*********
This morning was near identical to the one before it. After having spilled fresh blood over the old, she feigned sleep until the thin serving girl came to wake her with food. She almost seemed to expect the discovery of bloodied sheets, and she nodded smartly before once more reassuring her with the idea of fresh linens. “I’ll let Betha know, m’lady,” she smiled kindly, bringing her the tray that held a bowl of hot stew. “I hope you were at least able to sleep better last night, m’lady,” she added, seeming eager to keep her spirits high. It was surprising, seeing how when she’d first met Serra, she’d been so timid and unwilling to speak, but it was a pleasant turn of events to the princess.
“I had another sleepless night,” Aeranys admitted, not at all a lie. “I think I may try to sleep after Betha brings the linens.”
“She’ll likely come by a bit later--about midday? She does most of the cooking,” Serra explained apologetically. “I can try and see if she can stop by first…”
“No, that’s alright,” the young woman waved her hand, “Midday should do just fine. It’s not good to sleep right after a large meal, I’ve been told.” She paused for a moment, thinking, then spoke decisively. “In fact--you needn’t bring me any more meals today. I’d just like to get some rest, and I don’t often feel hungry when it’s the time of flowering.”
“As you say, m’lady,” the maid nodded, and Aeranys felt a small wave of relief wash over her. After all, if Serra were to bring her meals, she might end up finding Betha gagged and bound in the princess’ bed--or worse, walk in on the swap happening. She didn’t want to get the sweet maid involved if possible, and this was the best way to keep her out of the way of endangering herself or Aeranys’ plan. “Is there anything I get you before then?” she asked earnestly, completely unaware of the deception at play.
“Ser Laenor--how does he fare?” she asked, unable to keep herself from asking.
Luckily, Serra didn’t hesitate to answer. “He is still weak, but his fever has left him,” she informed her, her voice soothing. “Do not worry, m’lady. I think he will recover in time.”
“That is a relief to hear,” Aeranys replied, letting out an inaudible sigh. That was going to have to be enough for her, to know that he was not in mortal danger.
It was still something that sat heavy in her gut, the knowledge that she would likely have to leave him behind. Not only had he yet to recover, she did not have an inkling of where he was--and neither could she ask without drawing suspicion to her potential escape. Her one source of comfort was the fact that the moment she disappeared, Ser Laenor’s likelihood of surviving his imprisonment improved vastly. Without her, he would be the only hostage of importance they would have left, the sole tool they could leverage against the crown and the Velaryons. As long as she was here, they could casually chop off any limbs they cared to, even kill him should they believe such a threat was necessary. And yet, it still weighed on her. What if they killed him anyway? What if they already had another important hostage? What if--
“M’lady!” she heard Serra gasp, jolting her out of her spiraling doubts. Her brown eyes were round with horror, and as the princess realized what that gaze was directed towards, her own eyes instantly filled with a deeper kind of dread. A red stain was slowly crawling outwards on her sleeve, warm and stinking of iron. Before she could muster some sort of far fetched excuse, the kitchen maid was already yanking the cloth of her sleeve up and away to reveal the linen strips soaked through with blood. “M’lady, you’re hurt!” she squeaked, her expression both frantic and bewildered. “How--who?” she babbled in confusion before something terrible seemed to dawn on her. Her face drained of color, her voice dropping to a quavering whisper as her breathing grew frenetic. “Did--did
he--?”
“No--Serra, no,” Aeranys grasped at her shoulders, looking her firmly in the eye. “He didn’t hurt me. No one hurt me.”
“Then how…” Serra started, but as her eyes went from the bloody arm to the princess’ grim expression, the pieces seemed to fall into place. “M’lady...
