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mononijikayu · 2 years

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chapter v.

chapter v.

Rating: Semi-M

Warning: Depictions of violence, minor context of war and mentions of in childbirth;

SUMMARY: In which many years apart and MELLARA TARGARYEN and DAEMON TARGARYEN YEARN FOR EACH OTHER.

[Prince Aelor Targaryen was full of painful dreams, ones he had spent years running away from. the way he had predicted the deaths of his family had left him burdend with the knowledge of the future. having dreamt of his daughter’s future, of the love she will create with her cousin prince Daemon Targaryen terrified him. the line of the hero that Aegon the Conquerer dreamt of had been born of their love. but such love burns, burns everything in a flame that was going to engulf the whole realm. he feared what was to come. yet, when he was gone - what was he do to stop it? none shall be able to stop such a thing. the rogue prince was determined. tut more so his lover, the realm’s love, was determined to love him.]

- maester aeron targaryen; adust

A D U S T m a s t e r l i s t

< you and i burn together or we shall die trying >

chapter i / chapter ii / chapter iii / chapter iv / chapter v

chapter vi / chapter vii / chapter viii / chapter ix / chapter x

chapter xi / chapter xii / chapter xiii / chapter xiv / chapter xv

chapter xvi / chapter xvii / chapter xviii

It was not his intention to stare at his brother, but he could not help it. Many trifling years had passed since he had lost seen his younger brother and the last he had seen him, it was an accidental meeting. One his brother had not wanted nor planned. Purple eyes gleaming with surprise and anguish, almost pained at the sight of those he had shared blood with, pained by the sight of those he dare once say he loved. The royal progress had not been planning to stop at the route it had, but Baelon Targaryen knew his brother was near. He was within his reach. Baelon wanted it, to see him again. To see familiarity in the changing world.

When he arrived at upon the back of Vhagar, Baelon Targaryen could see the wide imposing walls from above. The shadow of his ancient beast swallowed the town whole, which had caused the result he had wanted. The bells rang, as did the crowds of people huddling away from the darkness he had caused. Then and only then did he see the same eyes he bore. The face that reflected the strength of their mother most. Baelon nodded at his brother. His dearest brother Aelor gazed back at him with apprehension. He sat proudly at his saddle, vicious Blacknight, roaring a song of a warrior at Vhagar, who roared back.

In these many years of his brother’s isolation, none had dared seek presence without his permission Lest they wanted to never be welcomed into his affections ever again. The thought had been odd, the thought of privacy. Their family had been nefarious intrusivity, distinctly their mother and father who controlled with all their hard-handed strength. Aelor with his free spirited nature and strength had always seemed too daring and too dauntless ― mother or father had always been unable to bring his nature to heel. Mayhaps ‘tis why they had left him be, Baelon thought to himself. His brother was not afraid of anything. In the face of any threats, he thrives, like a dragon must.

The darkness of the shadow eclipsing the moonshine raining upon them, his gaze directed into a far away sea of pitch darkness. The silence that loudly sang upon the air, like a hymn resounding through the air. A proud beckoning of life in the harrowing dusk. Baelon Targaryen had not expected such beauty in his brother’s brutish dragon. In all these years, he had become all the grace that his brother had heled, enshrined in its scales were the valors of a knight and the sorrows of his songs were as lamenting as night. The metallic shine of the dragon now slowly rested upon the imposing eagle tower - an ugly monstrous stone tower with sharp peaks, eagerly gazing with dominance over the islet it stood upon with a dragon's eyes. From afar, one could hear his own ancient Vhagar, responding with what he thinks is a compliment to the younger.

It was heaven on earth in Blackhall, Baelon thinks. a paradise that only his brother could make. He understands why his little brother had kept it all to himself. Aelor had worked hard in making this once barren land into a thriving trading hub, filled with lively revelry and riches that only could match the luxury of his nephew, the Seasnake.

Such it was in the abundance of a monstrous peaks emerging in symphony in quiet isolation, it was evident to see the glistening of serene wonder of the burnt black stone. Overlooking the port below it, the quiet lamplight of massive trading ships rests at anchor. From afar, Baelon could see his brother’s flag ship ‘Gentle Flower’ drift across the bay. For a moment, he thought to himself that Aelor had named the ship for their Daella. But he could not be certain.

The town was connected to the mound of the islet through a silver bridge, put together by the melting breath of dragonfire. It was a bustling life, one that could only come from fairy tales. A perfect space for anyone and everyone, isolated from the world that is filled with roughness and dirt. Baelon could conclude how grown his younger brother had become, ruling over the land like a righteous and virtuous king. As he let out a breath, he recalled what he thought when he had seen his brother as he joked and sang with the townsfolk and nobles. Smiling and beaming with boisterous laughter, merry like a sweet summer song. Harmony reigned because of Aelor Targaryen.

For a brief moment, Baelon had found himself once more lamenting the crown that now rests on his shoulders like heavy worlds crushing him. When he had been first made heir, he had been grievous at the thought that his father had disposessed his beloved brother’s heir, his daughter. Baelon was not made to be a king. He was many things, to be sure. A knight, a warrior, a dragon. But he was not king. He was not made for it, not the way Aemon was.

Not like Aelor would be. For a moment, Baelon had selfishly wished it had been his younger brother who had been chosen to bear the pain of a royal crown. A throne that bore the responsibility of tthousands with hopes and dreams for the future of this land. Aelor was built for duty, he was built for the this crown. Alyssa had said just as much when they were playing those games of kings and queens and knights and all their bright colorful crowns.

But even then, Baelon was the elder brother. This was not his younger brother’s burden to bear. He knew that all too well. The prince of Dragonstone had been all but certain that he had already used the gift of the gods for all the good joyous things in his life. Alyssa, his beloved sons, his granddaugther. He has more than used all his luck on this world. But Aelor was not done yet, his was barely empty. The prince knew that his brother was better off here, living a life where he could enjoy more of his life with those that love and cherish him. Baelon thinks it was all fair, for none had to deal with the the dragon's nightmares the way their brother has had to.

Baelon overlooked the deep ditch of massive curtain walls that span beyond the prince's courtyard. Walls thick with hard blackened stone, melted together with the heat of Blacknight's dragon fire. Baelon had known that his brother liked to carve his mark upon the world, he knew that he would not be indifferent on his newborn domain. Father had gifted the land to his brother to reward him, for his valiant display of strength in vanquishing pirates along the river's mouth at Saltpans. Aelor had delighted in the joy that came with his success, vigorous in using both hands to build each and every stone. He could remember his grin, reaching his eyes as he and Alyssa watched him move through muddy water and brick. His heart clenched bitterly, missing those warm summer days.

