31st SUNRISE,TWELFTH MOON,120 AC;
DRAGONSTONE
"THROUGH THE AGES,NEW AND OLD,Targaryens have ridden the saddles of winged beasts. Their dragon-blooded bodies of silver hair and purple eyes
,fused with the large creatures of only teeth and scales. Their gilded wings drove shadows across the realm,and mayhaps- became the very thing that stole them the iron throne. Aegon the Conquerer,first of his name, will forever brand into the history books of grand maesters and westerosi folk alike,macabre tales of the many victories inking into the steel of his third hand Blackfyre,and of his sister wives Rhaenys and V-"
"You know-I would never have fought blood and sweat for that book if I'd have known you'd never part with it"
The piercing shriek of a womanly voice shook young Maella from her bespout. It was teasing and familiar,yet had her flinching at its abruptness. She recoiled,snapping the leather-bound case of the book clutched between the pale skin of her fingers shut with the haste of a falcon,and turned-the silver of her hair whipping around the porcelain of her face. She grinned sharply,her godly features set alight by only the small flicker of a wax candle set at her side,seeping into the wood of its garish stand "Mother"
"Daughter" greeted the brunette,her tone clamming with amusement-ailed by the stretch of a smile that pulled at the aged lines of her cheeks,and she began unsteadily paving her way through the stacks of literature strewn across the splintered wooden floors-each accounts derived from grand maesters,or long-departed assailants of the crown,tarnished and greying with age "I thought you had no interest in the doings of the targaryens"
Maella pulled a face replicating one of perplex-ion,and she shook her head tightly in dismissal "I never said that! Only that I have no respect for people who rob from the poor to feed their own greed" Her tone teased at the plump skin of her lips,dipping the dimples of her cheeks. Her words were spiteful-malicious,spat with an air of resounding vexation that had her mother shrinking beneath its sharp blade "Besides,their rich history is quite captivating" she traced the title of the book with the skin of her fingers,engraved and emboldened in sheets of gold. 'The tales of the Targaryens-Scribed by grand Maester Culiper' It was a wonder her mother had managed to find something so sought after. The mere thought made Maella's stomach churn uneasily.
Marissa chortled a muffled laugh beneath the crinkled skin of her fingers,and moved to sit at her found daughters covered feet. The straw bed creaked beneath the hold of her feather-like weight,and she shuffled uneasily atop the cotton sheet,sharp points marking the covered skin of her back "Your sharp tongue will get you maimed one day daughter,lest your treasonous words be overheard by a rat" Her words were sharp,yet her soft hands were not,as they began carding through the long tendrils of Maella's hair,brushing and plying the knots that festered beneath.
Maella laughed pointedly,craning the gulf of her neck to peer into the mismatched eyes of the elder woman sat before her. She found solace in the tea-green orbs that stared back at her,kind crows feet displaying her age in an act of cruelty by the God's "Well,at least I don't polish the brogues of the targaryens with my tongue as the rest of Westeros do" Her grin was sly and poisonous,deadly in its greedy quirk,her words teasing "I'd sooner announce myself a pagan before bowing to the likes of Viserys and his family of heathens"
Marissa fought back a flinch at her daughter's words,yet continued brushing at the ice-caps of her familial hair with trembling hands,as if it soothed the faint sting careening her ears "Oh I don't know-princess Rhaenerya is supposedly lovely" she wheezed "The maids that work at her favour cherish the moments they spend at her gaze"
"Rhaenerya is not the one I find so repulsive" Maella quipped "It is Daemon and his roguish ways of slaughter and mayhem that vex me so much. You'd think a family that rely sorely on the silver they earn from their image would learn to respect their inferiors,the people that line their greedy,bottomless pockets"
Marissa stopped the orchestrated movements of her deft fingers,causing Maella to turn and peer up at her mother,concern etched across her face "Have I said something wrong?"
