✧˖° 🌑 ೄྀ࿐
━ [ SONG OF SORROWS ] ༉‧₊˚✧
x. act one... the dragon's daughter
bittersweet oblivion ━ ✩・*。
— 112 A.C
DRAGONSTONE
˚
. * ✦ . ⁺ .⁺ ˚
. * ✦ . ⁺ .
. ⁺ ⁺
THERE was something so freeing about being in flight. Ferocious winds catching one's hair, drawing their skin taut against their face, the cold atmosphere a blanket against the heat of the sun. In the skies, there was no discourse, no expectations, not like there was on land. An open, endless expanse of peace, milky white clouds the only companion other than a few, stray birds.
Suffice to say, the skies were the only place Valerys could enjoy short-lived liberation. Thinking back to the days of old, she praised whatever dragonlord had first come to tame the scaly, often ornery beasts.
It was hard to say how she came in this position, flying to Dragonstone. After assaulting her father, sobbing in a humiliating heap on the floor, she fled the room, seeking solace in the only other being who truly understood her, in a way even her own family could not. Aegarax was, in simple terms, a slice of her own soul, welded into his thick, silver scales. He had a rider before her, in a time long forgotten by history, but it was her will he bowed to, her emotions he felt as his own, her love he thrived under.
The Silver Serpent, they called him, for the scales that wound his entire, enormous body. For his nearly two-hundred years of life, it seemed that he only grew more willful, the spark of fire in his large belly never dwindling, never dulling. A serpent was a poor choice at describing the grand beast; he was strapping with muscle that shifted with each movement under his skin, bat-like weeks spanning towns, shadowing them in darkness. From nose to chin the height was greater than she, and her father, who stood many inches her superior. Incisors, long as bastard swords, showed from his mouth, some old and cracking, and some forever stained with blood.
They spoke of him in fearful whispers, never naming him, never forgetful of the destruction he wrought upon Westeros during the Conquering. Claimed first by Gaemon Targaryen, long before her forefather, Aegon the First ever considered himself a king. He was the only riderless dragon to partake in the Conquest, and his part was not forgotten, especially to those who looked upon his behemoth body sailing overhead.
Despite his bloody and spirited past, Valerys found comfort within him, the trust she placed within the beast a questionable choice. To Valerys, he was her freedom, her escape from all that aimed to hold her to the ground.
From under her, Aegarax gave a grumble, the noise reverberating in his throat. "I know," sighed Valerys, patting his neck with a gentle hand. "We'll be arriving home soon."
Home. It was partially a lie, but to Valerys, King's Landing was never her home. Her true home lay within the people she loved, those she called family, and now, a piece of that home had crumbled off, swept away into the unforgiving currents of the sea. Her throat burned, thorns pricking into the tender skin each time she heaved a breath. No tears fell, she had run out of them long ago.
Eventually, after what felt to be hours atop Aegarax, the island of Dragonstone came into view. It was a fortress of a castle, with sharp, narrow peaks and sooty bricks that made up the entirety of it. Sea salt wrinkled Valerys' nose, piercing her lungs with so much force that she exhaled sharply. It had been many moons since she'd laid eyes on her ancestral home, a lonely isle shrouded with fog, but it felt far too long to bare. Often times, she wished to flee to Dragonstone and never return, exonerated of all her duties and obligations, free to live her life as she pleased, see the world as she once promised herself she would.
But that was all wishful thinking, and it seldom got anyone anywhere. It would not free her from the heavy weight of a crown, or the even heavier foot of her court on her back, shoving her further into darkness.
The Eastern shores of Dragonstone were untouched, waves beating against the fine, white sand with rehearsed repetition, appearing to — long ago — have carved out a small alcove along the coast. Aegarax, far too large for the beach, landed on the barren plain adjacent, his extensive form heaving with exertion. Gently, he careened his head back words, dark, beady eyes meeting Valerys' with an uncommon amount of intelligence. He offered up the tip of his long snout, as he always did, and Valerys graceful stepped onto it, grasping onto a horn that arose from his scales as to not fall off when they began to descend to the ground.
Lowering her to the ground, Aegarax gave a soft snort when she stumbled onto the plush grass below. Valerys dusted off her gown with a scowl. "Not funny, you bumbling beast."
