✧˖° 🌑 ೄྀ࿐
━ [ SONG OF SORROWS ] ༉‧₊˚✧
x. act one... the dragon's daughter
frayed bonds ━ ✩・*。
— 112 A.C
KING'S LANDING
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THE halls of the Red Keep were as quiet as a crypt. Nary a mouse nor voice could be heard through the blistering silence, thick and impenetrable as ice. Haunting the dimly-lit corridors was the Crown Princess, Valerys, her darkened attire melting her into the background, encasing her within the very ombre cloud she so feared. The dark was a promise of unseen misfortune, an omen carrying on stormy winds.
Still, the scarce serenity was a welcome one, her only company the harsh beat of her heeled feet against the marble flooring. After being left with the cryptic words of Keres, Valerys had much time to mull the ideology about her constricting mind. As a strong advocate against violence, Valerys took a immediate dislike to the idea of bending her subjects' knees by force; yet, she saw no alternative solution at the present. Not that she entirely needed one, Aemma may yet present a son, and even still, Viserys was decades away from greeting the Stranger.
Though, she could not help the bubble of trepidation that deflated her lungs with each passing thought.
As her being came into the generous light of the main corridor, the distinctive clink of metal rang out around her, piercing the veil of silence like a sharpened sword. Turning her head towards where the sound came from, Valerys was greeted with the sight of her sworn shield, Ser Loren Banefort. He was a lean, strapping man, with a dust of facial hair that lead into a crown of curly, brown hair. It was not an overstatement to say he was attractive, but the princess had long buried her illicit desires for him.
Valerys raised an expectant eyebrow at her protector, who looked beside himself with exhaustion. "Apologies, Your Grace," he heaved, doubling over, hands on his knees, "I've been all over the Red Keep searching for you."
His comment only made Valerys' confusion increase tenfold. "Pray tell, why?"
"Your uncle. He had requested your presence at the Godswood," he said through breaths, finally composing himself enough to straighten to his full height.
At his words, Valerys stiffened, slimy, frigid fear crawling up her spine, which had erected at the mention of her slightly deranged uncle. Ever since she was a small child, barely large enough to carry her weight on her own two feet, there had been a unexplainable feeling of trepidation when she were in the presence of her father's brother. He was her kin, his blood ran thick through her veins, the invisible tether of kinship strung delicately between them; yet, that knowledge did little to soothe the overwhelming uneasiness she felt when he was nearby.
Now, he had never been cruel to her — even when she knew him to be. Whispers engulfed the Red Keep, lips quivering with envious anticipation at the Rouge Prince's next pursuit. Gods knew that he was not a pious man; far be it for her lusting uncle to adhere to celibacy. With his lawful wife hung out to dry like a forgotten linen, the man was free do as he pleased. While Valerys was far too young to recall, there was a time the Red Keep was alight with jovial gossip, the life blood of the court, one that told tales of her ever-loving uncle stealing the maidenhead of a bride-to-be the night before her wedding.
What a man he was.
And so the knowledge that he was actively seeking her out, going as far as to send her sworn shield on a goose chase to locate her in the corridors of the Red Keep, did wonders to her rapidly heating heart. What could he possibly want?
"Did he state his intentions, Ser Loren?" asked Valerys in a soft voice; anyone could deduce is quivered with unspoken uncertainty.
A frown etched itself on Ser Loren's face. "He did not, Princess."
"Very well." Valerys waved him off, worrying her fingers against the soft fabric of her dress. "I shall discover his intentions for myself."
"Would you like my company?" questioned Loren, obviously not entirely thrilled with dumping Valerys into the gaping jaws of a dragon — even if it were her own uncle.
The princess clearly became weary of the conversation. "That is most unnecessary, though I thank you for the offer. You may report back to my chambers for when I arrive."
With her plans of clearing her worrying mind successful soiled by the bothersome request of her uncle, Valerys began down the halls towards the Godswood. Ignoring the prying eyes of maids, she held her chin high, shoulders straight, as she'd been taught to since the moment she was old enough to understand such commands. Never let them see you falter, she recalled her great-grandmother, Alysanne, saying, they will use any means to belittle you.
