Lys...
Belaegor son of Ayrmidon, gazed into the flames.
"Lord of Light, cast your flames upon us," he breathed. "For the night is dark and full of terrors."
"Indeed." It wasn't Kinvara's voice that he heard. This was another red priestess. "The night grows ever-darker still."
"Melisandre." His voice was raspy and from being out all night. He turned his eyes towards her. "Have you seen anything in the flames? What does the Lord of Light tell you?"
Melisandre's brow furrowed as she frowned. Not that it did anything to mar her beauty. She was so beautiful, almost as beautiful as his own sister, Belaegor thought. Her skin was as pale, smooth and unblemished as cream, she had a heart-shaped face and a voluptuous figure. Her hair was the most striking shade of burnished copper.
"Will it come soon?" He whispered.
Melisandre nodded gravely. "Yes. It will come soon, Lord Belaegor. Your sister shall birth the new age."
"The Targaryens?" He found himself whispering.
Melisandre merely nodded.
"You have given her the gifts?"
"Those?" Belaegor finally looked sceptical. He did not doubt the workings of R'hllor, but...
"Trust in him," Melisandre placed her hand on his arm. "All shall be revealed in time."
Belaegor hoped so.
He wasn't as he was now. Countless years he had spent searching for a faith that was true and good; the black goat of Qohor had failed him as did Lorath. The Lion of the Night and the Maiden made of Light were fanciful tales; no more. Even the gods of Old Valyria whom he had prayed to as a child were as silent and grim and dead as the stones of their Freehold. If they still lived and they had power, why did they allow their worshippers to be annihilated? Belaegor thought.
The Graces of the Ghiscari had welcomed him and he found their perfumed arms more sweeter than the stench of a thousand sheep and goats, particularly the red ones. But although this faith had lasted as long as his belief in the gods of Old Valyria, it was a spark. A flicker. Nothing more.
And not all sparks caught a burning flame. Belaegor had spent years, wasted praying to gilded, dull and stone deities only to discover that they were, as they had always been, made of stone and wood. Only the flames shown to him by Melisandre and others alike gave him the vision, the pathway of truth and warmth he had been searching for and craved all his life.
And he felt it. He felt it in his blood and his very soul. In his brains and his flesh and bones. The Lord of Light called to him. He pulled him, needed him.
And that was what Belaegor had been praying for his entire life. Praying without knowing to whom he had been praying to.
"And the Lord of Light believes this?" He whispered to Melisandre. "She is the one chosen for this task?"
Melisandre smiled. "Do you doubt it in the least."
"I would never seek to question him," Belaegor murmured, turning back towards the flames. "But my sister..."
Melisandre stepped even closer to him. "Your sister shall deliver us all from the darkness," she whispered. "Do not fear for her. She was given beauty and gifts beyond reasoning, sent forth by the Lord of Light, born into this world and into your line for what will come. I have seen it, and he has told me."
Belaegor hoped that Jacaenor would soon present the gifts.
Asshai holds many wonders, he thought.
Sitting around, listening to these men argue was not Seraena's idea of fun. Simply put.
Listening to these men brawl and bicker and to hear Jacaenor shoot thinly-veiled threats first began as somewhat amusing, then incredibly tedious. But she prayed that no one would seriously offend the other. She knew how Westerosi felt about foreigners. Jacaenor was treading on dangerous ground. What if the people, both at court and in King's Landing and beyond took offence at her brother charging a steep bride price?
But then again, they were demanding quite a sizeable sum for a dowry, she thought only the tiniest bit amused as she watched them trade insults, like beaters and bludgers.
So she sat there, robed in fine but simple silks, watching these men with a cryptic expression on her face. She looked at them.
On the opposite side, King Aerys sat with Lord Tywin Lannister by his side. Prince Rhaegar was standing on his other side and the Master of Coin- apparently their Keeper of Treasure in Westeros. Lord Tywin himself was called the Hand of the King- their equivalent to... What? Well, he was second-in-command and the only person ever permitted to sit upon the Iron Throne other than the king and that was impressive in itself. Several kingsguard flanked them including Ser Arthur Dayne, the one they called the Sword of the Morning- a complete legend, along with 'the White Bull' a nickname for their commander, Ser Gerold Hightower, and others.
