Being bolted means that there are people inside who do not want to be disturbed. It means that even if there is an emergency military situation, they still need to wait outside. It means knocking on the door, making announcements, and waiting for permission. This means that she, Rhaenyra, the heir to the throne of Seven Kingdoms, can no longer come in and leave whenever she wants like before.
She stood at the door, her hand still on the door handle, as if someone had poured a basin of ice water on her from behind.
She had never encountered this situation before. Viserys's bedroom was as natural to her as a daughter walking into her father's room.
She didn't need to knock on the door, didn't need to announce, didn't need to wait for anyone's permission.
She pushed the door open, walked in, and when she saw Viserys lying on the bed or sitting in front of the window, he would raise his head, look at her, show a warm, somewhat doting smile on his face, and say "Rhaenyra, you're here."
That feeling made her feel that this Red Keep was her home, these corridors were her corridors, these doors were her doors, and every stone in this castle knew her and welcomed her.
But at this moment, she stood at the door, like a stranger blocked outside.
When the two guards outside the door saw her, their expressions did not change at all.
They stood there, upright, like two wooden stakes nailed to the ground, with one hand on the hilt of the sword and the other hanging by the side. Their eyes passed over her face, and then moved away, landing at the end of the corridor, at the corner of the ceiling, anywhere where they could not look at her and still maintain courtesy.
They didn't stop her, but they didn't get out of the way either. They just stood there, blocking the door with their bodies, and told her with silence that this way was blocked.
Rhaenyra looked at the faces of the two guards. She knew the one on the left, called Harrison, who was Red Keep's old guard. He had been guarding the door when she was still Maiden. At that time, he would open the door for her with a smile and say, "Your Highness, Your Majesty is waiting for you," with a friendly smile like a kind uncle.
There was no smile on Harrison's face at this moment. The corners of his mouth were slightly lowered, his chin was tense, and his eyes were focused on something that did not exist at the end of the corridor, as if Rhaenyra was the air, the wall, or an invisible scratch on the door.
She didn't recognize the one on the right. He had a young face with dark skin, high cheekbones, and the lines on his face were as sharp as a knife.
His stance was stiffer than Harrison's, obviously trying to maintain a stern and solemn expression that he was not used to.
His eyes stayed on Rhaenyra for a moment, and then quickly moved away. At that moment, Rhaenyra caught a hint of guilt - he was afraid of her.
Afraid of her, but still stopped her.
"I want to see His Majesty." Rhaenyra's voice was calm without any emotion. She didn't even ask "Why did you stop me?" because she didn't need to ask.
She knew the answer. The answer had already appeared in her mind the first time she saw the two guards - Viserys, or Alicent, or both of them together, gave the order.
From now on, anyone who enters the king's palace needs to be notified, needs permission, and needs to go through a set of cumbersome and ritualistic procedures.
Including her.
Harrison did not speak, but tilted his head slightly and winked at the young guard.
The young guard nodded stiffly, turned around and pushed open the bolted door, squeezed in through the crack, and then quickly closed the door, as if he was afraid that something that shouldn't slip in would slip through the crack.
Rhaenyra stood outside the door, looking at the re-closed door, at the familiar wood grains on the door panel that had been polished smooth and shiny by the years, and at the polished copper door knocker - that was her favorite thing to play with when she was a child. Every time she came to Viserys, she would first pick up her toes and reach for the door knocker with her hands. When she could reach it, she would knock it. If she could not reach it, she would ask the guards to pick her up.
The guard at that time was not Harrison. She could not remember who the guard was at that time. She only remembered that the man was very tall. When he picked her up, her head could touch the upper edge of the door frame.
She stood outside the door, waiting for the young guard's announcement. One breath, two breaths, three breaths, five breaths, ten breaths.
Ten breaths of time is so short that it can pass in just a few blinks of the eye, but to a daughter standing outside her father's door, ten breaths is like a century.
She didn't know what was going on behind that door - was Alicent wiping Viserys's face? Was the maester taking his pulse?
Viserys just woke up, is he not fully awake yet? Or is he hesitating whether to see her or not?
Countless possibilities emerged in her mind, each one more chilling than the last.
The young guard finally came out. His movements were stiffer than when he went in, and the expression on his face was more tense.
He stepped aside to make way for the door and made a "come in" gesture to Rhaenyra. His movements were as standard as if they had been measured by a ruler, but his hands were shaking slightly.
Rhaenyra glanced at him but said nothing. She opened the door and walked in.
The smell in the bedroom was different from what she remembered.
In the past, this place was always filled with the sweet fragrance of lavender and honey candles, mixed with Viserys's faint scent of Dragon Blood grass and cedar wood perfume.
Now that sweet smell has been replaced by the bitterness of herbs and some inexplicable, unpleasant smell that is like a mixture of decay and new life.
The lavender was still there, but it was overshadowed by the smell of medicine, like a suffocating purple flower buried under a pile of bitter medicine, struggling to breathe.
Viserys is lying on the bed, with two thick pillows behind his back, half sitting and half lying down. His posture looks much better than a few days ago. At least his face has changed from the gray-white color of a dead person to the color that a living person should have, although pale but with a trace of blood. But his eyes--
Rhaenyra The moment she saw his eyes, her steps paused slightly.
In those purple eyes, there was no concern, inquiry, or the kind of instinctive and heartfelt warmth that a father feels when he sees his daughter as she imagined.
There was only one thing in those eyes - eagerness. An eagerness that was almost overflowing, like a drowning person trying desperately to grab the last piece of driftwood.
"Rhaenyra!" Viserys's voice was louder than she expected. It was obviously the effect of staying in bed for the past few days.
His body leaned forward slightly from the pillow, holding the bed with both hands, as if he wanted to sit up, but his body's weakness caused him to fall back halfway when he sat up, leaning on the pillow, breathing heavily.