c25: Unresolved Anxiety
The naval battle outside continued.
Viserys was already dressed in his custom-made small leather armor, with metal plates covering his chest and wrists. He also carried a short sword, also tailored to his height, resembling a large sewing needle slender, thin, and sharp.
The silver-haired boy stood on a stool, leaning against the windowsill, watching the distant naval battle. Stones coated in burning pitch streaked across the dark sea from the scorpions and catapults mounted upon the warships. Flames raged on the ships engaged in boarding actions as sailors and soldiers leapt from deck to deck. Swords flashed beneath the glow of the fires, shields clanged, axes struck splintering wood, and the shouts of the men fighting upon the Narrow Sea were deafening. Even from such a distance, carried by the cold sea breeze from Blackwater Bay, Viserys could faintly hear the battle cries and the desperate screams of the wounded.
Yet, at this moment, he felt inexplicably uneasy.
He had a feeling that something bad was about to happen, but he didn't know why.
Perhaps he was awaiting his fate. Even though he knew fragments of how history should unfold, he did not know whether his presence had already caused the wheel of fate to veer from its original course.
Yes…
he had already changed history.
Since Kevan Lannister died at his hands, the course of the world had begun to change.
Kevan had always been known in the Seven Kingdoms as the calm and capable brother of Tywin Lannister, a man who rarely acted rashly and who managed many of the affairs of House Lannister. Killing such a man so early would undoubtedly shake the balance of power within the Westerlands and the royal court.
Viserys now found himself vaguely regretting his impulsive actions, wondering whether the proud and ruthless Lannisters of Casterly Rock would eventually unleash a terrible vengeance for the death of one of their own.
If he had simply hidden in the carriage without Sir William's help, perhaps he would have allowed Kevan Lannister to leave with his suspicions unresolved and let the matter end quietly that night.
And even if he had done nothing, the royal family might still have fled safely to Dragonstone, the ancient Targaryen stronghold that stood upon its smoking island fortress in the Narrow Sea.
But…
would doing nothing really change anything?
Viserys watched as a longship, its hull shattered by flaming projectiles, tilted slowly before being swallowed by the dark waves. The mast snapped, the burning sail collapsed, and the ship sank completely into the sea while countless soldiers from both sides screamed as they thrashed helplessly in the freezing water.
For a moment, the young prince fell silent in thought.
He knew very well that everything in this world was a matter of probability.
Even if he had never appeared in this world at all, if the same events happened again, the outcome might still be different. Fate was not a straight road, and even the smallest stone could divert the course of a river.
Moreover, if he truly did nothing, he might still one day suffer the same fate he remembered being humiliated and crowned with molten gold like the so-called "King Who Begged," or perhaps dying in some other cruel way before ever reclaiming the Iron Throne.
He did not believe the victorious forces of House Baratheon would ever allow the last surviving heirs of House Targaryen to live peacefully.
After all, the rebellion led by Robert Baratheon had been fought precisely to overthrow the rule of the House Targaryen, and the existence of Viserys and his unborn sister alone would always be a threat to the new king sitting upon the Iron Throne.
However, the thought that his sister's birth would inevitably take his mother's life only made the turmoil in his heart grow stronger.
After more than half a year together, he had truly integrated into this world. His mother, Queen Layla, had always treated him with warmth and tenderness despite the chaos surrounding the fall of their dynasty, and he did not want to lose her.
Yet Viserys could not ask his mother to abort the child in her womb, nor could he tell her that the baby she carried his future sister, Daenerys Targaryen was destined to be born at the cost of her life.
He could only try his best to comfort her and ease the anxiety that lingered in her heart as war closed in around them.
But despite all of Viserys's efforts, his attempts to cheer her up and soothe her worries seemed to have very little effect.
Even though Queen Layla forced a smile for her son, the deep sorrow in her eyes was visible to everyone. A broken heart is hard to heal.
The deaths of her husband, Aerys II Targaryen, the last king of the Targaryen dynasty to sit the Iron Throne, and her eldest son, Rhaegar Targaryen, the crown prince who fell on the Trident during the rebellion, had become an unhealable wound in Layla's heart. His silver-gold hair, slightly curled like many members of House Targaryen, was tousled by the cold sea breeze as Viserys leaned against the windowsill, clutching his sword.
Then he sighed softly.
...
Meanwhile, on the other side of the ancient halls of Dragonstone...
"Hmm?"
This faint sound was exceptionally clear in the silent corridor, drawing the attention of all the mercenaries present.
"Someone's here?"
The leader of the Courage Group narrowed his eyes slightly, a sharp and cruel glint flashing within them.
He slowly drew a dagger from his boot and gripped it tightly.
He then turned to look at the burly man with the axe who had climbed up first through the sea-facing walls of Dragonstone; the man seemed somewhat flustered. He had just insisted that the corridor was empty, only to be proven wrong almost immediately.
However, the mercenary leader didn't dwell on it. He leaned against the cold black volcanic stone wall of the Targaryen fortress, his shadow swaying slightly under the distant torchlight, and cautiously made his way toward the dark corner, dagger in hand.
If someone was indeed hiding there, they were in deep trouble. Although their main objective tonight was to kill the last surviving remnants of the Targaryens before the forces loyal to Robert Baratheon could secure the realm, he certainly wouldn't mind killing someone who had foolishly wandered into their path.
A sinister smile appeared on the leader's lips, the dagger in his hand gleaming coldly.
The figure drew closer to the dark corner, and he felt he could almost hear the other person's tense breathing.
Just then,
"Meow~"
He had reached the dark corner, but suddenly heard a faint meow coming from the other side.
"A cat?"
The leader's cruel smile froze, his dagger gripping hand momentarily still. The other six mercenaries not far behind him also paused slightly, then breathed a sigh of relief, especially the burly man carrying a heavy battle axe.
It seemed to be a misunderstanding; there was no one hiding around the corner, but a stray cat had wandered into the castle corridors and made the noise.
The misunderstanding was now cleared up.
However, the mercenary leader, still gripping his dagger tightly, decided to double-check, just to be cautious.
He pressed himself against the wall and slowly peeked out, a bloodshot eye appearing on the other side of the corridor corner.
The corridor was dimly lit, with torches burning far apart along the stone walls of the castle.
In the dim, almost imperceptible light, a small, pure black cat sat beneath a bonsai tree placed near the wall as decoration within the castle corridor. Its eerie green eyes caught sight of the man's protruding head and his bloodshot, ferocious gaze.
It tilted its head slightly and let out a confused meow.
"It really is a cat," the mercenary leader muttered, stepping forward. He secretly breathed a sigh of relief; their raid on Dragonstone had been extremely dangerous, and he didn't want any unnecessary complications that might alert the castle guards or the loyal knights who still protected the Targaryen children under the command of Sir William.
However, what he didn't see was a small figure huddled up beside the black cat, hidden behind the bonsai pot, trembling nervously.
Princess Renis was naturally beautiful, inheriting the Valyrian features of the dragonlords, but her forehead was slightly protruding. While trying to quietly slip away through the corridor after hearing the mercenaries' footsteps, she had accidentally bumped her forehead against the wall and fallen flat on her backside.
At that moment, Renis truly thought she was going to die, but thankfully Bellerion appeared just in time.
The little girl hid behind the potted plant, trembling, praying silently that the mercenary would not discover her.
And Renis's desperate prayer seemed to be heard by the Seven gods worshipped across Westeros. After confirming once again that it really was only a cat making the noise, the mercenary leader had no reason to argue with an animal wandering through the castle halls.
Instead, he simply turned back toward his companions.
The misunderstanding was completely cleared up.
.....