For a moment, Valerys felt unnecessary disdain for Alysanne. The woman was highly beloved amongst high borns and smallfolk alike, held in such high regard that they referred to her as the Good Queen Alysanne. Why had she been received with such warmth and acceptance, while Valerys was locked out, stuck in the frigid blizzard of ostracism. Why was she the exception?
When the small, though strangely thriving Godswood came into sights, Valerys felt a sudden sense of dread descend upon her like a swooping hawk. Warm light of the sun bathed all that it touched in a golden hue, preening the grass as it danced gently in the wind. There was no soul available to the eyes as Valerys stared out upon the garden, and yet, a haunting tune in her heart told her that her uncle was nearby.
Against her better judgment, Valerys strode out into the grassy plain, leaning down to remove her heels, longing to feel the plush grass tickle the betweens of her toes, the soft kiss of the earth. The ground felt as she believed it would: warm, yet not blisteringly hot, and padded to the touch. For a brief moment, Valerys allowed her eyes to shut, basking in the sunlight provided.
"Raqagon aōla, zaldrītsos?" came a low voice, reverberating around the speaker's chest for a moment before tearing through in a husky drawl. Valerys, for the second time that day, stiffened.
Enjoying yourself, little dragon?
Little dragon. It was a nickname her uncle had bestowed to her, though for what reason, she still remained oblivious to. Perhaps it was her affinity for the scaly beasts, or a flame that grew within her they said only could be akin to dragon-fire; whatever the case, she no longer felt giddy when she was called upon by it. No longer felt the childish sense of pride that her powerful and fearsome uncle had seen her intriguing enough to label her his little dragon. Now, it was a stinging reminder of their frayed bond, of her growing understanding that he was not a good man, nor a good uncle. The biting loss of innocence rang heavy in her mind.
Valerys wished dearly that, true to his words, she was enjoying herself. But, alas, she was not. To any outsider, she should've been, by all rights. She was to soon become an older sister, hopefully to a brother this time. And yet, all she could focus on was two things: the burdensome knowledge that she likely would not be displaced as heir any time soon, and that when she was, the realm would cheer for it.
"Why have you summoned me, uncle?" asked Valerys, attempting desperately to hide the venom from her tone.
The man in question finally came into her sights. Years of indulgence and excitement had not dampened his appearance, so it seemed. Despite being a second son, he held a regality to his stance, broad, squared shoulders always raised, always on alert. Towering like a stone turret, he loomed salaciously over Valerys, his extensive being effectively caging her in.
Just as it had when she'd seen him last, his long, silvery hair hung softly over his shoulders, front strands pinned away from his face by force of a clasp at the back of his head. The bone in his well-muscled jaw ticked when Valerys stepped away, simmering blue eyes boring into her as though he wished to tear a hole through her skin.
"Can I not be in the presence of my favorite niece?" he asked, though it seemed more rhetorical than anything. Clasping his hands behind his back, he began to encircle Valerys as a predator would its prey.
Again, that uneasy feeling reared its ugly head in her belly. "Not without reason," she settled on after a moment of quiet contemplation. "Now why did you call me, Daemon."
Even his name alone felt heavy on her tongue, the word scraping against her throat like pin-pricks. Though he clearly noticed the change in the way she addressed him, Daemon did not comment on it. Instead, he shifted his weight to the foot planted behind him and leaned back an inch, still staring, still observing with heavy intensity.
"As there is to be a tourney held in my name, I was feeling ever-generous," replied the prince, a conniving smirk taking up purchase on his face.
Electing to ignore what he meant by the second-half of his sentence, Valerys quirked an eyebrow his way. "You seem to be forgetting yourself, uncle," said Valerys, "this tournament is for the heir."
Daemon did not look fraught. "As I said," he confirmed, moving ever closer to Valerys. His presence shadowed over her backside, a chill now heavy in the air, as if warmth fled in his presence. The moon overcasting the sun. "As of now, until your mother can bring forth a son, I stand as heir."
