Rewriting Targaryen History

Chapter 101: Chapter 101: Small Strengths

The first sign that Vaerya was truly returning was not her voice. It was her temper.

By midmorning, the maester had ordered the chamber kept dim, quiet, and warm enough to make every adult inside it feel half-boiled. Vaerya lay propped against pillows, pale beneath the last traces of fever, with damp silver hair brushed away from her face. She had slept through most of the morning after asking for water at dawn, and Celeste had not moved farther than three steps from the bed since.

When the maester lifted another cup of watered herbs, Vaerya turned her head away with the faintest frown. Celeste froze. The maester looked almost pleased.

"She is refusing it?" I asked.

"She is objecting to the taste," he said. "That is a better sign than swallowing without knowing what she is given."

Vaerya opened her eyes enough to glare at him. It was not a strong glare. It barely had the strength to cross the pillow. Still, it belonged to her.

"It smells bitter," she whispered.

"It is bitter," the maester said. "That is because most useful medicines are created by men who do not love children enough to improve the flavour."

Celeste made a sound that was very close to a laugh and very close to breaking. She covered it by reaching for Vaerya’s hand.

"You frightened us," she said.

Vaerya looked at her mother slowly, as if the words had to travel through deep water before reaching her. "I did not mean to."

"I know you did not."

"Is Aegor angry?"

"No," Celeste said. "Your brother has been standing guard in the corridor as if the whole castle might try to sneak past him."

Vaerya blinked. "He is not good at standing still."

"That has not stopped him from trying."

Her fingers tightened weakly around Celeste’s. "Can I see him?"

"Soon," the maester said before Celeste could answer. "You may see him when you have drunk a little more and proved to me that waking has not made you reckless."

Vaerya looked at him with exhausted offence. "I am in bed."

"Many reckless people begin there."

This time Celeste did laugh, though softly enough not to disturb the room. The sound changed something in her face. It did not remove the fear, but it loosened its grip.

I stood near the wall, where I had become an expert in being present without being useful. Vaerya’s eyes drifted to me after a moment. Recognition came slowly, then settled.

"Uncle Othorion."

"I am here."

"You look tired."

"That is because you made everyone work very hard."

Her mouth curved slightly. "Did I?"

"Yes. I expect an apology when you are strong enough to make it convincing."

Celeste gave me a warning look, but Vaerya seemed pleased by the idea that she had caused difficulty on a scale worth mentioning.

"Father will be cross," she murmured.

"With the fever, certainly. With the sea, probably. With me, almost definitely."

"Why with you?"

"Because I am here and he is not, which will feel unfair to him even though he knows better."

Vaerya seemed to consider that. "He should come home."

"He will when he can."

"Will he bring something?"

Celeste closed her eyes with the weary expression of a mother watching family traits sharpen in real time.

I answered carefully. "If your father has any sense, he will bring several things."

"That is good."

The effort of conversation tired her quickly. Her eyes closed again, but this sleep did not have the heavy wrongness of fever. It came gently, taking her back after proving it had returned her in part.

The maester checked her breathing, then her brow. He did not smile, but the severity had left his shoulders.

"She is still weak," he said. "We must not mistake improvement for safety, but this is the first morning in which I prefer what I see."

Celeste looked at him. "That is the closest you have come to saying something kind."

"I will try not to make a habit of it, my lady."

She looked down at Vaerya’s sleeping face. Her thumb moved over the child’s knuckles, slow and careful. For two days she had held herself together through force, anger, and a refusal to let fear become louder than need. Now relief touched her, and it did not make her softer. It made her look wounded in a different direction.

"She asked for Aegor," she said quietly.

"She did."

"She asked whether he was angry, as if any of this were her fault."

"Children blame themselves for storms if the adults around them look frightened enough."

Celeste nodded, but her eyes stayed on Vaerya. "I hate that she knew we were afraid."

"She would have known even if everyone smiled until their faces cracked."

"That sounds like Vaeron."

"It probably means I should apologise."

"You can apologise when he comes home and accuses both of us of managing the crisis incorrectly."

"He will have prepared notes."

"He will have prepared categories."