They were always happy together. So eager to just be the three of them, dreaming of the joys that could come as they grew older together. When Aemon died, there were promises whispered and promises broken. More so when he had lost Alyssa and their babe. Baelon had always bore the heavy weight of all these losses. He cried as though his heart had perished with his brother Aemon and his soul breaking apart when Alyssa passed. But his brother's disappearance from all of it had always been something he wished had never happened. Even when he understood, Baelon had always wished it never was reality. Aelor was all he had left in truth.

But now there was nothing but distance, but walls all around them. Aelor Targaryen all but hid himself here for years, forming a life of a nomad, enjoying the bliss of his warm home with his wife and daughter, away from all that he wished would never haunt him again. Baelon had always wondered if Aelor was running away. Perhaps even casting himself aside into oblivion, to hide from all the ghosts that chase after him. From all the ghosts only he could see, looking at him in their deep sunken eyes whispering over and over of his failures and grievous prophecies.

“Today,” Aelor Targaryen starts, breaking the silence. Baelon looks at him curiously. “’Tis Maegelle’s name-day.”

The elder brother’s brows furrowed, surprised. “I....Is that so?”

“Hm,” Aelor says as he moves towards the battlements, leaning over to look downwards. Baelon follows suit, noticing the flowers. “She would have been thirty and four, brother. Imagine that.”

The edges of the isolated isle on the bank of the rousy Trident fielded with endless grassy fauna that grew in abundance untouched. much too many flowers blossomed, glistening even in the shivering moonlight. Baelon was sure his younger brother had found the flowers himself. They looked bright even in the darkness, echoing with grace. He had a fondness for such things, as his own daughter grew interest in them back in Dragonstone years ago when she was but a girl.

In a moment that his thoughts drifted, Baelon heard a loud tune release from the dark echoes of Blacknight's roar across the breaking winds. Blinking, the prince had forgotten for a moment that the young dragon was there at all with his eager silence. Monstrous glistening talons widening at each turn down the valley of the village, Baelon wondered if the small folk would delight in the sight of the dragon as they did now. He liked to believe so, at least. Blacknight was their protector, the one who sings them hymns of peace. Blacknight once more took flight, diving just below them and flew high once more into the heavy clouds. A moment later, Baelon could hear his brother hum the same tune as his dragon.

“I heard from my contacts in Oldtown that you came to her when she passed,”

“You and your little spiders work quick,” The younger snorted, a sly smile on his face. “You keep tabs on me, lēkia?”

“Of course, valonqar. I must do it.” Baelon says as he knocks his brother’s head with his hand. “Now, why did you go there? Are you stupid? Do you want to die, little brother?”

Aelor groans, rubbing his head. “You never use to hit that hard,”

“Someone needs to knock sense into you, you fool.” Baelon sighed, shaking his head. “Greyscale is dangerous, brother. You could have been harmed!”

“You would rather Maegelle died alone?” Aelor now frowned. “Brother, you must understand, she was alone.”

“You know better than anyone that all of us die alone,” Baelon mummered, lowering his head as his little brother pursed his lips. “Endangering yourself will not make up for lost time. Not even when you will it.”

Aelor took a moment to compose himself. “...Maegelle said that too.”

“What?”

“That it was better she died alone,” Aelor whispered into the cold air. “The crone only takes one, she says.”

"Did that upset you, little brother?" Baelon questioned, arms rested upon his chest.

"Mayhaps." Aelor broke into a somber laugh. "Mayhaps not, I am not entirely sure."

Baelon was puzzled. "Whatever do you mean?"

“I saw Maegelle smile at me, in my dreams, before I came to see her.” His brother confessed. “The greyscale had spread through her face, her hands. I couldn’t touch her. But she smiled and told me goodbye. Elaena was worried for me, telling me in the middle of my rambling that my dreams were not true. Maegelle was fine.”

“Aelor ― “ Concern filled the elder dragon’s purple orbs.

“But they all come true. Time and time again.” Aelor whispers, almost as though tears will soon pour from his eyes. “Brother, I have seen it all.”

Baelon frowns. “What do you mean?”

"I fear that if I tell you, you would not like it." Aelor shakes his head, turning to his elder. "Fate being told and determined, it is a painful thing. A dangerous thing."

"It would relieve you as well." Baelon counters, sighing heavily. "Little brother, are you not tired of keeping secrets? After all this time, do you not trust me?”

"It keeps you safe." The younger purses his lips. "If I keep myself silent, mayhaps you and your sons will not rush to avoid it."

“But you just told me of our sister.”

Aelor shook his head. “She’s gone. That already has come true. But now, if I say more ― my fear is the fourteen flames would will it to be.”

Baelon's brows furrows. "Little brother, is the dreams about us? Is that why you were so worried to look at me?

"Your line and mine," The younger Targaryen struggles to speak, halting as he gazes back to Blackwing who grazes upwards the clouds. The prince of Blackhall was moved to tears. “What fire and blood will reign upon this land.”

Baelon opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.

He shrugs, all his questions and worries unsaid.

Aelor’s tears poured, gleaming against the moon.

The smell of venison crept into the royal tent, its blood still freshly gathered onto the small of the butcher’s table. Yet it had reminded Mellara much of old days, years growing up in the open fire of a cold night out in the woods. Her own princely father gazing at the boar’s meat cooking on the spit. Eyes filled with concentration, one would think that he was in a trance, forever beholden to the mercy of burning meat. A small smile slid slowly into her features. It was just then that she recalled the scent of fresh air in the beautiful autumns riding out by the Trident, enjoying the fresh air of the woods in a hunt.

Her father’s laughter beaming with pride at his daughter’s every successful shot, her joy at each every turn of stories he had told to her with the utmost elegance, loud and obnoxious – filled with endless wit that she beamed a grin at with intent to listen till the stories ended. They would stay up till the morning arose, just the two of them looking at each other’s eyes. Talking of endless nonsense that only they could understand. Oh how she missed these times, mindlessly joyous beyond comparison to be in the hunting party. Beyond compare, joyous at the company that surrounded her. This was not the case today. A flat line ushered deeply upon her features, her gaze turning onto her mother.

Elaena Velaryon looked pleasantly displeased to be here at all, sitting around the women that crowded the young queen. The princess dowager had all but wished she had not come, her features evidently poignant with endless boredom.The way that the women spoke parrotted her at her repeatedly into a lulled distaste. It had not been something that was out of the norm for her mother to have such a dull gaze upon her features. The dowager princess possessed no desire to hide what she thinks of people, not certainly when she is to be in the company of the lickspittles and sycophants in one space.

