I will love you until we run out of mornings,
then I will love you in the dark.
〰
The atmosphere between us shifted, the unspoken words echoing in the quiet spaces surrounding the dragon skull.
Although her question wasn't challenging, the manner in which she presented it made it difficult for me to summon the courage to reveal that she was the subject of those rumors.
Sensing the weight of the uncharted territories we had just treaded, the conversation shifted gears. "Do you often find yourself lost in the waves of courtly life?" I asked, diverting the focus.
She considered the question carefully. "It's overwhelming, to say the least. Like being swept away by a current you can't quite predict." She paused, fidgeting with her fingers. "Perhaps that's why I choose to stay away."
As she confessed her feelings about the intricacies of courtly life, a subtle vulnerability lingered in the air. The ambiance of the conversation seemed to carry the echoes of unspoken challenges. I pressed further, intrigued by the emotions beneath her words.
"Is it the unpredictability that unnerves you, or something more?" I inquired gently, wanting to unravel the layers of her sentiment.
Her eyes, reflecting a mix of contemplation and hesitation, met mine. "It's not just the unpredictability," she admitted. "It's the expectations, the politics, the constant scrutiny. It's like navigating a maze where the walls keep shifting. You strive to find your way, but the path is elusive."
"You're quite the poet," I remarked, momentarily entranced by her eyes. They were ostensibly blue, yet they held a mysterious depth that seemed to absorb the light around them, casting a shadowy allure.
A soft chuckle escaped her, prompting me to shift my gaze from the captivating depths of her eyes to the warmth of her smile.
Beautiful, I mused, acknowledging the enchantment of the moment.
As the flicker of realization danced across her features, she bid me good night, with a subtle mention of returning to her chambers. The echoes of our poetic exchange reverberated in the air as she departed, leaving behind a sense of intrigue and untold tales within the ancient walls.
I watched her leave the cellar, her silhouette fading into the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep. The encounter had been unexpected, a deviation from the usual rhythm of courtly affairs.
The weight of my responsibilities as a prince and a dragon rider often veiled the subtleties of personal connections. Yet, there was something about her, an honesty that cut through the layers of political intrigue. I found myself drawn to her quiet strength.
The roar of Meleys echoed through the walls of Red Keep followed by another roar that wasn't as loud as the first one that belonged to Moondancer, the stead of Princess Baela.
Aemond had rarely witnessed the silver princess emerging from her chambers so early. Yet, there she stood, an unexpected figure beside Helaena. Princess was adorned in the regal colors of House Velaryon.
In the flurry of anticipation, her handmaiden hurriedly tended to the stray tendrils of her hair, a visible eagerness to present her in perfect grace for the impending arrival of her grandmother and half-sister.
In the midst of her anxious preparations, her gaze lifted to meet mine, and a delicate, enchanting smile graced her lips. By the gods, if ever there was a portrait of true beauty, it unfolded in that ephemeral moment—a smile that transcended the ordinary and painted the air with a certain enchantment.
As the handmaiden meticulously adjusted the strands of hair, a silent understanding passed between us.
The carriage halted, and the first to emerge was Baela. Her face lit up with a smile as she spotted her elder sister.
"Ziry." She called her sister, stepping down from the carriage.
Eager to reach her sister, Baela's steps initially quickened. However, upon seeing the queen, her pace slowed, and she gracefully curtsied. A soft smile adorned my mother's face as she acknowledged Baela's greeting.
"Welcome, princess." The queen said, gently patting Baela's shoulder. Taking it as a sign of approval, she proceeded towards her sister, who awaited her with open arms.
The sisters were having their reunion while we looked forward as Princess Rhaenys made her way out of the carriage. The princess and the queen had their little greeting.
I was completely occupied by the silver princesses. Despite the royal formality around us, the bond between sisters was a sanctuary of genuine affection.
Princess Rhaenys made her way towards her grandchildren. The sisters separated as Maenya made her way towards her grandmother.
"My child," Princess Rhaenys spoke in a voice that carried the echoes of years past, a gentle whisper that transcended time. As Maenya approached, there was a subtle but undeniable shift in the air — a moment of quiet recognition and familial warmth.