I smiled despite the room, and after a breath, Celeste did too.

Outside the chamber, the castle was waiting to learn what shape the day would take. Servants passed more quietly than usual. Guards lingered at corners until Grey Roach moved them along.

The kitchens had sent enough broth to feed a small siege, and someone had placed fresh flowers near the door before remembering that Dragonstone did not produce many gentle offerings and removing them again.

Fear had filled the castle quickly. Relief moved more cautiously.

No one trusted it yet. Not fully. Men who lived on Dragonstone understood that danger often retreated only far enough to gather itself. But the servants no longer looked as if every closed door hid death.

The guards stopped speaking in whispers sharp enough to cut. Somewhere below, a man laughed once before catching himself, and for the first time since I had arrived, the sound did not feel like an insult to the sickroom.

Celeste finally allowed herself to sit back. Only a little. Only while still holding Vaerya’s hand.

"You should eat," I said.

"So should you."

"I have been eating."

"You have been standing near food while thinking about other things."

"That is a recognised form of eating during war."

"This is not war."

"No," I said, looking at Vaerya’s small face against the pillows. "It is worse in several ways."

Celeste did not argue.

The maester prepared another draught and set it aside for when Vaerya next woke. His movements had changed. Still careful, still measured, but no longer sharpened by the need to outrun disaster. He caught me watching him and lowered his voice.

"If she wakes with thirst again, that will be good. If she keeps the broth down, better. If she complains, my prince, I advise everyone in the castle to rejoice quietly."

"She is a Galeris child. Complaining should return before full strength."

"One hopes the gods are merciful enough to send it soon."

Celeste looked toward the door. "Let Aegor come in when she wakes again. He has earned that much."

"He has earned more than that," I said.

She nodded, and for the first time that morning, some of the fear left her eyes without immediately returning.

Celeste looked toward the door. "Let Aegor come in when she wakes again. He has earned that much."

"He has earned more than that," I said.

She nodded, and for the first time that morning, some of the fear left her eyes without immediately returning.

Aegor was admitted just after midday.

He entered with the seriousness of a boy who believed the entire chamber had been placed under his command. His hair had been combed badly, which meant he had either done it himself or had fought the nurse halfway through the task. He carried the chipped wooden soldier from the corridor in both hands.

Celeste lifted a finger before he reached the bed. "You may sit beside her, but you must not climb on the bed. You must not wake her if she falls asleep, and you must not tell her frightening things just because they are true."

Aegor frowned at the last rule. "What if she asks?"

"Then you look at me first."

"That seems like a way to make truth slower."

"It is exactly that," Celeste said.

He accepted the injustice with visible reluctance and moved to the chair beside Vaerya. She was awake again, though only barely. Her eyes followed him with weak interest.

"I brought him back," Aegor said, holding up the wooden soldier. "I let you keep him while you were ill, but now I think he should guard both of us until you can sit properly."

Vaerya looked at the chipped helm. "He looks worse."

"He is more experienced now."

"That is what Father says when something is broken but still useful."

"It is true sometimes."

She considered this, then gave the smallest nod. "He can stay."

Aegor placed the soldier on the blanket near her hand. When her fingers failed to close around it, he adjusted them carefully, showing more gentleness than he probably wanted anyone to notice.

"You have to drink when the maester tells you," he said. "If you do not, Mother becomes quiet in the frightening way."

Celeste inhaled slowly. Vaerya turned her eyes toward her mother. "Did you?"

"Only a little," Celeste said.

Aegor did not let that pass. "It was more than a little."

"Aegor," Celeste warned.

He looked wounded by the correction. "I am helping."

"You are. Help more softly."

He tried. The effort was almost painful to watch.

Vaerya’s mouth curved faintly. "Was Uncle Othorion frightened?"

"Everyone was frightened," Aegor said, before looking at Celeste too late.

I answered before he could be scolded. "I was frightened enough that I became very obedient to the maester, which is a humiliation I expect you to remember kindly."

Vaerya’s eyes shifted to the maester. "Did he obey?"

"Mostly," the maester said. "He asked too many questions, but men of command often mistake questions for usefulness when denied anything sharper."