At least that is what she had said when they had ridden the wheelhouse, unable to accept such a ridiculous expense of such a name day her great nephew would not even dare remember. She had all but screamed it in the king’s face, echoing with displeasure and anger, bittered by her nephew’s willingness to approve this ridiculous farce.These days, mother had been determined to correct her nephew and his weakness.The lack of tradition emptied the court of dissent to greed. Lest of all with the young queen in control of the royal household had lead into disarray. Mellara could not help but agree, knowing what had been going on at court — being forced to stay there these many uneventful years.

Mellara could once say that she had once felt for Alicent Hightower. It was her father, ser Otto Hightower who had placed her upon the situation she now is in. But with each passing day, with her son now born and pass the worry of his quick mortality, the princess of Blackhall could see the power that she could have with her son by her side. Viserys had all but been deferent to her and had done so when she suggested appointments. Promoting them from the faction that now forms against Rhaenyra’s position at court, Mellara is uncertain, if this was the work of her father or her own. But Mellara could feel it, her eyes show it just as much. She was realizing her power as a queen.

These days, Mellara Targaryen found herself as a bystander, powerless against her cousin’s royal authority. Mellara had been trying, she could say so, to promote the interests of her niece as heir. But she found that even with each and every nook and corner, Otto Hightower was always a road block. He had all but shoved out any petition of hers into the oblivion. Dedicately more so if it was in the interest of Rhaenyra’s reputation. If Rhaenyra wished to send money from her own purse to aid the orphanage in the HIll of Rhaenys, Otto would respond that they will look into it first.

If Mellara saw it fit to fund the education of girls in the city’s poorest slum, she was told it would have to be subjected to the king’s will first. Mellara had all but found herself enbittered by the man, wasting her time in useless waiting. When she had told this to Viserys, he had said that he was sure Otto had only been doing so for her interest and the realm. But Mellara was aware that he had no intention of doing good or doing well by the realm. By all means, he wishes to ruin any chance of good if it does not benefit him.

These days, she could not even return to Blackhall to conduct business. Nor could her mother find herself able to visit the elderly lady of White Isle, without the permission being given. The depth of bitterness does not age well in the bitter gleam of wine. Instead, the wine has found itself spoilt and its smell disturbing the joys it should have, Mellara finds that everything now wastes itself away in endless tourneys and balls that give nothing but opportunities for snakes to roll through the fields freely.

When they could be spending such funds to provide for the poor as queen Aemma had in Fleabottom when she could. She at times had given Viserys advise to even use his purse to help the realm. Instead of using his purse to build dromonds that could provide for a war, all these lords had all but nodded to spend as much of the many years royal purse combined to this long expensive royal procession that coils into this awfully dull hunt for the white hart.

The princess of Blackhall slumped against the support, sighing deeply as she feeling a slight headache pass through her momentarily. Leaning her face to her side, she gazed at Rhaenyra as she restlessly walked across the royal confines. Her deep lilac eyes were observantly pondering from a distance, as though she was an unwelcome shadow in the walls. These many years had not been kind to her niece, uneasy with the loss of a friend, the loss of a father and the lost of identity that now dwells within her. These many years had become a painful conundrum of isolation and lonesomeness, casting away into the abyss where no one knew where she could be. Mellara could only reassure her niece as much as she could but she knew very well it is her that must see it as truth.

The elder Targaryen had felt such pain for her niece in the depths of her heart, being lost in the vast wilderness she did not know how to escape from. For a moment, she could see herself in the younger woman. She too had been through such grief, losing her father. But such pain a mother and then losing a friend to tumultous circumstances over these years had made Rhaenyra feel so desperately alone in these seas. Even if one understood duty, duty at its core was known to batter the heart and harm the soul. Being at the highest peak is the saddest sight to behold. Even more so, it was always harder without anyone by your side. Father had said as much to her when she was but a girl.

In a way, she could understand Viserys and his need for others. But she did not know whether she could hate him or no. All of them were wrought in the miserable weight of the crown. Yet, all of them were the ones making sacrifices for his joys, not he. Yet they were all still there, waiting to be noticed by the man they live their unhappiness for. Mellara however was aware as Daemon was, as she was sure Rhaenyra was that they do not have the luxury of having Viserys as a man any longer. With the walls caving into them, trapping them under the yoke of royal authority, he was just the king now. A king who cannot be anything else but the crown’s puppet.

“You must be getting lonely without me.” Mellara whispered at her ear, wrapping her arm around her niece. She could see the small smile upon her niece’s lips. “Is the wine any good?”

“Well, its Arbor gold. I expect nothing special of it. ” Rhaenyra whispered in kind, cheekily. “Too stale.”

“You best not let lord Tyrell hear such a thing, niece,” Mellara slyly grinned back. “The man is too prideful for words that do not bloom in flowers.”

Rhaenyra returned her grin, “But dearest aunt, he will forgive me.”

“And why so, niece?”

“If my dearest aunt will tell lord Tyrell a better story, I am sure he will do so.”

Mellara laughed. “You have grown brazen, niece. But perhaps you are right. Lord Tyrell will not mind. He knows my preferences for white wines.”

Her niece raised an intrigued brow. “Oh, then is it off to aunt Saerra?”

“You give me a good preposition, princess.” Mellara says, her hands brushing through her niece’s long silver locks. “But I doubt your kingly father would be calm with the loss of his heir.”

“He does not even notice when I am gone, aunt.” Rhaenyra snorts as she leans into her touch. She looks at her aunt, almost pleadingly. “Come, my dearest aunt. Let us be on dragonback and escape this dreadful place together.”

“I wish I could, my princess.” Mellara replies, kissing her niece’s temple. “But knowing your dearest kingly sire, he will send after that dog of his to look for us.”

Rhaenyra shook her head. “I wish this trip should end. I did not even wish to go here.”

“Nor do I,” Mellara whispers back. “But I do swear to you, soon enough we shall be back at the Red Keep and reading away in peace.”

“I look forward to that.” The crown princess beamed in a way she had not throughout the hunt. “I shall like your company. And our darling boy.”

The princess of Blackhall nodded happily. “You can count on us there, my dearest. We will be there at your pleasure.”

