Chapter Text
When the Raven came from King’s Landing, Lucia knew exactly what it was. The minute she’d heard of it, she’d started packing. When her brother Medgar came to tell her that she had been summoned to the Royal Court, she just told him that she knew. She was 28, of a noble house, and unmarried.
She was going to be married soon enough.
To whom, she did not know. It did not matter, really, in the grand scheme of it all. It would not be a love match, she was not in love with anybody as far as she knew, and so it was immaterial who she would be wed to.
She had 30 days of journey to consider her options. She was, she knew, too old for the sons of the heir, Prince Baelor. He was a widow, his sons in their youth. It would be a while yet before they were matched.
She did not expect to be matched with a Targaryen, anyway. That seemed like too vast a jump even for her. She would do her best, whoever it was, to be dutiful and kind and to do what was required of her — produce heirs.
She tried her best not to stew in her thoughts, it wouldn’t make any difference anyway.
The approach to King’s Landing hadn’t been anything like she’d imagined, but then again she was imagining without any knowledge of what to expect.
The Red Keep loomed, knowing it was her destination. It towered over the city, keeping a watchful eye. Lucia knew all too well that it was keeping a keen eye on her in particular. An eligible woman, no matter her house, coming to the Keep was something to keep a watch over.
The wheelhouse ground to a halt in the courtyard, the curtains still shielding Lucia from the Keep, and it from her.
The door opened and a guard helped her down the steps, ladies waiting to lead her inside. It was more significant a welcome than she had imagined, she thought, as she was led through corridors to the great hall.
It was certainly more of a welcome than she had imagined when she was instantly introduced to the King and Queen.
“Lady Lucia Tully of Riverrun”
That was her cue. She approached slowly, looking at the members of the Targaryen dynasty seated on the dais.
King Daeron II and Queen Myriah watched her like hawks. The King’s face was stoic, the Queen’s bearing a small smile of encouragement. To the King’s left sat his heir — Prince Baelor — and his sons Valarr and Matarys. The other children of the King and Queen were present with their families, the only other name Lucia able to recall being Maekar, the youngest son.
It was with trepidation that she approached.
“Your Majesties, Your Graces, I thank you for your kind invitation to King’s Landing,” She said, voice sounding more confident than she felt, “I do not know what I did to deserve it”.
“Lady Lucia, you are most welcome here. We hope you will enjoy your time here with us,” King Daeron replied, “though it cannot be lost on you why you have been invited here”.
Lucia nodded. Oh, she knew.
“I leave my fate to your discretion, Your Majesties. I do understand what my position demands of me”.
Queen Myriah nodded and smiled, “Good, I appreciate you being so forthright. We shall see you for the feast later, Lady Lucia”.
With that, her audience was done and Lucia retreated, aware of all the eyes in the hall, and especially those on the dais, on her.
A group of handmaidens led her to her rooms in the guest wing, unpacking her trunks for her as she stared out of the window at the goings on outside. The rooms she had been given were spacious, beautifully furnished, with good fires and fine linens. It was, she thought, suspiciously nice. Perhaps a Targaryen wasn’t beyond her reach? She didn’t know if that was a good thing or not, she suspected it depended greatly on the Targaryen in question, but it wasn’t looking like such a distant prospect anymore.
The maids returned much later to help her dress for the feast, lacing her into a gown of blue and red, the embroidered fish around the hem screaming ‘I am from House Tully’ to anybody who cared to notice. She wondered idly, as they wove pearls and blue stones into her ruddy hair, who would notice.
As she was led through the corridors, the heels of her shoes echoing on the flagstones, she tried not to think too hard. Thinking too hard would lead to all sorts of mental gymnastics that would be anything other than helpful.
She was announced and entered the hall, going to the seat that was gestured to for her. It gave her a good view of the head table — and the occupants of the table a good view of her. It was on purpose, it had to be.
She could feel many pairs of cold, Targaryen eyes on her throughout the evening, watching her every move and hanging upon her every word — or at least every one they could hear. She kept an eye on them as she conversed with Lords and Ladies, explaining who she was, where she was from, what life was like in Riverrun.
As the evening drew on, Lucia’s attention wandered towards the Targaryens. In particular, Prince Baelor. He did not look like the rest of them, save his mother and his sons. Dark, with one eye that betrayed the Targaryen in him, she couldn’t help but rest her gaze on him. He stood out amongst the bright, stark blonde of the rest of his family.