"That is rude," Vaerya whispered.

"It is also accurate," Celeste said.

Aegor leaned closer. "I guarded the corridor."

"I know."

"I did not let anyone useless come in."

Vaerya blinked. "How did you know who was useless?"

Aegor hesitated. That was the problem with taking command at seven. Eventually someone asked for method. "I stood there," he said at last. "Grey Roach moved people away."

"That means Grey Roach guarded."

"I supervised him."

I turned aside so the children would not see my smile. Grey Roach, standing outside the door, showed no reaction, but I suspected he had heard every word.

The visit lasted less than a quarter hour. Vaerya tried to stay awake for Aegor, and Aegor tried to pretend he did not see the effort. When her eyes began to close, he stopped speaking mid-sentence and looked to Celeste for approval. She nodded.

The day became a collection of small strengths.

Vaerya drank twice without turning away. She kept down broth. She complained that the pillow smelled wrong, though no one could explain what made a pillow smell right. The maester allowed the shutters to be opened for a short while, and the wind off the sea entered gently enough that Celeste did not object.

By evening, Vaerya asked for her ribbons.

Celeste stared at her. "You are too tired to have your hair braided."

"I only want to see them."

"Why?"

"To know they are still there."

Celeste looked at me then, and I understood the expression. Children had strange ways of asking whether the world had remained in place while they were gone from it.

The ribbon box was brought.

Vaerya sorted through it with slow fingers, touching blue, silver, purple, and pale green. She lacked the strength to do more than move them one at a time, but the act seemed to steady her. Aegor returned later and informed her that the purple ribbon was most suitable because it looked "less sickly."

Vaerya chose the silver one out of spite. That was when Celeste truly began to breathe again.

Not fully. No mother trusted recovery while a child still looked too fragile beneath blankets. But some part of her returned. She corrected Aegor when he leaned too heavily on the bed. She argued with the maester about how much broth counted as enough. She told Vaerya that gifts from Astapor were not owed simply because one had frightened the household, then ruined the lesson by admitting Vaeron would probably bring something anyway.

The castle changed with her.

Servants stopped entering the chamber as though approaching a funeral. The guards outside the hall exchanged quiet words instead of standing like carved warnings. The kitchens sent thin soup, soft bread, and a custard the maester immediately forbade until the next day. This caused more offence in Vaerya than the fever had managed in its final hours.

"I almost died," she whispered.

The maester did not look moved. "That is why I am not letting you eat custard too soon."

"I should have custard."

"You have the right to believe that."

Aegor nodded from his chair. "You should recover first and then demand custard from a stronger position."

Vaerya thought that was wise. I did not tell them it sounded like advice their father would give before negotiating with a merchant.

That night, Celeste finally left the chamber for more than a few minutes. She did not go far. Only to the adjoining solar, where a small meal had been set out. She sat by the window with a bowl in her hands and watched the dark glass instead of the food.

"You have been ordered to eat by three people and one maester," I said. "At some point, refusal becomes rebellion."

"I am considering rebellion."

"You are too tired to organise it properly."

"For two days I only wanted her to breathe. Now she is complaining about medicine, asking after gifts, and choosing ribbons to spite her brother."

"That sounds like improvement."

"It sounds like life."

The words quieted us both.

After a moment, she ate. Slowly at first, then with the practical determination of someone who understood she needed strength for the days after terror as much as for terror itself.

"Thank you for staying," she said.

"I told Aegor I would remain until Vaerya could leave her bed."

"He will hold you to that."

"I know. He has Vaeron’s talent for making agreements feel legally binding even when spoken near soup."

Celeste smiled faintly. "Vaeron will be unbearable when he hears how close it came."

"He was unbearable before this. We will survive the familiar version."

"He will hate himself."

"Yes, I fear my brother would do something so foolish."

"I hate that too."

I did not answer quickly. Outside, the sea struck the rock in steady intervals. Dragonstone never let a room forget what held it above the water.

"I sent him away," I said.

Celeste turned to me. "You sent him because the family needed him elsewhere."

"Both things can be true."

"Yes. That is why guilt is so tedious. It feeds even when reason has already eaten."