The courtly surroundings faded into the background as the princess enveloped Maenya in an embrace that bridged the gap between generations. The room, with its intricate tapestries and polished surfaces, became a backdrop to the simple, profound connection between grandmother and granddaughter.
As they parted, Princess Rhaenys held Maenya at arm's length, her gaze studying the features of her granddaughter. There was a mixture of pride and concern in those ageless violet eyes as if foreseeing the challenges and triumphs that lay ahead for the young princess.
The queen's gaze lingered for a moment before she gracefully directed them toward the grand entrance of the castle. With a subtle gesture, Mother indicated that it was time for me to seek out Aegon, prompting my departure.
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Three nights have passed, and it would be an understatement to say that I haven't made attempts to encounter the silver princess. However, every time I catch a glimpse of her with her sister or grandmother, I find myself stopped. She doesn't frequent the library as much, denying me a chance encounter there.
Yet, a notable change is her response when our eyes meet in hallways or during dinners. Now, she graces me with a smile. While I appreciate this, it only intensifies my desire to approach her, engage in conversation, and listen to her.
Most of my hours were claimed by the endless expanse of the skies, yet the occasional summons from Mother tethered me to the royal feast. Stepping into the Great Hall, a conspicuous absence struck me—Maenya, absent from her usual place beside her sister. A ripple of realization coursed through me.
Excusing myself prematurely, I sought the princess through the labyrinthine corridors. The conclusion was inevitable—she must be within the sanctuary of her chambers. An invasion of that private space was a line I wasn't willing to cross.
The decision solidified—Dragonpit offered refuge from the perplexing proximity of her presence. Hastily donning my riding attire, I signaled for a horse, gloved hands anticipating the reins.
"Going somewhere?" The interruption, the first in three nights, froze my movements.
Maenya's words slipped into the quiet space between us, and I shifted to meet her gaze. There was a curious gleam in her eyes as if mirroring the turmoil I felt inside.
"Dragonpit calls," I offered, a cryptic explanation that failed to convey the full depth of my conflict.
Her raised eyebrows silently questioned my statement.
"Safe travels, then," she replied, an unspoken understanding lingering in the air.
My own eyebrows arched in curiosity. "Do you genuinely mean it, or is it just a formality?" I pressed.
She chuckled, the humor carrying a weight that eluded her. "A bit of both, cousin."
She stood by me as a horse was brought forward. A peculiar notion sprang to mind, and I turned to her.
"Care to join?" I inquired, my gaze fixed on her.
A moment of hesitation lingered in her eyes. "I don't think I should," she replied, uncertainty coloring her voice.
Not wanting to press further, I turned to prepare the horse. A tinge of disappointment flitted through me, though I quickly masked it.
"But..." her voice reached me just before I moved. "Would you mind if I do?" Her words hung in the air, and an unexpected joy lit up my face.
"Get the princess a carriage," I began, addressing a server, but she interrupted.
"No, get me a horse." She politely told him.
"Really?" I raised an amused eyebrow. "Your attire is not exactly riding-friendly."
"Don't doubt me. Tell me the directions to Dragonpit, and I'll beat you."
Her unexpected enthusiasm resonated with my own. A smirk played on my lips as I offered her a sly look.
"Well, Princess, you've got the spirit," I remarked, a playful tone underscored by the hint of a challenge.
She glanced at her gown, a brief consideration crossing her features. "I'll manage. And if I win, I'll have bragging rights."
"Deal," I agreed. "The Dragonpit is this way," I gestured toward the winding path.
A challenge sparked in her eyes, a fire I hadn't anticipated. The unexpected turn of events added a dash of excitement to the mundane routine of royal life.
"Very well," She replied, a smirk playing on her lips. "Dragonpit it is."
Orders were swiftly given to prepare a horse for her. As I mounted mine, I couldn't help but notice the determined glint in her eyes. This wasn't a girl who shied away from challenges, and for a moment, it made me forget the intricacies of courtly life.
As we mounted our horses, a sense of liberation swept over me. The city noises gradually faded as we rode through the gates.
The ride through King's Landing began, our horses side by side. The city unfolded around us, its pulse beating with the vibrancy of daily life. The wind carried the scent of the sea, and the distant cries of merchants merged with the clip-clop of our horses' hooves.