"Even if she does not, we both know who will become the true heir," snapped Valerys, the incessant mocking of her uncle hitting a sore spot. As much as she loathed the idea of being heir, Daemon could not be allowed to inherit the throne. The thought alone made her shiver.
In spite of the bitter retort shot his way, Daemon only smirked. Next he spoke, Valerys felt his breath fan over her exposed shoulder, fingers dancing along her unclothed arms, making gooseflesh rise in the wake of his heated flesh. She longed to shy away, but stood fast, rigid against Daemon's intruding touch.
"And you believe yourself to be that true heir?" A nod. Valerys did not back down, and she felt Daemon's hand come to cup her sides, prodding fingers over her belly, over her ribs. She did her best not to stomp on his toes and flee. "Lo konir sagon sīr, zaldrītsos, emilā iā qopsa jēda rāelagon nyke qrīdrughagon."
If that is so, little dragon, you will have a tough time keeping me away.
Involuntary shivers rushed down her spine like a frozen waterfall; there was little resistance to the notion that Daemon, for all his extremities, desired a crown. It was laughable, to Valerys, a man so unconcerned with responsibility wanted to hold the biggest of all atop his head. How very foolish of her uncle, to believe he could not only gain this crown, but keep it. King's Landing was not known for being forgiving, especially not to princes who valued pleasure over duty.
If Valerys had to chain her uncle up to keep his grimy hands away from her birthright, so be it. She may not have desired the crown, but she did not wish to see it upon Daemon's head either.
"Your words do little to frighten me, uncle," muttered Valerys, drawing away from Daemon, the warmth rushing to her body when finally she was parted from his touch. Always a con-man, she thought. Scheming his way to the top.
Taking a step forward, Daemon used his finger to tilt her chin up, drawing her eyes to his own. Warring emotions came between them, completely undecipherable. After a heartbeat, he drew something from behind his back. It was a bedazzled diadem, imbued with beautiful gems and carvings alike, hewn from dazzling jade. Once Valerys looked upon it, a thoughtful look made its way onto her once-scrunched face.
"What might that be?" she asked, watching as the prince turned it over in his hands. It caught the afternoon sun perfectly, sparkling like a gem in the depth of a cave.
"A tiara," he said plainly, and when Valerys looked up through her eyelashes as him, he already caught her gaze. "Said to have been worn by the Empress of Leng. I picked it up on one of my many ventures across the Narrow Sea."
The information, while intriguing, did little to qualm the princess's wonders. "It is quite beautiful," Valerys said lamely, unsure of what to make of the presentation. "Though, dare I ask why you have shared this knowledge with me?"
There it was again, that wolfish grin. "The Empress of Leng is said to be worshiped as a goddess among her people," explained Daemon, stepping once again closer to his niece, who looked on him with unblinking eyes. "Just as you should be, zaldrītsos."
A swell of confoundedness breached Valerys' heart, feeling her chest constrict with Daemon's praise. Whether or not it was genuine, she did not know, but his kind words — false or not — set ease to the uncomfortable aura she'd felt him present from the moment they came into each others space.
Neither spoke as Daemon drew a hand to Valerys' head, staring down upon the top of her hair with the diadem in hand. With a generous amount of gentleness, he placed the tiara into the encasing of her silver hair, securing it against her scalp. There closeness did not go unnoticed by the princess, who — against her will — felt her breath hitch and body tense. Her eyes bored into Daemon's chest, not taller to see much else. The signature scent of dragon, amber, and ale met her nose as he shifted before her, hands working against the crown of her head.
The air was sucked from around them, tightening Valerys chest until she felt suffocated. Daemon had always given her the upmost attention, at least when she was young — over the years, as she grew into a less-impressionable woman, Daemon pulled back, curt but never rude. While at first it greatly confused the girl, she eventually became accustomed to his lessening interest in her. After all, why would he keep a dutiful eye on her?
When finally, after what felt like a millennia but in truth was simple moment, Daemon pulled away, regarding Valerys with a faint, but ever present smirk.
"Gieve."