Chapter Text
Willow had a long day. Everyone did. The prince was dead—murdered in his own bed. Beheaded, if you wished to be specific.
Usually, she wouldn’t complain about organizing and cleaning rooms. But scrubbing a bed drenched in blood wasn’t something she’d ever include on her list of favorite tasks. The other girl working alongside her had nearly vomited.
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard hadn’t made things any easier. He’d hovered over them, firing questions, his eyes boring into theirs for hours on end until, for reasons Willow couldn’t fathom, he finally left.
At one point, one of Queen Helaena’s maids had entered the room and requested a blue blanket. One of the other girls cleaning with Willow must have handed it over, though Willow hadn’t paid much attention. Her mind was elsewhere.
She’d also seen many of the rat catchers being arrested. She’d heard one of them crying, a sound that lingered in her ears long after. There was nothing she could do about it, though. Nothing at all.
Since Willow had started working in the Red Keep five moons ago, she’d never seen the place look so bleak. The lively chatter of nobles that usually echoed through the halls was gone. The servants moved in silence, their faces drawn. Even the training yard, usually alive with the clashing of swords and the shouts of squires, felt hollow. Only a handful of boys had mustered the strength to train after such a terrible night.
A week ago, the servants had been gossiping about how much brighter the palace had felt when King Viserys was alive and well. They’d spoken of how they longed for those days to return. Others had complained about Vhagar’s flights terrifying the city and how the stench of the dragon seemed to seep into every corner of the castle. Some had even joked about the king drinking King’s Landing dry of wine.
Willow didn’t judge. If she were a Targaryen, she’d probably spend half her time riding a dragon and the other half drowning in wine and spending coins like it was water. But she wasn’t a Targaryen. She was born poor. She’d been forced to move to the capital to earn enough to send home, so her parents could pay their debts and feed her brothers and sisters
.
At fourteen name days old, she was no longer a child. She had to work, to earn her keep, so that when she turned fifteen, they could marry her off to whoever offered the most coin.
The wolf hour arrived, and with it, the Red Keep grew quieter still. Technically, she shouldn’t have been working at this hour, but the extra coin was too tempting to pass up. Her parents and siblings consumed more than half her wages each moon, leaving her little choice but to take on whatever extra work she could find.
Willow spent her extra hours in the kitchens, waiting for someone to assign her a task—cleaning, baking, anything she was familiar with or something simple she could manage without trouble.
“What are you doing here? You don’t even work in the kitchens.” Bethany, a girl Willow was lucky to call a friend, asked as she entered the room. “Shouldn’t you be asleep? Or, I don’t know, enjoying what little life you have?”
“I’m fine,” Willow replied. “I just couldn’t… not after all that blood. Besides, I need the extra coin.”
“They’ll be fine,” Bethany said with a shrug. “They’re rich, blonde, and ride dragons. What more could they want?”
“I don’t know how anyone recovers from their child being killed in his own bed. I don’t think even a Targaryen would know how to cope with that.”
“You’ve got a big heart, Willow. I hope it doesn’t lead to your downfall. This city is full of snakes, and you’re too kind for your own good. But since you’re a friend and you need the coin, how about you serve wine to the royals? If I take another step, I swear I’ll cut off my own legs.”
“If I’m not mistaken, the last person who entered their floor without permission was killed.”
“Willow, first: you’re too small to be a killer. Second: you have permission to be there. You were there this morning, weren’t you?”
Willow rolled her eyes. “I had permission to be there in the morning. But… fine. I’ll do it. I need the coin anyway.”
Willow wandered through the dark halls, utterly lost. It wasn’t the first time she’d gotten turned around in the Red Keep, but it was the first time she’d done so in the dark.
She’d never stopped to consider how eerie these halls could be. Now, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was in danger. What if the murderer was still lurking in the shadows, waiting to claim another victim? If she was lucky, they’d be after someone more important—a Targaryen, perhaps.
The thought made her stomach churn. The Faith taught that no one should wish ill upon others. Bethany always said the gods didn’t care enough to judge them for such thoughts, but Willow had been raised close to the Faith. She believed guilt was something not even King’s Landing could strip from her.
After what felt like an eternity of wandering, she finally spotted a man in white armor. “I’m lost, ser,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Could you tell me where I should go?”
The Kingsguard studied her for a moment. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here to serve wine, ser. That 's all.”
To her surprise, the man opened a door behind him. Willow stepped inside, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of the room. It was vast and shadowy, illuminated only by the flickering glow of a fireplace. A white-haired man—the king, she assumed—sat by the hearth, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs.
Willow curtsied and placed the wine on a nearby table as quietly as she could. As she turned to leave, the crying stopped.
She felt the king’s presence before she saw him. He was closer now, his breath heavy with the scent of wine. Against her better judgment, she turned to face him.
He looked angry, sad, and utterly broken. Instead of cursing her or sending her away, he did something she never expected. He hugged her.
At first, Willow stood frozen, unsure of what to do. But after a moment, she hesitantly wrapped her arms around him, returning the embrace.