#oc: berenice targaryen

[alicent-boleyn]

the wedding

Word count: 893 words

SUMMARY: Berenice convinces Rhaena to listen to her heart, 168 AC.

Despite being the same age as Rhaena, Berenice has found that they do not share much in the way of, well, anything. Sure, they may both be faithful worshippers of the Seven, but there was something of a flavor of dogmatic vehemence in Rhaena's piety that Berenice wanted to hold at a firm distance. She could not say what trait of hers similarly repelled Rhaena, only that their shared upbringing and cloistering in the Maidenvault did not have the effect of bringing them closer.

They were let out on certain occasions, mostly to attend court functions and services at the sept, and today, they were allowed to attend Daeron's wedding to Princess Myriah Martell. No one could deny they were pleased at the prospect. Daena was particularly excited for the occasion, as it meant several successive days out of the same four walls they've been trapped behind for nearly a decade. Of course, they had to sit through hours and hours of sermons at the ceremony, but even Blessed Baelor the Beloved could not stop the feasting and dancing and jousting that accompanied a royal wedding.

Berenice felt the music twirl around her, like clouds of smoke, Dornish guitars and flutes and hurdy-gurdies coming together to make sounds that were joyful, if not totally pleasant. Even Princess Naerys, still weak from the birth of her daughter Daenerys, swayed in her seat to the happy rhythm. She was glad to see her cousin enjoying her son's wedding, since the rest of life had been treating her so ill. She usually dressed in pale, nearly white clothes, but today, she wore red and black and gold, gold, gold. Her clothes almost overpowered her; the woman faded into the background, while the dress, beaded and embroidered and trimmed to excess, seemed to act on its own. Half dead already, it seemed fit that Naerys occupied her clothes like a ghost in a keep.

Strong wine flowed freely, and though she drank only half her glass, it was more than she had had in a very long time. The sound and the alcohol and her own discomfort with crowds made her leave the Great Hall for the gardens. (Since when did she hate crowds? She was never like this before Baelor.)The garden was lit sparsely, Berenice made her way by the light of a few lanterns and the nearly-full moon. Approaching the old weirwood, she saw Rhaena sitting at its roots.

“Cousin!” She said, mindful of her volume. The gods of the weirwood were not her gods, but nonetheless she knew better than to disregard them completely.

“Berenice,” Rhaena replied. “What brings you here?”

“The same as what brought you here, I'll reckon.” She sat beside her. Out of the folds of her skirt, Rhaena produced an orange and began to peel it. Watching the leaves dance in front of the moon, they shared the slices. Berenice felt a little bad, not having anything to provide for their little feast. Rhaena did not try to make conversation, and so neither did Berenice. When they finished, they sat silent for a moment, and Berenice grabbed her cousin's sticky hand and held it.

Rhaena opened her mouth, “Do y-”

“Wh-” Berenice started. They had both tried to speak at the same time. Berenice nodded and let the other woman go first.

“Do you ever think, sometimes, that being a princess is more trouble than it's worth?” She was barely above a whisper.

“Yes, much more than sometimes. Do you remember when I came to court?” Rhaena nodded in agreement. “I know I was terribly disagreeable that first year, sullen, cross with everyone and everything. But I had not been raised to be the niece of a king, or cousin or what have you. I was raised to be a holy Sister, I cannot wear the mantle of Princess with any comfort.”

At this, Rhaena's brow furrowed. “How do you do it then? How do you keep going when you find your position so… untenable?”

Berenice flicked her gaze to the sky, then back to her cousin. “Because I know I have a way out. I remember Rhaella, daughter of Rhaena, and Maegelle, daughter of Jaehaerys, and Celia, the Mother at the house which raised me and the mother of my heart.” Just a hint of hope dawned on Rhaena's face. This seems to have been the right thing to say.

“For a long time now, I have felt a… a certain something in my heart, a longing only satisfied when I enter the Sept, and breath in the incense, and feel the pages of the Seven-Pointed Star whisper between my fingers.” Rhaena sighed, “I… I know what the gods are telling me, but I don't know that I have the strength to answer their call.”

Berenice squeezed her cousin's hand. “Baelor will support you in this, you know he will, and besides, becoming a Septa doesn't mean you have to leave us quite so soon, not until after your permanent vows. The only difference between following your soul's desire now and following it later is the amount of heartache in between.”