you…?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t stay here any longer, Serra,” she spoke before the maid could, her voice low and grave. “I can’t.” She took a breath, trying to explain. She had no intention of making up some noble and lofty lie about how she cared only for the realm to be at peace. Of course, she didn’t want any more horrors. She was sick of the senseless deaths, the madness that had consumed her father, but in this brutal game, she knew her entire family’s fate was tied to him. The two things she wanted--for the tragedies to stop and for her family to safe--were utterly incompatible, it seemed. “I know it might sound selfish and stupid, but I don’t want to lose my family, and I don’t want anyone to lose their families either,” she admitted, her chest constricting with emotion. “I have little love for my father, Serra. I know his tyranny better than most. And I admit, I don’t know what my brother is thinking, nor do I have an excuse, but--but I’d rather die than have my mother surrender her life for mine,” she whispered fiercely. All this time, she hadn’t been able to protect her mother in any real way. Her actions, her choices--they’d never something that could tear kingdoms apart and decide the reign of monarchs, unlike those of her father or eldest brother. This time, however, the fate of her family lay heavy on her shoulders, the weak, sputtering flame of hope. She had to fight to keep it alive, didn’t she? “I don’t know what I can do, and I don’t know if I can change anything--but if I don’t even try, how could I ever live with myself?” she swallowed hard, desperation flashing in her lilac eyes.
Serra seemed to be at an utter loss for words, still staring back at her with those sad brown eyes. “M’lady…” was all she could manage, and the princess realized she was still clutching the girl’s shoulders with both hands. She let go, drawing back into herself and taking a deep breath before looking up again, this time considerably calmer.
“I won’t begrudge you if you tell the steward,” she told her, her voice gentle once more. Serra seemed startled at those words, but the princess pressed on nonetheless. “If you could find it in your heart to keep my secret a little longer, pretend you didn’t see this, I would be forever in your debt. But I also know there are times when we must play our roles, even if when we don’t wish it. I understand it well.” A distant, forlorn smile flickered across her lips. “The choice is yours, Serra.”
For what felt like ages, there was only silence. Then the girl’s downturned gaze flicked up to hers cautiously, her words hesitant once more. “What if...I don’t want to do either?” she murmured, to which Aeranys blinked in confusion. “What if...what if I want to help you?”
“Help me?” the young woman echoed, as if she was doubting her own hearing. “Serra, if you get involved--if we’re caught--”
“I want to help you,” she repeated herself, firmly this time. “Really, I do. No one’s taken me and my silly dreams so seriously like you have, m’lady, and none of the highborn lords or ladies of Estermount have ever been as good to me as you have,” Serra’s tone held a tinge of longing, her large eyes now filled with the steady, unshakable strength of the earth below. “So...please, let me be the one who does something for you this time.”
“Thank you,” Aeranys whispered, taking her rough hand in hers. Her eloquent and flowery words had left her, and all that she could utter were those simple words, over and over again. “Thank you so much, Serra. I can’t say anything more. Just...thank you.”
The serving girl squeezed her hand back, that shy smile of hers sneaking in to play on her lips. “Does this mean we get to make a grand plan now?” she asked, almost sounding like a child at play.
“Yes,” the princess answered, squaring her shoulders. Her pale eyes gleamed in the morning light, sharp and focused as a blade. “Now we plan.”
*********
Everything else she could do was done. This was the last thing. Her fingers wrapped and unwrapped around the thin ivory handle of her quill knife.
It’ll grow back, she reminded herself as she grasped a handful of her pale hair--the hair her mother had brushed herself that last night, her slender fingers stroking her head lovingly, the same hair that Daeron, in a last moment of clarity, had touched and told her not to weep any longer, the hair Rhaegar had always liked to toy absentmindedly with while he was reading, pensively wrapping a finger around a stray lock as the three of them lay sprawled on Daeron’s bed. It wasn’t as if it would hurt, unlike the many times she’d bled herself over the two days in order to keep up the pretense, and it wasn’t as if all those memories would disappear from her if she cut her hair--so why was she still hesitating?
Was it because something deep within her felt as if it was her last remaining physical proof of their presence, their touch?
It was a terrifying thought, one she immediately thrust away from herself. Gritting her teeth, she tightened her grip on her hair as she forced the knife through it, roughly sawing and hacking at the locks as best as she could. When it was over she touched the jagged edges of her remaining hair, the absence of the familiar weight obvious to her; she couldn’t even remember a time when her hair had been this short. Numbly, she looked down to the hair in her lap. She couldn’t tell what she was feeling, but whatever it was, she knew it could come later. Now was not the time. Arranging the locks together to make a convincing mane of hair once more, she took one of the several linen strips she had cut from her sheets to bind it up. Serra would be here any minute--
Just as she thought it, footsteps approached. She ducked underneath the covers, pulling the blankets over herself as the door opened and closed. “M’lady?” came her hushed voice, and Aeranys immediately slipped out of bed, a mixture of relief and determination on her face. Serra was there, fresh sheets in her arms, and for a moment they both stared at each other mutely, the oppressive weight of what they were about to do keeping them from speaking.