On the opposite side of the room across on the table, Jacaenor sat there, a calculating gleam in his purple eyes, with Seraena sitting nicely by his side as ettiquette demanded. With them were their bodyguards, including a Yi Tish man named Loi Han who was worth a thousand swords. Seraena knew that neither Jacaenor nor the Braavosi he so identified with held the Westerosi knights in high esteem. Anymore than anyone else does, she thought.
The queen was not present, and she had yet to meet the youngest prince Viserys.
"If that is the case than I do beg your pardon my lords but we would have no choice but to withdraw." Jacaenor's eyebrows arched in false surprise. "As I've said, she is the first and only daughter to have been born in House Veltaris for generations, we do not give our treasures so easily, even less for a gem as she."
Tywin Lannister arched a cool brow. "Is that so?" He was handsome, even in his middle ages, with hair like beaten gold and cold green eyes flecked with gold. He had the imposing form of a born-commander but he was so cold and intimidating that Seraena failed to see how anyone could approach him.
Seraena took one glance at him and then at Jacaenor before suppressing the utter annoyance to sigh heavily. She was bored, frustrated, irritated and restless. She longed to twitch, to leave these idiot men to their own devices! Who paid money to compensate for a bride, and who paid money for a family to accept a bride into their home?
Oh, that's right, this era. Seraena's mood worsened. It would be hundreds of years before they were as advanced as Muggles were in her world. Oh Merlin...
As a flash of annoyance dared enter her eyes, she caught the glimpse of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. His indigo eyes held hers for a moment, before she carefully, warily looked away. Too late, he must have seen her frustration and she could have sworn she saw amusement in those indigo depths much darker than her own.
Seraena wondered what kind of a person Rhaegar Targaryen wanted in a wife.
He was one of- well, in actual truth, the best-looking man she had ever seen. But as she already knew, beauty would never be enough, not for her, and not for Rhaegar.
"Tywin," King Aerys suddenly interrupted sharply, turning all eyes his way. "Tywin, raise the bride price."
Jacaenor's eyebrow arched for real this time, and Tywin Lannister only nodded, though his sourness could be sensed all throughout the room, as he raised the bride price higher to suit his king's commands.
Seraena's eyes sharpened and she frowned. Could it be that the king is so determined to have me marry his son?
If so why? She knew what she looked like but was that it?
Seraena didn't know what to think. "And to add to this, I will have a personal gift for Lady Seraena once the wedding is through."
Jacaenor blinked. "It is very generous of you, your grace. Why, my younger brother Belaegor and I also have a gift for the two of you... Once the wedding has commenced."
Now it was Tywin Lannister's eyebrow that arched. "So am I to understand that the lords of House Veltaris will be agreeing to the marriage?"
"Yes, Lord Lannister," Jacaenor said smoothly as if there had been no doubt from the beginning. "We will be honoured." But the last words held a note of... Well, Seraena didn't know what it was, but she didn't like it.
"Excellent, now let's get to business," the king actually clapped his hands together and looked like a child presented with a banquet of sweets, greedily contemplating which ones he would pick first.
Everyone prepared to depart, but as Seraena left, she heard King Aerys say, "Finally after all these long years, the gods have finally seen fit to grace my heirs with the glory our House deserves. The blood of dragons, where was this clan when we searched high and low for them? Could it be that their daughters are so rare?" She heard him grumbling.
There was a muttered response but Seraena didn't understand any of it.
"Yes," The king admitted. Seraena, for once, was thankful for her Veela traits- she could hear better than the others, though not as good as full-blooded Veela. "That may be it. Still, this is a sign- a sign that the blood of the dragons will awaken and their roars shall be heard throughout every corner of the land."
It sounded like a madman's delusions, Seraena thought, but then she caught Prince Rhaegar's eye again. The prince held her gaze for a moment, before they both withdrew.
Rhaegar Targaryen is no madman or a fool, she thought. Somehow she couldn't be certain but.... She knew, somehow she just knew.
"What do you think, Rhaegar?" The queen asked.