The princess of Blackhall had always been close to Rhaenyra, as her dear mother was the queen’s good friend and family. However, in these four years – they had grown even closer. In such lonesomeness the silver haired elder had felt in these many years in the abundance of the court that had caused her much grief. In these times, Mellara Targaryen had felt too many things about life. The drifting of the family into factions had become a troubling worry for her. Viserys yields to lords who feast upon her flesh.

Her mother, the dowager princess, had been filled with malice against the queen and her family which in turn caused her rift with her dear nephew the king. Rhaenyra had isolated herself, supporters coming and going with the birth of a male to her father, one that she felt had replaced her from her father’s affections. And even with her newborn nephew, Mellara had felt so distant regardless of her efforts to make connections with the queen. Much to her discomfort, the queen’s family had become quite a thorn to her life.

In such recent years, Mellara Targaryen had found herself full of threats upon her chosen life. The piling of letters, asking for her hand in marriage had come with such urgency. Each corner of the realm had asked for her hand when Rhaenyra rejected their own begging plea. It did not surprise Mellara, she was of marriageable age. She had been since she had been ten and six. Her father had shook his head when he had been alive, at each raven coming to Blackhall with written intentions to ask for his daughter’s hand.

Ever so cantankerous, he laughed and declared he did not care to arrange marriages because Mellara was no fool. She was to choose her husband in her own way, which much her mother had agreed with. But her father was no longer here – the king was. The king had made himself clear years ago that just like Rhaenyra, Mellara had to marry. To do her duty to the crown, to their family. It angered her mother, causing a rift further. But Viserys had been firm about the matter and he would not change his mind, not even when Alicent had tried to convince the king otherwise.

Mellara would have thanked Alicent for her kindness, she would have. Yet she did not speak when her own lord father had proposed marriage to the princess of Blackhall. Nor denied her kingly cousin the chance to do so. Alicent knew just as much that another royal marriage to a Hightower would benefit them well. Viserys had thought it a good match, as Mellara would not have to rule Blackhall alone. The king kept touting it an honorable match, but there was no thanks from mother and daughter. There was only horror to the thought of being miserable at the hands of a man who will use her and abuse her.

It had appalled the princess dowager that such a man who had caused much of the rift in her family would come to cause more animosity within the house of the dragon by forcing a marriage match she did not want. The princess dowager had been so aghast with anger towards her nephew that she took her daughter and sailed to Driftmark, welcomed by her niece Rhaenys when she had been there. However, the king could not be avoided for too long and as such, with royal command – they returned and refused to speak with the king as much as they would be able not to.

It had been a somber affair, much arguing had happened through the days that followed their return. The king had forgotten that the princess dowager was without question unwilling to let her authority be diminished by anyone, not even the king. To her, she was the matriarch of this family, the last remaining of the long line of wise women that had left this great house. And in doing so, she could bring sense to the court. Most of all, sense to the king.

Forcing the king to see sense for hours on end, Mellara was given her right to marry on her own terms and would not marry below her station. However, they were to remain in the capital. To ensure that mother and daughter would not escape, she and her mother were interred in the princess of Dragonstone’s household. Even Blacknight was chained at the dragonpit, only released to accompany Rhaenyra to her flight across the Crownlands.

But this did not stop the marriage proposals.

And continually had ravaged her soul cold.

But she must endure.

“Perhaps the princess... can give us some insight.” Mellara heard the queen say, returning her to reality. Mellara walked closer towards the queen’s entourage, her mother still dulled by such conversation. “I am sure she knows more of this conundrum we are in.”

Rhaenyra chuckled nervously. “Oh, I'm not sure how I could. I've never been to the Stepstones.”

“The Stepstones are lovely, my princess.” Mellara spoke, moving towards her niece. The eyes of the ladies of court squabbling at her presence. “I have flown there on occasions. The sea is like a pearl of blue sapphires.”

“Your dear uncle is the great mind behind this war. Is he not?” The lady of the Rock did not pay mind to Mellara, instead raising a brow at the heir.

“I wouldn’t know.” Rhaenyra admitted honestly. “I’ve not spoken to Daemon in years.”

“But, of course, it should be won. The princess believes it as I do.” Mellara declares with confidence, her voice strident as she glares towards the lionness. “I am sure so. I have known my cousin to be swell with his sword. Our cousin Rhaenys and her son Laenor join him on dragonback. With Corlys and his fleet, it should be won.”

“Indeed,” Elaena added with a small nod. “There is nothing more fearsome than dragonfire. Soon enough, they would burn the Triarchy.”

Lady Lannister laughs. “Oh, certainly. But he seems to have failed, has he not? With defeating the Triarchy. It has been more than five years, princess dowager. The runts of the rogue has failed and soon enough with Dorne ―”

“I would heed you to mind your words well, little lion.” Elaena smiled at the younger woman, her lilac eyes clear with malice. “Prince Daemon is still the brother of the king, and an important part of my family. I hope you choose your words well.”

“I do not think she means harm, princess dowager.” Alicent exclaims, trying to ease the forming tension, who sank deeper in her chair. “Prince Daemon and house Velaryon had chosen war.”

“The queen is right. He's made a mess and he ought to deal with it in his own terms.” The lady Hightower exclaims frivolously. “If he desires so dearly to have such rocks to be his petty kingdoms, then she ought to die trying.”

“He won’t die.” Mellara spoke faster than she would have hoped, angerier than she would have hoped. But she did not correct herself. “My cousin is formidable in battle, I assure you, lady Hightower, he will correct this mistake.”

Rhaenyra nodded her head. “I may not know what know what my uncle does or what strategies he employs, but he wields Dark Sister and did the conqueror, Queen Visenya. Her will in batle shall guide my uncle, lady Hightower. He will win this war for the realm.”

Lady Hightower snorts. “For all the ills he had caused this realm, I would never think that you would consider still defending him. He has caused havoc for the king, and has caused trouble for the realm. If anything he should ―”

Elaena Velaryon stood, causing the ladies of the court to gaze at her frozen. One could feel the coldness in the room with the way she merely stood still. Mellara kept herself close to Rhaenyra, a hand wrapped upon her young niece. It was almost as if she was shielding the young girl from the events that would follow. The flow of her blue and black ermine dress thundered through the floor as she moved towards lady Hightower, gazing at her with cold eyes as though it had been freezing winter. Proud seahorses danced against the red three headed dragon across the Dornish silk.

Aelor Targaryen was the complete opposite of his wife. His wife was colder in temperament, eager to speak her mind – even if such truths were harder to hear than most lies. Especially to those who could not accept it. The princess dowager uses her right hand to drag the silver platter off the touch of the lady whose eyes widened at the senior lady’s actions. The queen was tense, gazing at Mellara as though to beg for mercy. Mellara sighed, passed the crown princess and moved towards her mother.