Marissa appeared almost hollow and sickly to the eye-the usual brazen of her skin now a faint,deathly white. Her eyes were void of their usual gleam,now threatening to overflow with ardent emotions. She appeared dead-void of mortality,reeking of melancholy. Maella had grown accustomed to witnessing her mother's youth wither with the days,the fever wrapping its way around her still beating heart-but this sight-this sight frightened her.
She had striven too far again.
"I do wish you'd not carry such anger in your heart,daughter" The elder woman's voice was trembling and mouse-like,her eyes glistening "You should look for the good in people instead of plying out the bad. Hate Daemon as much as you'd like,but your loathing won't change the facts. He's still your father-whether you like it or not. Your mother wouldn't wish for you to speak of him this way"
The confession was not new,Maella had fallen victim to the sharp penetration of those same words many a time. Daemon Targaryen,someone she'd grown to loathe over the expanse of her adolescence,a man known for his heedlessness,one who cared little for others-but only for cushioning his greed,was her father. His blood-the blood of the dragon-coursed through her veins the same as it did with his other daughters. Though her heritage carried a nickname that sentenced her to a world of shame and chiding.
Bastard.
She was a bastard,planted in the womb of her mother with the recompense of a piece of silver and a throw of passion. Though it hadn't been passion that had seeded the bleeding,unwanting womb of Aluria,but Daemon's greed.
Though Maella fought to conceal her true lineage-wrapping the trails of her silver hair in balls of cotton,and shading the purple of her eyes from passerby-she'd always be a Targaryen-the child of a power-hungry dragon known for his brutality. The rogue princes' first seed.
Marissa took note of the effects her words had on her daughter,and scrambled to patch the gaping wound she'd hurriedly made "Apples!"
Maella flinched,brows peeking at the shroud uphold of words "What?"
Marissa grinned,repeating her words "Apples. We need apples,do fetch them for me?"
"Why an earth would we require apples,mother?"
She rolled her eyes "Dinner of course. I am making apple strudel again and we do not have any" she hoisted her weakened frame from the uncomfortable scratch of cotton,and itched at the red marks scoring her frail arms. Marissa paced across the wooden floors, and under the near crumbled arch leading to the barely upheld kitchen. She emerged with a wicker basket looped around the skin of her elbow,cushioned and lined in stitches of a sage green wool "Use this-and do be careful when climbing the branches-they can prove quite sharp"
Maella shook her head in dismissal "Apples are the last of my worries,mother. Your fever is growing thicker,sit" she snatched the basket from her mothers arms,discarding it carelessly atop a stack of books lining the carved arch of her window. Marissa was trembling,sweat leaking and darkening the crimson of her gown.
"I am quite alright daughter. Please,think of dinner"
"Let me heal you" Maella pleaded,eyes watering "I have read of ways-concoctions of wormwood,poppy,rose and elderflower that can heal the most treacherous of fevers. We already have poppy,elderflower and rose in the kitchen-I can venture for more Wormwood-Aelfa is sure to have some"
Marissa shook her head "No,I haven't stayed holy these past 65 years of mine own life only to have my soul tarnished with methods of witchcraft" she yanked the frail,wrinkling skin of her fingers from between the hold of Maella's youthful,icy ones-eyes hardened and insistent "Dinner will do me good daughter-fetch the apples"
"Mother" Maella pleaded,a last attempt at changing her ways "I swear it will work!"
Marissa shot her a dark look,one that had the enclosure of Maella's jaws clamping shut,defiance inking across her face,and an order "Forget it Maella. Apples"
....
Her journey was long and winding,her legs growing more tiresome with each step. Maella grasped tiredly at the skirt of her Cotten dress-a simple purple in colour that matched the vibrancy of her eyes-and held the creased fabric to the pale skin of her knees. A matching head scarf of a dark violet tangled itself through the roots of her hair,concealing her parentage from watchful eyes. She prayed for an easy end to her journey,one beggared of her crossing any person.
