Unnamed

Tommen Baratheon paced through the Red Keep main halls, often occasionally adjusting his collar and rehearsing his lines for the upcoming wedding to his betrothed, Lady Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden. Eager for his big moment once his older brother and sister-in-law returned from their trip to Dorne, some of the royal servants tended to Tommen—adjusting the collar of his golden attire.

"'I am hers and she is mine. From this day until the end of my days'," he practiced. "No, that sounds a bit squeamish…"

One of the servants chuckled. "Nervous?" she asked.

Tommen felt embarrassed. "Yeah… I mean, I'm marrying the most beautiful girl in the world, and it's all because my brother arranged it."

"Was it not Lord Tyrell who agreed to the match?"

He nodded again.

Another servant, on the meanwhile, seemed a bit more realistic. "Probably as his way of apologizing for what his son and heir, Loras Tyrell did to His Grace at Blackwater Bay."

"That was three years ago, Laisa. We all know Littlefinger orchestrated the whole thing."

"Who's to say another upstart won't try anything else, Grayce?"

"Because we know how fast His Grace would put 'em back in their place," she replied confidently. "Besides, we need to get the Prince ready for his big day."

Once they pulled away, Tommen looked in the mirror; the fourteen year old looked more like an eager puppy waiting for a treat. In his case, his treat was Margaery. He still hadn't forgotten that night when she snuck into his bedchambers in the middle of the night. At the same time, however, it made Tommen reflect back to Daveth's and Sansa's wedding at the Great Sept of Baelor… and his earlier lectures as well.

ooOoo

Three months ago…

"Tell me, Tommen. Just for the sake of argument, what kind of King would you want to be known as?" he asked.

"A… a good one?"

Daveth nodded. "Well, you've got the right temperament to be one should it ever occur. But what is the most important quality that does make a good King?"

"Holiness?"

"Huh. King Baelor the Blessed was holy and a pious man. He built the Great Sept," he pointed out the window referring to the Great Sept of Baelor, "and named a six-year-old boy High Septon because he thought the boy could work miracles. He ended up fasting himself into an early grave because the fool believed 'food was of this world and this world was sinful.' Holiness, pah! What a joke."

Feeling as if he gave the wrong answer, Tommen guessed again. "Justice?"

Daveth knew his youngest brother was really trying his best; lenient as he wanted to be, even he knew he had to a bit strict with him and only gave a slight nod. "True, a good King must be just. Take Orys the First of House Durrandon for example; when the Stormlands were an independent kingdom, nobles and commoners alike applauded his reform. But even then it didn't last long. He was murdered in his sleep by his own brother after less than a year of ruling. Was that truly just of him to abandon his subjects to an evil he was too gullible to recognize?"

"No."

"No."

"What about strength?"

"Hmm. Strength. Our father was strong in his younger days. I mean, look at his greatest achievement: he rebelled against the Mad King and overthrew the Targaryen dynasty, a dynasty which lasted 300 years. He had a superb talent for fighting and had an impressive record on the battlefield." For a while Daveth spoke before shifting his tone to sneering condescension. "And yet he only attended three Small Council meetings throughout his 17 year reign. Three in seventeen years! He spent most of his time whoring, hunting and drinking until the last two killed him."

Tommen gazed at the floor as he listened to his brother.

"Now, we have a man who starves himself to death; a man who lets his own brother murder him; and a man who thinks that winning and ruling are the same thing," he continued. "Which raises the question: now that you're aware of each of these King's flaws, what do they all lack?"

Contemplating his words closely, Tommenthought long and hard and compared each of the past Kings strengths and weaknesses to each other. After a moment, he looked up to his brother again.

"Wisdom," he answered.

"Yes!" Daveth praised.

"Wisdom is what makes a good King."

"Yes. But what is wisdom?"

Tommen felt floored again with being hit with another riddle and being unable to find his answer. Daveth approached his younger brother and placed a hand on his shoulder, causing the Young Cub to look at him at eye-level.

"Do you know why I'm telling you this?" he asked.

He shook his head.

"A wise King knows what he knows and what he doesn't. You're 14, still young. A wise young King listens to his counselors and heeds their advice until he comes of age. And the wisest Kings continue to listen to them long afterwards. If anything were to ever happen to me, it'll be up to you and Myrcella to pick up the pieces. Learn from me; learn from my mistakes so that you yourself don't repeat them."

Tommen felt as if fear coldly gripped his heart and furiously shook his head. "'If anything were to happen…'? No, brother! Don't say that! We still need you!"

Daveth shook his head. "Luck runs out on everyone eventually, Tommen. I can't always be there to hold your hand or protect you. The road ahead of us will be long and treacherous and you need to be ready to face it."

"How? Tell me, brother, what do I do?"

"You're going to have to figure that out for yourself," he admitted. "Even I don't know the answer."

ooOoo

Tommen thought about his brother's words every day since he could learn to walk—taking his lessons to heart; although kind, well-intention and trying hard to learn, Tommen still couldn't muster his heart to ready himself for hard times. But how?