“What has my lady Hightower done in these many years that warrants you a good servant of our good realm?” The princess dowager asked bluntly, her voice cutting like steel. “Other than languish up at the Hightower eating all your cakes? Is that your solution in solving our issue of our merchants losing strength? Or have you a better idea to solve our problems with the Triarchy my lady?”

“Mother, that is enough.” Mellara whispered to her in Valyrian. “The king will not forgive you for this.”

“He can only dare not to do so.” Her mother replied in turn, voice filled with venom. “Lest he wishes to alienate us further and force us against him.”

“Listen to your daughter, dowager.” lady Hightower taunted, “You endanger the image of the king.”

“And you cause ruin to the king, by being the brazen fool you are.” Elaena retorts back, her daughter’s grip on her arm tightening. “You ought to not speak at all my lady, if you offer no solutions.”

“For Rhaenyra’s sake. For my sake.” Mellara pleads with her mother, placing her hand upon her shoulder. Pursing her lips in a flat line, she whispers, “For my boy’s sake. Please do not let your temper get the better of you.”

The dowager princess continued her glare. Elaena broke contact from the ladies of court and turned to the direction of her nephew, the king, who gazed back at her with a hardened look. Mellara watched her mother walk away, pridefully walking towards the exit. Mellara turned to Rhaenyra apologetically, who shook her head and whispered to her comforting words. Soon enough, they part their ways as Rhaenyra told her aunt that she would like to take in some fresh air on her own. Mellara insisted she would come but the princess had made up her mind and left. The lilac eyed princess sighed, feeling the presence of lonesomeness as she walked towards the banquet table.

For a moment, she felt like she felt exhausted.

A small line beaconed against her drying lips.

All she wished was for Daemon in her arms.

“I thought I saw a familiar face.” Mellara blinked, turning to look behind her. Her eyes lit in familiarity. “It is good to see someone I know.”

“Elmo Tully, you devil!” Mellara smiled and jumped into his arms, laughing. “When did you get here?”

“A while ago.” He confirmed, parting from her embrace. “There was a delay. I had to look over some mill that was of concern.”

Aelor Targaryen had completely shut the world away from Blackhall, isolated in an islet. However, this did not mean he did not allow Mellara to have no friendly companionship. Aelor regularly invited young women and even young servant girls from across the town to play with Mellara. As she did not have younger siblings, Mellara had been much active in building relationships of close comfort with people outside of her royal rank.

It had however not been the case when Aelor had brought in Elmo Tully, who had become his young foster ward. Lord Glover Tully had been a good friend to Aelor, thankful for his services against bandits around Riverrun and elsewhere. As such, he thought it would be a good continuation if their own children formed a friendship and in that moment Elmo entered the great hall, wearing his house colors – they had quickly become good friends.

Mellara Targaryen had much to say and Elmo who was a young boy of ten, fascinated by her fast speaking and exuberant motion of her steps. He listened to her speak for hours and on, urging her to continue her fascinating stories. Even at the expense of time with their Maester.

Sitting with each other often at the gardens, reading poetry and history together and running around chasing each other across the castle’s inner keeps; even playing knightly games where they fought each other with wooden swords and painted shields - Mellara was delighted to have a new friend. One that could allow her to feel comfort in being herself away from the rules of her mother and the duties of her father, to just be a child of normal circumstance like everyone else.

“It is good to see you.” Mellara whispered joyfully. “I had not seen you since–”

“The funeral of the queen and prince Baelon..” Elmo says softly, eyeing her glassy eyes. “I hope I did not bring such offense or grief–”

“It is a long time ago now. Do not worry.” She reassures him. “It is a happier time now that we are together again.”

“Aye.” He nodded, smiling warmly towards her. “I am very glad that you are in a better place.”

Mellara shook her head. “It could be better. I wish I was at Blackhall right now. Fishing and hunting!"

Elmo laughed. “I think everyone is wishing for that. Especially with the atmosphere here. It’s almost like a warzone here.”

“Oh surely it is! My entire family does not feel endeared to each other at this moment.”

“I’m glad you and the princess are not.” Elmo whispers to her kindly. “Family is a delight to have in troubling times, you know.”

The princess smiled. “I do know. Though, I know you too do know. How is your lord grandfather?”

“He’s seen better days.” The lord sighed, his gaze filled with much emotion. “But he is alive and well, I reassure you. He’s taken walks around the gardens these days.”

“I’m glad he is well.” Mellara says, placing her hand on his wrist. “I know there is much closeness between you.”

He nodded. “Aye, but there too is conflict.”

Mellara raised a brow. “How so?”

The dark haired man pursed his lips tightly. “My home has become factioned. My grandfather wishes to see prince Aegon as heir. But I had reminded him of his vow – our family’s vow to the princess.”

“Does your lord grandfather forget honor?” Mellara’s brows furrowed, along with her face in a frown. “Rhaenyra is to be our queen, my lord.”

“My grandfather thinks that such a vow can be dissolved so easily, one even sworn to the gods.” He mumbles, disappointment evident in his face. He takes her hand from his wrist and squeezes it tightly, almost speaking into promise. “But I assure you, I am on Rhaenyra’s side. Your side.”

“Do you truly mean to keep your vow? To protect her claim?” She retorts, eyes filled with wanting. “To protect my family from ruin?”

He looked dumbfounded by her question. “When your princely father lay dying, did I not swear to him that I would protect your claim too? To protect you and your family?”

“Yes, I do but that is–”

“A woman is capable.” He raises a finger to her, almost scoldingly. “You have shown me, your mother has shown me. If you can do it, why can’t a brilliant and promising young woman like Rhaenyra cannot?”

Mellara was stunned by his response, blinking profusely. “I….I apologize, if you felt like I was doubting you. It’s just that lately…”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” Elmo reassures her quickly, before breathing deeply. “Such men in the capital are vipers indeed. Having no honor and showing their true colors as sycophants.”

“Thank you.” Mellara gazed at him warmly in thanks. “I had so missed your friendship. Our correspondence has been so desperately missed.”

He grins at her handsomely, traces of fading scarlet hair stunned her. “I missed it just as much, dear Mellara. You are a beacon of my life, you know that?”

Mellara laughed, feeling heat upon her cheeks. “You say too much.”