“Are you sure about this?” she finally asked, giving the maid one last chance to disentangle herself from this plan. Serra had much to lose if it came to light that she had helped the princess try to escape--likely her life. The girl, however, showed no such reluctance in her eyes as she nodded back. With that, the two young women began to disrobe, hurrying into each other’s clothes instead to turn princess into maid and maid into princess.
“The staircase on the right,” Aeranys recited softly as she stepped into the coarse dress, her voice barely audible. She took the apron Serra held out to her and tied it around her waist, the kitchen knife tucked into its pocket bumping against her knee in a reassuring fashion. Her fingers briefly touched the wooden handle of the knife before she slipped in the ivory case and cyvasse piece next to it, making sure nothing would fall out. “Then the middle hall, until I see the kitchen. The small door on the side.”
“A left, all the way down,” Serra prompted as she handed the princess an oiled leather pouch, which she took almost absentmindedly, still muttering the directions.
“Then the second door from the left,” Aeranys continued, stooping in front of the dead fireplace to scrape soot into the small bag. When she was satisfied, she bound up the pouch and turned her attention to her short silver hair, working the black powder into locks to obscure their original hue. “The cart on the right, full of hay,” her gaze flicked to Serra, nonverbally seeking confirmation.
“Good,” the maid breathed, tying her kerchief tightly around the princess’s head. She stepped back to check her handiwork, her eyes roving over the sight of a king’s daughter in the garb of a lowly kitchen girl.
“Leave the marketplace and head towards the square to Old Mar’s Tavern,” she recited back, “On the south edge of town--on the same alley as the baker.”
“Yes,” the dark-haired girl said, a note of finality in her voice. Wordlessly, Serra took a small pendant from her neck and placed it around the princess’, her fingers lingering on the carved wooden flower for a moment. “My father will be there.”
Aeranys nodded, holding her gaze. If all went well, she would be on a boat before it was discovered that she was missing. “I won’t forget this, Serra,” she reached out to clasp her hand in hers. “When you’re freed...there’s a hole in the mattress. What’s inside belonged to my mother, but I want you to sell it. It’s hardly thanks, but hopefully it’ll help you and your family a little.” The maid began to stutter out a protest, but she shook her head. “I want you to have it,” she told her firmly. Her mother’s bracelet wasn’t something she’d typically part with, but it was all she had left of value to give Serra, who she thought deserved even more for her bravery. “Besides, we don’t have time to argue.” If they tarried any longer, it would surely seem suspicious; the two young women rushed to pull off the bloodied linens off the bed and replaced them with clean ones.
Knowing what there was left to do, Serra sat on the mattress and held out her arms readily, not an ounce of reluctance in her movements. “I’m sorry, but it’s going to have to be tight if they’re not to suspect you,” the princess explained apologetically as she began to bind her wrists with the torn strips of the bedsheet.
“Yes, I know,” Serra assured her, looking up with trust written in her large dark eyes. She didn’t utter a squeak as she had both her hands and ankles bound, meek as a lamb to the slaughter. “May the gods be with you, m’lady, and protect you on your journey,” she murmured when it was time to gag her.
“May they be with you, as well,” the princess mustered, trying to swallow the worry that was beginning to rear within her. The deed was done quickly, stuffing her mouth with a wad of cloth, and Aeranys drew up the covers over her frail form. The finishing touch was to lay the long coil of hair she had cut off upon the pillow, splaying it so that they would be the only thing visible from the mass of blankets. “Are you alright?” Aeranys asked one last time, to which she received a silent nod. “Thank you, Serra, ” she whispered her farewell, then turned to gather up the sheets in her arms, making sure to leave the mess of blood on top.
She faced the door, slouching over to mimic the maid’s timid posture as best as she could. This was it, the moment before she jumped off the ledge, stepped into the unknown. She glanced back one more time at the prone figure on the bed with silver spilling out over the blankets. Then with one last inhale and a silent prayer, she opened the door and strode out to meet her fate.