The Red Keep felt wrong.
Not quiet—never quiet—but hollow, as though the life had been drawn from its stones. The corridors I ran through were thick with the scent of blood and smoke, of herbs burned too late to matter. Servants pressed themselves flat against the walls as I passed, eyes downcast, hands shaking. No one tried to stop me.
That alone told me everything.
I slowed at the doors to my mother's chambers. They were closed now. Guarded. Two Kingsguard stood watch, their white cloaks stark against the dark red stone. Neither met my eyes.
My heart pounded, loud enough that I was certain they could hear it.
"Move," I said, my voice unsteady despite my efforts.
One of them hesitated. Just for a breath.
Then the doors opened.
The room was silent.
Too silent.
The bed was stained dark, the sheets pulled tight and empty. Candles burned low, their flames wavering, as though even they feared to remain. A maester knelt nearby, hands red to the wrist, his expression unreadable.
I searched the room wildly—Mother, mother—until my gaze found her.
Queen Aemma lay still.
And in that moment, I understood what it meant to lose something you had always believed would endure.
" what ha-happened...mom is that really mother? No no. " tears stain my face as I look upon my mother as she lay still on the bed cold, hollow lifeless. Her face showing signs of pain of fear up to her last moments.
" Vhaehra wha- your not supposed to be here. "
Viserys looked shocked as he saw me. Tears pour down my face as my eyes shifted from mother's body where her belly has been sliced open to viserys now standing up next to mother's cold dead body.
" Father what happened....no did you do that to mother? " I ask as my fury rises up from the depths of my soul as I look at father as regret and sadness crosses his features.
" you're not supposed to be here you're not supposed to see this. "
But I did.
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Above kings landing brewed a dark and terrifying storm encompassing nearly all of the crownlands, the reach, westernlands and up to the vale. The storm grew terrifyingly violent as all festivities were canceled and the common folk took to their houses for shelter from the storm. Harsh winds battered upon the red keep as if mocking the death of the queen and baby not letting them rest and mourn for the passing of the beloved queen and babe.
Some thought the gods were mourning for the passing of the queen as well while others took it as a sign of dark and tumultuous times ahead for Westeros.
Word of the queens death quickly but quietly spread through the red keep only ever being spoken of in hushed whispers in the corners of the keep. Concerns and worry filled the keep as not just the queen passed away but the future heir as well died only a few short moments after being born.
Not to long after members of the court and the small council scurried about like rats plotting and thinking on how best to take advantage for when tragedy strikes one it is but a opportunity for another. This was one they would not miss especially the more ambitious one's they swarm about like vultures plotting on how best to use the passing of the good Queen Aemma to their advantage.
With the failure to produce a heir the topic of succession easily fell back into the minds of all the lord's and nobles alike for who will assume the iron throne after the passing of viserys.
Daemon automatically becomes the next in line but no lord will want to see him sit upon the iron throne for they see him as dangerous and unpredictable unsuitable for the iron throne and the responsibility that comes with being king.
If not daemon then who? Rhaenyra the first born of Viserys comes to some as a candidate. In truth some saw her as a better choice compared to daemon but never spoke it out loud.
3 days later
POV Otto
"Any word on how the King fares?"
Maester Mellos let out a measured sigh. "He bears the loss in his own time, my lord. The same may be said of Princess Rhaenyra. They must be granted leave to mourn Her Grace."
"That is well," I replied. "We cannot have the King's wits undone. The realm requires a steady hand, now more than ever."
Grief is a cruel tutor. A man may lose a wife; a child, a mother. Yet a royal house cannot afford to bend too long beneath sorrow, lest it break when the next storm comes. And the storm is already upon us. The question of an heir lingers in these halls like a foul draught. The longer it remains unanswered, the more discontent will take root—among lords and smallfolk alike.
The matter had been set aside only for the Queen's confinement, in the hope of a son. That hope has failed us. This is no small concern, and it must be addressed without delay. Viserys, for all his gentleness, will need to return to his duties swiftly.
My thoughts turned, unbidden, to the younger princess.
"Maester," I said, more softly, "and Princess Vhaehra—how does she fare?"
Mellos paused a moment before answering, his gaze lowering. "She endures, as best she can. The child is quick of mind and more composed than most of her years, yet she is still but a child. Such a loss… it will test her."
As it would any of them.
A quiet ache stirred in me for the girl. She has ever been diligent in her studies, eager to learn, and unfailingly courteous within the keep. Too young to bear such weight, and yet it has been placed upon her all the same.
I will see her, I resolved, when time allows.
For now, duty must come first.
"Summon the Small Council," I said, my voice hardening. "And inform His Grace that we convene at once. This cannot wait."
"At once, my lord."
Mellos bowed and set servants to the task, while he himself went to fetch the King.
One by one, the councillors gathered. They took their seats with solemn faces and lowered eyes, the shadow of loss plain upon them. Yet men in such offices are not afforded the luxury of grief.
There is work to be done—and the realm will not wait.