He was, she thought, not unhandsome.
Their eyes met for a brief moment, the Prince nodding to her in a silent greeting across a noisy hall. She nodded in return and smiled a little, before turning to the young Marcher lord vying for her attention. When she turned back, he had gone, his sons gone with him. Her eyes were caught, however, by those of the Queen.
Then, the Queen raised a hand, beckoning her over.
Lucia had to admit, she had not been expecting that.
She excused herself from her conversation, the blue fabric of her skirts swirling around her legs as she walked across the hall and up to the dais, curtseying to the whole Royal party.
“Come up here, Lady Lucia, so we might converse.” Queen Myriah said, gesturing to the empty chair her eldest son had left next to her. Music had begun in the hall and little attention was being paid to the top table, not with wine flowing and pipers piping.
Lucia did as she was bid, perching on the edge of the chair in the genteel manner she had been brought up to display to important people.
“You received a lot of attention tonight, Lady Lucia,” Queen Myriah said, handing Lucia a goblet of wine, “Has it always been so at Riverrun?”
Lucia tried to smile prettily over the goblet, looking down into the deep burgundy of the Dornish wine for a moment.
“No, Your Grace. I have reached the age where I am largely left alone at such occasions. I spend time with my brother and his young family, but little attention is paid to me. I find it all rather odd, in truth.” She replied, taking a sip of wine as she finished speaking so she did not have to watch the Queen’s face fall.
When she looked up, though, Lucia found nothing of the sort had occurred. In fact, the Queen was smiling at her, the King beside her also now engaged in the conversation.
“How old are you, Lady Lucia? I do not think you can be more than three and twenty at the most,” Queen Myriah replied, “Surely you have not been considered upon the shelf yet?”
Lucia laughed openly at that, and soon she was the centre of attention of every member of the Royal Household left at the table.
“I am eight and twenty, Your Grace. I do wonder, though, how you came to hear of me? As I say, I am no great beauty. I cannot imagine that tales of me have made it from Riverrun to King’s Landing?”
Lucia heard a chair being pulled closer and turned to her right, just as a young woman sat down.
“Oh I like you,” The young woman said, the wine she had drunk bringing a flush to her tanned cheeks, “I’m Dyanna, Maekar’s wife. I think we shall be great friends.”
Lucia smiled at her and held out her goblet. Dyanna clinked hers against it in a gesture of friendship, and the pair turned back to Queen Myriah.
“Your brother wrote to me, Lady Lucia. It was impertinent of him but he described you in such a way that we had to see you for ourselves,” She replied, turning to Dyanna, “We did say, did we not Dyanna, that she would fit in well here?”
Dyanna raised an eyebrow at Lucia, “We did, Lady Mother. We are going to have such fun, Lucia, providing you like children. I apologise, I should call you Lady Lucia.”
“Lucia is just fine, Your Grace,” She replied, “I already find myself missing my nieces and nephew back in Riverrun. You and Prince Maekar have two boys of your own, yes?”
Dyanna nodded, a hand moving to her abdomen.
“With a third, soon enough,” She said, “I would welcome the company of one who likes children. My ladies are good but I know some of them find the company of the little ones tiresome.”
“I valiantly offer you my services,” Lucia replied, sipping her wine again, viscerally aware of all the royal eyes on her, “I confess I had slightly wondered how I might spend my days here.”
Before either the King or Queen could speak — though both started — Dyanna had linked her arm through Lucia’s.
“Oh, we’re going to have the best of fun, don’t you worry.” She said. Lucia found it only vaguely felt like a threat.
Lucia woke the next morning beneath sheets softer than she had ever experienced. She had not been deprived of some of the finer things in life at Riverrun, but the deep red fabric of the beds of the Red Keep were as fine as any gown.
“My Lady,” A handmaiden said quietly, walking over to the edge of the bed where Lucia was just sitting up, “A note for you from the Princess of Summerhall.”
Dyanna.
Lucia opened the note and smiled.
Lucia,
Simply MUST have your company today. The weather appears fine so shall be in the sun in the gardens all day. It is TOO COLD here!
Dyanna.
As she dressed, laced into a gown of Tully Blue, Lucia found herself astonished at what her life had become. The shock of being summoned to the Royal Court, the anxiety of the journey, the thrill of making Dyanna’s acquaintance.
And the eyes of Prince Baelor that she couldn’t quite get out of her mind.