As we approached the Dragonpit, the enormity of the structure loomed before us. Its skeletal remains stood as a testament to a bygone era, a stark contrast to the bustling life of the city.
We dismounted, and she looked at me with a victorious glint. "Looks like I won," she teased.
I chuckled. "You did, indeed. A horsewoman and a poet—it seems you're full of surprises, Princess."
She shot me a playful look. "Life is too dull without surprises, your grace."
And in that moment, amid the ruins of dragons and the echoes of history, a connection unfurled—a subtle understanding that went beyond the confines of titles and expectations.
Upon reaching the Dragonpit, its ancient stones bore witness to the legends of old. The dragons that once graced this place were long gone, but their echoes lingered in the cool night air.
As Maenya and I approached Dragonpit, its towering remains stood as a testament to Targaryen history. Stealing glances at Maenya, I wondered how she'd react to the grand structure that once housed dragons.
The aged stones and intricate carvings depicted tales of a bygone era. I pondered whether Maenya would feel the weight of the dragons' legacy or see it as just another old structure.
"Thank you for bringing me here," Maenya spoke softly, her eyes tracing the horizon. "I have heard tales about this place."
"It's different from the tales, isn't it?" I remarked, my gaze fixed on the distant Dragonstone.
"More beautiful," she admitted, and for the first time, I felt a connection beyond the bounds of duty or royalty.
I approached the section of the pit where my dragon would likely be resting, and to my surprise, she followed in silence, without a hint of inquiry.
This, I thought, is the opportune moment to explore my theory about Maenya Velaryon, and Vhagar is poised to play a crucial role in this endeavor.
"Just for the record, you're stepping into the den of the oldest dragon in Westeros," I remarked casually as we strolled deeper.
"Which might be sleeping," she retorted, her tone holding a mix of caution and anticipation.
The sight of Vhagar seemed to steal her breath away, and her eyes glistened with a residue of emotions. It was evident that the dragon stirred memories deeply embedded in her past—perhaps memories of when it was her mother's dragon.
Maenya's gaze lingered on Vhagar, and for a moment, I could almost sense the unspoken connection between them. The dragon, though dormant, seemed to respond to her presence, a subtle acknowledgment of a shared history.
"Vhagar," she whispered as if testing the weight of the name on her lips.
I moved closer to Vhagar, a silent invitation for her to join me. The dragon's scales glinted faintly in the subdued light, its massive form a testament to the power it once wielded.
"It's magnificent, isn't it?" I remarked, watching Maenya's reaction closely.
Her eyes traced the contours of Vhagar's form, and a soft smile played on her lips. "Yes, it is. Majestic in a way that words can't quite capture."
My gaze locked onto her, swiftly as she moved toward the dragon, and an instinctual fear gripped me. Without thinking, I caught her arm, memories of Vhagar's past actions flashing vividly in my mind—the dragon's appetite for the unfortunate dragon keepers.
A subtle tension rumbled through Vhagar as my hand met hers. Her warmth seeped through, a touch that strangely eased the unease within me.
"It's okay, it won't harm me," she assured, gently freeing her arm from my grasp.
She approached Vhagar with deliberate steps, extending her hand. An unsettling dance unfolded between them, and my nerves heightened with each movement the dragon made.
"I don't think it's a good idea," I voiced, my unease palpable.
"No, it's okay. I've done it before," she replied, glancing back at me just as the dragon stirred.
"Maenya!" I called a note of urgency coloring my voice, but it was too late. Vhagar positioned itself between us, blocking her from view. Anxiety surged as I repeated her name, met with an unsettling silence that amplified my concerns.
As the dragon obscured her from view, an ominous hush settled over the chamber. The air felt thick with apprehension, and my gaze darted from Vhagar to the spot where Maenya had stood moments ago.
"Maenya!" I called again, my voice resonating through the cavernous space. A knot of worry tightened in my chest, an unspoken fear threading through the stillness.
The dragon, typically a creature of power and grace, seemed to sense the tension. Its scales shimmered in the dim light, and its eyes, ancient and knowing, regarded me with an almost eerie intelligence.
"Where is she?" I muttered a tinge of desperation in my voice. Vhagar's response was a low rumble, the sound reverberating through the chamber.
