¹ 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒 ━━ 𝐝. 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

xix. duality of a broken heart

✧˖° 🌑 ೄྀ࿐
━ [   SONG OF SORROWS   ] ༉‧₊˚✧
x. act one... the dragon's daughter
duality of a broken heart ━ ✩・*。

— SUMMER, 113 A.C
THE STEPSTONES, NARROW SEA

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     THE sound of soft waves rolling in on the rocky beach filled the otherwise quiet air, the rush of water atop weathered, black stones proving to be a mocking scenery for the girl stood before it. The sea was free to come and go as it pleased, unaffected by the storm of sentience that ailed those who rowed above it. The sea was all Valerys Targaryen was not, and yet all she was at the same time; tumultuous, unpredictable, and frighteningly calm. Elements had made the sea into an amalgamation of balanced serenity and chaos.

Above head, the sun — in all its newborn glory — beat down harsh upon the earth, heating the water and blistering the skin. Red tinged Valerys' pale face, her body covered in patches of scarlet flesh, arising heat beneath her skin. Sweat accumulated at her hairline, though she could not ascertain whether or not it was due to the unrelenting heat.

For the two weeks she'd remained within camp, Valerys had never seen the Stepstones so quiet.

Though perhaps that was a good thing, as the tidings of war had not yet graced the dawn, silence beheld on both sides. Valerys had never witnessed war before, but she was sure it was not so... still. It gave a cold tremor up her spine, a harbinger of the violence to come. Violence she had willingly partook in. At her flank, Aegarax gave a brief rumble, shaking his scales that gleamed like diamonds in the light. The vast presence of the beast invaded her, body scalding like hot coals, smoking in the air; had she not known better, Valerys would have presume that he was upset, or on the line of a fit.

    But she did know better. The scorch was not due to anger, nor any definable negative desire; Aegarax was restless. Valerys thought briefly it was possibly due to his long distance from home, but that was not so. His teeth had been wetted by war, fire a brand of warning towards the Triarchy. Years of dormancy had left the beast craving bloodshed, and he had wrought it. It felt a disservice to drag the only beast among her family who had seen war away from the battlefield, and yet, she knew well her father would not stand for her involvement. Lividity had already become him during her absence, she could not stand to draw it out further.

    She desired to be within the sights of her family once more. Longing burned a vicious hole in her heart, spilling black tar from the gaping wound. Poor Rhaenyra had been left alone, suffering the consequences of their father's actions, forced to withhold her emotions regarding the pregnancy of a woman she once considered her closest friend. No one but Valerys listened, and she was not there. Again, she touched the wound on her stomach, face twisted in a bitter rage; had she not been attacked, she would be with Rhaenyra, where she was meant to be, weathering the painful news together.

    Fate enjoyed barking laughter in her face, so it seemed. Despite departure her soon escape, Valerys could not find it within herself to be happy like she should have been, though she knew not why. A twist in her gut accompanied the thought of leaving, of abandoning a war she could help win, the men defenseless — of leaving Daemon.

    The idea should not have bothered her; Daemon was an accomplished swordsmen and warrior, he did not need the protection of a little girl, as he had so affectionately referred to her as. The nickname sparked defiance in her. She was not just a little girl. How could she prove that to him?