That in itself,was unlikely.
Dragonstone itself housed very little common folk under its yolk,for a place as treacherous as itself was an undesired place of mount for most. It held very little forms of sustenance-most crops failing to thrive in the unstable patterns of weather surrounding the encampment . Miles of creeks and palisade mountains wound across the land,these large summits housing at least three wild dragons in copious caves lining their rocks.
Small fishing villages were the only source of life on land-if not for the moonly visits of Targaryen royalty,or for the looming shadows of the unclaimed winged beasts left to fester upon mountain tops-feeding on farm animals,and the rare feeble common folk that dared venture too close.
Maella let a sigh of relief leave the flushed skin of her lips at the sight of the row of trees stood by a clearing. A small creek was housed nearby,the faint splashes of water cresting her ears. She set the basket down upon the grass,scratching at the itchy lines scored into her pale skin from its weight,and peered through the covered branches of the only apple trees allowed to thrive upon the whole island. The common folk of dragonstone suspected the reasoning for the blooming of these trees to have been due to the rich soil allowed to prosper in such short interval to nutrience . Others put it down as a miracle seed sent by the Gods. Maella snorted at the very idea-the Gods fail to stop wars and famine spreading through the streets of fisher villages and hamlets-yet choose to spend their time planting apple trees miles away? How feeble people could be.
She craned her neck,scouring the trees for that familiar red blossom,and jumped in exasperated relief as a small bundle came into sight,hanging limply,shrouded in scuttles of leaves. She grasped the bottom of her dress once more,hoisting the long trail of violet over the loop of her elbow,before standing upon the lid of her basket,and reaching for the scuttle of nutrients. They were just short of her grasp-she clung to the tree,the ends of her fingers growing bloody as they dug into the thick bark shrouding it. But no matter how many times she jumped and strained her arms as much as she could-the apples stayed well out of her reach.
"Gods" she swore under her breath,her arms growing limp in fatigue. The once faint glimmer of hope disappeared,and manifested into a cruel disappointment that swirled and bit at the starved flesh of her stomach.
The wind swooped around Maella,batting at the frozen flesh of her arms,and ballooning the skirt of her dress. She climbed from the trees hold,and moved to the next shrub,wrapping her arms around her chest,and soothing the icy skin that laid beneath. The thin layer of cotton shrouding her frame did nothing to warm the complexion of her skin,and she shivered violently as the wind continued its courtly,brash blows.
The next tree held no sustenance-only the rotting body of a single apple festered with flies and maggots. Maella pulled a face of disgust,and continued down the line. Each one proved pointless-either the change in season causing their failure to bloom,or mayhaps-the only growth had already been picked.
Maella growled,and threw the old basket as far as her dwarfed arms could reach. She considered venturing into town to purchase some-though seldom did the only food stall on the island ever house any,and she carried barely enough coinage to pay for shrapnel.
She moved to adjust the head scarf wrapped across the swell of her icy skin,small spurts of silver hair dancing in the cold wind reddening her cheeks. She loathed the snow of her hair,a constant reminder of her true parentage that swirled and bit at her throat,and tucked it back,amongst the folds of cotton as quick as she could manage. Bite-sized,moth-eaten holes littered across the cloth,allowing pin-sized tendrils of her hair to just crest the cold afternoons air,despite her unweilding efforts at concealing it.
A shuffle caught her attention,fastening the pace of her staggered heart. She whipped around,the bundles of the cloth shrouding her head almost unwrapping with the abrupt movement. A small leveret was watching her,sat at the withered trunk of a tree bent in the distance,its beady eyes wide and startled. Maella dared not move,but chose to simply stare back at the baby hare as it shook in petrification,its huge,child-like eyes reflecting the source of its fright,an unseen battle. It had been orphaned,no doubt,left to fend for itself amongst the rough terrain. Splatters of blood covered its snout,and painted its feet, and Maella contemplated putting the poor thing out of its misery,before it scuttled away as quick as it had appeared,thumping its feet against the sodden ground.
