¹ 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒 ━━ 𝐝. 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧

xxix. interlude to war

✧˖° 🌑 ೄྀ࿐
━ [ SONG OF SORROWS ] ༉‧₊˚✧
x. act one... the dragon's daughter
interlude to war ━ ✩・*。

— WINTER, 114 A.C
SAPPHIRE ISLE, NARROW SEA

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SEABIRDS trilled a gentle tune, circling below the cliff-face, sending off the soldiers that packed on warships. Atop the overhang taunting the seas below stood Valerys Targaryen, wrenching closed her long, leather coat in a futile attempt to stave off the ever-present cold that nipped at her uncovered skin. In the harbor below, wooden ships of both large and small stature loaded on men, the sun-and-moon quartered banner hanging limply from the foremast; it roused with every harsh brush of wind, the creaking of old wood accompanying the ships rocking.

    Try as she might, Valerys could not wrench down the bubble of guilt that ate away at her stomach. All these men, faceless and wholly innocent, were to be sent to a field of death by her hand. It was exactly as she wanted — a maritime army to keep the Triarchy at bay, to save those who fought with splintered hope... and yet, somehow it didn't justify anything for her. Many would likely call her foolish; she had dragged herself halfway across the Narrow Sea simply for support, and now found herself conflicted? If she had thought harder, perhaps she could have removed her shovel from the grave she dug; unfortunately, it had already damaged the earth. No point in shying away now.

    Grass crushed underfoot as someone approached behind Valerys, a familiar clink of metal sounding in the air. Turning, Valerys watched as Ser Loren strode over to her, a small roll of parchment clenched in his hand. Once he arrived before her, he handed it to her.

     "What's this?" she asked curiously, ghosting her fingers over the long-dried ink.

    Ser Loren rolled his shoulders. "Word from Lord Boremund," he told her. "He writes that House Estermont has harkened their pleas."

    Valerys heaved a disbelieving breath, a wide grin finding purchase on her face. "Truly?"

    Ser Loren nodded, taking back the scroll as she handed it to him. "Indeed," he said, mirroring her own smile. "I dare say you've single-handedly saved this war effort. Seven knows no one within the decrepit council would've done anything if not for you."

    Valerys arched a brow. "The war has not been won yet," she told him, attempting to hide her fretful expression. "I can't help but think... what if my efforts are for naught? What if... even after all this rallying, nothing changes?"

    An armored hand came to grasp her forearm. "You mustn't think like that," he murmured. "You've done all you can, Valerys. Now, we must simply wait and see what Fate has in store for us."

Valerys didn't like that. She hated the big unknown, the pit of shadow that widened with each decision, each choice one made, willing them to step back and fall forevermore in its hollow depths. Valerys wanted her life to be her own, not some predetermined path that would never change, no matter how hard she attempted to stray from it. Control was something she'd given up time and time again, each strip of any semblance of power she had twisted the knife deeper within her. No, she would not simply wait and see — she would act, Gods, promises, logic be damned. Valerys had come this far, to hunch over on the sidelines while others fought the war she'd roped them into was not an option.