"Prince Tommen?" Grayce asked, slightly concerned.

He shook his head. "It's nothing. I'm… I'm just tired," he replied.

"Should we draw you a bath?" asked Laisa.

"Please."

Once the servants left to draw hot water for a bath, Prince Tommen took a moment to himself—strolling down the main halls of the Red Keep. Throughout each corridor, Tommen passed by several of the royal counselors such as Varys, Grand Maester Pycelle, Randyll Tarly, Mace Tyrell… and his uncle Tyrion Lannister, the new Hand of the King. He couldn't help but possibly overhear the debate taking place.

"I'm telling you, it simply cannot be done until His Grace returns from Dorne," Pycelle suggested.

"The Dornish have been harassing our people in the Reach for centuries," Mace argued. "Who's to say that with the Martell's quick absence from this council they'd make another incursion in times of peace? On the eve my daughter is to be wed?"

"Oberyn has assured us that Dorne has no intention of escalating any further hostilities after concluding the Trial by Seven—one that ended with Ser Gregor Clegane's downfall," Ser Barristan countered.

"A-after he did him in with that—uhh!—horrid manticore venom," the Grand Maester revealed.

"My little birds whispered the strangest things to me," Varys mentioned. "They tell me that during the negotiations there had been a falling out which was soon followed by an assassination attempt on the King's life."

Tommen's eyes widened as he pressed his ear against the door. He gulped; someone just tried to kill Daveth?

"I knew it!" Mace bellowed. "I warned them not to trust the Dornish! Now they tried to pull off a treacherous act?! I mean, look at what they—"

"It wasn't Dorne, my lord," the Master of Whisperers shook his head. "Our spies' reports seem to indicate a renegade Northmen accompanied by his best hunters and several, vicious hounds. They were intent on separating the King from his personal Kingsguard."

"Is His Grace all right?" the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard inquired.

"The Oathkeeper sustained some wounds. Nastydog bites that tore into his flesh and bloodied him, but I'm told the King not only stood his ground but also held them off long enough for Ser Lucuius and Ser Jaime to arrive with reinforcements. Apparently Prince Doran Martell's son Prince Trystane and Princess Myrcella have been caught in the middle as well."

Tommen clutched his arm tightly when he learned of his older sister being involved in the attempt as well. Relieved as he was that both his brother and sister were safe, it still troubled him that danger still lurked over his family.

"What happened next?" asked Barristan.

"Interesting wrinkle: Prince Doran and King Daveth resumed negotiations before signing a peace treaty. From what we can tell, Dorne has ended its isolationist policy and pledged the Iron Throne its full support once again."

"And thus the Seven Kingdoms are whole again," Randyll noted. "That aside, we have other security matters to deal with before the King and Queen return. I'll oversee the necessary arrangements with the City Watch."

"An admirable recommendation, Lord Tarly," Tyrion noticed, "but I'm afraid the full responsibility lies with the Master of Laws. Ser Barristan, do what you can until a replacement is chosen."

"I've been dealing with military and internal security affairs for more than 40 years! You've no right to reassign my troops."

"I have every right! I am the King's Hand."

Tommen quickly moved away from the Small Council chamber's closed doors and retreated into a further away room. His head was spinning with reports he overheard; the assassination attempt with his brother and sister's safety was the one that hit hard to home. In his haste to get away, Tommen had brushed past Grayce and Laisa – both of whom were equally confused with the Prince's behavior.

Nearing to the furthest door in one of the Red Keep apartments, Tommen turned the doorknob and opened it but stopped as soon as he saw a woman donning in a crimson robe kneeling down, praying in front of a lit brazier. She had a fiery red waist-length hair and her robe tightly hugged her body which displayed her attractive figure. Tommen felt his cheeks blushed slightly as she prayed in front of a red heart-shaped religious idol in a foreign language he did not understand.

"Āeksio, jehikagon aōha ōños ilagon bē īlva. Urnēptre īlva se ñuhoso. (Lord, shine your light down upon us. Show us the way)," she prayed in High Valyrian. "Tepagon īlva daor zoklākogon, yn irughagon īlva hen qringaomio. Āeksiot Ōño, tepagon īlva Sylvia. Kesrio syt bantis zōbrie issa se ossȳngnoti lēdys. (Give us not temptation, but deliver us from evil. Lord of Light, give us wisdom. For the night is dark and full of terrors)."

Tommen tried to back away, trying not to disturb her. She immediately stopped and spoke up without looking at him, obviously aware of his presence.

"Enter, Prince Tommen Baratheon," she said in the Common Tongue.

Tommen froze, realizing he's been noticed by this strange foreigner. Regardless, his mannerisms took over and he cautiously stepped into her room.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

Her smile was warm as it was tender, though something about her frightened him. "It is no trouble at all." She stood from the floor and looked at the Prince.

Tommen was at least the same height as the woman. "How… do you know my name?" he asked.

"I know a great many things, young one. How I know is not quite as important as what my presence in this strange country entails, however."

"Who are you?"