A lull fell between them as they contemplated each other's words. The two women turned to the stars, letting the echo of the music inside be washed away by the wind and the rustling leaves and their heartbeats.

[chic-beyond-the-wall-oc-acct]

Complete commission for @alicent-boleyn of their OC Berenice Targaryen!

[alicent-boleyn]

the subtle thief of youth

Word count: 1,247 words

SUMMARY: Berenice sees the end of childhood, 157 AC.

Berenice was not required to rise with the sisters, long before the break of dawn, none of the young girls were. She often did, regardless, eager to begin the day. While the other noble girls slept soundly in their beds, she dressed quickly, not wanting to miss Lauds. She crept through the halls to the chapel where all the sisters had gathered and snuck in, hanging in the shadows to watch and listen.

“Father, open our minds, Mother, open our hearts. Warrior, keep us strong, Maiden, keep us kind. Smith, help us remain steadfast, and Crone, help us remain vigilant,” they chanted, voices resonating through the stony room. Mother Celia led them into a hymn, “Lend Me Thy Shield,” and then another.

Berenice closed her eyes and let the sister's voices wash away the remnants of sleep and fill her with the light of the Seven. Sister Emmeline, who Berenice was very fond of, read a passage from The Seven-Pointed Star. How she loved to listen to them read! She would love to read, too, and sing, and lead the sisters in prayer, and do all the things the sisters did. Mother Celia, who ran the motherhouse, said that she would consider taking her in as a novice once she flowered, but only if her mother consented. Berenice had not seen her mother, Visenya, in three years and could count the letters she had gotten from her in that time on one hand. She did not think Mother Celia would have a very hard time getting Visenya to let her stay.

As Lauds ended, Berenice slipped back to the dormitory with everyone none the wiser. She got back in bed, hoping her bedmates didn't notice her leaving in the first place. It wouldn't be long before they were roused for breakfast and their morning prayers, so she simply laid back, watching the sun's first rays rise through the dorm window.

-

Not even the most noble girls were spared hard chores at the motherhouse, and today, Berenice was assigned the unenviable task of working the herb garden. It was not a solitary task, and with her straw hat, shears, and basket, she got to work with two other girls. Not being too fond of this chore, she chatted with them to pass the time.

“How are the goats?” she asked Lylah, the lanky blonde of five and ten who usually minded the dairy goats, but was currently elbow deep in the mint plot.

“Oh, very well! Misty's kids have arrived, and so have Clover and Daisy's, though Daisy's gone gargety and I'll have to ask Sister Bree about what to do, because she knew just how to fix that last time it happened to Danny-Girl, and also Maggie -”

“Do you really know the name of every damn nanny out there?” asked Alerie, a sour-mouthed girl of one and ten, a year older than Berenice.

“Language!” That was Sister Amy shouting. “Berenice, your mother is here. Clean up, be quick about it.”

Berenice was frozen in place, eyes widened in surprise. Her mother? Here?

“Quickly, Princess!”

She returned her supplies to the shed, removing her hat and dirty apron. In the dormitory, she changed her dress to something more suitable to meet her lady mother. Her heart raced as she walked to the chamber where Visenya was waiting.

Why is she here, now, after all this time? Berenice knew she should be excited to see her, but so far her mother has been content to leave her to the care of the Sisters, with only a passing interest in talking to the flesh of her flesh. Sister Amy met her at the dormitory door and escorted her to the visiting rooms.

Berenice was stunned by her mother's appearance. She could not tell if it was grotesqueness or beauty that made her heart skip a beat. Visenya towered over everyone in the room, her dragon-scale birthmarks obscured by a black net veil. Her stark silvery white hair was artfully sculpted into a crown, with a single whip-like braid hanging behind her. Her severe features were pulled into a mask of disdain.

“Where are your manners, child? I called for my daughter, not a peasant girl.” Berenice curtsied deeply in response. “Better. Come, sit with me.” When they were both on the couch, her mother took her hands. For a moment, Visenya's face softened, before refashioning itself into something even harder than before. “The King, your uncle, has died. I have been called to court, and you must come with me.”

Berenice felt tears well up in her eyes and her lips began to tremble. She had met her mother's brother only once, as a very little girl, and his death did not sadden her as much as the fact that she had to leave. “And when will I return here?”

“You won't, girl.”