The wind from Aegarax's breath whipped her hair about her face, and they stood, facing one another. From her point on the ground, there was nothing more to see than the front of his muzzle, taller than herself. She placed a gentle hand to his skin, feeling the blistering heat against her bare palm. A volcano in the flesh, a solar flare crafted into the beast before her. He was everything she should've feared, and perhaps if she were smarter, she would, but Valerys never fancied herself a scholar.
Aegarax let out a contented rumble, leaning further into her until his head rested against the ground, those very same, molten gold eyes following her as she paced.
"I cannot believe him!" she shouted, to no one in particular, the only witness to her frustrations the sea just before her. "Am I such an awful person that he would rather murder her than have me as his heir? Am I that much of a disappointment?"
Disappointment. A bitter word on her tongue, a lashing to the flesh. The feeling was not unfamiliar; many times had her father seemed to realize that his beloved firstborn was, despite his grand attempts to fashion her into one, not a male child, nor a suitable heir, if tradition had anything to say for it. Even though he did not voice it, Valerys was no fool. She could well and good see the flame of annoyance in his eyes when she would forget a simple law or ordinance, one a good king would remember. She knew how it pained him to be teaching these sacred texts to a daughter, and not a son. So she tried to be better, studied harder, did everything in her power to make her father, a man with dwindling patience for a daughter he never wished for, proud of her.
It still was not good enough. It still did not save her mother from a blade to her belly, a choice made by a man that so desired an heir he would gut his wife like a fish. The Gods were cruel, she knew, they gave just as they took away, and perhaps this was her recompense for failing her father. For failing her realm. A laughable concept, really, as she was a mere child; expectations were hard to meet, even more so when they soared higher than the heavens themself.
All of it had become too much. In hindsight, Valerys realized it was perhaps a poor decision to run away to Dragonstone mere hours after her mother's death, no better after the birth — or forceful removal, she supposed — of her darling baby brother. Perhaps it was in bad taste, and perhaps she did look like a child throwing a tantrum, but Valerys didn't care. It pained her to abandon Rhaenyra, especially in a time she would need her most, but selfishness was one of her many flaws. She needed to be alone, to make peace with what was to become her tragedy of a life.
Screaming, she took a rock and chucked it into the ocean, shattering the once calm waves, as her heart had been so indiscriminately before. When it felt like all had gotten as worse as it could be, fate proved to be crueler, and further sundered her hope.
After a while of yelling, kicking, and endless pacing, Valerys found herself barefoot on the sandy beach, the precipice overhead providing ample shade from the harsh summer sun. The bottom rim of her gown was damped by the salty water, tugging on her form as she trudged parallel to the water that always managed to evade her soft steps.
The sun had begun to fall, leaving the sky in a myriad of pink and orange, the two colors dancing together like the flame of a candle, casting a gentle glow upon Valerys' face as she looked out upon the darkening sea. In the span of mere moments, her already rickety life had come crumbling down to her feet, ash now coating her fingertips, burned hope now promised in her touch.
Just as she contemplated going to sea and never coming back, a loud, whistling screech sounded overhead, ridding her mind of its more dreary thoughts. A long, winding form slinked from behind the scarce clouds that dotted the dusk sky, a shadow of a creature, but a promise of so much more.
From the depths of the sky, akin to the blood moon that came forth every so often, bursted Caraxes, his serpentine body weaving about with each flap of his great wings. Valerys, despite knowing who rode atop the dragon, smiled. An excited chitter arose from Aegarax, who rose from his spot on the grass to call to his kin. As if drawn by the magnitude of the earth, Caraxes swiveled into a headfirst-dive, meeting the ground with a final beat of his wings, blustering the foliage around him.
Valerys cast her gaze back out towards the sea, uninterested with the conversation she knew was to arise. A scolding, conceivably, for abandoning her family, for slinking off like a shadow in their time of great need. She needed no such words put forth towards her own self-serving actions; it was no mystery as to why she did it, not even to herself. Her family had been dismantled by the very hand who began it. Such a tragic irony, she supposed.
"You caused quite the panic with your little disappearing act, zaldrītsos."
The words came accompanied by a deep, profound baritone, one that rumbled with what Valerys was certain was disdain. She presumed at the fact he was made to travel a great distance to retrieve a runaway princess.
Eventually, she felt Daemon's presence slink behind her, casting a shadow over her being. Trepidation captured her, and she took her bottom lip between her teeth. "I sincerely apologize for mourning my mother, uncle," she said sharply. "I shall try to do so when it is most convenient to you."