Moving towards her body closer, Elmo felt his fingers slide through her loose silver hair and tucked it backwards with a gentle touch. Mellara’s eyes opened wide and slowly met his sapphire eyes once again. He smiled at her, moving backwards. At such a move, Mellara had felt her heart beat too wildly, almost like a drum that had been part of a musician’s play. She opened her mouth but she did not have anything to say, even when she wanted to. She bit her lip and placed her hands on her side.

“You are still the loveliest woman I have ever laid my eyes on.” He declared to her unabashedly, causing her to gasp. “It is not a surprise, my dear Mellara.”

“Not a surprise? What…what do you mean?”

“You still pleasure me with your kindness in this madness.” Elmo declares to her bluntly, grinning at her. “Mayhaps our friendship to be love.”

Frozen in place, Mellara felt like her heart was going to burst. No, she tells her heart. This is not how you should feel. You love someone else and he will return. Like he always has. Mellara felt her chest tighten, almost as though she would not have anymore air in her lungs to give her the luxury of breath. Murmuring an excuse, she quickly made her way out the tent. She did not stop even with Elmo calling her back with soft tenderness.

Mellara Targaryen found herself ignoring the gaze of many as she left the tent. Gripping her chest, she could feel the heaviness as her heart pounded in her chest. The words spoken by Elmo Tully echoed in her mind, stirring up a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She needed a moment to herself, away from the intensity of their conversation. In all these many years, she did not expect him to feel the way he does for her. She could feel the tears threaten to fall from her eyes.

She found solace in the quiet isolated forest hedge, where a gentle breeze rustled through the trees and the soft trickle of a nearby fountain provided a soothing melody. Mellara leaned against a tree’s strong body, trying to steady her racing thoughts. She closed her lilac eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to regain control over her emotions.

Why did Elmo's words affect her so deeply? She had always cherished their friendship, but she had never considered anything more between them. Not when she knew herself her heart belonged to another. Mellara's heart belonged to a dragon like her, the only one she knew was able to burn with her. Even from far away, she could never think to open her heart to anyone else. He was coming home for her, she knew that. Daemon Targaryen would return. He had every reason to. He had known, before he had left her, the swell of his seed upon her belly. He would not leave her and their child.

As she collected herself, Mellara thought about the fragile state of the realm and her family's position. The conflict over the succession to the Iron Throne weighed heavily on her mind. She had a duty to support her mother, Rhaenyra, and protect their family's claim. The realm needed stability, but for that to happen she must wed. As she always knew she was. But no more than over, for Rhaenyra’s sake. She pursed her the edge of her lips, taking in the quiet.

She prayed to the fourteen flames in silence.

She wondered if the gods would give her peace.

But she knew, gods liked to play many bitter games.

Her truest relief came when she saw her own tent from afar. Making her way towards her tent, she quietly greeted those she passed by all the while trying to stop her chest from caving in like a house of cards crashing down. Once she made her way towards her tent, loyal Blackhall men greeted her and servants came to call to her. All the white noise had given her nothing save blurry echoes that yielded into multiple reverberations that made her head hurt but she kept on walking until she found her mother sitting on red velvet chairs, gazing in the innocence that dreamed with bliss.

Mellara felt her knees give in as she sat upon the empty space beside the boy. Leaning forward, the princess closed her eyes and placed a warm kiss upon the sleeping figure’s cheeks. Such rosy cheeks were almost like plum, warm and soft to the touch. Mellara allowed her hands to slowly drift across his short silver hair, almost glistening like gems as she threaded through them. His small body was getting stronger, growing into a young man sooner or later. The bitter taste in Mellara’s tongue echoed with harsh abandon. How her boy has grown, not so little anymore as she had last seen him a year before.

But her duty at court, to Rhaenyra, had caused her such little time around her young son. Though it had broken her heart to part with her young boy, Mellara Targaryen knew that the court was no home for the innocent. Especially so if such innocence was to be swept away by wicked vultures who will do nothing but claw at her boy the moment she is not looking.

Blackhall is where he is safe, protected away from the gaze of those who could harm him. Along with his small dragon, Aelyx, named after the Valyrian goddess of war. They will grow much more together. That she was truly so sure of. And soon enough, she was sure he would meet his father. The father that he did not know, the father that did not know of him. Viserys had warned her of telling Daemon, just as he had with all her letters. Most certainly at Otto’s beckoning.

“Is he still tired from the journey?” Mellara questions her mother, her attention all on the young boy.

“I believe so.” Her mother nodded. “He is like an angel, he is. The moment I stepped in, I was immediately calmed.”

Mellara could not help but smile, her tension slowly drifting away. “Indeed he is. He has always been an angel. The first moment I held him.”

Elaena grinned. “I still cannot believe that such a rogue as Daemon Targaryen would be able to produce such an innocent angel.”

These many years ago, her beloved Daemon had abandoned Dragonstone to join their cousin Rhaenys and her husband Corlys to war in the Stepstones. The news had devastated Mellara as her lover had not allowed her to join him in his venture to war. Mayhaps it was not to worry her, mayhaps it was to prevent her from following him into certain harm. But it had broken her heart, crashing into pieces, that he did not want her by his side. Yet she knew she was being foolish. Daemon had done this to protect her and their child.

Daemon Targaryen told her everything about his plans, his ventures. She was his most trusted council, one that kept his secrets close to her heart – safe in lock and key. She spoke nothing of it to Viserys when he had ordered for her return to the capital. She would not betray him, nor his secrets. For his secrets are her own and her own, his.

That night, they did nothing but be in each others arms. Without words, without bitterness or distance. Just a wanting for the warmth of the other against the other’s skin. Mayhaps because it had been such a perfect night, one where such memories drift to her with warmth at each return to the same stop. Daemon Targaryen did not wish to ruin the night, if it were to be the last they would ever share together. Rather, he awoke the earliest he could and kissed her farewell and quietly drifted into the forlorn sky with Caraxes.

Soon after his war began in the Stepstones, Mellara Targaryen had swell heavy with their blossoming child. All of it had been both a miracle and a surprise. But Mellara would not have it any other way. Even with all that she had been through, with her babe being a difficult one to live with, blending along with her grief from the loss of her lover; Mellara was certain all of it had been worth it. When Viserys had found out, it had been a bitter situation. Mellara had wanted to fly to the Stepstones herself to tell him of such wonderful news. It was what would make him happy. His child was to be here. She was to have a child of his own blood, his own heir. Yet none had been happy of it, lest of all Viserys and his hounds.

