Chapter Text
Rhaenyra had been sleeping when she received the call. The invasive buzzing of her phone on the nightstand had stirred her from her slumber, and it only infuriated her the longer it persisted as she clumsily felt around for her phone, refusing to open her eyes just yet.
Daemon’s voice on the other end of the line when she finally answered, though, had her jolting upright, eyes snapping open and staying like that.
He had not minced words.
“Viserys is dead,”
Rhaenyra hadn’t heard what he said next. Perhaps it was an attempt at something reassuring. That he’s no longer in pain. But his voice had faded into a quiet hum at the edge of her consciousness after the first three words.
That had been just over a fortnight ago, and was the reason she now found herself standing outside of the door to her childhood home, key in hand, looking up at the windows and brick that had watched her come and go hundreds of times through the years. Most of the time she would have been with her father, or some of their extended family.
But now, she came alone.
After the funeral, Daemon had informed her that he had already begun the arrangements with the real estate agent. That she would need to deal with Visery’s belongings within the house, whilst he handled other matters.
With a sigh, she compelled herself to move forwards, choosing not to glance at the realtor’s ‘coming soon’ sign that had been erected just outside.
Once she reached the front door, she took the brass key and inserted it into the lock, twisting it slowly until the mechanism shifted with a dull click. Rhaenyra pushed the door open, and it groaned and ached with every inch, revealing the dim entryway within.
Rhaenyra stepped inside, leaving the door open behind her for a moment, the air within stale and dry. She continued inwards, trailing her hand along the walls, tracing the edges of paintings that hung there.
She peered her head into the dining room. The huge table that stood in its centre was dressed and prepared enough to host a ten person dinner, though Rhaenyra mused that it had perhaps been more than a decade since the dining table had seen more than maybe half that number at one time.
She would have to call a company to come and collect it, as well as the sofa and chairs in the living room. But she didn’t give it any more thought for now. What would undoubtedly take her the majority of the two month deadline Daemon had notified her of, was the bedroom and spare rooms upstairs.
When she was in her early teens, her father had practically forbidden her from entering the spare room. He was even reluctant for her to venture into his bedroom if he wasn’t with her. From the few times she had snuck in when he didn't know–out of pure rebellion–she had been unsure what all the fuss was about.
The spare room housed only shelf after shelf of books and an endless assortment of paintings and trinkets, things that hadn’t interested Rhaenyra at all at the time. Though now, she was grateful in a way, that she had chosen to ignore him and take a peek inside, for now she knew the mountain of work that awaited her, instead of stumbling upon it and signing off for the house and everything within to be bulldozed in a moment of weakness at the sheer scale of her fathers belongings.
So, with this knowledge, she continued through the house, and went immediately upstairs.
Rhaenyra paused outside of his bedroom door. The dark red wood had chipped and faded over time. The brass handle worn where it had been pulled and pushed countless times a day. She reached out, her fingers extending, the tips just brushing against the brass, but she flinched back, as though burned.
It was not dissimilar to the way she had felt when she had snuck in without his knowledge. When she had rifled through his things as she heard him whistling a faint tune from the kitchen downstairs.
Though now, there was only an uncomfortable silence.
Too soon. She thought to herself, instead deciding to begin in one of the spare rooms, and work her way towards her fathers bedroom. The logic seemed sound to her, and she chose to ignore the quiet voice in the back of her mind that told her that it was because she had not grieved him fully yet, because of course she had. She had buried him.
She had to almost force herself into the spare room. The door would barely budge from the boxes of clothes, shoes, books, and paintings that were resting against it. But eventually, Rhaenyra squeezed her way in.
She blew out a steadying breath, and got to work.
Rhaenyra took a long drag of her cigarette as she scrolled on her phone, blowing the smoke over the screen so it cascaded off of it in waves. The time showed 15:36pm.
She leaned against the wall outside of Visery’s home, stretching her back until it popped, already feeling the ache beginning to bloom in her muscles.