Just as panic threatened to take hold, I heard her voice, soft but unmistakable. "I'm here."
Relief washed over me as I heard her voice. "Can you help me?"
Scaling the dragon's side with haste, I landed on the other side, expecting the usual sight. However, what greeted me was an unexpected scene. "Hi," she greeted with a gentle smile.
The princess was nestled between the dragon's wing and body, an unusual yet strangely serene sight.
My brows furrowed, torn between worry and astonishment. "What in the Seven Kingdoms just happened?"
She laughed, a sound that echoed against the scales of the dragon. "Just greeting an old friend. Isn't that right, Vhagar?" She patted the dragon affectionately, and to my amazement, it responded with a low, almost contented growl.
"You... you can't just cozy up to a dragon-like it's a kitten," I stammered, unsure whether I was more concerned or fascinated.
Maenya looked up at me, her eyes gleaming with an unusual mix of determination and tranquility. "I apologize, your grace. I didn't know this would happen."
I ran a hand through my hair, torn between the ingrained fear of dragons and the perplexing sight before me. This princess, with her quiet courage, was rewriting everything I thought I knew.
After separating her from my dragon's side, we mounted our horses for the ride back to the castle. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, leaving me unable to engage her in conversation.
"I suppose you have questions," her voice held a vulnerability that struck me. The hope in my expression seemed to unnerve her. "And I want you to know that I can't answer them."
"I don't want to know anything," I reassured her, hoping to ease the weight on her shoulders.
"Good. I don't have any answers to give." The night sky spread above us, a tapestry of stars illuminating our path.
We galloped through the silent streets, the rhythmic beat of hooves accompanying the nocturnal symphony. I stole glances at Maenya, her silhouette illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight. There was an unspoken connection between us, a shared adventure that unfolded with each passing moment.
We halted outside her chambers, and she turned toward me. "Thank you for dropping me to my solar," she smiled gently.
"I wouldn't be a gentleman if I didn't do it," I attempted humor, but it felt a bit off.
She maintained her smile as I turned to leave, but she stopped me. "What if I want to go there again, your grace?" she asked.
A smile spread across my lips. "Then call me Aemond, and I'll take you."
For the past couple of days, I've been immersed in trying to decipher the Valyrian phrases from Maenya's journal. The intricacies of the language eluded me, and so, I found myself in the library, hoping to uncover more insights. The quiet corridors and internal passages led me to the hallowed halls of knowledge without drawing much attention.
Then, unexpectedly, I stumbled upon her. Maenya was perched on a small bench beside a window, absorbed in a world of her creation. Another journal and a carefully shaped piece of charcoal were in her hands, her gaze drifting between the journal and the sprawling view of the city beyond the window.
Not wanting to intrude, I cleared my throat to announce my presence. She turned, greeted me with a soft "Good evening," and seamlessly returned to her sketching.
"Dare I ask what you are doing?" I approached slowly, careful not to disturb the quietude.
"Just keeping myself busy," she replied, turning the journal to reveal a breathtaking, detailed sketch of the cityscape. It was a captivating bird's-eye view that showcased both her artistic skill and a unique perspective.
And then came her question, "What are you doing here?" I felt momentarily caught off guard, my focus shifting from the sketch to her eyes.
"Needed some books," I explained, showing her a simple piece of paper with the names of the tomes I sought.
In a surprising turn of events, she extended her hand for the paper. Handing it over, I failed to realize that the list betrayed nothing of its contents.
Yet, with a touch of charcoal-stained fingers, she astutely remarked, "They are the Valyrian manuscripts."
Surprised by her accuracy, I questioned, "How did you know?" The stained paper returned to me.
"I was somewhat forced to read these for a better understanding of High Valyrian. You'd be surprised to see the collection of books I've gone through," she shared. As I ventured into the shelves, her presence lingered, sketching the city's soul with both ink and charcoal.
My gaze kept going back to her between searching for the required books. How could I not gaze at her, she looked so peaceful, just sitting there and making her sketch of the city below. The library, usually a realm of whispers and rustling pages, transformed into a haven for creativity as she delicately etched the cityscape onto paper. The soft strokes of her pencil mirrored the serene rhythm of the scene she was capturing.