Especially Otto himself, who has been eagerly asking for her hand in marriage ever since Daemon’s absence. In each response and rejection, he had all but told her that it would be the best course of action. She was after all, just as much abashed with pride that she was with child in wedlock. Viserys had said she would be looked down upon by the masses. A bastard child was not meant to be celebrated. Yet Mellara had not felt an ounce of guilt. She had done it before, had carried a piece of her beloved with her and she would do it again. Bastard or not, she did not care. It was Daemon’s child growing inside of her. That is all that mattered in the end. That the child was a proof of their love.

Throughout the pregnancy, she wished for her lover to be with her. For him to witness the life they had created together grow and yearn to meet his father and mother. But even then, Mellara was truly alone. Alone in the prospect of life to live, uncertain if Daemon would actually return.At almost every turn, her tears blistered her reddening eyes each and everyday calling for Daemon. Wishing for him to be beside her, to hold her hand, to pepper her with kisses. Mellara cried and cried, almost losing her life at the birth of her darling son. She wept, wishing to see him once more if it was the gods willing her towards life beyond death.

Her babe along with her, with the harsh breaching of her babe’s position, lacked the ability to breathe. But after a long fever, she had survived and had cradled her darling boy in her arms – crying happy tears. He looked every bit like his father, from the cradle of his hair to the way his lips twitched upon his every smile. The way his dark purple gaze sparkled the way his own father did. Mellara was so happy to have a piece of her heart back. Aemon Targaryen, she had named him after her father and the love of her life. Aemon the Fortunate, her mother calls him. Mellara smiled so fondly, she couldn't agree more. He was perfect, so beautiful – her dear Aemon. Her son. Their son.

“I want him to come home.” Mellara whispers to her mother, her face contorted in sorrow. “To be with us. So that we can be a family, a true family.”

“Soon my child, it shall be granted.” Her mother whispers to her, standing up and wrapping his arms at the small of her daughter’s back. “It shall be okay.”

Mellara nodded, thanking her mother.

Mellara Targaryen whispered a prayer.

‘Take him home to me, to us. Please.’

It was hard for Daemon Targaryen to see anything, the blinding gray had been upon him. All he could see was cold abandoned cobbles and broken towers. The sight of the Trident beckoned him, flowing ceaselessly with calm. He had not known why he was here, why he was alone. Blinking, Daemon felt the smell of ash and flame pile across his position, the smell of burning flesh was something he had already known too well – from endless loss bitterly whispering into the air like the falling flakes of winter snow.

Pursing his lips into a line, his jaw hardened at the possibilities that gathered in his head. For a moment, from where he stood – he saw her. Her long flowing silver locks fell through her thighs like endless silk beckoning elegant grace as it moved to fall. The smile on her face is ghostly, and yet so profound. It had been a while since he had dreamt of her, had yearned for her so dearly enough for her to visit him.

Dressed in all white, she gathered her body towards him at a walking pace. Not breaking eye contact through her journey towards him, she giggled at him. Oh, how he yearned for that sound. To see it again, even in a dream, sustained him. At her soft whispering of his name, he feels his heart gasp humanity towards him again. These many years of longing for her. Wanting to be in her arms again, Daemon ran to her and his arms opened to lock her onto himself. To gather her into his being, to mold them together again.

Daemon Targaryen had thought of leaving this war, of returning with nothing – for the sake of having her whisper sweet nothings upon his ear as he fell asleep. To see her silhouette grace the shadows of morning dew. The sight of lilac eyes beckoning him home had kept tempting him over and over. But he knew that if he left, he would not be able to face her. He would not be able to honor her in the way that she deserves. Daemon does not wish for it. He must come home. But he will come home fulfilled in his quest. With victory that could bring him closer to his dream of her. Soon, that will be true.

Placing a kiss upon his cheek, Mellara smiled towards him again and touched her stomach, letting the right hand press upon her belly. Daemon took a moment, his mouth opening agape. But she did not speak. Rather she moved towards him again and kissed him and then embraced him tightly. It all had happened swiftly but soon enough turned her attention to the sky. Perplexed, he gazed at her quizzically but she did not gaze back, merely staying affixed at the sky.

Daemon let his curiosity fill him as he too looked up in the sky. Over and over again, the winds swept through like a hurricane. Mellara did not look flustered as she watched the shadows grace the ground move over and over. She would look up into the sky as two shadows fought through the darkness and blew away the greenery with its strong winds. The breeze blew with malice, Daemon yielded down to protect himself from the sweeping air with both his arms, feeling the same Valyrian steel armor he wore become like a shell so heavy. Mellara though kept gazing upward, without fail or fear. Daemon furrowed his brows with worry, pulling her down with him and placed his body to cover her. Mellara laughed.

“Why are you laughing?” He asked her, a worried tone beckoned him. “Mellara, my little dragon.”

“You will know, Daemon.” Mellara whispered to him, her free hand cupping his cheek. “Soon enough.”

'Mother!' He heard a heavily hoarse voice shout. Mellara pointed and Daemon turned to see the same crown of silver grace on the head of a young man and the same gaze of cold violet summer looked back at him. Daemon watched as the young man threw his ring mail and his armor away; only retaining a sword at the hilt. Running quickly, the man had ridden a dragon, one of shining scarlet and charcoal black readying itself towards the rider. Soon enough they were upward but Daemon could still hear it all. 'Mother!'

As though he had done it a dozen times before, the rogue prince let his feet charge him onwards. When Mellara walked towards him so calmly as he stood and watched the youngster gaze up into the sky, he suddenly realized who he was calling to after initially wondering who he was calling to. With such ferocity, the monsters were soaring far over him as he called to them. He turned to Mellara, gazing at the same dragon’s eyes she had from far across the distance.

Daemon could not help it but notice a cold looking man with long locks, almost whitening like moonlight. He has one eye, gazing at him. But there was yet to be fear in the woman he had loved. Atop Blacknight, the other Mellara hardened her gaze. Pale as milk, he could see her almost laying on top of the burnt leather helplessly.

He saw as one of the dragons lowered itself through the air. He saw her again, much clearer this time around, lines of wrinkles filled her face. Sweat drenched her, blood spreading through her abdomen. With lilac eyes and long silver hair, dressed blooded white as blood spread through her skin that was basked in moonlight. Dragon fire beamed from its dark vicious mouth, mercilessly aiming towards the other dragon. Just behind her was the lad he had seen before.

His was black with hints of red staining its scales that reminded Daemon of endlessly flowing blood. It was fearsome, more angry. The dragon was big but not as big as the other two. It was young, Daemon concluded. A young breed of dragon. Soon enough, the boy with his eyes managed to catch up with the massive dragon, yelling a command of attack.