"Of?" Rhaegar asked quietly.
"Your future bride."
Rhaegar hesitated. In truth there were many things. "She does not seem... Overly eager to wed." That much was true.
Queen Rhaella nodded. "Yes." She watched Viserys playing in the corner. "She's... Beautiful. The most beautiful woman I have ever seen." She remarked.
Coming from her that was high praise, Rhaegar reflected. Although he had fond memories of Lady Joanna Lannister, the fairest lady at court in her day. It was clear that his mother disliked the humiliation although he reflected that Lady Joanna did as well. And Lord Tywin.
Still, he couldn't forget. There had been a fire in that gaze, a fire which so thoroughly resembled more than just a beauty of Lys, but a true dragoness, one that refused to be tamed. She pretended to be meek, and perhaps she could be, but there was a wildness there that defied everyone's expectations. After living in a court full of liars and lickspittles, Rhaegar could tell the difference. He knew what people masked. Seraena had been untouched by this court world, full of false courtesies and empty flatterers. She did not desire his wealth or his crown.
Well, what does she want? Rhaegar thought. What did he want? Love? Rhaegar had cast aside all delusions as he knew that marriages were not made for love. Although he swore never to be the husband his father had become, he knew that not everyone was fortunate.
"Rhaegar?" Rhaegar turned to see his mother staring, concerned. He forced a smile. "I'm fine, Mother." He reassured her. "Just... Deep in thought."
His mother frowned. "Care to share them with me?" She asked.
Rhaegar stifled a sigh. How can I expect you to share my burdens when already you have so much of your own?
He shrugged. "I know Lord Tywin had been hoping that I would wed his daughter, Cersei."
Rhaella snorted daintily. "Cersei Lannister... Is far too above herself. She obviously inherited her mother's looks, but naught else. Her father may be the Hand of the King, and make no mistake, I know what he's done for the realm, but soon, mark my words my son, we will be selling the crown to the Lannisters if we keep building their pride."
Yes, Lord Tywin was very proud indeed. Rhaegar often wondered how long this man had to put up with his father.
"Shall we invite them?" His mother asked. "Lord Jacaenor and your betrothed at least. Perhaps we shall seize the opportunity to get to know your new bride better." Rhaegar gave a non-commital shrug.
Yes, he might take the opportunity to see what truly lay beneath the armour of her loveliness and wariness. He could tell she didn't trust anyone and he couldn't respect her more for that fact, as new as she was to this court. He had heard she was the first- and as her brother pointed out- and only daughter born into her family, but he had heard talk of her being descended from dragonlords.
I thought we were the ones who escaped with dragons after the Doom, he reflected.
But clearly not the only ones with Dragonlord blood. The Targaryens prided themselves in being Blood of the Dragon, but as it appears there was another clan.
And all the more, I am curious to meet with them.
This was going to be a very interesting dinner indeed.
"I don't know what's going on," Jacaenor said evenly. "But I'm not entirely sure we can trust the king."
It was a lucky thing they were speaking in High Valyrian, Seraena thought. And who knows, would the king set spies upon them? Lord Tywin Lannister?
Tywin Lannister reminded her of the many old and snobbish pure-bloods in her previous life. According to her studies- and what she had heard, Lord Lannister was the richest man in the Seven Kingdoms- and that was saying something. The Westerlands over which he was Lord Paramount and Warden of, were not the biggest or the most fertile place, but they contained countless gold, silver and jewel mines containing such astonishing quantities of treasure.
All that wealth has given him power, Seraena realised. And it was quite clear he disapproved of her marriage. But she wondered why.
Was it perhaps, because he was hoping...
Seraena decided to ask. "Does the Hand of the King have any children?"
Jacaenor looked surprised. "I believe so. Why do you ask?"
She shrugged. "I am just curious, brother." Curious about who her enemies might be and how to neutralise or befriend them- better than the other option.
Jacaenor sighed. "You should be wary, sweet sister. Larra Rogare was not welcomed here, and I do not believe that these nobles will be overly pleased at the idea of a foreigner being chosen over their own daughters. You need friends, allies. But it is likely they will also try to use your friendship for their own advanatage."