Just as Maella thought her mood couldn't sour any more than it already had,a roaring voice thundered in the distance. She squinted into the thick wisps of fog careening across the banks,her heart pounding in her chest.
"Oh if it isn't the Targaryen bastard!"
The voice was familiar and deep-accompanied by the shrill laughter of two more as thuds of steps grew louder and more announced.
Maella didn't wait for these boys to reveal themselves-she reached into the bodice of her dress,and pried out her only form of protection. It was a small blade-barely big enough to penetrate skin,and it was blunt,but could potentially execute a life if pushed hard enough. She held it out in front of her with trembling fingers,unused to having to resort to defending herself in such ways-at all really. The violet amethyst etched into the wooden handle,chided her inability to move,glinting wickedly in the rays of light.
She said nothing,barely breathed for such a long interval,that she wondered how she hadn't grown purple, as the smoke whirled and clouded her eyes.
"I can smell her from over here" another voice penetrated the air around her,thick and grisly,and she stepped back-pressing the fragile bones of her spine into the rough bark of a lone tree.
Three shadows lifted in front of her vision,emerging from within the thick balloons of smoke. Each were young boys-older than her,but barely grown. One was tall and lanky-the bones of his skeleton-like wrists peeking out from beneath the cotton of his cream tabard, he bore an effortless sort of wild look in his eyes-one seldom seen in man,but in
the serpentine eyes of evil snakes or iniquitous vultures. She recognised him as the fishmongers son-Rehan,a boy known for his wandering hands,and favouring of young girls lining the foot of his bed. His dwarfed hands were covered in blood, no doubt from the viscera and entrails of salmon,or the rare pollock.
The second one was short and gluttonous,a complete opposite to his companion. The flesh of his hefty belly pushed and ballooned at the velvet of the shirt tucked into the splattered material of his pants,large tufts of fat peaking out between strained buttons. His wrists were as big as Maella's thighs-large and warty,and his face-flushed and stuffed. This was Ayron,son of the local stall-runner Quigley,a man just as greedy and gluttonous as his own son,dispelled of restrain when it came to his own wanton needs. He had the detached tail of what appeared to be a butchered weasel wrapped around the folds of his neck,spotted in blood and crushed matter.
The final boy was,by far,the most terrifying of the three. He wasn't skinny and frail like the first,and neigh was he fat and portly like the second. He was the perfect in between,with muscles the size of melons adorning his arms,and large veiny skin stretching across the curves of his fists. His coal-black hair was tied at the back of his head,the fabric of his tabard stained and crinkled. The other boys were mere shadows of him-feeble and companion like. Loyal dogs,they appeared. He was a constant thorn in Maella's side-a vile and unpleasant boy called Jerrick who lived to tease and jar her as a perpetual source of amusement.
Each held blades longer than her forearms put together clutched in their fists, (Rehan's a sort of curved blade commonly used to gut fish,Ayron's a tainted meat cleaver,and Jerricks-a coiled sickle) and feral gleams dancing in their eyes.
Maella shook in fright.
"I'll take her cunt" the fat one spoke first,licking the chapped skin of his lips with an air of greed inking into his voice "I can already tell she's tight"
"You will do no such thing" the thin one countered,moving to glare at his accessor "You promised I would take the Targaryen bitches cunt first! I am to take her Maidenhead-you cannot forsake your word!" He stamped like an impotent child,bickering belatedly as Maella stood frozen.
Jerrick stayed silent,his greedy eyes scouring her form as if he were imagining all the things he wished to do to her,a pre-planned list of torture and spoilage. His lip twitched beneath the scruff adorning his chin,and he suddenly spoke with a booming voice,the rounded edge of the sickle pressed against the girth of his palm,waving in the air "Shut up,the both of you! She is mine-only as I am finished with her....then you can have a go"
Neither boys spoke against his judgement,simply nodding obediently along with his order.