I couldn't help but be drawn into the world she was creating within the margins of her sketchpad. The library, with its towering shelves and studious atmosphere, seemed to fade away, leaving only her and the evolving cityscape in my field of vision.
"Do you want to say something?" Her voice, like a sudden gust, jolted me from my thoughts.
Frozen in my stance, I grappled for a response. "Why would you assume such a thing?" It was the best evasion my mind could conjure at the moment.
Turning toward me, she bore a smudge of black on her nose, evidence of a casual swipe with her charcoal-laden fingers. "You have been glancing." There was no mock or taunt in her voice.
She continued sketching, seemingly unbothered by the stillness that lingered between us. Realizing that I might be disturbing her I gathered my required books and excused myself.
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Before the revelry of the grand feast, as the anticipation hung in the air, I was being prepared in the quiet chambers of my quarters. The rustle of silk filled the room as handmaidens carefully adorned me in a gown that seemed to capture the essence of moonlight itself.
I glance at myself in the mirror, my reflection wearing an air of uncertainty despite the regal attire. The elusive whispers from others seemed to already start hovering around me, casting a shadow of irritation that I couldn't quite shake off.
As I descended the spiraling staircase to the Great Hall, the sounds of merriment grew louder. The air was charged with excitement, and the flickering candles cast dancing shadows on the walls. I braced myself for the revelry that awaited, sensing that this night might hold revelations that would reshape the way I perceived myself.
The grand feast was a spectacle of opulence, with tables adorned with lavish dishes and a vibrant tapestry of laughter and music enveloping the hall. Adorned in my finest attire, I navigated through the lively crowd, exchanging smiles and pleasantries with fellow revelers. The atmosphere buzzed with anticipation, and as she made her way toward the heart of the celebration, she felt a peculiar energy in the air.
Amid the grand feast, where laughter and music filled the air, I found myself drawn into a conversation that would shatter the illusions surrounding my identity.
The revelry was at its peak, with nobles and courtiers celebrating in a swirl of colors and music. Clad in a gown that shimmered like moonlight, I moved gracefully through the Great Hall.
Approaching a group of ladies engaged in hushed conversation, I overheard a snippet that sent a chill down my spine. The words "Daemon Targaryen's bastard" hung in the air like an ominous secret waiting to be unveiled.
Unsure if I had heard correctly, I discreetly inched closer, pretending to be captivated by a display of exquisite tapestries. The ladies continued their discussion, and the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place.
Whispers and glances from the crowd seemed to confirm my worst fears. My lineage, previously shrouded in mystery, was now the subject of gossip and speculation.
My gaze darted across the hall, searching for familiar faces. My sister, Baela, was engrossed in conversation with a knight, and my grandmother seemed lost in the melodies of the minstrels. The weight of the revelation pressed upon me, and I felt a sudden urge to leave the hall.
Navigating the sea of revelers, each step carried the weight of newfound knowledge. The air felt heavier, the laughter distant. I sought solace in the quiet corridors, away from prying eyes.
The revelation echoed in my mind, begging me to confront the truth of my lineage. In the shadows of the castle, where the torchlight flickered like uncertain truths, I grappled with the newfound awareness of being Daemon Targaryen's alleged bastard.
In the seclusion of the castle's quiet corridors, I found myself grappling with a whirlwind of emotions. The weight of the revelation lingered, and the castle's stone walls seemed to echo with the whispers of uncertainty. Determined to unravel the truth about my lineage, I decided to seek answers.
Armed with this newfound knowledge, I faced a choice – to confront my family with the truth or to navigate this revelation in solitude. Torn between the comfort of familiarity and the allure of self-discovery, I wandered the castle grounds, contemplating the path ahead.
The moonlight guided my steps as I found myself drawn back to the garden, where the night had earlier whispered its secrets. The shadows danced on the paths beneath ancient trees, mirroring the uncertainty that now danced within me.
As the first light of dawn painted the sky, I made a silent vow to confront the complexities of my identity. The grandeur of the castle stood as a silent witness to the internal struggle that unfolded within its walls.
The journey ahead was uncertain, but armed with the truth, I embarked on a path of self-discovery that would redefine not only my identity but also my place in the intricate tapestry of the Targaryen legacy.