Seraena knew all about that, of course. As Gabrielle Delacour she had seen the drooling lust of boys in Beauxbatons and the seething, venomous envy of girls. Hogwarts and Durmstrang's students were no different, nor the healers in the hospital where she had worked in. The majority were too honourable or simply not that clever enough but the rest dared. There were girls who dared to try and befriend her and Fleur simply to gain a share in their attention, though most usually stayed as far away as possible, in order not to be compared unfavourably against them.
And here the stakes were higher. Here fortunes were made, and fame and honours bestowed to just about anyone whom the king wished. Or they could fall and fall spectacularly low at that, horrendously humiliated and their heads rotting on spikes. She suppressed the urge to shudder at that. Seraena knew that it was used as a deterrent against crime, including treason, but not only was it gruesome and barbaric, if it was used to deter others from committing crime, it was not very effective considering the number of heads that still lingered on spikes.
A knock on the door interrupted her grim musings. Jacaenor's hand instantly went to the hilt and pommel of his sword before calming himself, rising and walking towards the door. It turned out to be just a servant.
"Yes?" He questioned.
"From the queen," the maid whispered, handing Jacaenor a scroll of parchment. It turned out to be an invitation to dinner.
"Queen Rhaella may be curious about her future good-daughter," Jacaenor remarked. "We should try to make as much a good impression as possible."
Seraena nodded. This marriage was going to happen whether she liked it or not. She might as well befriend as many people as possible.
Later, that night, Seraena wore a gown of deep purple and cloth-of-silver stitched with very few tiny crystals that made it wink and sparkle ever so subtly in the light.
Her hair had been fixed again and she had a decent scrub. She would go to Queen Rhaella humble and dutiful, but if she was going to change colours entirely, they had no idea how wrong they were.
Unlike other girls, Seraena had her magic. If she wanted to escape, so be it. If anyone dared to try to mistreat her, they did so at their own risk.
I am a witch. I am a Veela. I am the daughter of House Veltaris. She thought.
Jacaenor beamed when he saw her. He went over and kissed her on the cheek. "The most beautiful woman in the world, I have no doubt," he said proudly. "None of their beauties can ever compare."
"Don't say that to the queen," Seraena whispered mischievously- in High Valyrian of course.
Escorted by two kingsguard and the servant, they made their way to Maegor's Holdfast.
Maegor's Holdfast was a fortress within a fortress, Seraena reflected. The walls were twelve feet thick by the looks of them, and surrounded by a moat filled not with water, but with deadly spikes ready to impale anyone unfortunate enough to fall. The only way in or out is through the drawbridge. The queen's quarters were in the royal family's wing. The kingsguard knight on guard duty announced their arrival, and opened the door.
Prince Rhaegar was standing, indigo eyes surveying them curiously. He was dressed in red and black, the colours of his house, a black doublet with a red three-headed dragon emblazoned in the middle, black trousers and leather boots polished to a shine, and a tabard or cape with large open sleeves, black lined with red. His silver hair gleamed as if burnished and his smile was warm in comparison to the carefully guarded expressions he often wore in front of the court.
"My lord, my lady," Rhaegar called out. His eyes were on her.
"Your grace," Jacaenor bowed and Seraena curtsied. "Lord Jacaenor, Lady Seraena," Queen Rhaella said pleasantly. She gestured. "Please." The servants pulled out the chairs in order for them to sit, which they did. "Thank you, your grace." Jacaenor spoke.
Wine was brought out and poured. Seraena was always wary with wine. She had never gotten drunk in her previous life and she intended to keep the record with this one. Particularly in this life, when she was infinitely less safe than she had been as Gabrielle Delacour, well, unless you counted the time the Death Eaters attacked whilst she was in England. And when the Dark Lord came back.
The queen and Seraena took dainty sips. "So it has finally been done." Queen Rhaella's gaze was also fixed upon her and Seraena knew she was trying to read her. "The two of you will be wed in a moon's turn."
Seraena nodded and Jacaenor inclined his head. "Yes, your grace." Seraena murmured.