She had managed to sort through a few boxes. Mainly sifting through old letters and documents, trying to determine what was important, and what could be thrown away. Any clothes she found that weren’t covered with holes from moths and were in decent shape she took pictures of, sending them to her family members to see whether any of them would want to keep anything.
But aside from that, she hadn’t made as much progress as she may have liked. She flicked off the ash of her cigarette, taking a final drag before stubbing it out and leaving it in the ashtray she had kept by the front door, and made her way back inside.
She had meant to continue past Visery’s bedroom, but paused, giving it a sidelong glance. Maybe a change of scenery would yield better results, Rhaenyra thought. She would have to bite the bullet eventually, anyway. Why not now?
Deciding to act on this flash of resilience before it faded, Rhaenyra approached her fathers bedroom door and quickly pushed it open, slipping inside and closing it behind her before she could talk herself out of it.
The room was quiet. Her fathers four-poster bed stood in the centre, the bedsheets immaculate, not touched for weeks. Boxes of prescription medication were still sitting on his nightstand, with some packets scattered around, tablets still in them.
Rhaenyra made her way across the room to the window, pushing it open slightly to let in some fresh air. She turned and leant her back against it, glancing across the room. A large chest stood at the foot of her fathers bed, a silver padlock hanging from it.
That’s gonna be a problem, Rhaenyra thought to herself. Knowing her own father had forgotten where he had placed the key for it long ago.
But that was an issue for another day.
Rhaneyra instead set her sights on the huge wardrobe that branched off through a short hallway at the side of his bedroom, intent on organising some more of her late fathers clothing. Though, before she pushed off from the windowsill, her gaze flicked across the vast bookshelf that spanned almost the entire length of the space.
There wasn't a spare inch upon it that was not occupied by a large tome or book. Her father even had the odd scroll tucked in amongst it all. Loose parchment stuck out from between books, and one of them caught Rhaenyra’s eye.
She moved towards it, whistling quietly to herself as she went, and plucked the paper from where it had been wedged into the pages of a large tome. She leaned casually against the bookshelf as she unfolded it, chuckling quietly as her eyes flicked across the paper. ‘The Targaryen Family Tree’ was sprawled across the top of the page in ornate handwriting, and beneath it, countless names branched off into even more names.
“Alysanne,” Rhaenyra murmured to herself, “nice name.”
She paused as her gaze passed over a recognisable name. ‘Viserys I Targaryen’.
Rhaenyra chuckled to herself, “no wonder he loved to study this stuff,” she said as she glanced at the bookshelf.
‘The History of the Targaryens,’ ‘Aegon The Conqueror,’ ‘The Mysteries of Old Valyria.’ Countless books lined the shelves. Rhaenyra had remembered her father telling her tales from centuries before, how they supposedly tamed and rode dragons. Rhaenyra had never quite believed it, but she had humoured her father when he had brought it up. It was the least she could do.
She felt her phone buzz in her pocket and quickly retrieved it.
Mysaria
16:12pm
You coming out tonight?? Might do you some good. take your mind off things
16:13pm
Alsoo, i got a friend here and she rly wants to meet you;)
Rhaenyra placed the paper down onto her fathers bed. Her thumbs hovered over the keys preparing to type out a response. She shifted her gaze to the bookshelf, and her mind drifted to the boxes and boxes of belongings she still had to sort through.
Me
16:14pm
Sorry! super busy at my dads house
16:15pm
Maybe another time?
Mysaria
16:15pm
:(
16:15pm
Hope ur ok <3
Rhaenyra slid her phone back into her pocket and moved across to the bookshelf. She ran her finger along the neck of the books, biting at the inside of her cheek as she decided which to pick up. She’d get back to organising soon enough.
“I choose… you,” she mumbled to herself, grabbing ‘The History of the Targaryens’ from the shelf and flopping back onto the bed.
Rhaenyra flicked through the pages, eyes skimming the words as they flew past rapidly. She paused in an instant, laying the book flat down on the bed whilst she laid above it. She turned backwards a couple of pages until she came upon the start of the chapter.