Moments slinked on-ones of silence and stares of gluttony. Maella thought of these moments as her last ones-surely they would kill her afterwards- to put her out of her misery. She couldn't tell which sounded better. Would she succumb to the sharp stab of Ayrons clever? The torturous slash of Rehan's blade? Or perhaps Jerrick would be the one to take her life-it would be fitting after all,he had promised it so.
She could not move,no matter how hard she pushed herself,battling with her subconscious to take her leave,and to run for the hills for safety.
It took Jerrick taking a single stalked step towards her,to stir whatever spell kept her bound in place. Without thinking,or really knowing where she planned on going;she reached down to the hoop of her skirts,and began running with all her might.
Maella careened through the forest behind her,her pace fastening evermore as the dooming thuds and shouts of the three boys echoed through the clearing.
"We'll get you,Maella!" One shouted.
"You can't out-run us!" Another puffed.
Her weakened legs threatened to give out beneath her as she continued running. The compact forests of trees and shrubs continued thickening as she raced through them,the harsh blows of air whipping the silver of her hair around her face,head scarf tearing upon the prickled branch of a tree. Long forgotten,was her purpose of voyage. Apples be damned. Now,she was fighting for her freedom-her life mayhaps.
The unisions' steps echoed louder and louder as they gradually caught up to her-a clearing of land making itself known as a large mountain came into view.
Maella hurtled towards it,the heels of her feet sodden in her own blood. This summit was large and universally un-climbable,and a feeling of dread ripped through her as she realised where she'd ventured.
This mountain had been left,void of life for a reason. Animals dared not trek near,common folk refusing to even breathe in the large peaks' vicinity.
3 dragons-all wild and notorious for their brutality were known to have housed inside the caves of this very mountain.
Grey ghost,sheepstealer and the cannibal lurked the caves of dragons stones' largest mountain,and impinged dread upon the inhabitants of the island with the mere tantalisation of their knowing presence.
Abashed,Maella continued venturing north up the cliff,the torn flesh of her feet clinging to collections of mud and stone,shedding blood and tearing skin. The shouts continued to near,the boys evidently not as deterred by the speaking's of fellow small folk as her,eager to catch and wield their prey.
"I can see you,Princess!" One taunted,and her feet slipped upon a loose rock as she resorted to climbing her way across a narrow ledge that barely left enough room for her two feet. She slowed,watching in panic as the pathway gave way slowly,rocks and mud flying into the depths of the sea lapping below her. She closed her eyes,preparing to fall when a hand clapped around her shoulder.
"I've got you now!" It was Jerrick. He grinned down at her,wolf-like "I love feisty little cunts like you" he purred against the shell of her ear,pressing her body against the stone behind them. His breath was warm,and bit at the frozen skin of her neck as he leered towards her "They always taste better when they run"
Maella whimpered,moving to grasp at the knife tucked into the hilt of her dress,a strained last showing of strength that was stopped promptly. Jerrick crushed her smaller fists between his own with a snarl.
"I've yearned for you for so long-" he grasped her knife between his hands,and threw it into the water below,savouring the look of defeat that crossed her face. The boy crushed her shoulder with his hand,dwarfing her strength,and brought her across the small path of land into a larger clearing where the two others stood,with haste.
The portly boys face was puffed and red,lines of sweat dripping across the bulk of his forehead and clouding the material of his shirt. The skinny one didn't appear any better-his long,wormy legs bent in exhaustion as he leant against the cliff wall.
"Her cunt better be good" Ayron puffed,only to receive a scolding from the boy clutching Maella to his chest.
"Of course she will,Ayron. Don't be stupid" he pulled Maella's limp body,and threw her against the bark of a lone tree sat by the cliffs edge. She watched the calm swirling of the sea from above,contemplating whether to plunge into its depths for safety.