"I was surprised when I heard House Veltaris were descended from dragonlords," the queen said. "But that fact apparently could not be disputed. Not so long ago, my son showed me a book on Old Valyria- a lengthy tome, I admit, but it certainly proved to be a thorough history of the dragonlords of the Freehold. Your family was amongst them," she nodded. "And I was further surprised when the records showed that Jaenara Belaerys wed into House Veltaris. She was the rider who explored the continent of Sothoryos, was she not?"
Jacaenor nodded. "Indeed, your grace. She was, and our revered ancestress as well."
The servants laid out small platters and bowls of a thick, sweet and creamy pumpkin soup sprinkled with seeds, salt and pepper. There were tiny dates, no doubt from Dorne, stuffed with raisins and almonds coated with honey offered to them.
Queen Rhaella smiled. "I have also heard talk that you were the first daughter to be born in House Veltaris for a long time."
Seraena inclined her head. "Yes, that is true, your grace." She stated. "I've had countless brothers, uncles and male cousins in countless parts of Essos."
"Not just in Lys?" The queen arched an eyebrow.
"I was born in Lys, but we are comparatively new there," Seraena admitted. "My mother was born there, but my father came from Volantis. His father came from Myr. They call us the Wandering Dragons though I admit, it is more of a jape to us." She struggled not to laugh when she thought what the courtiers would look like if they ever heard.
Unfortunately for her, or maybe fortunately, Queen Rhaella was composed. "I take it that House Veltaris does not possess a single base of power?" Prince Rhaegar finally spoke, to Seraena's surprise. He's an observer, more like. She thought.
"We did, once," she replied. "But it is not in our way or our nature. Our ancestors were not only warriors and scholars, but explorers, adventurers and those who sought the exciting, marvellous and inspiring discoveries. It is not in our way to sit idle, and content ourselves merely to have what passes down from generation to generation, begging your pardon, your graces," she nodded towards the queen and the prince who were both staring at her with peculiar expressions upon their faces.
"I apologise if this offends you," she stated. "Although I have learnt what I can, it cannot compare to the knowledge I know for a fact that you possess, from living in Westeros your whole lives."
"Not at all, Lady Seraena," Queen Rhaella recovered quickly. "I was merely surprised."
"Yes," Prince Rhaegar said, sounding astonished, although his expression did not look too shocked. He was gazing at her most curiously.
"It is quite curious," the queen confessed. "I have never heard of a noble house teaching its children such ways."
"House Veltaris seeks to encourage such things, your grace." Jacaenor stated. "My brother Belaegor is the second-born yet he will have our parents' estates in Lys if he so wishes. I wish to relocate to Braavos. Already I have built considerable influence there, and I prefer the city with its strength and freeborn men and women rather than the meek and soft slave-masters of Lys- or anywhere else in Essos."
Seraena smiled. "We are Veltaris, we do not cower. We do not bend or shrink from the challenges life throws at us. And we certainly do not flee or remain in one place to become soft and filled with ease all our lives. And if we do not like the path ahead of us, we carve new ones. The horizon has no limits. We fly wherever the winds takes us."
Jacaenor smiled as the prince and queen stared at Seraena yet again. "It is something the parents of our house have always told us. 'The horizon has no limits, we fly wherever the winds takes us.'"
"It is certainly unusual," Prince Rhaegar admitted. "But not so unwelcome," He added, "It is certainly a breath of fresh air as compared to those who linger aimlessly for a share in the inheritance." He frowned quizically. "Are those your house words?"
"We do not come from Westeros," Seraena said. "I confess, house words are not familiar to those in Essos. It is merely a proverb passed down since the days of the dragonlords."
The servants arrived, bearing platters of more food. Seraena hoped that the dinner wouldn't be too lavish; she never had the stomach for such things. But thankfully the feast consisted of crab pies, steaming hot; pheasant basted with honey, berries and spices; a salad of sweetgrass, apples and rosemary; and fish poached in some red sauce with oranges, lemons and pepper. It smelt quite good, much to Seraena's relief, but now she realised that she was in severe danger of poison. As sumptuous as the meals in King's Landing were, they were like its people; they could mask foulness with beauty and appeal.
But the queen did not seem overly concerned. The wine server came to refill their glasses, not that Seraena's required refilling. The wine was also good.