That sounded enough like Vaeron that I almost laughed.

Celeste noticed. "Do not tell him I said that."

"I would not dare. He might improve the phrasing and claim it as his own."

This time her smile remained a little longer.

By the next morning, Vaerya sat propped against pillows for nearly half an hour.

The maester permitted it while behaving as if he had personally negotiated with death and did not want his terms disrespected. Vaerya took the responsibility seriously for about five minutes before asking whether she could be carried to the window.

"No," Celeste said.

"Tomorrow?"

"No."

"The day after tomorrow?"

"Perhaps."

Vaerya looked at me. "Uncle Othorion, does perhaps mean no?"

"Usually. But when spoken by mothers after illness, it sometimes means they are too tired to plan the argument."

Celeste pointed at me without looking away from Vaerya. "Do not teach my daughter how to hear me more accurately."

Vaerya seemed pleased with the lesson anyway.

Aegor continued his duties as older brother with growing confidence. He brought news from the castle, though Celeste made him remove anything alarming, political, or likely to make Vaerya ask questions the maester did not want answered. That left weather, meals, servant gossip, and one long report about a gull stealing fish from a barrel near the lower quay.

Vaerya listened as if receiving affairs of state. "Did they catch the gull?"

"No," Aegor said. "Grey Roach said pursuit was not worth the resources."

"That sounds important."

"It was a very fast gull."

When Vaerya slept, Aegor arranged the chipped soldier beside her pillow. He did it carefully, never waking her. For all his solemnity, the fear had not left him. It had merely found work to do. I knew that habit. So did most men who survived long enough to call it discipline.

On the third evening after her waking, Vaerya slept without fever.

Her breathing remained soft and even. The maester checked her twice and finally admitted that if the night stayed kind, they could speak of recovery without spitting afterwards to ward off arrogance. Celeste remained beside the bed until her own eyes began closing against her will.

"You need sleep," I said.

"I am sitting."

"You are losing consciousness vertically."

"I have done more difficult things."

"Not well."

She gave me a look, but it lacked strength. That was how I knew I had won.

The nurse took the chair beside Vaerya. Celeste allowed herself to be guided to the adjoining room, though she stopped at the door and looked back for so long that the nurse quietly promised to wake her at the first change. Only then did Celeste leave.

Dragonstone settled around the sleeping child.

Not peacefully. Dragonstone did not know how to be peaceful. But the castle no longer seemed to hold one breath between every sound. Men moved normally in the halls. The kitchens banked their fires. The guards changed watch. Somewhere below, a dragon gave a low rumble that passed through the stone and vanished.

I should have slept. Instead, I found myself restless.

The sickroom had loosened its hold on me, and the space it left behind filled with cold air, old stone, and the memory of wings cutting across the moon. I had not returned to the cliffs since the night the Amethyst Shadow nearly knocked me from them. That was sensible. Sensible men did not revisit places where they had almost died for no reason.

I had never been entirely sensible. I took a cloak and climbed.

The passage upward was dark, lit only by the occasional torch. Wind pressed through cracks in the stone. Dragonstone smelled of salt, smoke, and rain waiting beyond the horizon. By the time I reached the cliff path, the castle lay mostly behind me, and the harbour opened below like a dark bowl scattered with lanterns.

I stopped well back from the edge. Experience had improved me.

The night was clear enough to show the shape of the sea but not gentle enough to soften it. Waves broke white against the rocks below. Ships rested at anchor, their masts thin against the darkness. Farther out, the water became black and unreadable.

For a while, I stood and listened.

I thought of Vaerya asleep with the wooden soldier near her pillow. I thought of Aegor reporting on gulls because it was better than asking whether sickness might return. I thought of Celeste eating because relief had finally made hunger possible. I thought of Vaeron somewhere far away, carrying our future through a city built on cruelty while his family healed without him.

Then the wind shifted. A small change. Barely more than pressure moving above the cliff. I held still. The sea continued below. The harbour chains creaked faintly in the distance. Somewhere behind me, Dragonstone’s stones groaned under the night air.

Then, high above and almost hidden beneath the sound of the waves, came the faint beat of wings.