“‘The Reign of King Viserys The First,” Rhaenyra murmured to herself, “let’s see if you were any good.”
Her eyes danced along the words. She had managed about three pages when she stifled her first yawn, shaking her head in an attempt to dispel the fatigue she felt. Another came soon after, one she didn't bother to stifle with her hand. The vivid descriptions she had just been reading had now shifted into just dark blurs on the pages in front of her, eventually fading altogether.
Rhaenyra walked through the halls of the palace. Torches mounted on the ancient stone walls lit the way, though she didn’t truly know where she was going. She allowed her body to lead her, her feet moving her forwards with a purpose that her mind did not yet understand.
Light spilled into the hall from an open doorway up ahead, and Rhaenyra felt herself drawn to it like a moth to flame.
She paused at the doorway, taking a moment to peek into the room cautiously.
A woman was putting an elderly man to bed, smoothing his bedsheets and speaking softly to him. The room was vast. Large bookshelves lined the walls. Huge wardrobes stood, tall and imposing, and a window took up almost the entirety of one of the walls, letting in the pale rays of the moon.
Just in front of Rhaenrya, there was a small table, with a jug and some cups sitting upon it. But what caught her attention the most was the fine ornate dagger resting there too.
She glanced at the woman again. She had her back to her, and she was still fussing with the blankets. Rhaenyra moved into the room, doing her best to be as silent as she could. When she reached the table, she delicately picked up the dagger. She raised it in her hand, tilting it this way and that, watching as it reflected the candlelight.
Rhaenyra nodded to herself, admiring the steel, when something else caught her eye.
The woman on the bed had turned, and was now striding towards her.
“Who are you!?” She demanded. Her gaze flicking to the dagger in Rhaenyra’s hand as she approached. “Put that down!”
“I—I wasn’t!—” Rhaenyra began, startled.
The woman reached for the dagger, and instinctively, Rhaenyra felt herself pulling back. Amidst the struggle, the woman grabbed the dagger, tugging it towards herself.
Rhaenyra couldn’t move her arm quickly enough. The blade sliced across her forearm, blood blooming in its wake.
It clattered unceremoniously to the floor. The brown-haired woman’s eyes were wide with horror as she pulled her hands into herself.
Silence stretched on, as Rhaenyra’s blood steadily dripped onto the stone floor.
“Gods!” The woman exclaimed. “I—I’m—”
Rhaenyra awoke with a start. Her fathers bedroom was only dimly lit by pale moonlight that filtered in through the still open window. The sky outside was pitch black, stars speckling the darkness.
Rhaenyra groaned softly as she stared up at the ceiling, her brows knitted together.
Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she swore she could still smell the faint scent of candles and ancient stone.
She lifted a hand to rub at her eyes, wincing sharply when she did.
“What the…?”
She could barely see for the darkness, but as she glanced to her left arm, she could see that the sleeve of her grey sweater was discoloured. With a disbelieving sigh, she got up, moving to the wall and flicking on the light. Rhaenyra made her way back over to the mirror.
She stood motionless for a few beats. Watching the woman reflected back at her.
With a trembling hand, she reached over and pulled up the sleeve of her sweater, grimacing at the flash of pain that flared up her arm.
“How…?” she murmured.
She reached across and brushed her palm across her scar. One that was etched on the inside of her forearm. One that she’d had for as long as she could remember.
Except now, when she pulled her hand away, it was stained with crimson. Her skin was raw, and oozing with fresh blood.
“Yeah... I don’t know,” Rhaenyra said into the phone as she locked her car. “Guess I must've caught it on something.”
“Caught it on something in bed?” Criston’s voice came from the other end of the line. “That doesn’t make sense.”
Rhaenyra glanced at her bandaged arm. “Yeah, I, I know. But I must’ve done.”
She adjusted her hold on her phone as she arrived at the front door to the house, pulling the key out and slipping it into the lock.
“Anyway, I’m here now, I gotta go.”
“Alright, try not to get any more mysterious injuries,” Criston joked.