No,she shook her head-she'd die on impact-the waters were far too treacherous to boat,let alone swim.
The three boys towered over her-each greedily drinking her in like an ale. The fat one-Ayron,was fiddling with the drawstrings of his pants-a faint peak of something hard peaking through the leather. The skinny one-Rehan, looked deathly pale,yet still found it in himself to reach in to the silk of his own. And the last hastily rid of his shirt with fervour,peering down at her hungrily,like a predator canvassing its prey.
Maella pinched her eyes shut,surrendering herself wholly to their cruel antics. She had no choice-her only form of fight now plunged into the depths of black water bay,rusting in its waters. She wasn't strong enough to fight any man-not even the lanky one,who looked as if he could blow over in a strong bout of wind.
She braced herself against the rocks edge,and began to cry silently as they rid her of her clothes,grunting and pawing at her untouched skin. The clouded image of that same hare gripped at her subconscious,its frightful eyes tearing at her skin. Had it been trying to warn her? A sort of omen mayhaps? Its innocence wilting with each stolen breath.
The touches seemed to slink on for hours-though truly,it had only been a minute or so until the warm,pudgy hands of the three boys stopped prodding at her skin,their growls and sighs of contemptment ceased.
Maella's eyebrows drew together,but her eyes still drew shut. It had now started raining-the heavens opening up and bathing the land in mizzle.
"Gods! What is that!" One boy exclaimed loudly,terror infiltrating his voice,and Maella finally found it within herself to peak.
But what she found,towering on the rocks edge,large and winged-made her wish she hadn't looked at all.
Behind the small clique of boys-each now sodden in their own piss,was a dragon-massive and black.
Its face was bigger than any castle wall-its body colossal enough to wrap around the thickest of mountain pires. Its face was covered in horns that sprouted from its chin,eyes and head-making it appear almost poisonous and prickly. Its scales were entirely coal black,if not for small speckles of grey staining the peak of skin around its mouth. Its tail was barbed and horned-thick and glossy,and its eyes-an emerald sort of green that incinerated all that came into its vision.
This dragon cocked its head,a terrifying sort of growl ripping its way through its closed mouth. This cacophony thudded across the mountain,and shook the ground they mounted with its razor-like force.
The three boys shook in front of Maella-all previous signs of stalwart now gone,and replaced with begs for mercy-as if this dragon could understand their pleas.
"Oh gods!" The round one-Ayron,Screamed,trembling infectiously beneath the dragons gaze like a roasted hog "Please have mercy!" He pawed together the pudgy flesh of his hands,and waved them in front of the Dragons uncaring,thistle eyes. The pointed star of the seven bled at his sinful fingers as he lifted it.
The thin one,just as limp as his counter-part,spat at his friend as he fell to his knees "Ayron! Get up!" He hissed "Get up! He is the cannibal-he shows no mercy"
Maella's eyes widened.
The cannibal.
As notorious as the elder dragon was-Maella knew little to nothing about him. No real descriptions of his sheer volume or appearance had ever been released in scriptures-only that he was one of the oldest dragons to live. He earned his name rightfully as he was notorious for festering and tearing at the flesh of younger dragons-the only known to have ever experimented with the art of cannibalism. Some counterparts of dragonstone even claimed that the cannibal was older and more sizeable than dragons such as Vaghar-prophesizing that he mounted himself in dragonstone well before the Targaryens arrival in 114BC.
Of the three wild dragons housed upon dragonstone-the cannibal was,by far,the worst they could have come across.
He shook his head,as if chiding at the foolish paws of mercy presented before his very eyes,puffs of smoke billowing from his nose as his piercing eyes watched the four,unblinking and fearsome.