"Oh, do forgive my neglect of my manners," the queen suddenly stated. She gestured to the kingsguard knights. "May I present Ser Barristan Selmy and Prince Lewyn Martell of Dorne."
They bowed their heads. Jacaenor nodded politely towards them. "A great honour, both your names rings with them, even amongst those across the Narrow Sea."
As well it should. Barristan the Bold was the knight who defeated the last of the Blackfyre pretenders, Maelys the Monstrous, Seraena remembered. For centuries the Blackfyres were a thorn on the sides of House Targaryen and the peace of Westeros in general. Born to a rebellious princess and her dissolute, debacherous cousin who was the most inept king to ever sit upon the Iron Throne, the first Daemon Blackfyre had featured in the histories of the Seven Kingdoms as an acknowledged bastard (or love-child as people in her previous life said) who bore the name of the sword of Aegon the Conqueror. He had been given the sword and rose in rebellion against his half-brother when denied the woman he loved- his half-sister Princess Daenerys who was wed to Prince Mors Martell of Dorne- whose descendant was apparently the other knight in this room. He had the colouring of the Rhoynish peoples and Seraena marvelled at his desire to be a kingsguard knight.
"It is a great honour, Ser Barristan and Prince Lewyn," Seraena murmured. The men nodded graciously and the meal commenced.
"Prince Lewyn Martell's sister is the ruling princess of Dorne," Queen Rhaella continued the conversation as they ate. "And one of my oldest and dearest friends. Alas, the princess has passed, but her son holds Dorne as its ruling prince."
Yes, Seraena had heard all about the Dornish and she couldn't help but admire them tremendously, far more than the traditional-sounding inhabitants of the rest of Westeros including the Reach with all its pomp and pageantry. They weren't afraid, nor did they parrot rules they so hypocritically discarded. For all men claimed to be gallant, Seraena had known- she had seen men mistreat their wives. Not her own parents, fortunately, but relatives and friends who had lain with courtesans and prostitutes, in Lys, Volantis and Braavos. The Faith of the Seven might disdain adultery but it was only the women that were punished if they were caught. For all adultery being a sin for both sexes, men's infidelities were often tolerated, and even accepted. The Faith of the Seven also preached against children born of illegitimate unions, but at least the Dornish did not despise them, though they could not inherit. But male and female alike were treated equally there. If I had been born in Dorne... she thought.
"I believe your niece and nephew will be here for the royal wedding, Prince Lewyn," the queen said pleasantly. "It will be pleasant of them to join us."
"Yes, your grace." Prince Lewyn had a slight accent which Seraena thought sounded somewhat exotic. Yet he wore the very armour of a traditional western knight.
"My lady," Prince Rhaegar spoke. "You have yet to see Dragonstone or Summerhall. Or even the rest of the city." His eyes were very piercing, delving very deep, right into her soul. "Would it perhaps please you to accompany me on a tour of the city on the morrow?" He asked.
Now this was... Well, Seraena wasn't sure what to think. She had never been in this situation before. She had never even been betrothed or engaged before.
"With Lord Jacaenor's permission, of course. Perhaps you would also accompany us?" Prince Rhaegar looked towards him.
"It is very kind of you to invite me, your grace," Jacaenor spoke. "But I think I must prepare to send a message back to our family in Lys informing them of our arrangements. In addition to this, I must see the final preparations in regards to the dowry and the bride price as well as the traditional inheritance my sister is entitled to, as a daughter of our house."
Rhaegar nodded in understanding but Seraena was confused. Jacaenor , what are you up to?
"But I will be sending my captain of the guard along, with the prince's permission?" Jacaenor's eyebrow cocked.
"Of course," Rhaegar thoughtfully agreed.
Oh, Loi Han. Of course, Jacaenor trusted him above all others. He would keep an eye on her. Seraena fought to quash down equal measures of irritation and love. Jacaenor was as protective of her as Fleur was when she was Gabrielle. The thought made her heart well in equal parts love and sadness. Love for both of them, and sadness that she had lost Fleur and now Jacaenor would be across the Narrow Sea.