A large hand grappled at her bicep, twisting her around until she finally faced him. The weariness of travel seemed to only mildly affect him, his hair strangely unbound, eyes hard glass balls in his head. The fingers around her skin tightened as he pulled her closer to him, face twisted in a scowl, lips wrinkled over his teeth like a wolf ready to pounce.
"It is not I who matters," snapped Daemon. Valerys was stiff under his touch, eyes wrenched shut, awaiting a stinging slap to be delivered to her cheek for her insolence. "You left your father, your sister, in their times of need. They needed you, and you ran away."
Fury swelled in her stomach at his words, and she ripped herself from his grip. "You have no place to speak, seeing as you flee like a coward any time something goes minutely wrong! Do not lecture me on how to be a good sister, a good daughter, when you know nothing of it!"
Daemon's face softened, even if only it were for a moment, the consideration gone as quick as it came. Valerys swiftly convinced herself she imagined it. Where Daemon was concerned, it most certainly was not a shocking concept.
"I know better than anyone what it is to lose a mother," Daemon whispered softly, voice nearly lost to the wind. It rattled a shiver through her bones. "Your anger is not unfamiliar, but you must learn to control it."
A hiss seeped from her lips like an ink spill. How dare he lecture her on how to manage her rage, when he was so consumed by it? He fed on it like a leech, clinging to any negative emotion he could to feel something, to blame his actions on. It was a laughable concept, and she did just that.
"Do not lecture me, uncle," came her low, rage-driven drawl. In the dark her eyes shone like heralds of war, an oncoming storm, lit in the dark by swift flashes of lightning. "You are in no place to do so."
As if trying to soothe her anger, Daemon ran a finger along her chin. "Perhaps," he finally acknowledged with a nod. "But I have no wish to see you so consumed by hatred that you lose sight of what you hold dear."
"Like you did?"
Daemon visibly flinched.
"You did not see what I saw," said Valerys, her voice shaky, teetering on the edge of absolute rage, and sorrow. "He murdered her. Maimed her body, tore into her stomach so that he may have an heir. So that he no longer had to place hope in me to one day succeed him."
The bone in Daemon's jaw shifted. "You are his daughter, Valerys. He loves you."
"That does not overshadow his desire for a son. He would gladly trade me for one."
Something flashed in Daemon's light eyes; something dark and dreary, akin to the feeling of breaching a cave's dank atmosphere. "He would not. You are the last reminder he has of her now. All he has of her."
"If I had been a son, mother would still be alive," whimpered Valerys, finally appealing her to souls urging to cry. It was a humiliating scene, weeping so unabashedly in front of her uncle, but it did not cease the stream of tears that fled her eyes. "Rhaenyra is all I cannot ever be. She is the daughter he wanted; I am just a fickle replacement."
A hand brushed the nape of her neck, long fingers tangling into the hairs at the base of her scalp. Daemon's forehead came to touch her own, and while under normal circumstances she'd wrench herself away, her strength had dwindled. She could no longer fight comfort, even if it was from him; he was her kin, and she longed for the love of family, no matter how fleeting.
"You are his heir," acknowledged Daemon. Her eyes blew wide at his words of acceptance, though defeat rang true in them. "The true heir. Who now can he replace you with?"
Valerys' eyes came to his own, seeking a fouler intent, a traitorous gleam. She found none. "You."
For a moment, Daemon remained silent, as if rolling the words over in his head. It was true, and she knew it. Daemon was older, more experienced, despite how disliked he was around court. He was the obvious choice, no matter how dearly she wished for it to be untrue.
He pulled away, hands now cupping her face gently, as if she were an ancient porcelain, breakable and precious. Valerys hated how weak it made her feel.
"Gaoman daor jaelagon naejot ūndegon ao botagon," he said, thumbing over her cheek. It felt too intimate, too intense, and Valerys had to reel herself back to reality.
I do not wish to see you suffer.
"Nyke gōntan daor gīmigon daoriot jeldan naejot ao," muttered Valerys, stepping back on her heel. Daemon seemed to observe her then, eyes engulfing her face.
I was not aware what I wanted mattered to you.
It was clear something was brewing in Daemon's mind. Once, twice, thrice he opened his mouth to speak, but seemingly decided against it with a sigh.
"Night has fallen," he said finally, voice thick in his throat. "Your father is surely beginning to wonder where you are."
Daemon began to walk away, but Valerys caught his arm, as once did with her. "Does he not know you are here?" she asked, confusion laced with her words. "Did he not send you?"
Daemon did not answer.