The flames burnt the cold stone covered plain into a burning pot, even though it seemed like fantasy, Daemon Targaryen felt the warmth and heat shiver down his skin. Was this like the breath of Balerion? It was so hot that he felt like he was going to have no more flesh and instead only have ashes. Her dragon flew past. Soon enough the beckoning of burning flames surrounded her, the young lad and his dragon were too far apart. A widened scream released from her lips, shrilling like a thousand loud glass shattering. Daemon felt his eyes widen, fear in his eyes as her own dragon was pierced by cold metal arrows as massive as a great sword. Nay, it was even more than that.

The dragon with blackened wings sang a sharp cry as the pain echoed through the dragon’s body. Her dragon spun around the sky, screeching as it struggled through the pain, fighting hard to break free. Flames released from its mouth as it echoed a cry, the man with one eye gazed with horror at what he was seeing. It seemed that he had not expected it nor did he wished for it to happen. He called Mellara’s name, beckoning his dragon to her as her eyes ghastly in paleness as the dragon staggered into the oblivion of the cloudy skies. Daemon ran, chasing the darkened beast as tears flew across his eyes. He too started to call out Mellara’s name, until he was hoarse from screaming. He dashed across the plains, watching the skies unfold.

'’Aunt!' The man with the one eye cried as he determinedly flew towards the woman as his dragon followed his command. '’Aunt, come hither! Take my hand!”

'Mother….' Daemon heard the boy whisper as he flew lower, watching the dragon and her rider fall, almost like a shooting star.The boy called to man dragonrider with one eye, as Mellara finally raised her head, almost as though she knew that this was it.

There was sorrow in his one eye, desperation even. 'Fly me over, aunt. Please.'

She shook her head, whispering things Daemon could not hear.

Shutting her eyes close, she took a deep breath.

Gasping heavily to the sound of loud voices, Daemon Targaryen felt the sound of men’s screams and cries beckoned against Seasmoke’s flames. Blinking, he looked towards where he lay, Corlys Velaryon had been sitting across from him. The Seasnake’s brother is waiting by the tent’s entrance. The smell of blood and mud, of dirt and smoke continued to be felt. Much he could feel upon his body too. He concluded that he had perhaps fallen into deep sleep after the battle. A battle that was still finding conclusion as Seasmoke roared viciously the flames of burning dawn.

Daemon could not recall what had happened, especially after he had slain the Crabfeeder. But that did not matter. None of that had mattered when his thought lingered to Mellara. To his beloved little dragon. To that dream he had quickly began to loathe. His dream was filled with dread. The greatest fears he could not fathom, he would not fathom. And yet, to dream of it; he shook his head in defiance, beckoning his body forward. It was not real. It was never real. This one is where he had awoken. Mellara Targaryen was safe, far away in the capital. And so was his son, wrapped in his mother’s comfort.

“Oh, you are awake.” Corlys echoed as Daemon silently placed his boots on. “I did not expect you to fall to exhaustion.”

“I did not sleep very well.” Daemon says, tying the strings of the boots and its leather shine. “It happens.”

The Seasnake snickers. “Not in your case, though. I can see it now, the pesky courtiers whispering behind your back chanting ‘Sleepy Prince’.”

“Let them.” Daemon whispers under his quiet laughter. “They ought to be thanking me for breaking this trouble away. Their merchants won’t have to disturb them any longer for reprieve.”

“Hmm, am I to be one of those lords?” Corlys questioned, a intrigued gaze upon his cousin. “Am I to grovel at your feet and praise you, wise conqueror?”

The laughter of the prince boomed loudly as he dipped his hands towards the hot basin of water, his boots tightly secured on his feet. Daemon let the water fathom his face, almost building constellations as he washed. Soon, the water graced his arms, vanquishing the remainder of the blood from the area. As the water trickled down, Daemon had realized that his scars had not fully healed. He snickered, reminding himself of Mellara’s contorted features. The very image of her being in grave worry was something she did not like, but Daemon found the way her features represented them had made him fond of seeing her in such a state and soon the way it would contort in anger for putting himself in danger.

Daemon Targaryen had felt it all washed through him, such realizations. This would soon be over, the war would dwindle away. Soon enough, she would have been in his arms again. Her and their child. The child he had so longed for, with her. Daemon walked towards the dried cloth on the side, left for him by his servant. Drying his upper body, he could feel Corlys Velaryon’s gaze pierce through his body in the moment he was waiting for Daemon to reply. Daemon grins as he throws the soiled cloth onto the side and stands before Corlys. The Seasnake slowly gazed upwards, measuring the prince’s gaze.

“No.” Daemon says to the lord of Driftmark. “You would not have to grandiose me with falsities.”

“Oh? Then what does this rogue prince want?”

“I want Mellara.” Daemon says to the lord, his voice domineering. “See to it that my brother releases her to join me here. With our son. I want them both with me.”

“I see.” Corlys says, standing from his position. “And what would you have them do here?”

“Rule.” Daemon exclaimed, turning away from the lord. “By my side.”

“As you wish.” He nodded at Daemon, who seemed satisfied.

“Oh, there is one thing other than that.”

“What is it?” Corlys questioned.

Daemon turned and gathered a small dagger, one he had taken from the Crabfeeder’s rotting body. It had been Valyrian steel, filled with magnanimous lines of stories written in small scripts. Corlys quickly realized the text read, in old Valyria’s tongue. He looked at Daemon, who smirked.

“What would you have me do with this?”

“Have it sent to Elmo Tully.” Daemon says, his voice filled with charming malice. “Tell him of my regard for him.”

Corlys Velaryon could see the shine in his dark purple eyes as it filled with want and malice all at once. There was endless fire within him, not ready to burn out just yet. But Daemon had not said anything else. Corlys did not say another word as Daemon Targaryen turned away from him and towards the exit of the tent. The cheering of men and the clanking of armor and steel echoed loudly. The fervor of respect and adoration for the rogue prince continued to drift into a resounding coral of the men singing praises, singing the song of bards about the prince. Corlys was certain that things would change now, with the new fervor of life beckoning towards him, a man slowly gaining more wanting – a purpose to live beyond the one he had always known.

Gods be good, Corlys prayed.

Gods be good to all of them.

For there will be much fire and blood.

#house of the dragon #house targaryen #house velaryon #house hightower #house tully #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #rhaenyra targaryen #viserys targaryen #corlys velaryon #alicent hightower #otto hightower #baelon targaryen #elmo tully

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