"Ah, of course. My manners elude me. I am Vaeraleah, High Priestess of the Red Temple of Asshai, the Flame of Truth, Light of Wisdom and First Servant of the Lord of Light."

"So you're a priestess?" he said curiously.

"The incantation you heard just now gave me away?"

Tommen gave a nervous chuckle and scratched the back of his head. "It's just… You don't seem to look like any priestess I've ever met."

Vaeraleah raised an eyebrow. "According to whom?" she chuckled. "The Silent Sisters? With their stern looks, muzzled mouths and dried up cunts?"

Now the young Prince was starting to feel uncomfortable with Vaeraleah's mannerisms.

"I… I-I don't think that seems appropriate languageto use. T-that isn't a religious thing to—"

Vaeraleah cupped Tommen's cheeks, slowly turning his head to examine him. "You share the same family name as him," she examined before releasing him, "but I see you neither have his looks nor the same physique."

The Young Cub massaged his cheeks, feeling as if a kind-hearted grandmother just pinched them. "Who?"

"Daveth Baratheon, the Oathkeeper. You only need eyes to see."

"How do you know my brother?" he quickly demanded, perhaps a bit too apprehensively.

Vaeraleah calmly paced the room, waving a hand over an unlit brazier. In an instant, the hot coals burst into flame. Tommen the intense heat emanating from the burning coals. This had to be some sort of magic, but who would believe it? He watched as she sat down in the nearest chair.

"He doesn't remember me, but I on the other hand was the one who saved him from a terrible fate," she answered truthfully.

"From what?"

"Death."

Tommen again shook his head. "How can that be when none of us here has ever seen you before?"

Vaeraleah interrupted. "It was seventeen years ago; long before you were born. The Greywater Fever epidemic, your lecherous old man calls it." She frowned, almost saddened. "Your late mother was desperate to save your brother's life. Whatever your maester tried, nothing worked. Poor little thing; he was so sick."

"I… didn't know," he said quietly.

"Why would you? You should know how your brother often tends to keep such sensitive matters to himself. The Queen didn't want me in the room alone with her firstborn son. Her love for her children was real than anything that could ever exist in this world. Fear, helplessness… Your mother was desperate, but only I knew of a way to cure him."

"What did you do?"

Vaeraleah motioned a hand to an empty seat, prompting Tommen to sit beside her.

"The methods I had at my disposal, they do not exist in your land. Those who see it dismiss it as magic, witchcraft," she explained. "But it was my connection to the Lord of Light—or R'hllor—as a High Priestess that allowed me to do the impossible. When I was alone with him, your brother was already fighting a losing battle for the right to live. Try as he might, I watched as he slowly went limp and his eyes closed, never to awaken."

'What…? No! No, no that's a lie. My brother's still here,' thought Tommen incredulously, but kept listening.

He watched as an old bird flew in through the window, observing it no longer flapping its wings and flopped onto the table—dead. Vaeraleah noticed this and stretched out her right hand over the dead animal as Tommen looked on.

"Āeksiot Ōño, rȳbagon ñuha brōzagon se gis hen syndrorro jemagon (Lord of Light, heed my call and lead a soul out of darkness)," she incanted in High Valyrian. "Bisy's perzys ēza issare dīnagon hen gō zȳhon jēda. Āeksiot Ōño, stepagon aōha perzys se ōños se qēlītsos istin toil. Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson. (This one's flame has gone out before his time. Lord of Light, share your fire and light the candle once more. From darkness, light. From ashes, fire. From death, life)"

A small light shined brightly from the palm of Vaeraleah's palm. Tommen narrowed his eyes and turned his head slightly, trying to keep the light out of his eyes. It lasted only a brief moment, but to Tommen's great surprise the bird he saw keel over spring back to life, chirping loudly and flew out the window. Unable to comprehend what had just happened, Tommen exchanged glances back and forth from the bird to Vaeraleah.

"H-how… How did you do that?" he stammered.

Vaeraleah smiled. "As I have said, young one, the Lord of Light has a deep connection to his most devout. Overzealous fanatics or any of our faith who strays too far from the true path by abusing the Lord's gift gives us a bad reputation. But it's only a connection with a High Priestess can his power can truly work miracles. In my case, the power of resurrection is exceptionally powerful. My magic can not only bring a deceased person back to life, but restore their health after they've been dead for several months. I knelt beside your brother's body, said the old words… and within moments the Lord answered my prayers. When I saw what future laid in store for your brother, I knew right then and there that he was the one of the Lord's three chosen champions."Tommen shook. "You mean… you're using my own brother for your own means? For some… twisted religious experiment?"

"It is natural for you to feel this way, Tommen Baratheon, but I assure you that I or the Lord means your brother no harm. Take that for what you will. You'll understand why soon enough."

Feeling unable to understand the reality of what had just happened, Tommen stood from his seat and left the room in a bit of a hurry. He soon took his bath and spent the entire night with lots of questions about what's real or not. The story of his brother's illness before his birth, thinking what Vaeraleah's true purpose for being here is… It's a lot to take in; and Tommen certainly did not want this close to his big day.

'Brother… where are you?' he thought.