“No!” she shouted, throwing herself off the couch and onto her feet, almost before she could stop herself. This was home! This was more than home, even, because here she could serve the Seven! “You can't!”

Visenya slapped her across the face. “I am your mother, and more importantly, I am a princess of the blood. You will do as you are bid, am I understood?” Tears openly streamed down Berenice's cheeks, strangling her voice. She nodded her assent, but that did not satisfy her mother, who yanked on her ear. “Am I understood!”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Good.” Visenya pulled her riding gloves back on. As she walked out of the room, she called, “You have an hour to prepare. Have your things ready or we leave without them.”

After her mother left, Berenice was escorted back to the dormitory, and Sister Amy helped her gather her clothes and things into her trunk. Sister Amy, who was always so inflexible about rules, gave her a little book of prayers, even though only novices were supposed to have one. Still crying, she thanked Sister Amy, choking on every word.

Sister Amy kneeled and turned Berenice towards her. With both hands on the young girl's shoulders, she whispered, “Her Highness may have borne you from her womb, but she has shown herself not to be your Mother.” She gently stroked the reddened skin where Visenya had slapped the child. “I know you wished to enter as a novice here, and I know you will never see this holy house again. Pray the hours every day, and hold yourself to what is right and just. Gods willing, you shall find yourself a righteous calling in marriage, as it seems Her Highness intends for you. As you have obeyed Mother Celia, obey your true Mother, and the King, and most of all, obey your heart.” Sister Amy placed a kiss on Berenice's forehead and rose from her knees. “We must finish before Her Highness thinks we mean to hold you hostage.”

The princess giggled at stoic Sister Amy making a joke. Before long, she and her trunks were packed onto a carriage. It was made with the highest skill gold could buy, but Berenice could not sit comfortably. She squirmed on the padded seat, like a worm. Her mother was, thankfully, not sitting with her, instead choosing to ride her horse for the first leg of their travels. When the carriage began to roll, Berenice whipped her head to the motherhouse, hoping to hold it in her sight as long as possible. Her mother strode over and tied the curtains shut.

[alicent-boleyn]

scene in the early morning

Word count: 364 words

SUMMARY: Berenice and Naerys pray together, 171 AC.

She found Lady Naerys in the Sept, with her hands clasped, her head bowed, and her face solemn. Her cousin was more pallid than usual, with a wan, gray cast to her clear features. Despite this, she glowed in the candle-lit dimness of the early morning. Her white face and spare build gave Naerys the same sort of fine, airy charm as a passing cloud. While she shared her cousin's pale color, Berenice could not be more her opposite in character. If Naerys was the candle, she was the shadow. She was taller than most men and dressed in black exclusively, appearing not so much as a presence of darkness than as an absence of light. The two of them shared one thing, however - an abiding grief.

Berenice knelt beside her cousin, in front of the altar of The Warrior. Naerys remained quiet but acknowledged her presence, sliding over so they could share the prayer bench. Now that she was closer, Berenice could see her cousin was trembling. The vacant look in the other woman's eyes told her all she needed to know. Aegon had called on her last night. She began to recite her prayers.

“We beseech thee, most holy and eternal Warrior, to cast from us our worries and our fears, and petition thee for the fortitude to endure all that we must.” Berenice's voice was barely more than a whisper, and still Naerys flinched. She went on. “In your infinite care, lend us thy strength to continue the day as thy will requires, Amen.”

“Amen,” the other woman finished. She inhaled and opened her mouth as if to speak, but closed it again. After several moments, she said, “I don’t know what to do.” Berenice wanted, with all the love her heart could hold, to comfort her cousin - to say that all would be well some day and that she did not suffer for nothing. But she couldn't, not truthfully, and she would not lie so openly in front of the gods. She could not use her words to comfort Naerys, so she took hold of her cousin and pressed the pale woman into her embrace. That would have to do.

[alicent-boleyn]

Introducing...

Berenice Targaryen

(art by the totally amazing @chic-beyond-the-wall-oc-acct )

Daughter of Visenya Targaryen, Granddaughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen

Trivia:

- born in 147 AC, the same year as her cousin Rhaena (daughter of Aegon III)

- there are credible rumors her mother's husband is not her real father

- she is in perpetual mourning for a lost lover and has refused all marriage proposals

- she is close with her cousin Naerys

- she has a complicated relationship with her mother and was raised primarily by religious sisters in a motherhouse