The next course was iced strawberries and peaches in cream, that concluded the meal. Soon the queen bade them all a goodnight and Prince Rhaegar bowed to her on the way out, brushing the back of her hand with his kiss.
"Good night." His indigo eyes burned right through her. "My lady."
"Well, that was interesting." Jacaenor remarked.
Seraena looked at him. "How so?"
"Prince Rhaegar has clearly taken an interest in you," he noted dryly. Then he soured. "Though only time can tell whether or not he will treat you well."
"He must have been interested in what I said," Seraena remarked. "I can't imagine that the women here are full of spirit- unless they come from Dorne, I suppose."
Jacaenor snorted. "Dorne. He should have had a Rhoynish bride, then."
"The king wanted a Valyrian." Seraena looked relieved once they were back at the relative safety of their quarters.
"Aye, a Valyrian of pure-blood with an unbroken line stretching all the way back to the Freehold and its dragonriders." Jacaenor said, looking around as if watchful for danger. He dropped into a chair.
"I am freeing all the slaves I possess," Seraena informed him. "Not because they disapprove of slavery here in Westeros. I genuinely dislike it, as you do, brother."
Jacaenor nodded, as it were merely a fact- which it was to him. Their parents and brother may not understand it, but they do. He gave her a small smile. "As you say, dearest sister."
He sighed, sinking further into the chair. "Somehow, I think the king has his mind set on you." He frowned as if unsure what to make of that. Normally this would be a cause for rejoicing but the king... Something was not right with him.
"The king, yes, but the prince?" She asked. "He seems interested, but how much do I really know about him?"
"He is greatly admired not only here, but in Essos including the Free Cities," Jacaenor smirked. "And he is the handsomest man in the Seven Kingdoms."
"Don't be like that, brother." Seraena reprimanded lightly. "Handsomeness means nothing to me if that is the only quality he has. I have only just met him. I don't know him."
"You will get to know him soon enough," Jacaenor sighed. "He's invited you tomorrow." He said sourly. "At least you will have Loi Han with you. I need to make sure that you're safe."
And Jacaenor trusted him. Seraena knew that Loi Han would probably report everything back to him, and Jacaenor would be busy making arrangements, not only financially and to contact their parents, but for her own security. He'd sweep the Red Keep from the dungeons to its towers and turrets, she thought ruefully. And the most amazing thing was the king and the kingsguard would probably not know about it. And she prayed they never would, it would not do to have someone potentially unstable suspecting Jacaenor or herself and their retinue of anything... Untrustworthy. Muggles were as insane as the Ministries when it came to rooting out and ridding themselves of potential enemies. The European Witch Hunts and Burnings and the Salem Witch Trials were evidence of that. Here, they would be just as bad, if not worse.
"Be careful, brother," Seraena warned. "Tongues can be cut, heads can roll and body parts mutilated, particularly those men are senstive to. People may be able to flee if anyone suspects them of doing anything wrong, but we do not know who might be spying and listening in on us."
"Well it's a good thing not many people can speak in High Valyrian, can they?" Jacaenor challenged. He rolled his eyes, he rolled his eyes, but then his mood grew serious. "Will you tell him?" He asked urgently.
Seraena felt her mouth going dry. "I... I am not sure."
"You should." He muttered. "Unless he is totally devoted to his religion. But he is a Valyrian, sister, like us. It is in his blood, though he cannot do it anymore than the rest of us. But there are whispers that others have been more than capable of such things. Queen Visenya for one and the dragonriders. Some say Shiera Seastar," he added thoughtfully.
She sighed, exasperated. "I want a husband I can trust," she stated. "Not one who will use me, either as a broodmare or his personal spellcaster. Nor someone who raises his hand against me. I will take the opportunity to find out more about him, brother," she looked anxious. "But I do not know what I will find."
Jacaenor looked saddened and pained.
Seraena sighed again. "It's strange and ironic... I never thought I would go to a foreign court. Mother always kept looking for the highest bidder."
"And the rest of us were convinced that we would never find anyone good enough for you," Jacaenor mumbled. "But a king's son from across the Narrow Sea turned out to be looking for a wife." He looked sullen.