His reputation preceded him,tales of wandering pilgrims unknowingly venturing to the thick of his jaws,piles of bones littering the walls of his cave like trophies he sought to reminisce. Svaen Stromglaes,a wanderer and imposter patron saint who quelled upon his own venturings,returning with hidden treasures thought to have belonged to Maegor I himself,too had fallen martyr to the deadly brunt of the cannibals dragon-fire. The thieving skin of his body now charred and chained to a pillory observing the waves of black water bay,a failed attempt at deterrence presented for all those to see.
Maella shivered as the cannibal opened the expanse of his jaws,swinging his large,serpentine tail behind him. Colossal,white pires of teeth appeared through the thick of his muzzle,and she stepped back against the last of the crumbled ledge left,as the cannibal snaked down,and closed his jaws around the three boys stood,phlegmatic before her.
The cannibal devoured them like they were nothing-a first course in his meal. His head whipped to the side as he swallowed their bodies whole,blood dripping down the whites of his teeth.
Maella cried as silently as she could muster-the white of her hair matting to her face as the rain increased,ten-fold.
But despite her efforts at concealing her fright,the cannibal whipped around to face her,the fire in his eyes bleeding into her own. She scrambled for any feigned iron-will left,hoping to at least die a more respectable death. It was almost funny-how she would be put to execution by the very thing that shared her blood. She would die by the jaws of the beast her ancestors conquered.
The cannibal peered through her,cocking his jaw and shaking his head as the weather pelted at him. His eyes squinted,and the gilded scales of his neck glistened in the rain.
He was looking at her,but in a different way than the three boys he'd just devoured. He appeared almost confused-unfamiliar. He recognised the silver of her hair and the violet of her eyes-he could smell her blood pumping through her veins-blood that mirrored his.
The cannibal had yet to be conquered by any Targaryen descendent. He was lone,terrifying and unpredictable. All those who tried to claim him,bathed in his fire. He killed his own kind-spent centuries in a cave,accompanied only by the rodents that dared strive within his reach.
She was the first Targaryen he'd come across that he'd truly ever recognised as someone of the same blood as him-as a contender for his unsaddled back.
Maella prepared herself for death,closed her eyes and thought of her mother-hell,she even thought of Daemon,and how he'd never come to know of her existence,not that he would have cared. She prepared for the fatal clamp of the cannibals jaws-for the burn of his fire against her brazen skin. A relief,mayhaps.
But it didn't come. The fire didn't scorch her-neigh was she crushed between his teeth.
Maella opened her eyes scarcely,and gaped at the sight before her.
The cannibal,fierce and unclaimed,was kneeling before her. His colossal head bowed towards the bank,just brushing her covered feet. His eyes were unblinking as he stared at her-as if pledging his allegiance.
She didn't know what to do-didn't know hardly any high Valyrian so she couldn't command anything. She looked at him-finally drinking in his beauty,and reached out with a trembling hand. The softened skin of her palm careened through the rough scales of the cannibals head,brushing his horns and patting away the scores of blood still spotting his face.
Maella laughed,watching as he dipped his winged back downwards as if signalling for her to climb him, and despite the fright and veiled confusion coursing through her body,she did as he was pointing. She stepped past his head,slinking her way past his bent front leg,and to the huge wings tucked into his side. She dug her fingers into the scales of his ribbed shoulders,and hoisted herself with all her might,clinging to the jagged horns of his back as she fought for comfort.
He bore no saddle,so she clung to the horns sprouting from each side of his head like ears,and sat between the spikes running down his spine. The rain made him all the more slippery,and she had to fight to keep ahold of his head as he rose to his feet. Maella could feel the soft thrumming of her heart beating in synchronicity with his,as if their beings were being united and merged together as one-bonded in synchronicity. The cannibals wings carded from his side-panning around his body,and he shook the water from his back, before taking a step forward,and suddenly plunging through the air.
Maella screamed,both terrified and elated. The skies were clearing now-dragonstone looked almost dwarfed as the cannibal sped through the air. She hugged his back,resting the crown of her head against his neck as he dove deeper,just careening the ground with his foot as he effortlessly moved through the sky.