Rhaenyra chuckled softly as she ended the call. She made her way back through the entryway, closing the door behind her. And headed straight up the stairs to Visery’s bedroom.
She took the book she had been reading and placed it back onto the shelf, cursing softly when she noticed a small red stain on the bedsheets where her arm had been resting. Though she supposed it didn’t matter now anyway.
Rhaenyra nodded to herself, brows knitting together in determination, as she got to work on the large wardrobe that was stacked almost to the ceiling with boxes and clothes.
“Yeah, I ended up getting home at like, three am in the end,” Rhaenyra said, putting her phone on speaker and setting it on the window ledge as she blew the cigarette smoke out of the window.
“Ahh okay. So, no creepy dreams when you got home then?” Mysaria replied playfully.
Rhaenyra scoffed. “Nope. Slept like a baby.”
“Maybe it’s something about your dads house, they say dreams are signs of deeper things and all that,”
Rhaenyra took another drag, Mysaria’s words settling in the air.
“Maybe,” she breathed, taking a breath, choosing to shift the topic. “I’m sorting through his wardrobe now. Didn’t realise how many clothes he had, considering he wore like, the same three things.”
“Oh yeah, I had the same thing with my grandma, it took forever!” Mysaria replied, elongating the last word. “Hey, me, Criston and a couple of the others are going for drinks this weekend, you should come!”
Rhaenyra stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray and collected her phone from the windowsill.
“I’ll let you know,” she said, “see how I’m getting on here.”
“No worries! Talk to you soon!”
“Talk soon,” Rhaenyra replied before ending the call and slipping her phone back into her pocket.
She made her way back into the wardrobe. She had organised three boxes so far, which she’d stacked against the back wall. And, though there was still a mountain to get through, the dent she had made was encouraging.
“Okay,” she murmured to herself, eyeing an old chest of draws that she had unearthed behind a mountain of old coats.
She leaned down and grabbed hold of it, slowly pulling it out from underneath a shelf. Once she had cleared it, she sat back on her knees, wiping the back of her hand across her forehead, dispelling the thin sheen of sweat that had begun to form there.
The thing looked positively ancient. The wood was faded and cracked, decorative etchings were carved along it, though even these had almost faded completely.
Rhaenyra reached out and pulled open one of the drawers. Inside there were old badges and pins, fancy pens and some postcards.
She sifted through them, checking if anything had her father’s writing on or if it seemed particularly important. When she moved the stack of postcards aside, she found a singular brass key hidden beneath.
Rhaenyra collected it in her fingers, frowning. It didn’t match the front door key she had, nor did it look like it would fit the locks for any of the other doors in the house. She tilted it, taking note of the bizarre shape.
She was about to toss it into the box of things destined for the landfill, when she paused.
She leaned her head out of the wardrobe, eyeing her fathers old chest that stood at the foot of the bed.
“May as well try it,” she mumbled with a shrug.
She walked across to it, half expecting for the key to not fit the lock, or for the mechanism to resist, and as such, for the mystery of what was within to endure.
Instead, she pushed the key in, and twisted. And despite the age of the chest, the latch gave way immediately.
The sound of the lock releasing made Rhaenyra sit back. She stared at the chest, half expecting something to lunge out and grab her.
She didn't dare open it. Her father never had for as long as she could remember, no matter how many times she had begged him. Yet now, she had the chance. And she found herself hesitating.
Even Rhaenyra herself thought the hesitation was silly. What could possibly be in there but more documents and trinkets? She convinced herself.
With a reassuring nod, she leaned forwards and pushed the chest open.
She had expected stacks of letters, or more miscellaneous junk. Or maybe even a pile of gold, or jewels, if she was leaning into her imagination. Yet all that stared back at her was a dull brown box.
With a frown, Rhaenyra reached forwards and lifted the lid open.
Her breath was stolen from her lungs with such swiftness she almost choked. The wound on her arm began to throb, and the room around her faded away.
Sitting perched in the box, was the elaborate dagger from her dreams… the same one the woman with auburn hair had cut her with.