A strange, desperate love for her brother, and a fear of being forcibly separated- parted most cruelly- surged through her.
"Jacaenor," Seraena began. Her voice caught and she nearly choked in her throat. Her brother looked at her with painfully sad and mournful eyes. She grabbed for his hand and he caught it tightly.
Jacaenor meant everything for her. She had lost Fleur, but Jacaenor...
"I will always be your sister," she managed to get out. "Will you consider yourself my brother, even after I am married- after we are both married? Even though we are both far away? Because even though I cannot- as a future queen and a princess- favour you, especially in such public ways-"
"Nor do I expect you to," Jacaenor pointed out. "We are Veltaris and must make our own way."
"Yes, but what I meant to say was... Can I... Will we..." Seraena stumbled again.
He stood. "Little sister," he began fiercely, grabbing her by the shoulder. "I will always be there for you. No matter what. I will always protect you."
"That's not what I'm asking for," Seraena interrupted. "I can take care of myself."
"You always have," Jacaenor said, smiling softly. "But I will always be there, nonetheless."
Seraena had placed countless wards around her quarters, Jacaenor's and their entourage. She remembered that servants would often be sent to summon her, and kinsguard knights, but she ensured that it only affected those with hostile intents.
She then went to sleep, but her dreams were turbulent; restless and disturbing, like a hurricane.
She dreamt of fire, fire rising to the sky, tongues of flame licking up to the moon.
She dreamt of ice, frosty blue hail and snow, so freezing and thick it blocked out the skies and buried the land under countless layers of thick snow and ice.
She dreamt of a man garbed in red and black armour, dark purple eyes sparkling. Rhaegar was smiling at her, warmth radiating out from him, nowhere near as cold or burning as what she had previously seen.
She dreamt of his voice, murmuring. "Love guides us," and "The dragon has three heads."
Suddenly, a cloud of fire turned green, an impure, terrifying, poisonous green, every bit as dangerous as the Killing Curse, if not more so. The fires rose, threatening to engulf the castle.
She dreamt of three eggs, laid within three cradles.
She dreamt of the figure of a woman dressed in the finest silks and Myrish lace, a crown on her head, a dragon on her shoulder. It gave a cry, a shrill, screeching sound that echoed all throughout the realm.
Then the fire was back; green and choking, and the ice, the ice which stung and stabbed worse than any weapon or Valyrian steel sword. It threatened to choke her, to weigh her down, to burn her, and kill her all at once.
The fire on one side, the ice on the other, and the sound of voices like crackling ice amidst the shriek of the dragons in the distance. She knew they were coming closer. She just didn't know who would reach her first.
And she saw the Iron Throne, dark, sickening, menacing and threatening; uncontained, unlimited mad power. The madness which threatened to spread. It towered above all and she struggled to escape its shadow. And within the towering, dark and grim monstrosity, a man was seated within, wearing a heavy crown of red-gold with three dragon-heads, eyes of gems. His hair and beard had grown long, scraggly and matted, his long, talon-like fingernails grasping the arms of the throne, blood seeping from his fingers and dripping onto the floor to mingle the blood which had already pooled there. Blood which she realised, once again in terrible fear, that flowed like a river into a sea or an ocean full of blood... And an island of corpses and ashes.
She was surrounded with it. And then the flames were back and the cracking ice and snow. She was surrounded with it, as she was surrounded with the piles of corpses. Corpses, which she saw in horror, began to shudder and move, to pull themselves to their feet and reach out towards her.
The fire rose higher, as did the ice and snow.
A fevered glint was spotted within the man's eyes- a horribly familiar, maniacal glint in his lilac eyes. "BURN THEM ALL!" He yelled as Seraena gasped, jolting herself awake.
She recognised that voice; it was Aerys.
Rhaegar informed Jacaenor that he would add Summerhall, reconstructed and refurbished to be their new home. Its beauty was renowned, though sadly it had fallen into disrepair, after the Tragedy that took place there. The fire had killed most of the Targaryens, save for three- or four counting himself.
Rhaegar could not have known about the dream she had. But now Seraena wondered if she had a reason to be wary of fire and ice.
And of the king sitting upon the Iron Throne.