Maegelle's Chamber
The door opened.
Slow.
So slow that no sound came from the hinges. A sliver of darkness widened into a gap, then into a space just wide enough for a body to slip through.
Agnes stepped inside.
The sound of snores drifted through the room. Septa Fryda was resting on a cot. It looked newly arranged for her.
No one else was there.
A god-given opportunity.
Moonlight poured through the wide-open balcony doors, painting the floor in pale silver. A single fire sconce burned low on the far wall, its flame struggling against the night breeze.
She barely glanced at it.
Her eyes fixed on the inner door.
Her target.
She moved. Soft-footed. Careful. Each step placed with precision, her weight touching the outside of her foot first, then rolling down.
The inner door was already open a crack.
She peered through.
A single candle burned on the table inside. Its light was dim, barely reaching the corners, but enough.
Enough to see silver-gold hair spread across the pillow.
The greyscale princess.
Maegelle Targaryen.
Agnes's heart hammered against her ribs. She pushed the door open, inch by inch.
It creaked.
She stopped.
Waited.
No sound came from within.
She slipped inside.
The room smelled of medicine. Sharp and clean. Her eyes adjusted as she crept forward. Step by step. Silent as shadow.
She could hear the soft rhythm of breathing now. The gentle rise and fall of the coverlet.
Closer.
One more step.
She reached the foot of the bed.
The princess lay sleeping. Her face was peaceful. No strain. No fever-flush.
Then she shifted.
Her left arm slipped out from beneath the sheet and fell across the coverlet.
Agnes's hand flew to her mouth.
The arm was pink. Healthy. New flesh, tender-looking, clean of any grey.
No stone. No cracks. No rot.
Her mind raced. This was why. This was why they kept everyone out. Why the family guarded the door. The princess was not dying.
She was healing.
Agnes backed away. Slow. Careful. Her breath came fast and shallow.
She had to tell Lady Lynesse. Now. This secret was worth gold. Worth position. Worth everything.
She reached the outer chamber. Crossed it in quick, silent strides. Her hand found the door handle.
The corridor.
She was out.
She exhaled. A long, shaking breath of relief.
Then she looked up.
Footsteps. Coming from the shadows ahead.
Agnes froze.
A figure emerged from the dark, stepping into a shaft of moonlight falling through a high window.
Silver-gold hair. A calm, gentle smile.
Prince Aegon. The Pyromancer.
He wore only a nightshirt and loose trousers, his feet bare on the cold stone. His smile was pleasant. Warm, even.
But Agnes felt only cold.
"U-umm… m-my prince…" Her voice came out strangled. Wrong.
He looked at her. His eyes were calm. Unreadable.
"You have seen something you shouldn't have," he said. Quiet. Final.
He knew.
Her body understood before her mind did. Chill flooded her veins.
She turned.
Ran.
One step. Two.
Then something pressed against her head. Heavy. Crushing. Like a boulder.
Her knees buckled.
Darkness swallowed her before she hit the ground.
***
📜 Milestones:
200 Power Stones → +1 Chapter
***
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