She could see everything from here-from the peaks of dragonstone castle mounted upon black water bay as they passed it. The trees lining the courtyard looked tiny from atop the cannibal-as if they were models from a play set,diminutive.
She hugged the gilded scales of his back ever tighter as he flew through the clouds,the sun lighting up the sky in a parade of lights that scorched at the purple of her eyes.
The cannibal quivered below her,the hardened flecks of his scales shaking beneath the soft skin of her hands. Only now did the true beauty of this monstrous beast show itself. What once festered a feeling of dread,now brought forth one of uncharted wonder. Never had Maella ever felt more united with her birthright than bethroning the back of the cannibal-it was as if her ancestors were observing her from some higher plain-Aegon,Visenya,rhaenys-them all. She had now earned the right to claim the name Targaryen-to wear it on her sleeve proudly. No longer could the whereabouts of her lineage be questioned-only a true Targaryen could wield the unsaddled back of a dragon-to tame and bend it to her will. To dominate a beast as formidable.
Maella patted the scales of the cannibals back with the pads of her fingers,soothing and calming his brazen skin. "Gevie Zaldrĩzes" she spoke,retaining the only words she'd bothered to learn in historic scriptures and retellings of Aegon II Targaryen's conquering of the iron throne. The words may have been fumbled,messy and unpractised,but the cannibal found exuberance in them;thrumming elatedly as he moved the waning flesh of his wings faster through the clouds with knife-like precision.
Maella didn't command him,neigh did she govern his whereabouts-she soothed his temper,and soared through the air,clutching at the mounds littering his back just as her ancestors had done-like Aegon,Rhaenys and Visenya,like Alyssa,Maegor and Alysanne.
Like her father.
Like Daemon.
A/N: Boom! First chapter done.
I have been fighting in an inner battle with myself,contemplating whether to post this chapter or to continue editing it until it is as perfect as I can manage,but I ultimately chose to release it. I'm still not 100% happy with the way in which I wrote and described the cannibal,but I genuinely cannot continue editing this chapter any more than I already have (I started writing it on Boxing Day...oops) and it's striven a lot longer than I originally intended for it to go. Trust,the second chapter will be written much better.
Anyway,welcome to my book-I hope you enjoyed this first chapter nevertheless-I'm slowly emerging from my bad bout of imposter syndrome,and am working on trying to find the will and confidence to post anything,so this is my first official step! I am already drafting ideas for chapter 2,and cannot wait to write for Aemond. This story will have dual POV's which I am so excited to write,yet kinda terrified,but I do feel I know Aemond's character enough to write his thoughts (hopefully that comes forth within my writings).
I pull a lot of background inspiration from medieval and fantasy to shows and movies such as 'Viking's' , 'The Last Kingdom' , 'Vikings:Valhalla' , 'The Witcher', 'The witch' and 'The Northman' in order to add my own historical spin to things (As a history student and fanatical Viking obsessor-Sithric,please hump me-put me out of my misery) but of course-I will be running with the HOTD theme through out-just know that I will be branching off a lot and creating my own story and backgrounds for my character as well as creating a romance between her and Aemond. I think it is really important,as a writer to establish the OC before introducing the romance element of the book. I also add a lot of Easter eggs,foreshadowings and just general ulterior meanings to things within chapters as someone who loves analysing characters in depth,so keep a watch out for that also-not everything I write will be literal-there will be meanings and two-sides to things.
Another thing I'd like to warn about is that this book will carry lots of dark themes that will not be pre-warned about within chapters-so be mindful of the warnings written in the description as you read. As they say- Dead Dove,Do Not Eat.
And also,if you want quicker,faster updates on this book,or any of my others-go to my AO3 account 'TargObsessed' in order to receive those quicker. I primarily use AO3 a lot more at the moment as a main source of writing as I generally prefer its professionalism!
Thank you for reading